tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68361956395048242322024-02-08T09:24:18.613-08:00VARIABILITYSunrise breaks the midnight as the sunset solders melting wires.
The heart speaks and the mind retorts.
Within the unyielding, cool, unanswered questions remains a desperate resolve.
Some lives remain unlived, untempered, undone.
There are falling pieces and everything has just begun.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-78290051941353856272010-05-02T09:28:00.000-07:002010-05-02T09:28:57.339-07:00<blockquote>Sexual impulse is the severest of human reflexes</blockquote>Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-12018498344718943682010-05-02T06:50:00.001-07:002010-05-02T07:21:02.028-07:00LimboI love the concept of a question. I have often asked myself a lot of questions. That is a silly statement – because we all ask ourselves questions. But I truly love the idea of a question, an inquiry, a search for more than is obvious at the time. I love the question, more than the answer. <br />
But I love the answer too, the witty answer, the right answer, the wrong answer, the stupid one. I love them all. Why? Because they bring me questions. I love that question, - why? It is so…so sufficient. <br />
Why? Why? Why?<br />
A rose by any other name will smell just as sweet – but a rose is a rose is a rose. <br />
So many questions. <br />
I have often asked myself, who is this girl? What is this place? Where is this mind? Where is that soul? Who are all these people? There is also this question – of essence, of universality and diversity and equilibrium in this anatomical marvel –actually, not actually?. But still. <br />
I ask about leadership – those people, these people, our people, their people, your people. Whose people? I love that question, even better, which people? Those by your window at night –listening. Those at the podium – speaking. Those at the table – judging. The leaders. I ask a lot about these people sometimes. Particularly at these times when I am inclined to inquire. I love the idea of a question. To question. <br />
I question them. I question me. <br />
They are those at the podium – not listening. In your bedroom – not speaking. In your face – still judging. I love these judges. Okay I do not. But they do intrigue me. These ivory tower princes. Royal thieves. Simple leaders. I love the intrigue. The concept of the conquest. <br />
I try to discern with these limited, perhaps infantile means the concatenations of these cataclysmic anabolisms – constructs of clearly feeble, fearful, insufficient, uninquiring minds. I peek. Another way to question. Suggestion. Suggestive?<br />
Of what – <br />
The ladies with no knickers. I saw them naked. Silverless and cloudy. <br />
I saw them, the sires with faulty wiring. Wippity, wobbly on their old mares. <br />
I shuttle between consternation, think of constellation, and then return, perhaps revert to the idea of the irate old man interjecting “what about our homes?” What home. I caught myself, enjoying the idea of a question. Tried to hide it with that period. They do it too. The final labeled tentative. The ephemeral concrete jungle. <br />
I see no dreams here. Frosty milkless cerealed ambition. Cotton picker!<br />
Black soul. Dead soul. They are not equivalent. <br />
White soul. I hate the idea of imagery and connotation. Bad white soul. Irate. Inot. IU. This is cheap, cheap like the fruit of a transvestite loom.<br />
I see you too. <br />
Then I remember the purpose – they have failed, have they not? They are bad, are they not? I wonder. Another question. Another question. Because I see you too. Do you never ask the sufficient question, will you, can you, are you?Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-43170576014187359742010-05-02T06:46:00.001-07:002010-05-02T06:46:59.841-07:00PetalI remember how lovely you looked, cheerful too<br />
So neatly wrapped in those lifeless things<br />
Transparent thank goodness<br />
And you were beautiful to behold<br />
So many of you<br />
How come<br />
Born of camaraderie, appreciation, love?<br />
Tighter sealed<br />
Held closer together<br />
These creases barely showing<br />
You were special; different <br />
Chosen specially<br />
Wilting regally and prematurely<br />
Disappeared first, wasted away<br />
The deep blues wouldn’t hold you<br />
Not much longer<br />
I could see it all fallen<br />
So crestfallen I let you go<br />
Only two remain<br />
Looking apart<br />
From each other <br />
Diverging at a crossroads<br />
Love? Camaraderie? Appreciation?<br />
I cannot tell which to call you, how to mourn you<br />
You look apart<br />
You too crestfallen<br />
