| I. Motherland. ( EXAMPLE ) |
[10 Nov 2007|07:46pm] |
One Son
Africa.
Motherland where we all were born out of dust into life. We breathe in unison yet feed your dry earth with our bloody wars. We paint our faces with water and clay to mirror what we came from and yet we are too blind to see that we shall return. Dust to dust and ashes to ashes. Expansive deserts and one lonely tree. One tree that stood the test to time, faced the storms, and bears the most luscious leaves and the thickest of bark. The roots run deep and stretch far and wide to find any droplet of water. Every drop of sweat, every tear, ever bleeding wound feeds the tree as it beats our ignorance through perseverance. Motherland where the heat defines the sun and disconnection defines animosity. This is the war of not the world but of ourselves. We run like schoolyard children in a third world country with rifles instead of toy soldiers, the scraps of an enriched dream instead of dolls, and the ugliest of beginnings than our Western counterparts could imagine. No Sally Struthers commercial with potbelly children of hunger and unpaved roads of not only the street but of our future can amount to being here. To seeing it. To feeling it. The palest of pale and darkest of dark are all one and we all share the same problems. My stomach growls when yours growls so why bend over your porcelain, gold laced, water closet and purge when my hole in the ground is empty just like my body? Motherland where I was born, call for me, please? Beg me to return with wide-eyed optimism of youth --that sinfully sweet taste that rings in our mouths when we see the bluest of blue skies and the clearest of oceans that lets us see down to the sandy bottom. Beg me to not take on the weight of the world and to grow up being ignorant and live a decadent life. Call for me when my woes are what should I wear today? What fancy restaurant shall I dine in? Call for me when brother and sister have no clothes or shoes. When brother and sister feed off of their dreams. Call me when I get lost in my world too much and forget about everyone else. Motherland where you nursed me, where the village raised me, where traveling became my destiny. Where you protected me from father, from hatred, from confinement only to give me a sense of everlasting freedom. Instilling the will to fight for not only myself but for others that could not. Motherland with your oasis scattered about and small tributaries to breakup the monotonous nothingness stand tall. Give and give but what do we give to you? You never ask for anything but respect and yet you do not receive it until your oceans overfill and your water pushes through. Only when you scream at us through violent winds and rushing waves and tsunamis of emotions and flooding of pain and then still. Stillness. Quiet. Listen carefully. Listen to the 'help' shouted yet only a whisper. Motherland be kind for we are young. Take us into your arms and cradle us, kiss us tenderly, until we misbehave but mother it seems like one of your children are always misbehaving. Motherland so strong and beautiful yet overlooked because children never stop to notice their mothers. They only see 'gimme gimme gimme'. They only feel 'mine mine mine'. They only want 'more more more'. Never satisfied yet the milk has run dry. Motherland where your womb was so warm and protected us all but we are in age of enlightenment yet of lies. Of corruption where money is no longer the currency of the world yet lives. Oh mother I was dumb until I saw. Mother you did not shield my eyes during my explorations yet instead you guided me along this journey to see the world for what is and instead of staying in resorts and only seeing the beach I saw the land. I saw the children on set with guns and they knew how to use them better than I. I saw the young soldiers teaching us all how to fight and I ask, "Kid, where is your family? Where is your home? Where is your heart?" And he looked me as if I was that kid and in turn asked me, "Man, where is your family? Where is your home? Where is your heart? Did you find them? Did you lose them? Are you fighting for them like I am?" And I was silenced Mother. Oh was I silenced. Motherland we are tying to make up for lost time and for turning a deaf ear and blind eye to your cries of disease of illness and we are here to help. Motherland be receptive.
Africa.
My motherland. I love you.
One Vision.
|
| 001. Finding Faith in the Heart of Gotham City. |
[13 Jul 2007|02:46pm] |
( everything's been said before. nothing left to say anymore. when it's all the same you can ask for it by name. babble, babble, bitch, bitch, rebel, rebel, party, party, sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence. blah, blah, blah, got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely. stick your stupid slogan in. everybody sing along; babble, babble, bitch, bitch, rebel, rebel, party, party, sex, sex, sex, don't forget the violence. blah, blah, blah, got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely. stick your stupid slogan in. everybody sing. are you motherfuckers ready for the new shit? stand up and admit that tomorrow's never coming. this is the new shit, stand up and admit. do we give a shit? NO. do we want it? YEAH. this is the new shit. stand up and admit. now it's the you-hoo, i've got the you-know-what. i'll stick it in you-know-where, you know why, you don't care. now it's you-hoo, i've got the you-know-what. i'll stick it in you-know-where, you know why, you don't care. )
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