I gave four prompts to collaborating poet Tanya Ko Hong. She conducted three minutes of “fevered writing” with each prompt. Here are the results. These words comprise the lexicon I’ll use to create my dis•articulations poem.
The Six Important things you never knew about the chakras
You totally failed to grasp what I am talking about.
You misrepresented my origin and stole my nature as if it were you own.
You make it more beautiful, mysterious and magical than it is. The origin is gone and has no blue print. It is mine and yet you took it without permission and acted though you invented it.
Here, I am not speaking your language and can’t argue with you about with my rights.
You don’t dare to learn my language. I feel stuck. I am stuck because I want my rights back. I want to show it in perfect performing Act. I want to be a genius. I want to have the right answers all of your questions.
I do not want to look ignorant, a foreigner who is not in your circle. It is hard to be an outsider.
It’s easy to live not causing problem. It’s easy to pretend not to know and go eat alone.
But, if I don’t share the truth with you…. I owe it to myself to be myself.
The most powerful thing is to be honest and to say, “I don’t know yet.”
I want to free myself from things that I don’t know about and not feel shame.
It’s ok. One thing I learn is “LAM”.
Vam, Yam, Lam, Ram, Yam & Ham.
Breathe…
What I am writing, does make it sense to you?
My writing is prescriptive not descriptive. Any clue?
Portrait of the Artist as a Starfish in Coffee
Imagine if the world is flat.
Imagine if your mom is alive again and you are taking her to fancy restaurant and
order her “the special’ beautifully prepared by top chef which she will never order for herself.
Imagine you can hear her laugh again and make your stomach ache go away. She makes the world round and she is around the world tasting like melted chocolate in your mouth.
Imagine that my friend will still love me and understand me when I hang up on her to say, “ I have to write 3 min fevered writing. Will call you back.”
She still loves me like starfish stuck on your heart.
Imagine that I write the perfect poem, incredible, unforgettable poem in 3 min.
Emily Dickson…forget it. Drink massive coffee and pass out.
Imagine that I am perfect in English, Korean, German, French, Chinese…
Imagine that if the world has only one language to understand each other.
Imagine that we only have one language…
When I say, “Bap밥” then you understand it’s “Rice.”
When I ask, “Did you eat bap?” then it doesn’t mean, “Did you eat rice?”
It means, “Did you eat breakfast, lunch or dinner?”
It’s not just asking if you eat or not. It is meaning the care, love, because bap 밥 is love.
Imagine that we all understand the cultural contexts
Imagine that we do not have to divided country, nation…
Imagine that we all color blind.
Imagine that we all falling in love to each other.
Imagine that we never shoot.
Imagine that we never invent hates
Imagine that we never invent guns
Imagine that we never have fear
Imagine that we all have heart to share
Imagine that we all bring out our artists inside
Imagine that your mother is smiling when you walk out the door
Imagine that you only have one day to live
Man accused of stealing batteries from school buses in yard – The …
Edmund Pittsley is 36 years old and he lives in Rhode (Road) Island.
He is eating batteries. Not small batteries. Big batteries, big, bigger then his stomach.
He had work and he worked really hard but had no work. No one gives him work anymore. He hasn’t (wasn’t) able to eat days and days. He was walking by the school yard, and there so many school monster buses parked there. Yellow monster school buses. Edmund remembered how he wanted to go school, like other children when he was a child. He couldn’t go because he didn’t have documents. He was never able to get in the yellow magic bus. He had to work to buy batteries. He heard his friends were saying, they wished not to go school. He thought, it would be cool, if he gets batteries out from the car then he can get food to eat and little children can stay at home and play more with their parents. It was a windy Wednesday morning at the Province town. Students had to wait 2 hours for (the) bus, and it made world top news. We didn’t hear about the 200 children died in hunger that morning.
Do Spices Go Bad? Well, Yeah, Kind of | Bon Appetit
Does life go bad?
Does life go bad by aging?
What do you think?
We are eating all these pills, to prevent us to getting old and sick and to help us live longer.
The white, green, orange, pink whatever the color of the rainbow pills.
We swallow these different shapes of pills and ground stuff that reminds of us ashes.
Maybe it is someone’s flesh, bones, and soul, eye balls, organs, pups, memories, tears, hairs, skull, teeth, jaws, ears, nose, buggers, tongue or left over pizza.
Who knows what we are eating…sun dried tomato can be dried blood of tiger’s vain.
We do wired things to live long lives.
We are created to have whole things in the life not little pieces.
We suggest to people, “Go buy highest quality spices and pay top dollars” and tell them, “Throw them away because it’s expired, no longer good! It’s bad for you! Expired! Expired! Buy another one”
Is spices go bad? Open your pantry and check your spices. Yes, it’s all expired.
Are you throwing them out? Like your bad dreams, like basters in your life
Is that really bad?
The longer we live, the more we love or the less we love.
Are you sorry, that you are still here even though you are invaluable.
Or are you ok that you are still hanging…
Or are you valuable by aging? .
Are you lovable by aging?
It’s worthwhile to refresh your organ, life, mind, memories and the spices in your life. Life can be long but it can be short too.
Collaborating poet Tanya Ko Hong gave four prompts to me. I conducted three minutes of “fevered writing” with each prompt. Here are the results. These words comprise the lexicon Tanya will use to create her dis•articulations poem.
November Fevered Writing from Tanya’s Prompts
I speak another tongue, a second tongue. This is how distant I am.
You cannot reach me because I am in another galaxy, drifting through etheric time. My two tongues are in an argument, and both claim you are wrong. The starlight is beautiful tonight, although it’s cold up here, beyond where the eye can see. A shimmer of frost against a background of endless blackness. The conflict goes on and on, until the stars wink out. Time has not reached our little capsule; it’s made up anyway. My two tongues wrestle, suck each other all day.
There, in the Taklamakan Desert, the silence of a thousand-year-old skull ends abruptly; it’s got a story to tell. A millennial tale that pours through the hinged jaw and makes a dusty music in the air. This skull has witnessed so much its eyes exploded, but those blank sockets still recall the visions of devastation and decay. The music takes a darker tone, like a cello played underwater on the last night of earth.
“Forgive me, but I wasn’t feeling so civil about it.”
That’s why I stuffed a paper bag with my own shit in it, drove it over to your house and set fire to it on your doorstep. I had eaten some explosives the night before so as my shit began to ignite, there were large concatenations and bursts of flame. I could have just un-friended you, but I wanted something more immediate. I wanted witnesses. I wanted a gesture you would always remember, those foul-smelling fireworks in front of what had been our home.
4. “I didn’t know that the war was still inside you…Boom.”
It was the crows who told me, dropping pellets from their beaks to the dirt below. They said you were an unresolved conflict, a battleground, a graveyard. They fly above and look down upon our secrets, the ones we think no one can see. Their wings create huge shadows over our roofs, and the wind they stir up will blow us into the next world. Even there you will carry the war in your eyes and in your bones.
