The Bomb was fat and disappointing—a bomb like other bombs, only more of what it was. It was sequence, geometry, like paper creased into a plane or a child’s fortune teller. Cootie catchers. That’s what they had called them in school, doom-saying from their sticky desks.
Excerpt from: It Looked Like What You Needed and Then It Needled You
Sousveillance Pageant has one older brother who is in lock-up and one ex-lover who is there. Within any single given year, the Pageant also has anywhere in the whereabouts of three to four companions who rotate in and out of an assortment of state-enforced and gated walls.
Last minute order comes in and you rip the ticket, hold it an inch before your face. Squint one eye. You’re near-sighted. Myopic. Also, pre-diabetic, wet-brained, irritably bowelled. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
I used art but mostly Photoshop, to save my life to help me express my pain to the world and heal scars in my soul that was making me weak. I started to see how art can help me through my PTSD, social anxiety, depression and how it can help to heal others that feel the same way.
essay - Free Jazz: Where Jazz Meets Poetry, Outside the Poem
What if we came around to thinking about free-form jazz the way we think about a poem? Poems are not puzzles or codes; they are a human voice speaking through intelligence into language. Likewise, jazz, paraphrasing Duke Ellington, is about choosing to be joyful in spite of conditions.
essay - The Dharma and the Pen: On Meditation and Poetry
Though “inspiration” and “spirituality” share a root word—spirare (Latin: to breathe)—the connection of poetry to meditation practice is not simply an etymological one. We might never know if John Keats was a meditator, but his conception of negative capability is a Western analogue
Pianoworks is Eluvium’s first solo piano album since his sophomore album, An Accidental Memory In The Case Of Death (2004). Inspired by the quiet thoughts and solitary observations of children – and the evolution/dissolution of that ephemeral, uncorrupted wonder of simple joy....
Victory Laps, the follow-up to 2014’s dark concept record, The Astronaut, is a dense, song-focused record that maintains Wax Fang’s standard theatrical feel, while leaning into some experimental, electronic-type production ideas.
on tuesday i wake up early and draw the four of coins. i'm uncertain and unconvinced—i couldn't be enough. grasp at someone else's thoughts or art to express my deepest; want to show up but not as myself, you know. having a handful, taking a few. i'm not alone, i'm not lonely but still i fear it.
An angry Christ enters limbo with a cross held over his head like a spear. He’s pushing open the door and appears to be crushing three demons made of burnished silver, one with bloody hands, crying out from its bird-like head.
about the differences between having cancer and being black in america and she told me that cancer is black, dark, dismal and causes depression, blackness in the brain, in the cells, it metastasizes and the people in their angelic lab coats
A people’s way of fighting reflects a people’s way of thinking, and the lessons of fighting are very apt, in a kind of dialectical progression, to modify and refine the thinking. …[T]he pragmatic bias of American philosophy is not without significant relation to the encounter between the Monitor and the Merrimac, the Confederate submarine, the earthworks of Petersburg or Atlanta, the observation balloon
Every kind of hiding now. You cannot say “the war.” The dead are loud mouths. Looking forward to a copy of my copy. Care to hum a few bars? “Don’t you forget about me” or “All about Eve.” Home is a staging ground. Render unto gender what is gender’s, render unto race what belongs to race. What if I preferred a skinless cat? Disequilibrium of the punctum. News vacillates, unable to choose. The white van circles