Mister Mojgani, I don’t believe you speak poetry at all. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t! It is your hair that does it. That beard of yours. It knows not of daily trimmings and so speaks of daily trimmings. Courage found away from the knife. It knows much of daily trimmings. It knows the hard caress of soft fists made in thought, and so speaks said fists. All you’ve done is closed your mouth and let your hair fight. See! It flees the tyranny of your head, the wastelands of thought. See! It collects at your chin, near the heart; I’ve seen farmers pick land. I’ve seen refugees pick arms. I’ve seen them learn a new language. That beard knows how to shout. How to demand, food. Its slow descent towards your chest speaks of desire, labour, of almost there. Like the hand that shifts through the day’s wages and comes up short. I wonder, have you actually ever opened your mouth? How do you eat?
Archive for 2013
busy hands don’t hold razors, busy hands don’t hold razors, busy hands don’t
sometimes i get this urge to just sit down and write this screenplay about this melancholy filled boy who sits in a room with umpteen inspirational posters that read busy hands dont hold razors in umpteen different ways that were put up by his own hands that he looks at every day to remind himself that the knives he holds to remind himself hes alive might not be the answer but every once in a while i remember that this whole thing is bullshit and i take mightier swords to posters till they read scared hands don’t hold razors and the last thing he told himself hed be is scared and he wishes someone would just tell himself in a not inspi but rational manner thatd convince why he has to be happy why he absolutely has to be alive without alluding to all the overscreenplayed things hed miss like the miss kiss bliss because he abhors the dull routines of existence but do he does and then i remember bullshit like this doesnt sell but the boys in the room wondering if hes the only one with these posters these cold grey sharp truths these bullshit thoughts about this bullshit place cognizant of it all but most times i keep myself busy
Why It’s Important To Protect The Innocence Of Children
It’s important to protect the innocence of children because when children lose their innocence too young it does more harm than good.
Try to imagine yourself as a newborn being raised by good parents. Right now, and for a couple of months, you’re in a crib, it means the world the you, it is the world to you; it’s wonderful and roomy (and so many toys!). One day, after you’ve seriously explored that loveable crib of yours, you notice life beyond the crib, and you try your hardest to leave the crib which now looks small and confined. Your parents (thinking to themselves, “it’s time”) let you out of the crib, only after making sure that nothing around you can hurt you; they get you a bed with guard rails close to the floor, they babyproof the entire house (if they haven’t already done so), and they make sure one of them always knows where you are. You don’t really notice all of this though, because you’re now completely busy with exploring this humongous world called home; you’re crawling everywhere, exploring every nook and cranny you can reach, and you bump into things now and again that hurt but nothing too major.
Pretty soon you’re standing on your own two feet, walking, and your parents start to slowly un-babyproof the house. One day you look out of a house window and notice the yard, and you make up your mind that you have to play there, the house is too small. Your parents, seeing you’re ready for it, let you play in the yard, as long as the fence gate is closed and locked. A couple moments later (days, months, or years), the yard starts boring you and you tell your mom and dad that you want to play with the other kids, beyond the fence and gate. So your parents take you to the park and watch you as you play, and eventually they start trusting you enough to play on your own.
And things develop as so indefinitely; as your parents see and trust that you can handle more and more of the world, they open more and more of the world to you.
The crib, house, and yard mark your intellectual grasp of the world. Continue Reading →
about norma jeane (whom i wrongly judged), mostly about my m.ysterious m.adam
john waters was rightly quoted as saying we need to make books cool again
if you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ’em! Continue Reading →
aquaphobia
i can sit and stare
at the ocean all day. do
n’t ask me to swim!
fuck you
fuck you! fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. right now someone’s blasting mozart’s adagio and fugue. it’s three a.m., in the projects, it’s hailing, and i’m outside half-dressed listening to it. i’m probably, definitely, gonna be sick tomorrow, but you know what – fuck it! fuck you, fuck me, fuck all of us, and our hopelessness. this moment is beautiful.