30 Days In April : For The Artist

In collective consciousness:

My name is old
My name is new
My name is borrowed
My name is Blue
My Name is my own, my own, my own

The blood of the covenant
Is thicker than the water of the womb
Know who you are, my blood to whom I give this to
Note the commas
To be sure, I read
I also sit down pon’ di wall
An’ watch you watch me

If at first there was light
And then the sun, the moon, and the stars…
Then where’d the light come from?

And for a long time yet
Will this great motherly weeping be upon you,
But in the end it will turn to quiet joy,
And your bitter tears will simply be tears
Of quiet tenderness and heartbreaking emotion…

To be sure, I read…

Wherever there’s hope there’s a trial…
Hope, however, is limited, and generally abstract,
While there are countless trials and they tend to be concrete

…because, time isn’t a straight line.
It does not have a shape

But since we can’t picture something without form in our minds,
For the sake of convenience we understand it as a straight line


In all senses of the term, it does not have any form.

A fire can be any shape it wants to be. It’s free.
So it can look like anything at all, depending on what’s inside the person looking at it.

At this point, humans are the only ones who can make that sort of conceptual substitution.

There is no reason to chase time…
It keeps bumping into us anyway

Once you become self-aware you do have one more decision to make
About how you will approach the rest of your life

I want to be here when everybody suddenly discovers why
It has all been the way it has.
But here, however, are the children,
And what am I going to do with them?

Look: if everyone must suffer in order with their suffering
To purchase eternal harmony,
What do young children have to do with it?
Why have they all ended up as raw material,
To be manure for someone else’s future harmony?
[F]or as long as I am on the earth I shall hasten to make arrangements of my own.

No child’s tears must remain unredeemed, or there can be no harmony

This includes tears of joy.
Note the quotation marks.
To be sure, READ.

What use is vengeance to me,
What use to me is hell for torturers, what hell can put right again…
When the children have been tortured to death?
What harmony can there be where there is hell:
I want to forgive and I want to embrace — 
I don’t want anyone to suffer anymore.


Have you been so spoiled by contemporary realism that you cannot endure anything fantastic?

“A world full of lovers, a city full of good times…
Don’t go undercover…”

All that is left?

All that is left?


Hey. HEY!

My name, old.
My name, new.
My name, my own, my own, my own.

My name, for me, is cool…infinity…healing…

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