simple truths

The Things we fuck up, and why do we do them? Out of what Great Fear do we set ourselves out for ruin? What began as self-undoing became complete destruction. Hell bent to destroy our deliberate constructions. Does the grief wrought to ourselves stand as a measure to our worthiness? Or stand countenance to the sturdiness of the common bonds we all seek? Why do we tear away at the things we hate? Wouldn't it be far saner to relate to all those fears bore down by others, as reflective to our inner state? The Love we feel is missing, is only the love we refuse to make. And before we beg a spirit 'Listen!' One must truly know what they're about to say.

MANDATUM MUTATIS MUTANDIS "We Command, Change as Needs to be Changed." ...a call to action.         In the twilight of this disillusionment, as we grasp for what may be left to salvage of the American dream, we find ourselves reaching out to our neighbors once more and though we still possess skilled hands and motivated spirits; hard times have fallen on the American people.  Isn't our workforce larger than ever? Hasn't our ability to cull our natural resources and refine them improved? Shouldn't this nation of hardworking, well-educated people be at her peak? With our children's peak  still yet to come? We hear the news and then overhear it again, through our social circles, telling us the reason for our economic downturn, low employment rates, homelessness, people going hungry right here on our American streets . We hear that it has something to do with a bubble, in the market, popping and costs rising, due to inflation...but, let me be the one, to pop

I had reached a point at the end of my rope, where I welcomed death, silence, oblivion. At this point of defeat, I realized, that should I die today, then what I 'would have' done didn't matter. It didn't matter if I failed, or if I saved the world. If the me I had known did not matter anymore, than what harm would it bring to go all out! Splash the world with all the great, and the menial, all the colorful ideas and ambitions, all the ridiculous and humorous insights- who the hell cares!  If I had died it would all be a loss anyhow. So, why not make life my game? Rearrange the board, skip spaces and recolor the squares. Far better than throwing the whole box in the trash. Death did come- to my ego, to my pride, to my 'show face' and 'proper place.' Dead. It's all meaningless. Now I choose to Love and Give-to give away and let go, holding tight, only, to what I find passion for.

THIS MOTHERFUCKING DEMON THAT'S SCREAMING IN MY HEAD MAKIN' ME WANT TO THROW UP AT THE THOUGHT OF GETTING OUT OF MY GOD DAMNED BED. CRIPPLED AND CRUSHED UNDER THIS FEATHER LIGHT QUILT OF DISGUST, CONTEMPT & CORRUPT BEARING DOWN WITH INDECISION THIS INNER NUCLEAR COLLISION THE FISSION OF WHICH MAKES FOR A BITTER DISTASTE FOR LIFE THROWN IN MY FACE, MY FATE THESE LIES.

I remember my Grandmama, explaining to my 7 year old self,       "Every seven years your body changes." As an adult, this has proved to be true. Even science backs up Grandmama on this one, nearly every cell in our body including the ones which make up our bones are in fact replaced over time (although its a lot more complex than that...). Think back to seven years old. Parents- think of your child at 7 years old!! The age of reason, and I will add the age of individual opinion, lol. Fast forward to fourteen years! Ok, enough said on that age....now 21..... These are defining years for most people, when not just our physical body changes, but our persona and status too. Interestingly, seven years comes up as the final number of many cycles. Debts are cancelled after 7 years. Bad luck from broken mirrors thankfully disappear. The famous "seven year itch," in marriages. I have noticed in my personal life, many events, people and places have come back

Walking Along Walking along the edge. Gazing at possibilities. Slowly taking these steps, I sway to find my footing. Indefinite, but with stride, and seeking affirmation, I am altogether captured by the reverent form unfolding. Resisting an impressive urge, to plunge into what feels true, I have fallen before, and as they say, That, is not what kills. So, here I remain. Myself. Steady and balanced on this ledge. On the horizon, moments envisaged,  waiting to become… When the timing is right, with respect to that uncertain state, disquietude shall cease, and a new harmony will compose… Where- I can jump, or rather fall, and immerse absolutely, in amity and contentment. Fulfillment of our course. What an extraordinary endeavor we have set out to travel. The words which brim upon my lips, simply do not avail, or impart to you, what I believe, this journey may reveal. For now… These words will hold their place and we will walk on still. -Rochell

I play with my words like you play with gum, pulling each vowel through my lips, feeling the crack of a consonant on my tongue, and biting down to hold each in their proper place. I play with words like babies play with bubbles, creating them to shine then pop with possibilities, my wand is my pen, dipped deep into the frothy brine, to conjure up form from subconscious mystery. Where grammar gives way to art. punctuated. by the rhythms and the _silence between the notes. Where language dances with intimate perception, staring back at the reader, the writer, casting shadows of depth no picture could perceive, it's thousand words so intricately weaved. These words are toys, not like blocks stacked in math, but like play-doh and finger paint, the impressions made of the author in press are the dips in the clay and the prints in the paint. Where best of all I am never alone, my reader must play _and so far, we get along.