So Far, So Good
I was born in a city of millions in nineteen sixty-nine but just three months later my mom dad and brother moved away to London even though they took me with them my ghost remains haunting those Mumbai streets restless soul runs circles while I run marathons summoned by the divine imperative to fly with wings of messengers until I return home aging eternally until I become one with my Tartarus shade
Endlessly wandering with Sagittarian parents we moved again Middlesex where I said goodbye to Amanda westward across the pond because my dad worked as a flight controller for Air India his beats asked him to move to Queens New York in Kew Gardens we stayed for just two years rest assured I was five years old before we moved under the sunny dome killer of flesh and blood melanoma city to the home I can't trade
As for Huntington Beach where I was treated as foreign I can't complain simple people struggle to make a living here they compete with put downs such experiences left their mark but my friends kept me in check their hearts assented to my own eccentric character warped by beatings and tears I live as an adult child of alcoholic spirits who wore the crowns like a king and his queen I never seemed to fit their family scheme old farts
--
Saturday, November 4, 2017
Pardon ~ Saturday, 4 November 2017
Without a doubt it was entirely my fault I am to blame for not acting sooner for not showing remorse for not showing up before death took my father away where flames consumed his corpse to leave ashes and bones enter my world of shame where everything I do is wrong like getting caught reconnecting with friends my father told me not to contact nor to meet yes Ricky lit a fire Andy and Louis ran I stayed to put it out
Excuses aside thin watery excuses deserve a good thrashing xenophobia in Southern California made me say shibboleth countless times to fit in as a foreign-born son who felt both sticks and stones under circumstances outside my own control my father beat me good sixty minutes later I lay crying in bed never could I entreat either of my parents to forgive and forget wrongs accrued without doubt
Life in America was anything but milk and honey this flashing into reality the phenomenal world lifting away the veil quarrels with brown squirrels never advisable taught me with whom to fight under no condition never argue with mom she endured like redwood in the national parks of Sequoia and Kings Canyon where to travail deliberate hard work would deliver liquid to quench fires of delight
Excuses aside thin watery excuses deserve a good thrashing xenophobia in Southern California made me say shibboleth countless times to fit in as a foreign-born son who felt both sticks and stones under circumstances outside my own control my father beat me good sixty minutes later I lay crying in bed never could I entreat either of my parents to forgive and forget wrongs accrued without doubt
Life in America was anything but milk and honey this flashing into reality the phenomenal world lifting away the veil quarrels with brown squirrels never advisable taught me with whom to fight under no condition never argue with mom she endured like redwood in the national parks of Sequoia and Kings Canyon where to travail deliberate hard work would deliver liquid to quench fires of delight
--
Monday, January 1, 2018
Rude Awakening ~ Monday, 1 January 2018
Police break down the door
first thing in the morning
before we were awake
Of course they did not knock
but battered down the door
with a S.W.A.T. team of ten
Likely someone tipped them
off to a narcotics
ring in our apartment
If we were running drugs
we would not be surprised
to find soldiers half-baked
Calling out both our names
to get down on the ground
place us under arrest
Evidently some creep
in California called
in the tip as a prank
Brutal tactics they use
let you know you may die
if you make a false move
Arguments won't be heard
they've come to trash the place
to find and or descend
To the deepest circles
of hell to bring Satan
to justice they were sent
To handle a mission
from the Father Himself
the Almighty ruler
Evangelical priests
to announce the good news
we did not pass the test
Rely on an arrest
to stick even as we
learn about the drunk tank
In good faith these strong men
and women of the state
brought us to feel the groove
Niggas on the Southside
know all too well the cops
serve and protect their own
Gather the evidence
to prove our innocence
against guilty verdicts
Realize the system
doesn't care if we're poor
or don't like the cooler
Arrive in state prison
because lawyers don't care
that I sing baritone
Marvelously in choir
at church every Sunday
God loves all His convicts
--
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
Hollow Smile ~ Tuesday, 17 October 2017
If I cannot finish my degree at the School of the Art Institute since my funding ran out with one semester left and only electives left for me to choose from as this problem is mine and mine alone to solve as no one seems to care whether a poor student succeeds or gets the boot never mind the loans due whether or not I get a scholarship or grant dependent on the powers that be to remember I am not an island
