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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No end..

The kind of night that knows no end,

The bitter northern winds howl,

like the devilish hounds that have pushed us to the brink.

unsure of what exists and what is to begin,

where we’ll be be led and what will be got rid,

What will leave and what will be eradicated in this din.

Here’s hoping that no harm comes forth in our midst,

though harsh and selfishly I cry,

At the plight that touches not this,

Allowed to warble self-pityingly about some external, self-absorbent shit.

All the while wishing against wish that I could but hold my love, to kno that I am mine and he his, but that some holy force blesses that union before the world crumbles into mist.

NaBloPoMo #16 – Surrogate #15

A melancholic sadness,
A softly, softley wide awakening,
Eyes open,
Iris’ flex,
Soaking it all in,
blurring filled with internal rain.
Thunderous.
Shaking uncontrollably as we meet,
As we sit, speak, meet, disagree.
Cut deep and hurt, seemingly eternally.
A life is a life,
Flows from low to highs.
The world is shattered and shredded with incessant strife.
I have no place to hide,
I have no strength to cry,
I have no voice to verbalise.

I die as We die.

It gets harder each and every day…

.. I feel hollow. Even as I turn to silent prayer.

I know this ain’t healthy, to live in a fetid shit heap.
I find myself finding old scraps I keep, emotions kept dormant.
I’m stuck at a crossroad unsure of where to follow.
For my guide has let himself die.
Since reborn in near-distant shores, knowing full feel I am left lonely.
Focussed on vision on every mark he is leaving, as I stay frozen.
Left hopeless and un able to awaken my inner-conscious.

Maybe now’s not the time to be precious?
Maybe now I should show you true consequence?
Perhaps futures fly only when the past is pulverised?

I state, sat in dimensional gaps, with my temporally shifted cries.