Soon, you shall have to go tooAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-82703840871158361882010-05-02T06:45:00.001-07:002010-05-02T06:45:33.944-07:00Sticks and StonesBreak my bones<br />
Hurt<br />
You lied<br />
<br />
What is it that makes them<br />
Different<br />
Me<br />
<br />
Fixed it<br />
Lives a life of love and meaning<br />
Drops it<br />
<br />
Breaks it<br />
No <br />
Can’t break broken bones<br />
Indeed you can<br />
Mend what’s broken<br />
Break what’s broken<br />
New tools each day<br />
Wreak the havoc<br />
<br />
Just listen<br />
PleaseAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-29700217114777165982010-05-02T06:44:00.001-07:002010-05-02T06:44:04.540-07:00Princeton<blockquote></blockquote>Tiger with a Crimson heart<br />
Nay Crimson neither novel nor art<br />
Coursing blood –ubiquitous<br />
Yet striped and healed, remarkable <br />
Us<blockquote></blockquote>Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-29533542311146439452010-05-02T06:37:00.001-07:002010-05-02T06:37:30.566-07:00Candle waxSee this bright light,<br />
Look into my eyes.<br />
burning from crude thickness.<br />
Keep breathing.<br />
And on that candelabra it rests, now tall.<br />
I, am never leaving. <br />
Thick wick residing in oil waxes,<br />
This exists in forever.<br />
Bright light.<br />
Keep looking into my eyes.<br />
You can see the love can’t you?<br />
Deep and passionate<br />
<br />
Eternal<br />
<br />
Oil wax melting,<br />
On the numberless sands staring into the ocean,<br />
Such unbounded vastness, <br />
Perfection, don’t you think?<br />
Perfection.<br />
Oozing and dripping in limbless majesty.<br />
<br />
And the energy, <br />
all of that existing from one infinity to the next<br />
no birth,<br />
no death.<br />
<br />
Even when the light is quenched, <br />
I can scarcely remember the beginning<br />
Drenched wick black.<br />
Do you see an end? <br />
Never. <br />
The candle wax remains.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-42088565835908602482010-03-18T03:04:00.000-07:002010-03-18T03:40:09.987-07:00Off a trajectoryOff a trajectory<br />
I said knowledge is a function of experience...<br />
So I know I can't know everything<br />
But I have neither defined experience nor knowledge<br />
<br />
I make statements about the way things should be<br />
Concerning the maintenance of standards and the abandonment of double standards<br />
I speak against unfairness and injustice<br />
<br />
I do not appreciate the heavy jumps<br />
Vous passer du coq á l'âne et pour moi, ca c'est complètement inacceptable<br />
<br />
Because I have never claimed to be perfect<br />
I have never claimed to know everything<br />
I make assumptions like everyone does...see this too is an assumption<br />
I make mistakes<br />
I can be wrong<br />
I am wrong some of the time<br />
I just choose to preserve my right to be right and right to be wrong<br />
This is paradoxical but not contradictory<br />
<br />
if you choose to never speak because you stutter and I don't <br />
Please don't try to hold my mouth shut<br />
<br />
Cor prudentis possedibit scientia<br />
et c'est avec la gaité du cœur que je dit<br />
je suis vraiment désolé<br />
mais je ne peut pas renoncer á ma droit d’être<br />
<br />
Trouvant et vivant la vérité<br />
c’est ma raison d’êtreAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-1336259090993631742010-02-23T06:54:00.000-08:002010-02-23T06:54:59.233-08:00"If you can explain why it is acceptable to covertly do what you understand and accept to be wrong but unacceptable to blatantly do what you believe is right, perhaps I will be as....great...as you are."Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-18199406728671314002010-02-23T05:30:00.000-08:002010-02-23T05:30:49.403-08:00VarnishI love you because you break me<br />
<br />
You pierce through<br />
<br />
Ravage<br />
<br />
Almost rape me<br />
<br />
There's a phantom...spectre<br />
<br />
Drapes....<br />
<br />
you break meAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-5337853724231621852010-02-23T05:28:00.001-08:002010-02-23T05:28:21.844-08:00"It was a destructive love; perhaps the most powerful kind."Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-59551123968513549092010-02-11T00:12:00.000-08:002010-02-11T00:17:33.730-08:00ChiralIt's a little strange, a little vague<br />
How things can almost break and almost mend themselves<br />
A little strange<br />
How we succeed ourselves<br />
Pioneers barely dominate infinitely <br />
Greece must give way to Rome <br />
Franchise, monetize....make it valuable<br />
nothing is immutable<br />
On the verge of concluding a pointlessness<br />
Staring at the face of mutability<br />
At the fading morning glory<br />
