Brecht And The Human Race

poem

Is the human race missing out on their living system component?

You know the one, the matter energy connection that allows ecosystems to self-sustain. 

Can you imagine a queen bee, telling the hive that she is taking ten cents from their wages.

She would be forever managing behaviors; money matters.

However, the queen doesn’t; 

Worker bees imagine themselves, driven by their own inner guidance.

Queen bee is a human name, a name the bee did not imagine herself. 


No wonder Pavel fled into the mystery, leaving his mother to be implicit

His life was imagined for him; hostile

He was searching for his living system component, the matter energy connection; he mattered. 

The explicitness of machine’s roared in his ears, as men on all sides demanded their ten cents

Force begets force, forever detailing the natural

Pavel knew life would be nothing more, and he imagined differently; a life for himself


We are in a paradox of knowing and belief

Authority over self and authority over someone else’s body

Organic and Machine

A machine is a closed-system; a non-intelligent system that can not change on its own

Matter is an open-system; an intelligent system that ebbs and flows in self-sustainment

When the human race believes the machine; we fight and die against a non-intelligent system

When the human race knows life as our own creation 

We become like the bee, eternal intelligence

A machine is what we add to it; the human race is not a machine

So, change is already our creation; nothing to fight for said the bee 

Cristy Parker

She Slipped Like Water

poem

She slips through my fingers

Like water

I just wanted to experience her giggles 

Floating like soap bubbles 

Popping with glee

Her hair 

A mesh of both wetness and dryness

Absorbing my attention

Black luminous strands that captured the moon

She smells of salt 

And sea grass

A hint of ocean fresh fabric softener

She refuses containment

Kicking with sandy feet at the oceans edge

Back into the ocean

I had to let her go

poem

Where do I stand

in the mist of all these books, each offered as an appetizer, waiting for me to take a bite of the sensual crumbs as if I could get a taste of myself.

I can’t help but feel captured by their presences, that I have to prove myself to them, get to know them, dialogue with them. 

When all I want to do is release and love, lean into the discovery within the pages of creativity, the place where a child sits in wonderment, playing with her books, setting them up for a tea party. 

We converse over tea the books and I, conversation is a willing intellectual passings, from one book to another. And me, I would be the open book with random writings and some empty pages.

I would not want to fill myself up, certainly not with ideal chit chat but with meaningful phrases that with each inking would create another empty page. 

#livingsystemawareness

poem

She hardly

Wastes her time, passing me by without a hello.

Today she is wearing Sergio Rossi, the kind that makes my feet hurt; the slope from the long wooden tongue at the heel, forcing my toes into a point I don’t care to conform to.

Her Coco Chanel, too narcissistic to cover the back of her calves, leaving her vainglorious skin ripe to be licked by any dog in need. I know a stray dog who would do such a thing, always licking for attention, or at least to be useful, like fetching her a hamburger or something.

#livingsystemawareness