something new is surging through me
while it was nice to be a part of so many pretty things for so long, i am glad to be done with it. (moreover, i have realized that while most pretty things are as imperfect and sad as the rest of us, pretty things do not compliment messy things and vice versa.)
...and that's all that really needs to be said about that.
the facts:
heroes & heretics (my English seminar)
south asian lit.
contemp. art & architecture
survey II - Renaissance to the present
orientation stuff is coming up.
Terryl Givens said "I need you to do Honors English." --that man is extremely persuasive.
i need to sign up for an LSAT review course.
my Nano has changed my life.
and now i opine:
this may be the most intellectually stimulating semester of my college career
this may be the most invigorating semester of my college career
i may be making decisions i'll regret at some point down the road
i may be making decisions that will profoundly affect the rest of my life
the memories of today and tomorrow may soon supplant those high held histories of my former days
the memories i make with my love may be the best i have ever made
...and now, i will share some poetry:
A poem i wrote while procrastinating:
-cough medicine & levitation-
today i jump from the moon.
it is cold and beautiful here, but the tragedy of my blood runs deep.
i am done with this moon landing.
i miss the earth.
i want to dream, eyes open, over earthly oceans-
i want to ride moonbeams,
i want to touchdown, hands high in the air, relinquishing despair.
today i jump from the moon.
A poem i wrote for my course on contemp. art & architecture:
-maintaining marginality-
a choice, the question of perspective - the opportunities afforded by oppression.
yet there is never a clear way, for some say, challenge the margin - the center must be yours! but the center is simultaneous, for bell hooks, she is centered and
marginalized (through memory). no regrets, the answer is inherent, but hard sought -
resistance, struggling with words, determined to communicate, it is necessary to appropriate-and that is a dream, true to transformation, words that reference otherness - but the implication is wholeness! the margin is maintained, as a state of mind, as memories that will not be abandoned, as the encapsulation of a multiplicitous identity, and a history of pain that is decorated by discovery, delivered in anecdotes, the triumph of resisting, the power of voice against Silence. the task may be that of “Black female artist,” but this task speaks no truth. the task is intellectual. the task is artistic - the task is woman’s just as the task is man’s - the words employed, the underscored assumptions - the call is for reexamination and recontextualization -transformation as deliverance, and the memory of pain as opportunity - the task is multiplicitous -the question is perspective. maintaining the margins, the opportunities afforded by oppression.
A poem i wrote for Ariel during the past month:
-easel dreams-
sad and happy - simultaneous simplicity, the implicit felicity of our warmth, the tingly
touch of our tortured souls. i share with her, the mess of a girl in whom i am reflected,
the inches of me which were formerly buried - now alive i ride on waves, crimson washed in blue. we capture the world, enveloped in smoke as we make miracles in melody,
exploring with care the scars on our hearts, skins that have known death. and i am deeply troubled by the way city lights turn to ecstasy, turn to gentle comfort, turn to days tormented by sleep: i become ravenous and hungry, barely human as i dance along the precipice - We are like gods! when our bodies entwine and we imbibe the delicious wine,
i too dream in watercolour, wishing we were painters at sunrise, decorating the sky. though i begin to miss her words, i never doubt she is a dreamer neatly disguised (as am i).
together we might see sunlight abandoned and moonlight embraced, in her i could discover
the distant trust unconditional, a quality fashioned in desire, no answers applied.
unforgiving, i draw words from hats for her, magically manifesting what can no longer be denied - and with a beat like rain, we make love to the dawn and we dream away the day.
A poem/song by R.E.M.:
"Nightswimming"
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still, it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water
They cannot see me naked
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday
Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming
You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
Nightswimming
The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
and that, in a nutshell, reflects my life at present.
-josh
...and that's all that really needs to be said about that.
the facts:
heroes & heretics (my English seminar)
south asian lit.
contemp. art & architecture
survey II - Renaissance to the present
orientation stuff is coming up.
Terryl Givens said "I need you to do Honors English." --that man is extremely persuasive.
i need to sign up for an LSAT review course.
my Nano has changed my life.
and now i opine:
this may be the most intellectually stimulating semester of my college career
this may be the most invigorating semester of my college career
i may be making decisions i'll regret at some point down the road
i may be making decisions that will profoundly affect the rest of my life
the memories of today and tomorrow may soon supplant those high held histories of my former days
the memories i make with my love may be the best i have ever made
...and now, i will share some poetry:
A poem i wrote while procrastinating:
-cough medicine & levitation-
today i jump from the moon.
it is cold and beautiful here, but the tragedy of my blood runs deep.
i am done with this moon landing.
i miss the earth.
i want to dream, eyes open, over earthly oceans-
i want to ride moonbeams,
i want to touchdown, hands high in the air, relinquishing despair.
today i jump from the moon.
A poem i wrote for my course on contemp. art & architecture:
-maintaining marginality-
a choice, the question of perspective - the opportunities afforded by oppression.
yet there is never a clear way, for some say, challenge the margin - the center must be yours! but the center is simultaneous, for bell hooks, she is centered and
marginalized (through memory). no regrets, the answer is inherent, but hard sought -
resistance, struggling with words, determined to communicate, it is necessary to appropriate-and that is a dream, true to transformation, words that reference otherness - but the implication is wholeness! the margin is maintained, as a state of mind, as memories that will not be abandoned, as the encapsulation of a multiplicitous identity, and a history of pain that is decorated by discovery, delivered in anecdotes, the triumph of resisting, the power of voice against Silence. the task may be that of “Black female artist,” but this task speaks no truth. the task is intellectual. the task is artistic - the task is woman’s just as the task is man’s - the words employed, the underscored assumptions - the call is for reexamination and recontextualization -transformation as deliverance, and the memory of pain as opportunity - the task is multiplicitous -the question is perspective. maintaining the margins, the opportunities afforded by oppression.
A poem i wrote for Ariel during the past month:
-easel dreams-
sad and happy - simultaneous simplicity, the implicit felicity of our warmth, the tingly
touch of our tortured souls. i share with her, the mess of a girl in whom i am reflected,
the inches of me which were formerly buried - now alive i ride on waves, crimson washed in blue. we capture the world, enveloped in smoke as we make miracles in melody,
exploring with care the scars on our hearts, skins that have known death. and i am deeply troubled by the way city lights turn to ecstasy, turn to gentle comfort, turn to days tormented by sleep: i become ravenous and hungry, barely human as i dance along the precipice - We are like gods! when our bodies entwine and we imbibe the delicious wine,
i too dream in watercolour, wishing we were painters at sunrise, decorating the sky. though i begin to miss her words, i never doubt she is a dreamer neatly disguised (as am i).
together we might see sunlight abandoned and moonlight embraced, in her i could discover
the distant trust unconditional, a quality fashioned in desire, no answers applied.
unforgiving, i draw words from hats for her, magically manifesting what can no longer be denied - and with a beat like rain, we make love to the dawn and we dream away the day.
A poem/song by R.E.M.:
"Nightswimming"
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still, it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water
They cannot see me naked
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday
Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming
You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
Nightswimming
The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
and that, in a nutshell, reflects my life at present.
-josh