Heartwork
Self expression is not in the tattoos the clothes the hair
it is the eye bags
the crooked fingers
strong backs
knobby knees
missing limbs
yellow and crooked teeth
the rolls of fate around the waist
it is the phyical expressions of survial that tell what you do with your life
the body is direct
you cannot hide who you are
who you are is what you do
and it never started with you
The first time I learned what a man was capable of doing to my body
I learned permanence
In my unmeasurable infinite plethora of youth
distinguising and comprehending how long a life is unfathomable
I learned the capacity of what a male could do to my body
Intention aside
The human idiocracy of biology
the undertones underscores of that capacity riddled in a history untaught
intention aside i learned permanence in my unmeasurable life
i learned death and the haunting of ghosts
the stain that cannot be washed out
the stain that i learned can grow over time
the stain on my skin grew because no one would help me
no one told me
and when I needed to protect myself I let it happen quietly and politely
the stain that grows once it is stopped it becomes large and gaping and visible
physical self expression
deformed notions of survival
looking at the landscape
man is the sharp edges
the fine points that pierce the skyline
forming the rooftops and windows
nature is round full
not even the cliffs form the geometry of the human home
the sharp squares of man
they boxes we hide in
nowhere in the landscape do i see such shape
the shape line of the horizon runs on infinitely from my eyes never cutting down to the corner edge
i am embraced by round shapes
even the thorns rest their bodies on a stem supported by root systems and projected in the round flower petals
the clouds never the same wispy round
even the archways are reformed swathes
The Body
A boulder rested on either shoulder enflaming and pressurings the muscles and tendons around her neck and shoulders
Tension from laptop work, sleeping in bad posture, poor posture
So busy but no energy
She began moving and stretching around her living room
Hardwood floor
She stands up and pulls her shoulders back in great posture
The fire for relief made her push too hard in a downward dog stretch
It did not crack the center of her back like she needed
She overcompensated the inner tissues of her upper arm
Pulling it sharp sadness buzzing
Discomfort
The popping and cracking
Emulsion of movement
Eagerness for relief
Neglect of warmth
Soothing slow
She only goes for the cracks
And yanks
Downward dog
It is in the center of her upper back
How much longer am I living in this apartment
My back is so fucking tight
I was suppose to go swimming this week
I finally got paid
I need these connections but there are bridges
Trying to cross these bridges to the safe zone
Suriving
I can’t handle the pace I said I wouldnt smoke again
She paces the living room of her aged and dirty apartment
No rug because rugs get dirty too fast
But no cozy and clean thing to lay on
She hasn’t washed towels in weeks
Dishes are left in the sink
Maintenance of her life
Looked like she
She ripped herself apart until she was dead
The Unrequited Love of The Nature of Beauty anf the Nature of Taste in the schema of Western objective thinking
The unrequited love of the idea of things rather than of their animation and personhood
The practice of the denial of personhood in our consumption flickers and pervades in the romantic relationships with others and our possessions
the unrequited love of aesthetics will be satirical, philosophical, and sociological in nature
there will be stories of people loving their belongs more than people loving than so much more that they are consumed by them literally in a violent manner they are can be eaten up like it was a monster
the rejecton of nautre by confining it to process and the delusion of rationality
we still study men at the greatest institutions in american that hated women and nature
the way birth control defies nature makes me feel alien
to my non human yet conscious and aware sisters
the playground of human sex
defying reproduction and dancing in pleasure
I think how sordidly I have expressed my anxiety, emptness, sadness, and disconnection with myself
because of this technology the stops me from getting pregnant
Accompany this advancement with the visceral media of porn
As if I even knew what I liked
In my freedom I copulated with males in the manner of reproduction
With the intent of pleasure, release, and transmutation
Absorbed in phallic fantasy I am a mutant in nature
An animate being with a womb that defies impregnation
Would it be more powerful now at my age to refuse this device and reject sex entirely
Is that not more of a statement to the nature of reproductive animate organisms
Is that not more of a statement to the dissatisfaction (long-term that my sexuality has taken me)
My failures, shortcomings, and dissapointments from male partnerships
I know I am not meant for them, yet I desired them
My desire has died like an open flame on a wax candle
burnt down to the nub
Redefining eroticism is artistic in nature
But laughale to nature who is all and is all knowing
I imagine paintings now like from Oh de Laval instead of visualizing acts once experienced, already known, and priorly indoctrinated
It is an exciting time in my life
To intrepret that male validation is a habit not an aspect of my nature
To see above it like a birds eye view
