capitalism makes my insides turn, like leeches sucking my life blood, like snakes crawling under skin, like burning at the stake. I don't care if I'm intense, so is the suffering of people under this soul sucking system. I must fight to muster enough inner love to help drown this system in human potential.
We are seen as pawns in an insidious chess game. Where are pawns banished when expelled from the kingdom? death? exile? Life should not be a game, it must let the light leak from your chest until it finally bursts into eternal rays, burning shadows of wisdom and love into brick walls. I am searching for my inner light. Sometimes I feel it peering through cracks in my weathered skin. frightened, dim, but none the less, it exists.
I long for that ferocious, blinding light storm to tear my chest open like the eye of a hurricane.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
distance
As my back stretches to the sky in a rolling wave of feathered spears, I wonder how many people I hit with my wings when they try to get close to me.
I live in a glass case and everyone looks at me. I am doll-like, statuesque, you look pretty when you scowl. Everyone looks at me. LOOK AT ME.
don't talk to me.
TALK TO ME!!!!
don't look at me.
I have never seen a wall like this before, one with cracked cement and swirling paint covered in chainlinks that seem to slither like snakes.
don't talk to me.
I have never seen a wall like this before, one with sound-bites that change frequency with the wind. Requires a password to get in. I remember it sometimes. It's really long and changes with the wind. I should tattoo it on my skin?
talk to me?
don't talk to me.
I live in a glass case and everyone looks at me. I am doll-like, statuesque, you look pretty when you scowl. Everyone looks at me. LOOK AT ME.
don't talk to me.
TALK TO ME!!!!
don't look at me.
I have never seen a wall like this before, one with cracked cement and swirling paint covered in chainlinks that seem to slither like snakes.
don't talk to me.
I have never seen a wall like this before, one with sound-bites that change frequency with the wind. Requires a password to get in. I remember it sometimes. It's really long and changes with the wind. I should tattoo it on my skin?
talk to me?
don't talk to me.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
middle class stalemate
What place do my sequined leggings have in the revolution?
Will I roll in on my bicycle with sparkling gun screaming "don't I look sexy?!"
I think about the food in my overfed belly, the money in my pocket, look in the mirror at my beautiful pale face and ask "how much do you REALLY hate capitalism? It's working for you"
It is insidious that this system works for some people. I can complain all I want about how it is fucking me but in the end, my life is sugar and roses baby.
But the roses prick my fair skin and the sugar gives me diabetes. I watch people get stomped on, get sick, get exploited, get heartbroken, get chewed up, spit out,
DIE,
on my computer that I bought with my middle class money in my easy chair made by a third world child in my heated home in my middle class neighborhood.
WHY
am I here?
There is a fine line between white/class guilt and consciousness. So fine that it blends into my skin sometimes and I lose it in my mess of freckles and scars and sometimes it gets caught in the seems of my thrift store jeans. And I realize that asking
what did I do to deserve this?
is actually a narcissistic question. I don't deserve shit. That's the nature of privilege.
I'm tired. More on this tomorrow.
Will I roll in on my bicycle with sparkling gun screaming "don't I look sexy?!"
I think about the food in my overfed belly, the money in my pocket, look in the mirror at my beautiful pale face and ask "how much do you REALLY hate capitalism? It's working for you"
It is insidious that this system works for some people. I can complain all I want about how it is fucking me but in the end, my life is sugar and roses baby.
But the roses prick my fair skin and the sugar gives me diabetes. I watch people get stomped on, get sick, get exploited, get heartbroken, get chewed up, spit out,
DIE,
on my computer that I bought with my middle class money in my easy chair made by a third world child in my heated home in my middle class neighborhood.
WHY
am I here?
There is a fine line between white/class guilt and consciousness. So fine that it blends into my skin sometimes and I lose it in my mess of freckles and scars and sometimes it gets caught in the seems of my thrift store jeans. And I realize that asking
what did I do to deserve this?
is actually a narcissistic question. I don't deserve shit. That's the nature of privilege.
I'm tired. More on this tomorrow.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
on insecurity
Insecurity is a sickness.
Sometimes it flares up like an infection and claims my whole self; I feel septic to the core. And my core is molten like the Earth's and sometimes I wonder if she doubts herself too. Does she ever feel like she may be spinning in vain? She has been disrespected and exploited for years, it has to have an effect on her self esteem. It seems that people have stopped listening, so she stopped talking. Bottled insecurity can bring rage. I hope my wrath won't get as bad as, you know, destroying all of humanity with hurricanes and starvation.
My feet hover above her skin like a shadow, cut off at the ankle. My body is in the sky, somewhere. My head is in the rainclouds. I want nothing more than to be with my mother on the ground. The rain falls.
tears from compassionate clouds.
She looks up at me and makes an earth quake that says "I know how you feel, this is me getting frustrated. What are you going to do?"
I don't know. Maybe blog about it.
I must make earthquakes with my words or I'll perish with no consequence. I must string them together into a chainlink fence across my heart to keep monsters out and self love in.
