the fifth of june

her hair is fanned out like the sun
she wears my dress, my swimsuit
lays in my towel
looks so peaceful
the lake so cold
we waded up to our hips
before running out
i still peer at her lips
devout

“this song is going to make me cry when i get old”
she said
she the heroine of a 1920’s novel
i am a plot device

we eavesdrop on a boy and girl
he wears a violent shirt
she wears stripes

put your records on: SZA

I’ve been waiting for this album since Z came out in 2014 and it does not dissapoint. Solana Rowe’s voice is honey sweet, but delivers biting lines such as “You could never trivialize pussy/ But a bum nigga like you would try it”. She continues to push the boundaries of R&B, with hints of indie rock on tracks like “Supermodel” and trap in “Garden (Say It Like Dat)”. The album as a whole explores freedom of sexuality in a modern world, along with insecurity, and the desire for closeness. To quote Pitchfork “CTRL is about sexual freedom while still having your hunger for intimacy be taken seriously.”

One of my favorite tracks is “Drew Barrymore”, atrack in which SZA portrays a more unassured and self conscious version of herself. The song speaks to the feeling of insecurity within a relationship with the chorus constantly questioning whether it is warm enough both inside her and outside. This double meaning; inside as sexual innuedo and outside refering to physical beauty, is complicated further by the fact that the line warm enough sounds similar to woman enough. SZA questions her feminity in relation to her sexual appeal, and shows the difficulties that are posed to women in our current cultural landscape. However the song is sort of an unapologetical apology for parts of her that may not be the epitome of how many think a lady should act.

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah
(Tell me that it’s warm enough here for ya)
Is it warm enough for ya inside me, me, me, me?
Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah
(Tell me that it’s warm enough here for ya)
Warm enough outside, inside me, me, me, me

These sides of both the postives and negatives of modern love are present in the whole album. SZA wishes that she was a “normal girl” who is taken to meet the family, but also sleeps with her ex-boyfriend’s friend because he purposefully left her on Valentine’s Day.

Listen to CTRL here

 

seat 17E

1.
humming
rush of circulating air
what i can see of the sky is a floating hazing azure
melting into cotton wisp cloads
my mouth is dry as is my skin
flying is never as bad
nor enjoyable as it seems
and when one awakes from the nap
no time has passed, like some odd dream
i cannot explain the thrill
when the ground becomes just a gap
far away and then slowly
at the end of your trip you fill
the holes, earth becomes real again

2.
i do not sit with my family
instead i am in the exit row
the only ones of us together
my father, my youngest sister
i am going off to travel soon
others still have school
i am in the exit row
between an overweight man watching a movie
and a woman in a yellow sweater reading a novel
i am in the exit row
my grandfather is in the ground
we are all going home
i am in the exit row

an update

If anyone is reading my blog, you know that I have not been posting something everyday as I committed to January 1, 2017. This is not to say that I do not write often, but recently I have been having this internal debate about why I am creating, and why I put my work online. This has mostly occured becuase of two discussions that I had recently.

I had a conversation with a very brilliant friend and mentor of mine who made me realize how much of a privelege it is to not think about what language to write in, and to not have to think about the colonialism of the English language. He is Indonesian and came to Seattle for school and will be starting his Phd next year for English. He reads and writes a lot, but doesn’t do a lot of creative writing because he is dealing with these deep philosophy of language and culture questions.

The other important converation I had was with a gal pal of mine who makes monthly zines of her favorite poems and art and makes a fair amount of her own art and poetry, but doesn’t publish online, because she creates for herself, doesn’t want to publish just for the recognition.

This combination as well some personal tragedy recently has been one of the reasons that I have stopped posting on this blog as much. I do want to continue to put work online, even just to cause me to create work that I feel is both worthy and not too personal to publish. Therefore I am going to try to write at least two posts a week, even if they are short.

Thank you for listening to my words.

lone 

have you felt that sense of loneliness?
of wandering back
home 1:47 in the morning
all limbs and misty eyes
walking miles
across the city at
night because you
had nothing better to do?

of driving somewhere
to see a half acquaintance
for a few minutes because it’s
the closest thing
you’ll get to
human contact?

I’ve walked to the
lake late at night
been told by cops that
I’m trespassing
only to walk back
sometime later into green grass parks where no one but me passes by

I’ve tripped on sidewalks
who feel the roots of trees
rebelling from their concrete oppression

been scared by a frog croak
watched a singular tabby cat cross the false suburban road the same time i did

some nights it is peaceful

others a few cars will rush by
carrying people my age off
hidden groves and dancing girls
sweet wine and sugared men

on entropy

what an odd feeling to know one is leaving
but not to have left yet
i walked on a path today littered with bottles and trash
and wondering do they feel stuck like myself?
do they wish they could leave their state of organization and move back into entropy
rejoin nature as they ought to

organic matter only means that which had carbon in it
i am organic matter
but does my matter matter?
are my atoms coalesced into meaning, or are they just atoms?
the rush that i feel is just dopamine
i take what i can glean from literatue and art
still flows in the ventricles of my heart

desperately holding to false information
i am no scientist
i am a mathematician
i love not the how, but the integrals of complicated functions
the sines and cosines of Fourier series
though they too have no inherent meaning

i do not know
what seems to have none

the trash on the road
which floats, is just the careless
nature of humanity

frowning and failing
to leave

from vita

do I dare tell her that her eyes are an hazel tree’s trunk?
that her soul is light and arcadian, so pure and naive?
her voice is the sound of a babbling brook, and her mind …

her mind is lavender blue
such a color that even the late night sky
gets jealous because her
every thought is so
entrancing, so idyllic and melancholy.
the rain pours harder when I’m with her
the sun stays up late to paint a pinky cloud in appreciation of her laughter

i ache for her
i want to taste her lips
to run my fingers through her hair
down her neck
to trace the hollows of her delicate collar bone

her very presence unnerves me
i cannot help looking at her whole being shines with the pale glow of the moon

we raced down the street
dashing in spring air to watch “the longest and most charming love letter in literature”

when will I see her
whom i cannot turn from
i long
tomorrow and tomorrow is too far away

and if you and her are the same—and only she will know
know that i have never desired as i do now
never seen violet, purple, lilac and thought solely of you
never been so flustered and enamored all at once

i spend an inordinate amount of time
just thinking of you

i am ridiculous
i am utterly infatuated
i would mock myself were i another person
alas it is i
tossed and whirled

i lament that you most likely do not care for me the way I do for you
ah well, if all is to fade
hear this
i think you are most ravishing
the most ravishing creature I have ever encountered