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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Let’s keep playing..

Longing and regrets,
intermingled with love and trust,
that Hope, that Touch,
just you, just me,
playing at Us,
Why do games end?
On whose score do we depend?
Fickleness is staying to speed,
Allowing the screen to freeze,
Afraid of testing our frailties,
Surely bravery is in accomplishing all feats.
Learning to trust instinct,
Not only that which is seen,
Honing quick reflexes,
as we play through each scene,
Challenging the better in our corresponding sexes.
Honouring the commitment we make,
To our combining hearts, souls and play.

New Mantra.

Make amends another day.
You will always get a chance to explain.
But it is not this day and is not in an electronic way.
If they truly know you they will know what it is you were trying to say.
Language manifests, connections are made, life is but a test.
The score is not released until the completion of your quest.

Begin game.

I need to learn to stop picking at my scars, and causing yet more harm to the people I love and want to be around and help more than anyone. I also need to stop opening up social media outlets. Pouring over them. Going back on My Word. My resolutions.

So I devised this mantra, poem to help me. After all there’s a million ways to reach me and up to others to make time to explore every avenue and themselves, and I – me. 

A Gentle Lingering

A Gentle Lingering

Your gentle words make me cry,
But there’s no-one here to dry these eyes,

Your gentle hands type their byes,
But aren’t here to quieten my sighs.

Your gentle words make me cry,
But your not here to dry my eyes.

You didn’t have to be a mess,
I didn’t have to keep applying such stress,

You could’ve helped us suffer less,
I didn’t have to resort to states of undress.

You didn’t have to make this mess,
I share a greater blame, I must I confess.

I still see you opening the door,
I think we long to enjoy it some more,
But are stuck being chained bores,
Stuck in winning only at repetitive plays of score.

We didn’t have to fuck this up,
I shouldn’t have told you why it all sucked,
Roasting our burns and opening our scars,
Allowing our love to be burn and cooked.

Why didn’t your words come out?
Why didn’t your rail and shout?
Why is passion and rage a hidden simmering sight?
Why could you not have put up a fight?

Your gentleness lingers and makes me weep,
My worded passions will forever run deep,

Your emotions play half bright at best,
I hope that God allows me to pass this test.

Your gentle words make me cry.

But you won’t return to dry these eyes;
kiss my lips;
lay in unwedded bliss;

help us move on,
together as one,
forever at home,
within each other’s arms,

forgetting all of this shit.