Prose Processes

Context: I use prose to think things out. The poetry of expression and the play of words has helped me to chew on thought processes. Free Writing/Prose/Poetry/Ponderings (2009-2011) Indigenous Pigment (Context: reflecting on my mixed background) Listen, I’m the way I am because I happen to be a European print with indigenous tint. But yes you are right in the past, only a God-sent, Or inherited by parent Today it’s something you can buy or rent From dyes to a tanning tent. Energies twisting forwards and backwards bent, Halfway across the world vacations went, Following instructions: Lay towel neatly on cement Allow 8 million minutes to solarly ferment Until acquired the desired hue meant As if it were an annual ritual like lent All that, all that for a pigment. Interior Faith(Context: Response to street preachers, my own dealing with faith) Faith is a strange word. When mentioned, each has his own reaction. In this day, in this very now, we have lost the privilege to preach, at least with words. No more. It has been abused. And like children when a privilege is mistreated, it has to be taken away. I don’t need to talk about God to feel his presence by trying to convince another that I am spiritual. Words, names, images, rituals, have long since lost connection with reality. Spoken sanctity mingled and mixed itself with elements of human nature. When once civil conversation and educated discourse was invited by listening ears, it can no longer be found. I look to the quiet one for reason now. To you (Context: considering feeling I felt for someone after a year apart, it didn’t end up working after all.) I’m going to address you As if you were here Every morning I wake up to vague uncertainties and fear questioning if my judgments and rationalities are no longer clear Sometimes all I ever want is for you to be near But then I realize much has changed and is going to change in a year. I feel that over the course of time while maintaining my mental fascination I could have construed your persona into a totally new creation. Some non-existent being that serves my restless imagination Ardently wanting to give into the blind temptation; By ignoring the complexity of our relation, and to bring what I find myself calling, “Love” into serious consideration. But, my friend, you know as well as I know such surface contemplation of an idealistic reality flirts with a faulty foundation Pragmatism predicts a future of frustration. I seek interior rectification, As I can no longer bear to live in hesitation Hand in hand will resolve the situation Yet, for now I will await that occasion To see if it be better that we go in separate destination or make what I’ve kept locked up inside a realization Human (Context: coming to terms with my frailties as a human at the end of my service in panama) I think I’m feeling What it means to be a being A human being Realizing that I don’t have control Or some definite necessary role Just one piece of that bigger whole A human being Holding strong to my principals with such devotion Only to be defeated by my own emotion Only to be undermined by the world’s commotion A human being Waking up every day trying to figure it out Debating this doubt Partly living my life being actively passive And the other part passively active. Just a Bright Streak in the Sky (Context: realization of how short life is.) My road is paved with faces and places Comprised of praises and disgraces Forever sprinting through life and its’ races And when I want to rest than it is me that life chases Yet often I’m left panting for air after keeping such paces And It’s in those moments I realize the falling star and its phases Temporary, then slowly vanishing its silvery traces. Is it true that there is a light at the end of the tunnel? That there is an end to all mazes? Where I Choose to Stand (Context: I seem to always end up in schools or retirement homes..) At life’s portal I choose to stand With those whose hourglass has acquired its first grain of sand, Or with those who have exhausted life’s well and await death’s hand It is here and with these I come to understand, our meaning and existence on this earth, in this land. Existence When I think out loud, who knows if there is peace in a cloud, or that humanity is just another face in the crowd. When I think out loud, is there peace in a cloud? Can humanity really be just another face in the crowd?