I silence myself daily. I tear my chest open, show you the mess and ask you "what do you think of this?". I wonder if my scars shed light on your experience.
When does pain turn into power?
One day I will open my mouth, let all the fire out, and watch triumphantly as everything burns.
Sometimes it flares up like an infection and claims my whole self; I feel septic to the core. And my core is molten like the Earth's and sometimes I wonder if she doubts herself too. Does she ever feel like she may be spinning in vain? She has been disrespected and exploited for years, it has to have an effect on her self esteem. It seems that people have stopped listening, so she stopped talking. Bottled insecurity can bring rage. I hope my wrath won't get as bad as, you know, destroying all of humanity with hurricanes and starvation.
My feet hover above her skin like a shadow, cut off at the ankle. My body is in the sky, somewhere. My head is in the rainclouds. I want nothing more than to be with my mother on the ground. The rain falls.
tears from compassionate clouds.
She looks up at me and makes an earth quake that says "I know how you feel, this is me getting frustrated. What are you going to do?"
I don't know. Maybe blog about it.
I must make earthquakes with my words or I'll perish with no consequence. I must string them together into a chainlink fence across my heart to keep monsters out and self love in.
I silence myself daily. I tear my chest open, show you the mess and ask you "what do you think of this?". I wonder if my scars shed light on your experience.
When does pain turn into power?
One day I will open my mouth, let all the fire out, and watch triumphantly as everything burns.
Friday, January 1, 2010
political musings
Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than being confused. It angers me. I have the insatiable desire to know, be known, to be known to know. Yet, however agonizing my confusion may become, I often admonish it by ignoring it, distracting myself, or pretending like I know. People tell me I know more than I give myself credit for.
I don't know shit.
My beloved comrade 1997 once told me that the more you learn, the less you know. The more the world floods beyond my eyelids, into my brain, and out my mouth, I realize that I need to grow much larger to keep it all inside. I need to grow even larger still if I want to have the muscle to reorganize the world inside my own mind and spit it out again.
We are all so small. We need each other to become big.
I see capitalism for what it is: an insatiable blood thirsty monster sucking the spirit from humanity.
The capitalist's pockets are full but his heart is empty, a cold-hard, calculating shell; an extension of his power hungry, greedy, manipulative brain. The capitalist sees people according to their monetary value.
How much can I exploit you? How much of your labor power can I keep in my pocket?
Can I bottle your tears and sell them?
Capitalism removes the laborer from the labor because the laborer has no personal investment in the work. The 16 year old at Walmart did not make any of the products with her hands, they were made in a factory in China. She does not care about the products, she needs the wage. No matter how hard she works, she makes the same low wage, and her labor power is exploited to make the same people rich. SHE IN NO WAY BENEFITS FROM THIS EXCHANGE. She is exploited for her age, her class, her race, her gender. She is put in a social position where she must sell herself or perish.
Lots and lots and lots of people hate their jobs. Do you think so many people would hate their jobs if they had a real blood, sweat and tears relationship with their labor? Instead of selling bullshit for walmart, what if our 16 year old was selling jewelry she made with her friends to help support her family and community? Her heart and body would become part of the labor, meaningful labor, labor with human connection.
In removing the humanity from labor, in fostering this emptiness, the capitalist dives deeper into dark depths of emptiness. One cannot climb the capitalist ladder without stepping on countless rungs made of exploited workers. As the capitalist climbs, he becomes heavier with greed and power, putting tremendous strain and agony upon the ladder below.
There is no justice in capitalism. It is the cruelest form of Social Darwinsim. It is legalized terrorism. It is a breeding ground for racism, sexism, classism, and homophobia. It commodifies relationships. It exploits feeling.
It is killing us, really.
We, the workers, are the ladder. We can be used to propel the profit of the capitalist OR we can elevate the people. Let us build strong backs to hold each other up. Let the silenced stand on our shoulders and shout to the sky for freedom. Let's stack ladders on top of ladders and see how long it takes for us to reach the sky, until we can taste clouds and remember that anything is possible. Let's dive from the top of the ladder into the sea, let the salt flush the disempowered, defeated, depressed, toxins from our brains.
We are bigger than them.
I don't know shit.
My beloved comrade 1997 once told me that the more you learn, the less you know. The more the world floods beyond my eyelids, into my brain, and out my mouth, I realize that I need to grow much larger to keep it all inside. I need to grow even larger still if I want to have the muscle to reorganize the world inside my own mind and spit it out again.
We are all so small. We need each other to become big.
I see capitalism for what it is: an insatiable blood thirsty monster sucking the spirit from humanity.
The capitalist's pockets are full but his heart is empty, a cold-hard, calculating shell; an extension of his power hungry, greedy, manipulative brain. The capitalist sees people according to their monetary value.
How much can I exploit you? How much of your labor power can I keep in my pocket?
Can I bottle your tears and sell them?
