Tools of violence

Identity violence

Symbolic violence

Communication violence

Historic violence

Revisionist violence

Repetitive violence

Infantilising violence

Nostalgic violence

Communication violence

Prejudiced violence

Tiring violence

Destructive violence

Sexual violence

Gendered violence

Religious violence

Spiritual violence

Class violence

Linguistic violence

Colourist violence

Male violence

White male violence

Co-opting violence

Toxic violence

Co-opted toxic violence

Ideological violence

Paternalistic violence

Patriarchal violence

Symbolically patriarchal violence

Promotional violence

Just violence

Violence violence

Tiring violence

Too tired coz I’m broken and it’s the result of all the above and more violence

Mental violence

Inferred violence

Implicit violence

Bright-eyed violence

Broken souls violence

The once you had bright eyes but then you got co-opted and are stuck but still need peeps and I get it but don’t you get that I get it, so why you gotta erase the stuff we excavate and stop us entering and flinging open the doors-no revision check, not open the doors break all these fracking symbolic capitalistic colonial walls – so that we can all evolve together and your tired eyes can weep and rejoice in celebration with us all, bold beautiful and brave and bound to the forward March of completing our shared ancestors abolitionist principles and journeys to create a new fair fresh deprogrammed society so we keep being we and us, and you and me, happy and free together… urgh! Gah! For f***! *sigh* but you can’t and that’s violent, violence.

So instead here we stand. Ina pyramid and I keep trying to educate and create and collate and collaborate while we survive and you thrive but I don’t even cry coz I’m proud inside that at least someone who got one part of our ancestral spirit souls good side to the table where it’s all about whose there to dine, and whose outside… not about our fellow people who die and are also pushed towards pipelines to die. Whether quickly or slowly, that’s for us all to see with our eyes.

I’m too tired to speak, so I’ll leave it to that… and sleeps for the night.

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#NaBloPoMo #27: …. Blank space.

Because so many thoughts, fleeted out feet first, taking over hours, clamouring over yet more barriers.

Idiosyncracies met horror, met hurt, met anxiety.. And now I feel, still breathe, all whilst I suffocate in this sea.

trained, trapped and tricked into their histories – this is the life I perceive.

 

#NaBloPoMo #25: My impatience caught up to it’s conscience, again.

For now here’s some poetry what I wrote on 23/11/15 when I should have been asleep, in wee hours of morning, as I lay visiting an old site of comparison and worth, put on a pedestal to keep allowing myself to hurt;

Instant electric attraction we had,
From the moment that our eyes clapped,
Minds met, thoughts kept, hands felt, lips licked, love flicked,
Soulmates’ kiss.

Hours flew, you met me, I knew you,
You grew, me too,
Love gathered, looming large,
It slew the me and the you,
Outside in this our ‘samage’*

We. That’s all that it was,
Simplicity with no external worth,
Internal cuts of self-hurt.

Sparkly loves eyes lost that bright hue,

The spark,

The gas pipe was broken, no plumber, no electrician did we know,
No hope was entertained no stopper for death’s croak…

As artificial sparks were entertained,
The fluorescence of lust came to slay,
As you chucked love into its grave,
the one I dug gleefully as I struggled to with tools brought to save, selfish.

Selfishly I craved,
but naively with no idea what I made,
The We I help us negate,
the Darkness that lovers spark can create..

The hurricanse, the tsunamis it can keep at bay,
The strenght needed to be selfish,
To pray,
Coupled together,
Doubled forever,
Entertain no other,
Making space for only each other,
Our true souls lovers,
Marked by that first spark,
but needing constant paraffin so no lustful depravity can be let in…

Like that surrounding us on separate roads as we follow the world’s din.

I know this now, too late,
My impatience caught up to it’s conscience again.

Sat opposite yet another pale imitative comparison,
I wonder if your faith in our unequal separation is still so persistent?
Or at you at that peace,
the one with waves,
of constant reticence and hesitation,
Coupled with a impulsive fervour,
the addictive need to fuck it and jump in.

Anxiety breeds misinformed misdeeds,
but I am not a me in need,
as you are a you,
who knows what you see, feel, need.
Not now, Not me.
– Not now me.

 

*Samage – urdu/punjabi word meaning society/community/zietgeist

 

To whomsoever called me ‘Privately’

Whoever called me…Please call me back.
I need someone to talk to,
as I sit here in the dark.

It’s simplistic I know,
My asking for more,
Naively wanting to know thee,
When you cared not an inch to leave caller I.D.

Maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t care that much,
Maybe you forgot you were on a private line?
Maybe you were in a rush,
Maybe you are a sales ambush?

Whatever it is I would still feel compelled to know,
For a woman like me gets crazy thinking things,
Every scenario, every person, even catastrophic ugly scene,
Plays out in my overactive worrisome mind,
Causing me to (almost) call every loved Kin and Kind.

It’s simplistic I know,
This plain furore,
Forward, that’s for sure.

Like my painted mind’s eye,
My rhyming nonsense see’s no end in sight,
You’ll be telling me to “Pipe down love”,
Regretting that you ever rung,
Unsure how anyone could ever get so bogged-down,
so lonely,
so miserably silly,
allowing swirling thoughts to go twisting and twirling,
making it all seem a pathetic life,
surely one must have more of a life,
others must have harder strifes,
I’ll be lonely and no-one will want me…

Wait did I hear the phone ring?

Type.

Type, type type,

type, type, type,

down here I sit,

down here I write.

I wonder if I’ll get to talk to you tonight?

I’m getting better, I’m fighting fitter,

as I sit to re-paint our shared grey-green picture.

The blue-sky still eludes me,

For I can’t get out of my duvet,

acceptance has entered my heartbeats,

but the memories of you run too deep,

my blood hungers for your heat,

thoughts of us are seldom weak.

I say I will pay them not an ounce of my time,

Was going our separate ways a crime?

When will every tendril of affection die?

 

Days Drag On… What do I find on my phone?

Crazy long day – feel dead and drained and I’m in no way prepared for the mess that will be tomorrow. MA class (not done my reading!) then shifts in another store, as part of my new job! The need to keep balancing between love of learning and money to keep learning, is a hard journey to navigate through.

Sorry for rant. I’m just going to keep it sweet by posting some stuff I re-(discovered) on my phone. Not what I’m feeling right now, but I’m slowing getting over the emotions, anxiety and people-pleasing tendencies that kept me from sharing my words. 

 

Title: Couplet (date: 06.10.15)

I love you, but I love me more,
in reality; its a falsified bore.

How can anyone be without another,
One will always live as Cartesian succour.

 

Title: Leaving. Learning. Life. Losing? (date: 28.09.15)

Emotional. Weeping This day
hits me. Travelling waiting my
breath deceives me. Sick of
this sickness that  ails me. Sick
and… Tired of the wishing and
wanting that is snatched from
me. Backward facing travel in a
glittering life. How much
longer will u/I hide?

Tired of the wanting that is snatched from me.
Wishing against wishes that hopes weren’t constant dreams.