Accountability for my actions my words spoken written in verse this curse to acknowledge future readers their needs for protective orders to keep the texts intact out of context language twisted devolves measures granted obtain values perverse to change meaning intent to slide into propaganda political motifs emerge from seeds to plant culpable agendas for timid hearts to grow and follow false demands
Blinded by brilliant light atomic blasts ignite the desire to rehearse impressive explosions of power and might anger is a god filled with rage killing the enemy creates the wind that strips flesh from bone to make ash ignorance has no place in this war of egos world leaders must abide notice the hollow smile before the courts of law key holders are not sage in fact the red button insists war must be waged and won bikini flash
Accountability for my actions my words spoken written in verse this curse to acknowledge future readers their needs for protective orders to keep the texts intact out of context language twisted devolves measures granted obtain values perverse to change meaning intent to slide into propaganda political motifs emerge from seeds to plant culpable agendas for timid hearts to grow and follow false demands
Blinded by brilliant light atomic blasts ignite the desire to rehearse impressive explosions of power and might anger is a god filled with rage killing the enemy creates the wind that strips flesh from bone to make ash ignorance has no place in this war of egos world leaders must abide notice the hollow smile before the courts of law key holders are not sage in fact the red button insists war must be waged and won bikini flash
--
Friday, January 26, 2018
Epistle to the Pope ~ Friday, 26 January 2018
Dear Pope Francis,
After suffering from the flu, I came to realize somehow in this lifetime I entered into hell, I fell off the radar, no search party could find my eternal soul, damned as I was before birth, before my conception. I was born a Goan, an Indian whose name derives from Portuguese conquests in South Asia. My parents moved after my birth, their second son, from Bombay to London. After only three months, I have never set foot back on Indian soil. We moved to Kew Gardens, New York after three years, then to Huntington Beach, the West Coast, where I grew up in California, only two years later. Yes! My parents were both born Sagittarians, on the very same date, only one year apart. Thus, they were on the move as if I were a child in the military, getting stationed elsewhere every couple of years. My parents raised both me and my older brother to be worthy children of Roman Catholic and Franciscan background. Our Church on Magnolia Avenue was Spartan and not lavish at all. I came to cherish this memory as a fact of the tenets our Church instilled of poverty, of humility, and of charity but I, as a child, was wicked. I would never obey. Perhaps since my father found in the alcohol he drank after long nights as a flight controller a comfort not even his wife or his two boys could offer in exchange. Thus, I learned to rebel in disobedience to my parents who beat me into submission. And thus, I was conceived in Hell as the offspring of the Great Deceiver himself, a mythical creature, literary and not of biblical origin as I read.
To act out, I lit fires, like a young arsonist, and stole from my parents like any petty thief. Trouble was my first cause, unlike Archimedes, it was my fulcrum point from which to move the earth. But trouble does not come with a lever itself. My whole life, I acted the role of the black sheep within my own family. I acted as scapegoat and as the lunatic, the crazy, insane son who can do little right. But then, I found my love to read philosophy in college and to write little, silly poems. Perhaps, I discovered I am a late bloomer.
After losing my mind, as a twenty year old, I turned to Buddhism to resolve my issues with my rotten childhood. Sitting meditation helped to ground my thinking. I am now forty-eight years old, without children, but my girlfriend and I have four cats as our kids. I went back to running in long-distance races after getting laid-off at the bookstore I worked at for eleven long years in the basement under a seminary here in Hyde Park, Chicago. I started a Master's Program to learn Writing but have yet to finish because I fail to find funding to pay for school. But this is of little concern and consequence to me unless I can help rid the world of hate and power politics which plays on prejudice and even racism.
But the reason I write to you is that you are the sole person who can make amends to nations to right the wrongs of past leaders throughout the world. Yes, it may sound insane but an apology made by you for each wrong committed by the Church throughout all history may make our small planet a better place for all the sentient beings to live in harmony, or to strive to achieve healthier relations with everyone on board.
My whole life may be hell, and I may be in Hell imagining my life as a simulacrum of what was in fact real but now is illusion, this illusory world of ignorance and greed. What can I do to get a Get Out of Jail Free card from Monopoly? This hell is my prison, this life is my jail cell. Death, I fear cannot come soon enough in my life to end the suffering.
