Hello, I’m back with what is not at all the premise of this newsletter. A lot of my focus last year was on taking care of my grandparents, and as a result, I fell deeply out of habit with this newsletter. With that said, I finally completed a new letter about creativity this Monday. I meant for that to come out this week. But at present, it feels more appropriate to share some poetry instead.
While they are not traditionally the focus here, I don’t think I hide my politics. I often reference my stories about my past as a political speaker and my subsequent and continued search for viable paths to social progress. For the past decade, I’ve been through constant rounds of disillusionment. It’s a pathetic place that we live, that we call home. I’ve hated bolstering a Democratic Party in the past who has lacked the shreds of moral integrity, strategic foresight, and/or genuine interest in stopping this and genocides abroad. And I have too hated attending leftist anti-war rallies with 12 people in attendance, but instead of a united front, it’s 6 people arguing with the other 6 for protesting wrong. And while this poem mostly offers this, I am really only so interested in catharsis. I want more than that. I keep looking for answers, and sometimes I find them, mostly in people who are working to build genuine coalitions. People who understand that morality finds its worth when it is paired with the power to see it through. I won’t pretend to have any more than that for today.
All art betrays something about the writer’s underlying politics. Might as well be clear about them. This is a piece I wrote a few years ago and performed at the Fathomers Emergence gallery opening as part of PST ART last month in LA. I share it with ya now.
To you, earth child, many years
from now.
If I can speak plainly to you, the
descendants of those that I love in
the future. The children of people
from every block in my city, and
every country where my ancestry
trace. I would at first ask you how it
is you’re doing today. What it is you
love to do. And if my favorite comic
book line is still running in your time.
After a laugh and then a lull, I would
have you know that in my time, I
lived with a lot of doubt. I would want
to tell you, where once I drew a line
in the sand, and stood firmly by my
morals. I at times forget and brush
over that line, disappearing it, never
wanting, and on occasion giving up.
I would tell you — that I would have
loved to lay a path for you, but as
you may be aware, the future is
often uncertain.
My true questions, the ones I would
have held back, would rush out like
calvary through a gate.
Are you full, are you fed? Do you
bear the cold in fleece or with grit?
Have you received reminders from
the powerful, that to them, your life
and comfort hold no stock that is not
sooner occupied by profit and greed?
Have you knowledge that things
could be easier, but many had
desired it to not be so?
If I were to speak to you —
I would dig my nail into the palm of
my hand and speak harshly of my
time and how I used it.
If you too had ever lived in despair,
I would provide you a companion.
Children of earth under the stars and
in the cold. I imagine we would sit for
a while. With a few more laughs and
many, many, more lulls.
In time, I would offer you something
else. Something I could give, and
give happily.
If I could speak to you, plainly, and
clearly. I would abandon myself of
my sense of failure and seek you out
from a place of love.
If I can speak plainly, and I can
speak clearly. I would dig my heel
into solid earth, etch my lines firmly,
and on top of them construct castles
of sand. Courtyards in which you
could play and dream, and do
nothing at all.
I would tell you, from atop the vista. I
love you and I don’t want you to die.
But die we do. And before it is done,
let it not be known, but let it instead
be felt, that we created more. Let it
be felt that I would hold you in my
arms and around you construct cities
of sand. Warm and flowing.
Sharpen, sharpen, clearer and plain.
I would give a reminder, to both you
and myself that to be brave is to face
cosmic limits both tangible and not.
To love the earth is to love yourself
and all beings that ever were and
will be.
To draw breath is a testament,
proof that your life and future matter — for
no other reason than the fact that
you were born in this world.
I speak to you, earth child,
descended of my love. You are
whole, and for you we create.
That’s all for now,
Fair sailing till next week, gang.
Delighted to hear your voice and see your words again. Sending love.
Wonderful poem, thank you for sharing