Who can claim forever?<br />
Period.<br />
A blood clot, sperm drop, speck of dust, lick of sweat<br />
As if it ever ceased.<br />
Period.<br />
Decisive beginnings ooze with the scent of transience <br />
Genesis reeks of conclusion<br />
Drips with uncertainty...<br />
<br />
<br />
Even reflections are not super-imposable<br />
Yet we speak of coresAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-32737952499810528862010-02-04T00:31:00.000-08:002010-02-04T00:32:48.522-08:00Nay, Nigh, No, NoiMy answer to the question “what are we” feels inadequate to them…to me.<br />It’s just her being<br />Her<br />We just are.<br />If we are, when we are….<br />You suck.<br />I lost control and now I’m just this girl who likes the guy who says he likes her.<br />He’s the sweet guy, the nice guy, the good guy, he’s a jerk. <br />He’s oblivious to my pain, to my hurt, to my anxiety, to my questions, to my efforts, to my changes<br />I don’t like him. That is not the feeling. <br />The urge to say I love you. That is not the feeling. <br />I’m just grounded. Afraid to let go.<br />I don’t know what made them think that but I want real too. <br />I want true too.<br />I will say I love you.<br />When it is true.<br />When you know me.<br />When I know you.<br />I will say I love you<br />When it is trueAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-6893089355364618022010-02-04T00:28:00.000-08:002010-02-04T00:30:28.180-08:00One AfricaWhat is the relationship between Pan-Africanism, development of one’s country and continent and oneself?<br /><br />As much as Pan-Africanism appears a wonderfully idealistic and abstract concept, it is meaningful. We talk about “One Africa,” and I’m sure we’re not the first set of people crying Pan-African!! But perhaps because we are innately selfish, we need to take the selflessness out of that claim. <br /><br />So no more we: I’m not asking that you care about this continent, hopefully that will come later. I’m not asking that you try to make it better, at least not directly. I’m not asking for a “Pan” or an “Inter” or whatever else connotes “we”, I’m asking that you and me, not “we” make our own paradise. Although this can be about all of us and one day it might be, I’m here asking that you think primarily about yourself. <br /><br />I want to ask you what your life is like now? Why is it that way? What is your life like now? What are you doing for yourself? What does your job and the other things you do, contribute to you as a person? What does your life now, contribute to your life tomorrow? How wealthy are you, and I don’t mean this monetarily? How wealthy are you, and I mean that how much do you have that you can give and how relevant is it? What are you worth to those around you? What are you worth to those beyond you? What are you worth to those beneath you? What are you worth to you? I must ask all of you what makes you relevant? How have you changed the world you came to meet? Who have you inspired? <br /><br />And if you are inclined to wonder what all this has to do with your selfish desires? Someday you’re going to look back and ask yourself these questions. Your answers will determine how satisfied you are at the end of it all. So in that regard, I’ll tell you now that whether you are 30, 40, 50 or 60, time hasn’t ran out yet. And by that I mean you do not have an excuse. I am looking at your generation and it is human nature to judge.<br /><br />Specifically to my peers, I’ll ask the same question, what is your life like today? Who makes it possible? Do you think that it’s going to be the same a decade from now? Or your plan is for it to be different? Well Whatever and Wherever the case let me just say that wherever you go except where you belong, you will always be the outsider, mo matter how long you remain there, no matter what your new passport says.<br /><br />This is about you and me, today and tomorrow as well. Later we might need the we, but for now you need to come back to your home and make it. Unless you are content with being a big fish in the little pond that is America, come back home and really try to swim with the sharks. You need to come back and establish yourself. You need to go back home and make sure that you own the big business not some Lebanese or Chinese family. Right now no one needs you to come and heal the world, or Africa. You are being asked to come back and fight for yourself, to make yourself, a big fish in a very huge pond. Most of us have only about 50 years of post-independence history, there’s so much room for your name. The streets have not all been named yet, you could get your name on them. There is no real big business because it has your name, not Africa or Pan-African