May 18, 2010
Wealth.
You know that stuff that dress some and starve the rest? Clothe his desire, enhance her breasts? Shape my story but take my breath? Green stuff. that breeds greedy to necessity, personality to annuity, impulse to impurity? That stuff.
Wealth.
It's a "welcome home! From Egypt or that place you were far away without freedom, clean water, bikinis, margaritas and well... money. Im so glad you are back, I bet it feels great"
Actually no. it doesn't. I don't want to roll up to 10,000 dollar remodels, gardeners cutting grass alongside their potential, security guards patrolling the gated compound of a life sized doll house duplicated in a space picture perfect for the camera, gate code in hand, smiling kids in the van, hot daughters walking pretty dogs, oh wait that's a mom, wearing her daughters clothes and her husband tom's..wealth.
You know that stuff that dress some and starve the rest? Clothe his desire, enhance her breasts? Shape my story but take my breath? Green stuff. That breeds greedy to necessity, personality to annuity, impulse to impurity? That stuff.
The weapon in the war, power over poor, wind that shuts the door, blood that paints gore, a reward for the whore, rapper alike driven by bling caught up in the sing-song of a life that waits on nothing but price. Forget who you are, what that means, where he is. Stop searching for "you" trapped in superficial stealth, screw him. Take the wealth.
It's a "welcome home! From Egypt, or that place you were far away without freedom, clean water, bikinis, margaritas, and well.. money. Im so glad youre back, I bet it feels great"
Wealth.
You know the stuff that brings tears with my ice water, criticism to my lips, and pain to my stomach (actually that could be from the parasite) Wealth is the green stuff that keeps me up at night.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010
On an axis of pain, gain and attempts to sustain a sphere of life spins into cultural change, dynamic disarrange and exotic exchange.
The reality of real never ceases to appease the doctor and diseased, children and deceased, famine and the feast. A land of real, a land to feel, a land all wish to hold and steal. Its taste will leave you longing, its teeth will leave you bleeding for the day of return or a sun that never burns, ashes without urns, desire with yearn, truth without the learn.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
On a road to the truth we stop for nothing but maps, some say theyre traps, disillusioned raps for the weak to hold while the steady stand bold but we know theres more to what lies in store and what to live for, without saying no to the friend or the foe for what could be and should, would be and will, if we just look up and say there is truth in your way, so i see you for you, not the garment you chose or the wealth you abuse, but the heart you hold dear between fingers of fear and pain driven tears- Just. Like. Mine.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
On an axis of pain, gain and attempts to sustain a sphere of life spins into cultural change, dynamic disarrange and exotic exchange.
The reality of real never ceases to appease the doctor and diseased, children and deceased, famine and the feast. A land of real, a land to feel, a land all wish to hold and steal. Its taste will leave you longing, its teeth will leave you bleeding for the day of return or a sun that never burns, ashes without urns, desire with yearn, truth without the learn.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
On a road to the truth we stop for nothing but maps, some say theyre traps, disillusioned raps for the weak to hold while the steady stand bold but we know theres more to what lies in store and what to live for, without saying no to the friend or the foe for what could be and should, would be and will, if we just look up and say there is truth in your way, so i see you for you, not the garment you chose or the wealth you abuse, but the heart you hold dear between fingers of fear and pain driven tears- Just. Like. Mine.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
May 3, 2010
I have been dropped into a false reality, or so my senses conclude. There is nothing but cleanliness and seclusion, technology and illusion. Pretty people adorned with pretty things living in a pretty place without any sort of contrasting dimensional space. How do I reason with this culture I am told to embrace for its familiarity when I find it difficult to even open my eyes? I can't get myself to open my closet and really see what fills the shelves. I am wearing only clothes out of my suitcase all of which fulfill the modesty standards of the Middle East-definitely not that of sunny California. I can't get myself to listen to conversations of petty pleasures followed by offensive language and enthusiastic comments for immoral behavior on television, all of which i never thought twice about 6 months ago. Where is the community? Where are the men sitting in ahwas talking day in and day out about life and its nature? Where are the women gathered together in the home behind walls of social norms who smile and dance to the beats of Arabia without a veil to stop them? Where is the call to prayer? And the presence of God before everything? I cant seem to hear it from my bedroom anymore. Perhaps the microphone is broken, the Imam is whispering or I am sleeping too soundly in the consciousness of a culture I am supposed to know but cant seem to remember anything about.
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