Writers Block, A Poem

No ideas, but all the motivation.

All the reasons to do it yet no reason at all.

Like a marathon, hitting a wall.

Just spit it out,

Put it on the page! Put it on the Page!

Forget if it makes sense, forget the grammar and spell checks.

Fuck making sense.

Just put it on the page,

Gibberish or garbage is better than nothing.

Just put something on the page.

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What Place Do The Artists Have in Revolution? A Poem

What Place Do The Artists Have in Revolution?

PRODUCE!

Must produce content!

For fame,

For a following,

Quite literally and painfully so,

thanks to the stench of both words.

To produce is to manufacture,

To manufacture is to produce.

The workers are the ones who produce,

So the artists,

the writers,

the creators,

we are the workers to.

We are a part of that thing called revolution,

And we must forgive Marx for forgetting us.

Artists!

Artists of the world, unite!

We have nothing to lose but our chains,

We have everything to gain

when we gain the freedom to create!

Courage Is The Sweetest Lullaby, a poem

Courage Is The Sweetest Lullaby

Fear not your lions,

And constrain yourself

upon the unsightly sounds

of this date of sorrow.

Do but construct,

And constrain,

For the winter’s winds are but lost

by the summer sun.

The nymphs of the seasons

do hold their treasons so,

Be not the character of

perpetual woe.

Rains do pitch upon this sight,

Wish yourself well,

Wish yourself sweet goodnight.

The Teacher As The Poet, a poem

The Teacher As The Poet

Content’s production,

Ease of mind and constant rush,

Narcotic ease,

And still the voices don’t stop.

Stagnation is a creative mind’s enemy,

as is cowardice.

We are our words,

our letters and symbols.

Intentions mean nothing when they fail,

Yet success is still a subjective term.

I am responsible for the quiet dawn

of these minds,

if only for a day.

What world do we live in now?

What world was it before?

And what shall it be?

This is not a journal entry,

Poetry is public record,

And to be used,

On what was “just” another day.

Right Wing Attacks on This Blog

Recently a video of me from the DSA convention has gone viral and right wing trolls have dug through my website and are publishing screen shots and videos of me, mocking my mental health and my disability.

I am not bothered. I am not hurt by any of this. But by sharing my name, hometown, and social media accounts on their website, Fox News has exposed not only myself but my family to incredible danger.

(TW/CW Ableist and bigoted language)

This above picture is a screen shot of just one of the dozens of messages I have been receiving in the last 24 hours. Some have been rants like this, others have been direct threats on my life.

It would be laughable that Fox News has picked such an insignificant event from the DSA convention and blow it up so much were it not for the fact it has put the safety of all those I care about at risk.

I have since had to deactivate my twitter and instagram because I have received a bombardment of death threats. This has effected my ability to advertise this blog since I was using both of those sites to do that. I now have to be extra intentional about writing posts and sharing my work for my readers to find.

I am not worried about my own safety but about the safety of those I love. I find Fox News and Tucker Carlson’s obsession with me hilarious, but there is nothing funny about how the safety of my friends and relatives are now at risk because of their constant and irresponsible form of coverage.

I am not afraid of the attacks against me. I am only afraid that someone I love may get hurt. Personally, I have never been afraid of bullies. I have never believed in “just ignoring” them so they “go away. ” No, ever since I was a child I have always been one to look my bullies in the eye and say one thing to them, “I am not afraid of you.”

This blog will continue and so will my regular postings. The right wing will never silence me.

Art in Our Times, a poem

Art in Our Times

Piss poor excuse for a joke,

All the un-ironic irony in real life.

I have always said it,

Life is a parody of the self,

We live in Chaplin’s Modern Times,

We are the machines,

And the proles.

We are wheels,

Turning and obedient to the driver,

Circle after circle,

Loop after loop.

Never changing,

Always moving,

Who are we, you, I?

Identity in these times,

Matches no other,

Identity in the past,

Must be laid to rest.

People are tired of cliches,

They need new ones,

New tropes,

New motifs,

New characters.

We,

The artists,

The writers,

The workers!

We must create something new.

We must not merely express our times,

We must change them.

What are the times we live in?

What will our era be called?

What can one do?

to help,

to change,

to move forward?

What can one do to stop the delay?

So that art,

and liberty,

can save us all.