Capitalism removes the laborer from the labor because the laborer has no personal investment in the work. The 16 year old at Walmart did not make any of the products with her hands, they were made in a factory in China. She does not care about the products, she needs the wage. No matter how hard she works, she makes the same low wage, and her labor power is exploited to make the same people rich. SHE IN NO WAY BENEFITS FROM THIS EXCHANGE. She is exploited for her age, her class, her race, her gender. She is put in a social position where she must sell herself or perish.
Lots and lots and lots of people hate their jobs. Do you think so many people would hate their jobs if they had a real blood, sweat and tears relationship with their labor? Instead of selling bullshit for walmart, what if our 16 year old was selling jewelry she made with her friends to help support her family and community? Her heart and body would become part of the labor, meaningful labor, labor with human connection.
In removing the humanity from labor, in fostering this emptiness, the capitalist dives deeper into dark depths of emptiness. One cannot climb the capitalist ladder without stepping on countless rungs made of exploited workers. As the capitalist climbs, he becomes heavier with greed and power, putting tremendous strain and agony upon the ladder below.
There is no justice in capitalism. It is the cruelest form of Social Darwinsim. It is legalized terrorism. It is a breeding ground for racism, sexism, classism, and homophobia. It commodifies relationships. It exploits feeling.
It is killing us, really.
We, the workers, are the ladder. We can be used to propel the profit of the capitalist OR we can elevate the people. Let us build strong backs to hold each other up. Let the silenced stand on our shoulders and shout to the sky for freedom. Let's stack ladders on top of ladders and see how long it takes for us to reach the sky, until we can taste clouds and remember that anything is possible. Let's dive from the top of the ladder into the sea, let the salt flush the disempowered, defeated, depressed, toxins from our brains.
We are bigger than them.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
lighten up kate
So....I think I'll post something happier because my last post was a big downer.
some funny family stuff:
On Christmas day my brother and I were talking about lions (for some random reason). All of a sudden out of nowhere my grandmother looks off into the distance very seriously and says
"I wonder if bigfoot is real"
AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA
Today my mother and I picked my sister up from a friends house. The kids were being obnoxious as usual and my sister kept calling them assholes. My mother proceeds to say:
"Stop calling them assholes! You know, that's a very important body part!"
We laughed hysterically for about a minute
She then replied with
"You try living without one!!!"
speaking of assholes....
Later that night I was relaying this story to someone who wishes to remain anonymous and right after the 'asshole' portion of the story he laughed so hard that he sharted on my living room couch.
some funny family stuff:
On Christmas day my brother and I were talking about lions (for some random reason). All of a sudden out of nowhere my grandmother looks off into the distance very seriously and says
"I wonder if bigfoot is real"
AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA
Today my mother and I picked my sister up from a friends house. The kids were being obnoxious as usual and my sister kept calling them assholes. My mother proceeds to say:
"Stop calling them assholes! You know, that's a very important body part!"
We laughed hysterically for about a minute
She then replied with
"You try living without one!!!"
speaking of assholes....
Later that night I was relaying this story to someone who wishes to remain anonymous and right after the 'asshole' portion of the story he laughed so hard that he sharted on my living room couch.
I'm not here this isn't happening
I am of no consequence here anymore. I float in on a cloud, with memories of past erasures erased, expecting the same embrace from 5 years ago. I am an idea, a rumor, a pretty face, a funny joke, a story from that one time.
Where am I?
I had a drink with my good friend from highschool and told her that most of my friends in SF have known me for less than a year. She was absolutely blown away by this and told me she has known all her friends for at least 8 years.
Where are my roots?
I have been away from here for so long that I can't swoop in and expect to blend in with the scenery anymore. I just get snippits of lives, pieces of pictures, a summary of a year, a story from that one time.
I pretend to know people. They pretend to know me. They miss the me I used to be.
I wondered how she could have forgotten me, and then I remembered that I am a novelty, someone completely removed from her everyday thoughts. She doesn't even return my calls. She never returns anyone's calls.
I feel like I'm floating on air, but not in the elated, dreamlike way in which people describe. I feel like my feet are inches from the floor and I can't shake that falling feeling. This is no longer my home in any respect, and I am barely settled into my new apartment in the city. I desperately crave stability but feel that is it far from my reach. I should be used to it, but as a Taurus, it's hard to float.
Where am I?
I had a drink with my good friend from highschool and told her that most of my friends in SF have known me for less than a year. She was absolutely blown away by this and told me she has known all her friends for at least 8 years.
Where are my roots?
I have been away from here for so long that I can't swoop in and expect to blend in with the scenery anymore. I just get snippits of lives, pieces of pictures, a summary of a year, a story from that one time.
I pretend to know people. They pretend to know me. They miss the me I used to be.
I wondered how she could have forgotten me, and then I remembered that I am a novelty, someone completely removed from her everyday thoughts. She doesn't even return my calls. She never returns anyone's calls.
I feel like I'm floating on air, but not in the elated, dreamlike way in which people describe. I feel like my feet are inches from the floor and I can't shake that falling feeling. This is no longer my home in any respect, and I am barely settled into my new apartment in the city. I desperately crave stability but feel that is it far from my reach. I should be used to it, but as a Taurus, it's hard to float.
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