Your Name Appears in the Book I'm Reading - Insomnia #11

your name appears in the book that i am reading
and i blink transfixed at what used to be so familiar
as it sits on the yellow page staring boldly at me, like you used to,
my heart beats falters like it used to
but your name does not blink like you used to


i close the book but i continue to read into past experiences together
your name is shifted violently from side to side, tossed and turned and shaken to relay its
secrets, in the turbulent waters of the mind
and i willingly drive in, drowning in memories
because i will save you, salvage what you were with my dying breath
for there are no other fishes in the sea,
compatible as you were with me


as i caress it with my tongue, whispering softly, reverently,
akin to a prayer
i open the book and stare
blatantly you stare back much like you used to
peering so closely your name slowly expands like you used to
promising I'd get used to...
this name, however familiar presents to me a blank slate
an unknown identity
i dont know who you are anymore
in any case i would not mind shedding this identity and following you on this yellow page
and in the world forever more
separated only by the conjunction "and"
immortalized on a yellow page and a green earth together
his identity remains unknown though....
however rest assure i will forever be the Jane to my John Doe.

History Class

History Class
From the dull words printed on an even duller page
I see the eyes of the fallen twinkle with promise
Of a life gone and spent paying the debt and still remaining cost of being free
I stare at the book and continue to look until the words are blurred with pages and the my unshed tears
Something should be done for all those killed
They should be compensated I feel

I can only imagine being belittled and caged fought done and stifled, patronized with insulting words and racial slurs
I can only Imagine,.. but is it a wasted effort?

They say ‘history repeats itself’ But how can it, when we’ve come so far from the sugar plantations and cotton fields
The only cotton we pick now are from store racks when buying a new outfit
We kill ourselves trying to impress
By our shoes and the way we dress,
we don’t need a master, we already fight each other down.
No longer caged physically, yet we limit ourselves by our own minds, imprisoning ourselves by our own mediocrity
Stifling our voices, for fear of being heard or taken seriously and coincidentally, the insulting words and racial slurs have evolved to endearment terms.
‘ Dawg, biatch, nigga’
Because spelled differently, it means something else.
The universe is warped, but how can it be stopped
The Motherland got screwed and aborted her offspring from her womb
But why concentrate on the past, when our future continues to loom
Just close the book and try to assume
that we are not unconsciously digging a grave to our own doom.

My Thoughts On The Matter - Insomnia #8

Even after receiving all the encouragement for my writing and poems, I was still not mentally prepared to be the subject of this abject admiration and ‘respect’. Flattered beyond words and humbled beyond measure, I was rendered speechless when asked for relationship advice, moral support and psychological therapy. So what if I am incapable of feeling romantic love, and the word ‘moral’ has only just been inferred in my vocabulary and lifestyle and psychologically,...(well if u know me , you know the deal). Maybe you don’t have to be logical and ‘sane’ to give advice. Maybe Dr. Phil, after giving these long and reasonable explanations on respect and love, beat his wife for eating the last piece of cheesecake in the fridge. Maybe he verbally abuses the Hispanic maid for putting ugly seams into his favorite, mud colored Tuesday pants that he wears on the show. I don’t know. Maybe. So despite my shortcomings and downfalls, I present to you my honest and subtly diluted 'Thoughts on the Matter.'


‘Love’ and ‘normal’ are two words most loosely used and coincidentally rarely meant or understood. Lets start with ‘normal’ In all of my existence , I have never been described as normal and I have come to the realization, that there is no such thing . Normal is such an ugly term – Everyone has their quirks about them. For instance I like to believe I’m James Bond and jump out of moving buses, I like waking up singing an Indian chant in the middle of the night ..(haye aye aye aye ..), I love staring at my mother in the shower with a creepy look on my face .. that makes her jump and vow that she will send me to Tapion to get my head checked,, again. Normal is relative. Its normal for men to smoke ,, but maybe they’re just compensating for putting long, thick, cylindrical objects in their mouths and sucking on it. Don't ask.
All these top notch psychologists have a theory and balance by which to judge a person’s behaviour. Mentally unstable, eccentric or normal. Mine says that I’m just strange, and think differently but I’m ‘ok’. I’m eccentric. Should I be happy and relieved (like my mother) that there is nothing wrong with me? What if I told her of the voices in my head.. and what they keep telling me ..*awkward pause*.. (Im playing, there are no voices in my head) *cough* Einstein by all accounts and pictures should be labeled as a crazy bastard, .. but ironically he’s a genious. So what if he made many contributions to physics which included the special and general theories of relativity, the founding of relativistic cosmology, the first Newtonian expansion, explaining the perihelion advance of Mercury, prediction of the deflection of light by gravity and gravitational lensing, the first fluctuation dissipation theorem which explained the Brownian movement of molecules, the photon theory and wave-particle duality, the quantum theory of atomic motion in solids, the zero-point energy concept, the semi classical version of the Schrödinger equation, and the quantum theory of a monatomic gas which predicted Bose–Einstein condensation. His hair was messed up and for that alone he should have been locked up. However now, society undermines creativity and to make everything simpler.. just label it as ‘crazy’. Respect eccentricity and unlikeness.


>> beep beep. (Interruption in the regular programming)--- this ‘article’ for want of a better word cannot continue because Treasure Lionel’s PC has AIDS. Seeing that she is not the fastest ‘typer’ and this computer will shutdown at any moment it would be wise if she stops now. Sincerest apologies for any inconvenience caused. Go back to your lame lives already in progress. <<

The Damsel In Destress - Insomnia #?

The damsel in this dress
is not as sugar coated, as sweet she might seem
Because alone , she makes herself sick with her pretenses and her apparent lack of insulin
Looking for an escape ; a haven

The damsel in distress
finds herself ensnared in a trap, once more in a mess
Naive and helpless
she holds his hands and teeters into the dark abyss
a place unknown
Where nothing is familiar , yet everything is,
Every word softly spoken, but she remembers nothing said
Every move seemingly rehearsed, but nothing was read.

The Damsel is undressed
Not seeing that she is nothing but a conquest
to him.
A challenge, a test
Which he passes, and she fails....
To acknowledge that he is not the hero, but is here to bring her pain
And he does
For she feels it again , and again, and again.

The damsel is distressed
A stare so forlorn and cold
she looks Possessed
Realizing too late now that she has made a mistake.....
One where she allowed him to take all she had

The Damsel in distress
has cried her eyes out ; but now is vex
At herself, at the world, at him
For engaging in sex
Especially when she realizes it was mediocre , at best