on it. No one is asking you to come back and hold hands as we sing peace songs, we’d love to but you don’t have to. I am asking that you come back and till your own soil, stop going back to toil on the soil where your forefathers were enslaved or does the slave only know the route to his master’s house? Come and till your own soil! Come and spend your money here, come and build your empire here. We’re even more respectful of tradition, we’ll remember you longer. I want you to immortalize your name when it is still possible to do so. <br /><br />This is not about we, it’s about me and you. It’s about what makes it worth it for you. It’s about not going back to voluntarily slave where you were once forcefully enslaved. Africa may have done nothing for you and so you feel no need to do for her, but since when did any African become shy to put pepper in any one’s eye. Come back and show us why we should have supported you. Come back and show us. <br />“Do not willingly make yourself what you were made unwillingly” <br /><br />Obama may have distinguished himself as a Kenyan and Black American. But he has merely attained the highest office of service in another man’s country. He has reached the highest office of enslavement, and it is not even for his own people. I’m not criticizing him, I don’t think I have the right to. All I am saying is this:<br /><br />Let us suppose you owe Africa nothing and Africa owes you nothing. What you cannot deny is that you owe yourself a great deal. You owe your person greatness. And greatness like charity begins at home.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-24187810729405744352010-02-04T00:25:00.000-08:002010-02-04T00:27:25.445-08:00TensesIf you will love me <br />then <br />love me now<br /><br />But you will not<br />I cannot save myself<br />If I will fall <br />push me now<br />My heart betrays my mind<br /><br />I am dichotomy defined<br />I will not.<br />I will not,<br />I will…not<br />I have<br /><br />If you will leave me then hold me now<br />The pieces will come crashing hard<br />Angular and amorphous<br />Falling <br />Cutting deep<br />Injured<br /><br />Broken down<br />If you will love me<br />Love me nowAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-30006214544579792422010-02-04T00:24:00.000-08:002010-02-04T00:25:17.313-08:00UsI think I like it deep...it doesn't have to be too long but if it's brief maybe I won't catch it....concision is a gift. Longevity is pricelessly loosening the edges...I'm vague. I know. I'm a person with ruffles not layers...everything's on the surface....I think I like it deep but it never has to be complicated.<br /><br />Pain is a dust that drains light awayAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-9843780696949098112010-02-04T00:23:00.000-08:002010-02-04T00:24:04.250-08:00ComaTepid and turbid waters<br />Snaking through these veins<br />Looping round the obstacles.<br />It seeps through<br />Corroding till it leaks through<br />The orifices.<br />The weaknesses.<br />Blooms at the tip of my soul<br />Dances at the edge of the heart<br />I am on the brink of consciousness<br />At the height of brokenness…Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-67330844751283993982010-02-04T00:21:00.000-08:002010-02-04T00:22:16.203-08:00Pas...There are no devices<br />This is not a case of eloquence<br />This is an absence of essence<br />Yet I cannot hide<br />And the rhythm is haunting<br /><br />Les hyperboles me manquent<br />Il n y a pas les ironies<br />Pas de sarcasme<br />Tu me manque<br />Je suis dans une sorte de perdition<br />Je ne suis pas gentille<br />Pas jolie<br />Pas heureuse<br />Pas moi<br />Pas quelque choseAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-5044812162549581052010-02-04T00:07:00.000-08:002010-05-02T06:35:11.544-07:00QuakingA yellow midnight quaking over sulfur waters<br />
Lipid bi-layers and expired morphine<br />
Shaking into venomous vanity<br />
Eruptions into volcanic madness<br />
<br />
Rowing into strange, stranded places,<br />
Melanin, savagery, a sea of average faces.<br />
Poisoned arrows and toothless nemeses - <br />
Quaking, in a sickled, epileptic crisis.<br />
<br />
<br />
A sterile, pernicious, penetrable vortex<br />
Razing, stifling, thickening phalange.<br />
Crimea! Creole ! au Prince ! Vela<br />
Senile, spurious, validated altercations<br />
<br />
...me laisse froid, role de le roix.<br />
Wafted, rattling, juvenile, delinquent delights<br />
Alternation in the solenoid;<br />
