Everyone has stories to tell of their journeys across this warring and wondrous lifetime. These tales, pulsing with melodic and sorrowful rhythms, reveal doldrums and daydreams, passions and disasters. No two sagas are the same, yet each one shares a driving heartbeat, always moving towards a place called home. Those fortunate enough to arrive, speak your stories brightly to guide the lost through the night. Voice them loudly and clearly, so it never sounds like you’re talking through a mouthful of ghosts.
hesitant president / turgid urgency / fractured manufactured / national emergency / double bubble / double trouble / treasony obesity / pop goes the weasely easily / resistance / persistence / deconstruction / reconstruction / do the hustle / flex your muscles / bees knees / say cheese / no to nooses / yes to truces / stay mum or grow mums / just don’t be numb / get juiced / seek truth / rise and shine / if 6 were 9 / renovate / innovate / mediocrity as electricity / no new light on life
Some have wings made of money. Others have black cats & broken mirrors in their blood. Some have manholes for mouths. Others speak in syllables of spark & serenity. Some have nests of brightly burning light bulbs behind their eyes. Others are strangers in the countries of their own skin. But all of us share in this joy, this struggle, this sorrow, this life, together.
We are born from a history of enslaved middle passages and barbarian death camps. A history of wars where bodies have been strewn across battlefields like wilted flowers left at graves of unrest. A history of racism and hollow patriotism; the red, white, and blue reduced to the bled, frightened, and bruised. Born from a history of planet rapists and the denial of reason. Disease, denigration, corruption, and treason. Born of all this and still, we continue to rise, to fight for life. To make manifest the intentions of the honorable and peaceful who’ve come before us. They live on through our voices and actions. May we write a kinder history for future generations.
During the plague of invisibility, one’s life must not remain unwritten. Never silenced by the hulking beast that is self-doubt. Never to become a victim to one’s own dark thoughts; self-worth crumpled up like trash, left clinging to the gutter like a dirty lover. During the plague of invisibility, one must find a voice for their unfinished inner works, pen them back to a monumental life. Never to become the noose around one’s own neck. Every breath a prayer, not a punishment.
Born from earth’s fiery center, rebels hearts bursting forth, slaying destruction’s guns. Gypsy hearts roaming the land, making a home wherever the wild feels most welcoming. Open hearts like bells, ringing and singing, intertwining with melodies of the divine. Alchemist hearts transforming stone-souled laws into personal freedoms. Defiant and dream-abiding hearts beatboxing rhythms in four-score-and-heaven-years-to-go time. Raucous and revolutionary hearts protesting peacefully in the loud and open light of love.
If you take the corner too fast, you’ll wind up in the coroner’s office. If you’re wondering whether you’ll weather the weather, don’t go out with a salmonella umbrella. If you choose a deadbeat for your upbeat, you’ll end up with a maudlin melody. If you elope with a nope, you’ll have a repugnant honeymoon. If you give a microphone to silence, you’ll get a loud nothing in return. If you can’t tell yourself from a hole in the ground, it’s time to dig a new reality.
Hate’s coming-of-age story is one that’s been told and retold through the ages—from the Roman Empire to the Holocaust. From the KKK to Bosnia. From James Earl Ray to Donald Trump. Ain’t no happily-ever-after when violence is the story’s narrator. Bombs, bullets, and lynchings ain’t so much a deus ex machina as a cruel devil in the details. This current avalanche of rampant denial and denigration leaves us all in suspended animation between enchained ignorance and those pursuing freedom through knowledge and imagination. Border walls ain’t all they’re cracked up to be if the enemy’s already inside.
You’re a jukebox that inspires my karaoke. You’re a gasoline that inspires my heart machine. You’re a pretty picture that inspires my wanted poster. You’re a home sweet home that inspires my battered microphone. You’re an epiphany that inspires my dim lightbulb. You’re a sonata that inspires my medulla oblongata. You’re a xanadu that inspires my don’t know what to do. You’re a pretty muse that inspires my sweet yoo-hoo.
raindrops like tiny questions, questions accumulating into rivers, rivers flowing into oceans, oceans evaporating into clouds, clouds hovering above us like answers to everything.