Sunday, October 25, 2015

1 morning w/ you


The disorder of the fluffy clouds
And the crumbs scattered on the kitchen top
The curtains rumpled
And the prints on the floor
                     My clammy feet are making

                             -------
Untidy messes


Starting with the bed

The sheets wet,  stinking of sweat
                  And sex


You naked
Cigarette smouldering in your mouth
As you open the window
And lean out
Observing your Kingdom


It ends abruptly
A ring tone howling
A phone call and your concerns are elsewhere


Am I merely travelling the rainbow
Will there be a pot of gold


And I feel  -lonely
Now
Anticipating the weekend
I will keep busy
But it will be empty
As I search
Outside the window
For people
Lives,  culture,  colour,  life


Flick open the magazine
Try not to overhear what it is
Who it is
That has called


The glossy pages
Breasts exposed
And legs apart
A simple theme
She,  without flaws,  and an adopted name
Sleek cats of many varieties


I peel back the silver foil
Balancing the magazine on my knees
Chocolate scrapes underneath my fingernails
Feel bad,  guilty
Will this chocolate add fat
To my stomach
My upper arms,  are they looking chunky
Maybe the chocolate is appearing there
Building the fat
Like a temple
So every stone I gain Is in the wobble of my flesh
At every step I take
I will be reminded of everything I have eaten
I will be the walking advertisement to my own diet
I will be ashamed


No sooner have you finished the call
Your phone begins to rings again


I can support you
Let me show you
If you let me I can


My lips are sore
Neck marked by the bite of your teeth
Two more weeks
And this is all there will be left
Memories to stir emotions


I will masturbate to this later.



--Katie Lewington

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Speak Your Peace: Mandie Jichita

This piece was originally performed at Cha Island on March 26, 2015 for our local Speak Your Peace! event. It was amazing. You shoulda been.


I never got to enjoy the oceans
~~





When the car creeps into the empty intersection on a red light, then slowly reverses at a sharp angle
I say, "What the hell was that?"
He says, "Turning...?"
I laugh like a fool
Apparently my laughter is contagious
 
 
If I wanted to go for a drink, I could do it now
I can make my own decisions, drive and fuck and open a bank account
I can walk from here to Europe if I really want because
Every ocean has been replaced by rigid concrete
And I no longer have an excuse to drown
 
 
200 days of being a juvenile later
Whose feet are these, on which I must stabilize my weight?
The advantage of seizing strong legs to hold me up
is the certainty of a dance
while the disadvantage is dancing a dance that is not mine
 
 
We promptly got lost. We ended up on a winding road with no exits, then in a few construction zones
Which felt oddly homey
A hole in the dishevelled rubble, supposed to house a pristine structure
Supposed to be something already
As I am
 
 
I'll live in a hole such as that
In the earth
Because this regulator keeps me synthetically contented and it feels like
Being made of glass
Polished to a shine - tucked away on a shelf
 
 
I've lost count of the years in which I've buried my head in the sand
Because to summon my lucidity is a waste
It will always look black, feel vacant
It will echo with wraithlike conviction and smell of blood
For eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds – I counted
Gravity pulling the grains
 
 
He says, "I'm nice to you, aren't I?"
I say, "I know. I'm sick and sleep deprived and confused and just; don't take anything I say seriously."
I don't say: Our next meeting will depend on other people and it will fall through
Because strong legs, when borrowed, eventually deteriorate
And your number will tremor whenever the wind blows, telling me
I shouldn't be afraid of a boy's number and
I'm so afraid
 
 
If I wanted to go out
Wade through the rubble and find a fancy seat.
Sit there stoically waiting
For a drink
I could do it now
I can make my own decisions, drive and fuck and open a bank account
All at the same time, if I wanted to.
I could.
 
 
Happy Birthday. Cheer overcomes us.


--Mandie Jichita
 
 

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Speak Your Peace: Judas

This piece was originally performed at Cha Island on March 26, 2015 for our local Speak Your Peace! event. It was awesome. You shoulda been.