Silver solar, Polaroid flare, plange me derange.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-84818842281096513882009-12-26T13:25:00.000-08:002009-12-26T13:27:18.644-08:00GravityGravity is working against me<br />It’s trying to bring me down<br />Hard<br />Soft<br />You<br />Lips<br /><br />Gravity is working against me<br />It’s pulling me down<br />Race<br />Beat<br />Hot<br />You<br /><br />Gravity is working against me<br />Race<br />Hot<br />Beat <br />Fast <br />Hard<br /><br />Love<br /><br />Gravity is working against me<br />I don’t even want to break free<br />Kiss<br />You<br />Gravity<br />EarthAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-83743730646793076952009-12-26T13:24:00.000-08:002009-12-26T13:25:08.743-08:00Harmattan RainLast night it did not rain. It is December. It is the Harmattan. It did not rain. It is very hot today and I cannot go out because the sand flies bite rather cruelly. My legs are itching and I am inside the hot and small parlour. I have been here for about a week.<br /><br />When I spoke to them three days ago they asked me what I thought about the weather. I said it was fine. It had not been anything out of the ordinary, nothing to ask about. In fact it was quite strange that they asked, it was like something from an English movie, or a joke an adult or socially awkward teenager tells about English folk. My friend remarked that the Nigerian national anthem was rather British sounding, maybe the similarities were far more wide-reaching than I thought. Still I ignored it; the weather was fine I said, as I rose to turn up the thermostat in my hotel room. I looked out, it was a fairly sunny day but still the Harmattan had displayed none of its colors. We talked about other things, and I decided to visit the following day. <br /><br />The weather was ridiculous! It is ridiculous now as I write. It is so hot. It was ridiculous in their house and pools of sweats swam across my pimpled forehead as I waved my hands frantically bemused that I was before the Akiyama fan. It is hot now and as sure as ogujejijeji clears the stomach the fan is on and I have stripped most of the fancy clothes I am wearing. These earrings are quite long and I am worried that the sweat may discolor them. They were a gift from a friend, quite appropriate indeed since my last pair of gold earrings were discolouring. I was not sure about the reason for the discoloration because they were barely a few months old. I liked these new earrings. I could hardly call them new, I had received another new pair, purple and silver ones that could match the many purple outfits I had acquired over the summer. I have taken the earrings off and I must admit I feel less hot than I did before. My head turns easier now, but I looked so beautiful in them. When I get back into the Camry I will put them back on and then as I stare out into the rising Lagos skyline I will look beautiful once more. <br /><br />But really this weather does not allow one do anything much. There is a banking crisis here and over two thousand people have been laid off from one institution the week before Christmas. Happy Holidays? It is the white man’s holiday but they have shared with us; they keep Santa Claus and we keep Father Christmas. Jesus Christ came to save us all. And there are dead chickens to show for it. <br />I used to know a lot about Nigeria, when I visited the cousins in the much less glamorous parts of Lagos. Maybe those too have changed with this wonderful new governor. But then I saw Lagos. I bought water at 10 naira not the 500 that sits on my lunch bill twice each day. This heat is disorienting but I suppose not more so than the daily 25000 naira fee for my meals. I am little sick of the shine nose fish. Efo rero is slightly enjoyable but ogbono soup is still my favorite it seems. The sand flies must be in a festive mood as well; they will not quit at my limbs and breasts too. I have to go to the cinema and watch a few more movies before I leave. There is all that work I ought to do so that my vacation is not a sabbatical. This unlike the pricey hotel meals I cannot afford. <br /><br />I am spending a little time in my home country. That is what we like to do, us Africans, spend the holiday with family. It looks a little as though we want to be sure we know where and how the families are doing. The ones that stay away do indeed stay away. But we are all here, most of us from last year. I do not want this to become a ritual, Christmas with efo rero is a better option than this yellow friedrice with weird peas. It is hot in here and I have missed the thermostat. <br /><br />Tomorrow I will call the ones that stayed away, there are of course no hard feelings. I think they might ask of the weather and I shall tell them that it did not rain. It is December. It is the Harmattan. It did not rain. I cannot speak of today then because I will be back in my hotel room, reaching for frosted cereal and 500 naira bottled water. One of the Harmattan colors is showing, there is a dearth of the ajepaki… at least on my side of the island.