the lost art of critical thinking

It came from the fear of abyss, the excess of hoards, toadstools of desolate tyranny, choking— the comments, scrolling, we ingest the arsenic, pain-killers of reversal, fiddling with twigs of fire—the sweltering squeal of life. We belong to the sparrows, and they to us. The lilies, our sisters, and yet, we are so fearful of [...]

forgotten poems found in my journal under November sun

August/October 6 (combined to one poem) skin-tight blue jeans After Washington Post article: “The ‘blue’ for blue jeans was first made 6,200 years ago in Peru” 1. You cry for wisdom, oh Solomon. We cry, let us doubt and mourn. And the history of education is a tectonic drift—some lava is more than couch cushions. We’ll [...]

fire worms

​​Fire worms, I want to eat them. Burn my face alive so that I will finally feel silence—a scalded tongue, drinking yellow-orange organisms as if coal could help us hear the hum of cicadas and crickets. The humans murmur, complain of cold, and the moon sits round and dumb, but his mind is on the [...]

gelid pews

we feast:  taco pie,  hazelnut-soy-latte (iced), white wine with dangling fruits, chive-French-fries con ranch, butter, butterflies. I wear old-and-dirty clothes, eat chips, like I'm young enough to die, but I'll do it anyways. Two chairs rock, wobble to-and-fro like God himself sits and chews tobacco. Rine and dine, fine wine. Single women in tight get-ups, [...]

rapid water turns into laughter by white beard

I live on those laughing waters—Minnehaha—it's my road, but it doesn't laugh; it cries, floods, and through the loud roar, both of new-land galoshes and white-teethed grins, haha can only mean one thing to a settler—emojis of old. But if you look far enough, past the canopy, past the stumblers, the Chinese market, coffee shops, [...]

just more milliennialism

Modernity is the waterfall's milk as an iced hazelnut latte, and the white-washed stems are glow sticks to break from their mother and watch the veins tear. It's not as if the waterfall itself is made of coffee, but it's what we see, and what we think of solitude is not mundane but relief. Four [...]