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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A short couplet.

From the moment I was discovering myself, I was uncovering somebody else.

My brother for my other-mother.

 

Two separate phrases that popped into my head. First one was on Monday 2nd Nov at 11:30pm at night. The second is a phrase that I happily chanted and felt so passionately earlier today at around 12:30pm. 

I wonder if I am more attune to creative endeavours during these mid-day or mid-night occurrences?

I wonder if they mean anything to anyone else? Or if words have lost their meanings? Am I creating anything or worth by posting? I wish I wasn’t so tired that I could post something “more meaningful”. But equally these phrases mean something deep to me. Separately and when joined together, when locate don the same page. I hope I am judged on the lyricism of the words and not for the length, overt simplicity and frankly I don’t know…. But I really needed to post something so I could keep #NaBloPoMo and so that I cold talk to everyone very briefly. 

Hey all!

Move on with Moving on.

I wrote the last post exactly two months ago. Sat on a cold, dirty bedroom floor, in my love’s new home. Unable to sleep all night. Unable to get over our terribly stifled late-night fight. Amy Winehouse’s lyrics continually swam in my head towards the end of ‘the us’. So, all that was left was for me to pen this eulogy to our love. To also cathartically let my jealous, annoyed, “disproportionally- reacting” female self let her raw hurt and betrayal flow out, without any conscious stifling from me. No oppression to my creativity will ever be allowed, henceforth.

My love, will forever be that I am sure. For I cannot go back and I cannot move forth. I am stuck in this mire. But I am sure I will come to accept unrelinquished desires as the days move on. As I have come to terms with the fact that my hurt doesn’t extend to third party involvement, rather the way in which my ex-partner chooses to conduct himself with no remorse, selfish love, no mirrored thought and action*. All of which just reminds me that life is too short and I must allow some part of me to move on. 

*disclaimer – It took only a day and a half for me to realise I selfishly let my destructive intent, colour others invisible intentions. Meaning I’m sure my love is not selfish, maybe I am forever doomed to be a wanton victim who’s dancing between freedom and enveloping selves.

Poem early morning’s prayer, pleas, wants and needs.

This came to me as I lay my head to sleep, around 3am, I’ve tried to keep it as close in structure as when I wrote it.

I miss the sanity and free space we had,
The easy negotiations.
Sharing ourselves so easily it went unseen,
And now we walk in phantom mists like unknowing, slumbering amputees.

Do you still think of the times we had. The snatched walks, the carefree days, listening to Halcyon lyrics of loves better emotives.
Bettering ourselves, furthering our intellect,
Together, in bed, laying side by side, your leg astride mine.
Sharing satisfied smiley sighs.

Or are the waking assunder heart-renching days still afresh?
The separate bedtimes, negotiated access, snatched “me-times”, mistrust, hurt, neglect, over-familiarity, knowing all, being known, escaped selves, lost souls, burnt and crashed creative corpse’s, of me, of you, of us, still there.

Haunting, hanging, probably never to leave, still there?
Its mocking. Shamefully its mocking and I can’t bear this..
Our shared deaths’ a tick, tick, tocking.