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-22054978239049337962009-12-06T07:36:00.000-08:002009-12-06T07:37:16.985-08:00Versions of a Prototype“You my audience are pulling for me<br />want me to pull off this next sleight"<br /><br />But I am beholden to you<br />If this meant anything it would not be this<br /><br />"This talk is called patter"<br /><br />This heart is.....<br />….sabbatical<br />Meaningless...<br />Forever<br /><br />"Your undoing blooms like cancer"<br /><br />Eroding at the core <br />Tugging at the seeds and razing the roots<br />Déraciné<br /><br />"The axe forgets but the tree remembers"<br /><br />And I still call out...<br />A mind forgets to tame the wanderer<br />It is not the same<br /><br />"You my audience are pulling for me"<br /><br />I however am falling for you<br />And ivory breaks foreverAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-26591615646621263482009-09-10T02:47:00.000-07:002009-09-11T01:11:45.099-07:00SundownI am nothing but with you<br />We are together everything<br />And as I lay in your arms watching the tides and waves roll by<br />I am nothing but with you<br /><br />Where would I need to be?<br />If not looking to you <br />Because in those still ochre eyes there is depth beyond this life<br />Where would I need to be?<br /><br />I am lost and found <br />We are this, and "we" is all<br />I cannot feel the need to fall, you hold me up beyond the flaws<br />I am lost and found<br /><br />I am nothing but with you<br />And everything that we are is beautiful<br />You are my self-effacing yet dominating hero<br />I am nothing….yet with you<br />I am all and for you<br />I am nothing but with you<br />And "we" will weather the storms of time<br />As you ferry me across the horizon<br />Into new love where passions keep rising<br /><br />I am lost and found<br />The all that is none<br />That I am is your doing<br />If not looking to you<br /><br />I am but with you.<br /> <br /><strong></strong>Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-83268907078055655682009-08-31T04:15:00.001-07:002009-08-31T04:15:56.604-07:00Guerilla TapestryI read this a long time ago and I thought it was pretty interesting...<br /><br />bir patrick jones şiiri. <br />şöyle ki:<br />we are not deceived by your words <br />we see through your promises <br />we sanctify your lies <br />we are the disaffected <br />the isolated wounds of subtle napalm; <br />shopping doesn't make us happy <br />commercials cull our sensitivity <br />freedom is nothing without responsibility <br />and in the rain drenched tarpaulins of market traders <br />lies the epitomy of belief <br />clinging to our pennies on entrance on exit <br />memory or dream <br />this hole in my throat this gap in the ink <br />this place without meaning <br />this stuttering eloquence of screaming; <br />save, save us all <br />allow desolations <br />find a path, be unafraid to act hold life <br />stand stand oak tall <br />even the smallest body makes a shadow - <br />in the hanging out the wash <br />in the protest of discipline <br />tiny hands scraping solitudes clinging to moments creating <br />miracles from everyday routines <br />in the dignity of ironing <br />the anxiety of mortgages <br />the the <br />sentence of being but still still still the being <br />we are butterflies trapped in the frost <br />victory is acknowledging the fact that we, we have not yet lost. <br />so carress me with your alienation <br />alienate me with your carress create me with your credit <br />pour me power through direct debit <br />feed me freedom from selling shares <br />and paint me a symbol and tell me i'm free; <br />we are <br />we are the guerilla tapestry <br />in the silence of insurance payments <br />council tax benefits <br />industrial tribunals <br />the penny pinchers the super savers <br />the lottery watchers <br />we are <br />the incoherent throats searching for sound <br />the peaceful protestor <br />the single mother <br />the social worker at the homeless shelter <br />we are the happy shoppers <br />the credit cravers <br />the sales offers <br />the poundstretchers <br />the breaking fabric of modernity <br />stitched only by our solitude <br />we are the temporary fragments of a capitalist master plan; <br />unemployment statistics <br />family credit beggars <br />no collar coolies <br />part time slaves <br />sucking severances <br />praying for meaning <br />not this lipless screaming <br />and in these motives that purify in these acts that dignify <br />in this tiny gesture of defiance <br />is an articulation of a void <br />a vision versed in lament <br />this hate this hate <br />is born from love; <br />we are the undying <br />the breath of chlorophyll over the concrete <br />the soul against the gold <br />we are loneliness burned iron fists fuelled by injustice <br />we are the denied <br />yet unified <br />we are the tapestry, the crackling cracks of modernity <br />dislocated desperations stitched together <br />by the disparate verses of our skin; <br />i write therefore we exist <br />we exist therefore i write <br />and from this page this scream <br />this no <br />from the supermarket to the dole <br />from the youth centre to the old peoples' home <br />is the sound the silence <br />of the sound of the alone <br />to the alone <br />the sound of the ability to resist; <br />and in this ink there is the blood of a thousand miners <br />and in this ink the eyes of 500 doctors <br />the struggle of my father <br />the sensitivity of my mother <br />and the hand of my baby; <br />and in this prison cell there is a skied sunlight <br />and in these words the power they tried to deny us, <br />the stab of a killer <br />the tourniquet of a nurse <br />and in this ink is <br />one <br />is many <br />is you and i <br />and in this voice <br />the milk of a mother <br />against against against <br />their chains to smother <br />mother to man to woman to child <br />the guerrilla tapestry <br />spread nationwide; <br />and in the division <br />there is a unity <br />and in this incision <br />there is a sanctity <br />and in this pale silent page <br />blisters a cacophony enraged <br />with the burn of generations following the bullet of emancipation <br />we are we are the threads <br />we are we are the severances <br />we are we are the stitches <br />we are we are a no in search of a yes <br />we are we are the breaking <br />we are we are the making <br />the blind beginning to see <br />we are we are we are the guerilla tapestry.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-23192475637460782482009-08-31T04:13:00.001-07:002009-08-31T04:13:33.307-07:00…and VoicesOk, so really, I know we have a habit of expecting everybody to care enough to hear what we think about ourselves and others but honestly.<br /><br />The thing is if you really don’t what something repeated, do not say it. But if you really can’t keep your mouth shut, like most of us anyway, then say it to only those few people that matter or that will be decent enough to keep your shared thought private.<br /><br />The concept of a secret and personal and private thoughts seem to have lost all meaning in this ‘utopia’ of a factory. Really.<br /><br />I’m just saying, but maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for some of us to stop expecting that people will shut up about our secrets when we couldn’t.<br /><br />What gets me the most however, is this constant need to know about other people and pry into the details of their lives. I mean really, get a life. I can imagine that there are tons of you reading this and thinking that you do have a life, you’re just excessively curious about other people’s lives because your life is so fulfilling and exciting and since you have so little time to do anything else but have a great life you’d like to find out about others’ lives just in case.<br /><br />With all my love,<br />SWRCENTHAoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836195639504824232.post-88239447699601126362009-08-31T04:12:00.000-07:002009-08-31T04:13:04.095-07:00Hearts….“What about my heart? What about how I feel? <br />“What about it?”<br />Life hurts sometimes. It makes you want to tear your insides out or crawl into a corner. You want to find respite. You want your friends to be there for you when you need them. You want to know that people that you care about care about you too.<br /><br />If you’re all alone. You’re all alone. <br /><br />Or maybe your friends are there for you when you need them. Maybe you’re not all by yourself. Some of us are lucky; we don’t always have to help ourselves. Some of us are even luckier; we’ve convinced ourselves we don’t need any help. But some of us, well we’re just down right lonely and aware of it.<br /><br />I don’t know where you find yourself. Some of us are looking to find ourselves, whatever that means.<br /><br />So in case you are not sure please remember that when you are really down and feel like you need a hand, there are two attached to your shoulders.<br /><br />With all my love,<br />SWRCENTH<br /><br /><br />Ps: SWRCENTH: Someone who really cares enough not to help.Aoise Minjibahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05946776610590296923noreply@blogger.com0