December 25, 2018

Dear friends

I am sorry that I have to begin with a question: What is friendship?

When we have our hands tied by work, bills, money (or the lack thereof), broken hearts, abandoned creative aspirations, the daily commute, illness, or the illness of loved ones, friendship can so very quickly become pushed to the side, creating a sense of alienation where it is least expected. It is frightening how quickly all of those things can contribute to the dissolution of solidarity. 

I ask because I want to know what can be saved, or if “to save” is even the right verb to act out in this scenario. I ask not because I am afraid of losing my so-called chosen family, but exactly because friends are nothing like family. Friendship, or to speak in more general terms—camaraderie—requires a lot of work. The second that effort dissipates so does the friendship, the camaraderie. All it takes is a bridge and some fire. Let the idiom set itself alight.

We live in a despicable system that constantly strives to push us into loveless situations and interactions where the end goal is an existence so devoid of compassion and meaning that humans might as well be replaced by robots. The fact that we have to remind ourselves that we are, in fact, humans who want and need love to live is ludicrous. Our souls have been so crushed and our willpower so dilapidated that all we can do is hate. We hate those who are as destroyed as we are, and we resort to that because it is easier than hating ourselves—and yet, we still hate ourselves. No positive affirmation, gym membership, organic skincare or flight to some faraway country can ever alleviate that hatred. Why? Because nothing will ever be solved until we hate what we are supposed to hate, and that is, yes, you know exactly what is. I don’t want to be too on the nose here.

Now, let’s think about how and how much each and every one of us has been complicit in the fragmentation of the very thing that is supposed to keep us, all of us, afloat in this endless ocean of exploitation and exhaustion. How many times have I forgotten that the enemy is not you, not my coworkers, not even the assholes that always find a way to cut in line at the convenience store? How many more times do I have to keep slapping myself across the face so I remember that it is not you, but the system and everyone who enables it that should be blamed, hated, resisted, and held accountable. 

I am sorry for letting my misdirected anger get the best of me. This is not the end.


Your friend

September 30, 2017

The Ninth Moon in a Sky of Red

These crazy days
The good old days
that never existed

nostalgia is the boogeyman, the monster under the bed,
the faceless woman standing outside your window at midnight—
it’s what we see
when we’ve spent
staring into

truth and memory
melt under the sun
that never seems to set
on this empire of demons

what is there to remember if your only memory
is one you’re forced to never forget
there’s no use in recalling what hasn’t left your mind
it’s like looking for a pair of glasses
that’s already propped up on your head

It makes you feel stupid.

And that’s exactly the point.

every year the same tale, the same slogan, the same warning
the same rhetoric, the same fiery voice, the same fire
banner after banner in every corner, on every street
spouting allegiance to the flag of blood and bones

sure, you can’t forget what you don’t know
but with that stupid smartphone and that internet connection
you have no fucking excuse

the ninth moon
is here to illuminate the red sky
a bull can’t ignore red
it can only charge

but this is not the end
history is no rock
that can’t be thrown at the brittle walls of

demands to remember come in waves
violent waves thrashing against each other
Remember! they said, Remember! the others said
So which one should it be??? Which one is it???
you can’t remember what you don’t know

but you can ask, you can look
into that puddle of truth and memory
and tell me what you see
go on, take a look & be on the right side of
you know what I mean?

These crazy days
The crazy days
                        that brought us here.

July 17, 2017

A Photo Essay

Everything looks different
once you force yourself
to see
places that taught you
what it meant to be hated,
to hate in return
with eyes that have finally

there’s always more
than meets the eye