Yours affectionately,
Rui Carlos da Cunha
--
Saturday, November 4, 2017
Happiness ~ Saturday, 4 November 2017
I never got the chance to say goodbye to say thank you to my father silly to think four years later that gratitude would wash away the pain language leaves me speechless the confusion I felt just trying to make sense articulating why I never got along with my dad why bother needless explanations never answer questions but cover grief with lies difficult to stay true to not accept denial the family way for years
lifting the veil of fear and illusion from eyes that remember childhood only as a latch-key kid could in solitude with only tears to gain never did I know then how long I would suffer before I climbed the fence ending years of trauma by family torturers amateurs in the art leave me with my sorrow lonely and all alone looking into dark skies yellow diamonds at night speak the length of light years black treacle to my ears
surely honey attracts flies better than sea salt as I know now I stood honestly with no chance to stand up for myself I learned to keep quiet only to bite my tongue because no one wanted to listen to these words realize alcohol affects the future lives of your children to start effective relations in love or for business young men's hearts run riot simply from the hormones flooding the brain and blood with the songs of bluebirds
--
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Drowning ~ Wednesday, 21 February 2018
Tired sad and lonely
after leaving art school
for one year nobody
Remains in touch reaches
out to talk on the phone
or to meet in person
Under these conditions
I call fellow students
my cohort not my friends
Stupid categories
speak volumes about me
my mind and my moody
Trust issues transparent
to nobody no one
knows how much I suffer
Ignorant from childhood
of alcoholism
its effects on wisdom
Nobody said how much
pain and sorrow this life
would sow as dividends
Guessing no one can see
behind the obvious
facade now I know why
Nicolette the homeless
woman cries in public
crocodile tears offer
Only the smallest lie
before the full monty
if you pay for her time
But like the plague I walk
the other direction
knowing full well her game
Only money makes some
people happy until
it runs out then a crime
Decidedly must take
place call it poverty
by those who made their name
Yelling at underlings
to make sure jobs get done
stocks soar and products fly
--
Saturday, September 23, 2017
Grim ~ Saturday, 23 September 2017
The funny thing about losing my sanity at twenty-one is that in this facility this sanatorium in Santa Ana time never ceased to occur Operation Desert Storm took place while I slept gathering energy to return to the sane world of eaters of khat leaves and other controlled substances the people need representatives elected officials to tell them how to live like sheep in a corral
Society like sheep enjoy the company of people who fit in particularly sane persons not locked inside an asylum for crimes involving the harming of oneself or others as likely Jesús wept not wanting to drink bleach as a way out of hell but here he was farting asshole of noxious fumes while we ate in a room common preventative liberal by design to keep odors within even anal canals
Call it what you will but no one befriended this suicide case bitten once people become shy even non-sane persons like myself but mercy leaves much to be desired in a world without God outside our thoughts of Him understand I felt so much fucking sympathy for Jesús but starting miserable friendships inside an asylum like befriending Circe notably may create tension when my real friends transform into swine grim
--
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Misterioso ~ Wednesday, 24 January 2017
Last night I died just like you in my sleep
Although I died from pneumonia
Still the fact remains I died the same night
The very same night that you died
Nobody knew we would die together
If they did someone would have done something
Glad to know no one intervened
However obvious the fact remains
That I died and you died without a plan
I could not have killed you not in my sleep
Did I mention I died of pneumonia
I could barely breathe with these inflamed lungs
Enter the delirium state
Did I mention I called the hospital
Just as I was falling asleep
Until they arrived with an ambulance
Still the fact remains I died just last night
Timing is everything with clear vision
Lapses in certainty
In arrivals and departures
Kings and queens at the gates
Enter my delirium to tell me
Yes you did call 911 in your dreams
Obviously it wasn't effective
Until the ambulance arrives just sleep
Insist you did everything that you could
Nobody needed to die just last night
Mercy comes in the form of an angel
Yes my delirium caused me to dream
Sleep can be calm or fever pitch
Like heaven or hell as we imagine
Enter the gates at the airport
Enter my illogical dreams
Perhaps I didn't die what if I did
--
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Goodbye Cruel World ~ Sunday, 31 December 2017
Just before New Year's Eve
I flushed a small horse-fly
down the porcelain drain
Unwittingly I spoiled
the guest-host relation
with disconcerting pride
Swift with shock and awe-struck
I watched the certain death
of a pest born to lose
Time runs out with sudden
unpleasant occasion
sensations in the brain
Bewilder my senses
I cannot flee or run
away or fly past nets
Ever losing balance
the tides shifting swirling
with a maelstrom effect
Focus if I focus
my ommatidia
I may not feel so drunk
Overboard I've fallen
into the salty sea
drowned in a whirlpool tide
Recurrence eternal
my death the same my life
exact I cannot choose
Event A Event B
or even Event C
it's all the same to me
Nothing ever changes
I've seen it all before
this life full of regrets
Enter the empty bowl
only to refill once
again as I expect
Wonders never amaze
or cease to fire synapse
after synapse once sunk
Your battleship since caught
in the crosshairs to shoot
a torpedo propelled
Exactly through the hull
a bullet through my skull
a horse-fly drunk with death
Ascertain this fiction
metaphysics delight
in knowledge of theory
Rewards of afterlife
unseen and uncertain
the curtain since dispelled
See my original
face beyond the veneer
of false hope my last breath
--
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Iris ~ Saturday, 25 November 2017
7:13 AM ~ Arlo flips the channels through PBS to see Sewing with Nancy. Remembering the obituary of her he saw yesterday, he exclaims, "She's dead!" But, out loud to himself; since no one else is at home. (Nan staying with her sister Mia at her place for a Prince memorial celebratory event with a woman friend Nan met online). And he imagines the strange possibility that his best friend from childhood, his mom dies at that moment of pancreatic cancer which Arlo had just learned about yesterday. As if someone could be in touch with another person so far away as to know when they die before learning about it from the family announcing her passing themselves. Either way, he's heartbroken to hear of Iris being sick for a year or so. He's not upset with his friend, Judd. He probably had Arlo's best interests at heart. He is an unusually emotional man. But one who is insensitive to the needs of his own family, and may dance upon the metaphorical graves of his parents once his own mother passes away. No need to get sentimental on her account. Too difficult to do so anyways. So sad how perceived abuse skews perceptions in the mind of the abused but not the perception of the abusers.