you can think if you like, the cosmic ebb &flow
is an oddity you’ve come to intimately know
chaos isnt a dance to be memorized
its all improv babe
thrash, weave maybe even land on both feet
that moody sea lulls you to a false stability
then flips ship on you
sometimes im a narwhal
or else im grasping at staying afloat
what tastes worse , the water or the air?
so often peace of mind feels so goddamn remote
i dont know what to do anymore
numb or overrun
masterfully glacial or flash flood
perpetual motion mind & cement in my blood
i dont think i like it
my sober stream of thought
the screaming is too loud
death wails of a planet
clutching a knife wound-oil stain
of human greed and obsession to"succeed"
corruption down to the seed in the core in the rotten blood electric fruit served on rustic pharma fresh style plates
encouraging you to gorge in hopes you die by 62
profiting on providing false cures to you
how can you look at a fellow earthling as scum
turning your mobile investment so you can throw money at another fucking stadium
so many still believe that salvation lies
in the hands of sadistic suits and ties
who strap guns to the hips of ill temperments
compassion and universal love is becoming a crime
words are moving too fast to tell me what is time
countless hours since my eyes last closed
the ride isnt stopping
space seldom tells treacherous tales
so i cast my net, cast my bet and breathe
our silent exchanges always interrupted
because pigs /do/ fly
throat catching reminder of "how it is"
observing the worker ants from up high
we cant make sustainable use of what grows wild
but they can exploit, brutalize and destroy any adult or child
self entitled hording of water
stealing imaginary rights to a resource no one can own
slap on a pretentious label and sling it like smack
best seal off the boardrooms and mansions
i wouldnt wanna be there when nature comes calling for her share
attempting to keep my head clear but this fucked up fantasy dont disappear
but resistance will never be as excrutiating as compliance
a world tip toeing around elitist whims
then survival depends on defiance
with a flick of a switch we could all be dust
keeping up the love is all i can trust
heart always wins the fight
friend i guess im running out of ways to cope
sitting, gazing up a 90 degree slope
bare fists clenching ice
any idea what im doing right now?
any at all


--Judas

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Speak Your Peace: Caitlin Hoffman

I originally performed this piece at Cha Island in March 2015 for our local Speak Your Peace! event. Everyone was amazing. You shoulda been.

Cunt Talk

Now I know we don’t wanna talk about cunts

‘Cause men fear them which means they fear us


Nobody wants to talk about blood

in the soul or spit

Nobody wants to hear about the times I thrashed against my clit

when I fucked the whole world away and felt

nothing.


Nobody wants to see me look at her to imagine touching her to wonder if I could

these fingers have drawn a thousand lines in my mind yet rarely materialised against thigh

only once or twice and even then

too ashamed to be wet

preoccupied with a million lies like You’re cute when you’re angry I’m good when I do what they tell me I wanna fuck hard and loud and I don’t give a fuck who it is or if it hurts

This body wasn’t mine it belonged to every eye

and when he stuck it in I didn’t cringe. Didn’t cry. Just held my hands against his shirt whispered no once or twice or five times

and we didn’t break up

and I never called it rape.


I was taught guys like good girls who talk dirty, skip foreplay suck first think later ask never sit still stay on top. Swallow bend beg for it so what’s it matter if I did or didn’t like it when sex is centred around the dick I may as well have been a doll but doll’s don’t have scars dolls don’t have acne marks dolls don’t weep into toilet bowls and wonder why they’re ugly

Dolls don’t have ribs pointing out too far

Dolls don’t whisper no.


As I wipe the dirt from my sweet little secrets

I wonder how the world could ever benefit from this

and I worry my words will only hurt or make it worse.


We cannot spark a revolution w/ our tongues

No matter how much they beat against us

for long before we learned to talk they learned to silence us.


I always wanted to be a boy and for a while thought I was

but daddy’s little girl still wore dresses to Sunday School

now looking back I see what I meant to express through this

what was expected of me in a Christian family

I sensed very well who I wasn’t supposed to kiss.


In girls I was meant to find friends and in men an eventual husband

which soon turned to cocks locked with frustrated fingers

fucking so loud so silently

and never finding anything.


Would I have done better abstinent

Would I have done better without regret

Would I have done better loving women

exactly the way I wanted.


Now I know a little too late

Love isn’t a sin but lust is

Just stay with me on this

Lust isn’t desire lust isn’t libido lust isn’t attraction and lust isn’t sex

Lust is what turns us into

meat on heels

the prop they’re gonna tap the hole they’re gonna get

bitch slut dyke fake the names they give us to assume our submission

strip our humanity

the ones that gave excuses for raping slaves.


And I know it hurts to hear, and I still look at her even when she isn’t here

and remember a cunt gushing on my chair

because there between fingers and kiss I sensed something resembling innocence

a feeling I’ve never felt in these lips.


But you don’t wanna hear about her

and you don’t wanna hear that word

you’d rather I keep lying

and say I like it.


--Caitlin Hoffman