Who I will share my bed with next will be earned, negotiated, and if not sublime in the prior engagements it will never happen
Rebuilding my identity cannot be within the imperalist western framework
it comes from seeking knowledge from the yaqui seminoles and potowani
it comes from learning indigenous languages animate and inanimate
i do not know where i am from beyond two generations
Raised in america by child immigrants
of course i got lost - indoctrination
i am 24 and rebuilding my knowledge but i know nothing
when they are alarmed that i do not speak spanish i return with a smile
they assume i am so american and assume i did not want to know it
it was a langauge from the spanish not my people
assimilation it is representation
same with catholicism
i now take that moment and use that space of the absense of language
to remind myself how much my parents loved me
from the moment of their entry they chose to survive in this country
adopting and forcing english in their stomachs and mouths to survive
that absense of language that moment of misunderstanding i will not take accountability for
i am a product of generations of survival
and we needed to know english and this world to survive
out culture lost generations ago
we are rebuilding
give us time give us space
It is not about self-discovery
It is about sitting still and watching the clouds. Watching the clouds to bring yourself back. Achieving a state of calm by looking at the clouds. watching them move through the sky. passing you by. fluffy apparitions. Surrendering the site of large-scale abundant movement you sink into calmness and sinking in you realize your self is not real. And so if this self is not real why do you cry and scream. Why do you fascinate yourself with your misery and conceptualize your pain. The pain is what links me to everything else. Just as we are connected by the possibility of death and the necessity of breath. suffering is shared.
Self is transmuatable. As a concept and as a lived state of existence is death not upon us constantly. Constantly upon us as in this given soceity sense of self is beaten, forced into a mold. and we die and we die in order to survive in it. Releasing attachment to ourselve, does the grief subside. With attachment I cannot stop dying. A cyclical video game for the mental state maybe because I am gripped to no belief no philosophy and no truth. I waft in the water lifeless what is the way to fight.
I want to hear my spirit. Her bones are rusted cramped and tight and i dont think she has consented to so much of my life. the rational the physical, the directions to be pulled in when you let the river take you, you are not yours to choose. Sometimes it is life i am letting myself drown i dont want to fight the physical battle anymore i will not win. Anger is not enough to succeed. Rage is but a consolation for deep sadness.
Then there is the question of have i lost my mind. To assimilate is to survive and to survive is a skill. Diassossiation is not an escape from consciousness. Consciousness is only sensory. Refusing conscisouness is the opening for exploitation. It is compiling into a disturbing, deformed, horrifying monster that grows through consumption and we are feeding it with broken souls trained by minstentioned bodies.
I look up at the clouds. they are layered with heavy grey and shining white against vibrant blue. it is friday march 22 5:18pm I am sitting in a burger restaraunt on a stool facing the window distracted by passing cars and typing these words.
it is friday march 22 5:20pm
i am 23 i will not have children because i do not want to
i will not marry because i do not want to
people who i trust with this think it is a phase or a product of experiences that has made me “misinformed and tragically see differently”
I understand this decision as protest
I am taking two societelly scared tradtions and rejecting them with a healthy and beautiful existence as a woman
I have seen enough to know i will bring no life into this world from my own blood
i reject this human world, i refuse to belief it cannot be better or will not get better
i deduce we are subject to those who master violence, exploitation, and murder
I am dedicated to studying human nature. to making others understand ways we got here and ways we will never be free
in our apocalyptic hell in the belly of the beast
i belief earth is but a challenege to do good
i have already done so much wrong
i wil use my heart my compassion and my knowledge and dedicate my life to understanding so i can teach
so i can help children that are already here
i can help nature that is circumventing our human systems and surviving
so i can find the souls that see and don’t look
i hope it will get easier i do not think it will
i hope i do not give up because i am going to be alone for the rest of my life
life is not about happiness
life is not about wealth
i do not fear death
i am not religious
the mass population of humans are artifical and as good as plastic
who can look at a tree isolated in concrete with complacency because it symbolizes order
who can breed deformed animals and yank them by their neck
in the belly of the beast
by any means we pursue the unrequited love of aesthetics
03/22/25 5:51pm
I believe we can enter different realms and worlds from our thoughts alone
I am struck by the symptom in pyschosis that states
- delusions – false beliefs that are not shared by others.