--
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
Looney Tunes ~ Wednesday, 18 October 2017
Tempers flare at age ten when I was arrested put in a holding cell entirely alone except for my best friend who lit a small brush fire maybe I should have run like my other two friends who bolted when police put us in the back seat of a squad car and drove to the entrance of hell otherwise known as wrath that would descend like hail pummeling me with fists righteous with rage and feet kicking my ass from one room to the next his ire absolute relentless his displeasure bursting from his ears like dry ice little did I know then how memories remain hidden beneath the skin
Paterfamilias pushes the envelope for assault without risk opens the temporal portal into terror this son worse than the first restless for attention negating his chances to fit in with others together his family formed bonds against the boy unconscious unrehearsed accustomed as they were to tears they were not moved by the little brother life under my parent's roof was not my own to share their love like blood flows thin
--
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Talaq ~ Wednesday, 22 November 2017
Case closed no discussion to pursue no further inquiry or time spent on investigation on blind speculation on wild accusation mother brother father you threw the book at me no longer will we speak mutual disregard useful as a tactic with letter of intent on creating ground rules to ignore each other and move on with our lives not unlike a divorce your Roman Catholic faith will never condone
never will you accept apologies for past mistakes during childhood only you keep my deeds for future reference after dad's cremation reality shatters the mirror of denial removing the mystique made apparent by loss the death of the family patriarch leaves a hole a vacuum to abhor nature consolidate power in separate hives life with you was never normal never loving alcoholics disown
family members who act as individuals children misunderstood as eccentric artists often held to account for past misdemeanors maybe there is no line clearly demarcating adulthood at eighteen I don't care how the state defines when our legal obligations start clean lifting the veil of lies secrecy deception I resolve as my goal yellow with Dutch courage dad went orange with rage remove red at cleaners
never will you accept apologies for past mistakes during childhood only you keep my deeds for future reference after dad's cremation reality shatters the mirror of denial removing the mystique made apparent by loss the death of the family patriarch leaves a hole a vacuum to abhor nature consolidate power in separate hives life with you was never normal never loving alcoholics disown
family members who act as individuals children misunderstood as eccentric artists often held to account for past misdemeanors maybe there is no line clearly demarcating adulthood at eighteen I don't care how the state defines when our legal obligations start clean lifting the veil of lies secrecy deception I resolve as my goal yellow with Dutch courage dad went orange with rage remove red at cleaners
--
Monday, February 19, 2018
Runaway ~ Monday, 19 February 2018
Tristan trusting no one
took to the road and left
town let down by family
Rocked by party people
papa held a bottle
of feni in his hand
Unconcerned about work
the next day his children
hidden away upstairs
Sleeping despite the noise
mama hands shot glasses
to the school faculty
Tristan noticed at school
the next day hungover
teachers too drunk to teach
Ignorant to the needs
of children the adults
watched the surf feet in sand
No one cared what happened
that day at school they knew
their teachers had affairs
Groping for the light switch
to pull in his bedroom
he decided to steal
Nathan's motorcycle
riding along the coast
to toast girls at the beach
Only he didn't know
when or if to go back
home as a runaway
Biker without parents
who could give him their love
full respect and support
Only he didn't know
where the road would lead him
he didn't have a say
Didn't care when to stop
to settle down take root
in the redwoods to sort
Yesteryear in his head
the fresh air in the north
gave his dream it's appeal
No comments:
Post a Comment