reality is ultimately something that we choose btu we are shamed into uniformed thinking - murdered for it in political stages
however humans cannot be trusted with this freedom
profit requires expolitability conformity and consistency
what is the goal if not materialistic
the bunny got older than her and she loved her through a lifetime
12/22/23
We depart from this world with fantasies
dreams of the ocean
dancing over planets
we leave this world
it is abandoned
we have given up on the beauty it can hold
i fear nature is mystical past
where can we go
in ourselves
identity as a performance to others
how do we perform for ourselves
document motherhood follow a mom
i remember when i heard that soreness meant my muscles had torn and were rebuilding themelves to get stronger
up until that point i played soccer for 11 years. i had never realized my years of soreness i wore with pride because it meant i had worked so hard the day before, started with damaging my body.
i will never forget cracking a growth plate in my ankle when i was in 7th grade
undergoing an operation to sew ligaments in my ankle back together as to be less physically deficient for the college level the following year
stretching MCL’s in both knees when direct collisions caused them to bend inward
first 2 week long concussion senior year in high school
the englufing buldging fire of a twisted ankle
lower back pain in middle school
a bruised tailbone
my sister broke her femur
all of those things eventually healed, my body re-invigorated itself
i was damaging my body for a competitive sport
the one i cannot forget and that has never left was my career ending injury, a concussion. one that lasted 8 months
i can comprehend it most simply as breaking
i stopped working, i malfunctioned
how to separate introspection and ego
we do not understand our bodies
i am amazed at how much i used my body as an athlete without understanding how it worked
to go further i am ashamed for every adult that did not give me the space to feel pain, accept my pain, and deny me the ability to say no to using my body
instead i and many other forced ourselves through sprained groins, sprains, and aching pains.
i felt anger when my last injury changed me, i could never play again
thinking about the denial of the female body.
its rendering, instrumentalization, and violence,
a historical truth and fact
so i employed myself in this space as a child. i invested my time, energy, and health into this sport for what?
there is status in athletics
the community buy-in is cult-like, you have to buy-in or it all makes no sense
i remember when it stopped making sense
i was so depressed i did not leave the house
i would get high all day
and wait for my friends and roommates to get home
i lost track of time
i stopped relying on resistance to fuel me
resistance to a life of insigficance
which i believe i live in now
it is where calmness meets vulnerability
it is strange that i knew i was embarking towards something bigger than myself
and everyone around me saw it as “losing it”
i changed too much and too fast in front of them to be able to understand that i was ultimately okay
my own parents didn’t listen to me when i tried to explain this brokenness
i did not tell my dad for a whole year
because i knew they would be make feel bad about my concussion
it was the most alone i have ever been in my life
i have progressed with that solitude in mind and it has changed my directory
it felt like i died and for some reason it stopped me from keeping parts of myself alive
let ego die say bye to senses of self
i use to cry all the time
i became fascinated with the body
i started drawing headless realist pencil illustrations all the time
as you get older and reach the higher levels you cannot take a break
i am fascinated with the body and traversing the space of exploitation
i felt parallels in the way i lost so much and gave so much to suffer in a sport
i had to shutdown my emotions
i had to not listen to myself when i was in pain
i had to force my body to do things that hurt
i felt like i had to endure uncomfortable sex
i felt like i had to endure emotional violence
this was the only way to keep my playing
did they turn off that little voice when i was a child?
consciousness subsconscious unconscious
my home is my body
my childhood home
a dome where i saw raccoons and skunks murdered
materialism soaked into every corner
i never cleaned my room
i lived under piles of clothes
because i was never home
in the car
to the field
i ran around in soccer cleats
more time in the car
to the fields the weekends trapped me in
and the way a boy pressured me to touch me and lick me like i wasnt the warmest bowl of cutard
the way both those experience physically crippled me
a moment of physical violation, discomfort, confusion
with a remaining lifetime of relfection rememberance and loss
the truth is outside of us because it was never inside of us