soma: wasted energy.

soma graf flute

You’ve dreamed of leaving. Escape. Stage left to feel the air around you leaving, and the space around your lungs tightening, to just disappear without fading out.

How have you imagined it? How have you dreamed it was going to be? Peaceful or violent? How many times have you pretended? To die? Before today? How many lives or names have been forgotten or passed by? Erased? Moving along just going,

Forward? Energy is leaving and all life is dreaming.

Remember dying when you were young? How the doctor sunk you into the ice to reduce a fever after only a few months on Earth?

Or being ripped out of your mother’s womb through an incision in her belly? Your mother’s scar stands as proof and a reminder of your violent birth. You’ve been practicing how you were going to die since then. Haven’t you? You’ve been busy imagining it,

Worried and excited.

Killed by savages. Imperialists invade your settlement. You’ve fantasized yourself having past glory. You are of the invaders and the invaded. You are with the Roanoke and with the Taínos.

You as a guerilla being hunted by third world paramilitaries, that receive funding from the first world. You, a political dissident. The whole world after you. Assassinated after you become a leader of the machine like Kennedy, like Lincoln, like Malcolm X and Che.

A global corporate conspiracy of murder against your ideas and ideals. All after you.

But these have just been childhood games at dying. Playing war games and pretending to be a vampire sent to kill the Nazis. Some have called you morbid and called you dark for how you listened to Goth music and wore all black in your youth. Some say you are still just way too sad, way, way too sad.

But you know. You have always known. You know you love life. You know you are after life and have always been the only one that really wants to live. That wants to really live.

You are from and of the lonely lost dark empty, but it’s really not that empty or that lonely. And along the way all of your lost friends have helped to light the way.

You are “the only real nigga alive,” that’s how you remember yourself. Challenging life by playing at dying.

But reality is fading, and so is your ability to focus and concentrate. Everything becomes unclear, and nothing seems tangible or concrete anymore. You are starting to feel weak. You can barely hold yourself together.

Where are you? Who are you? With every second, everything becomes more and more just distant memories.

There’s blood running down your neck, a bullet hole in your head?

All masks removed, and no more layers to peel away at. Soon you will become pure, return to original being, away from this physical body and towards a higher form of energy.

You are not sad. You’ve always known this, death. And life. And then more death. And the cycle continues on endlessly.

You’ve always known that everyone you’ve ever known would one day die. And so with you, why should it be any different?

You start to think about what your family will do with your body. You don’t want doctors asking questions and examining once you’re gone. You’ve never wanted to be famous. Someone else can have another 15 minutes. The rest of the world can watch itself on television and leave you alone. You don’t want any fuss.

You just want your body dumped in some corner and allowed to rot and decompose until it returns to the Earth. Or have your body dumped into some ocean to be devoured by some animal or to be lost beneath the oceans in some dark abyss until becoming coral. All physical trace that you ever existed should disappear so that all that remains are memories, and even those should eventually fade. All that is left is how one is remembered and becomes immortal. But this is not about that, or about changing the world. This is about You.

And your killer? You don’t hate your killer. Your killer’s eyes etched into your last breaths like staring back from the reflection of an ancient memory. You don’t hate your killer. You understand. You know why this is all happening. You have given in to going under.

Maybe you have dreamed of a more heroic death and maybe you thought that you would go down in some kind of battle. And there’s always that little bit of doubt that this is just a cop out, and that there’s so much more one could have done. Gone down in battle? Down in the struggle? But maybe you are, if you consider all life is struggle.

So that in that sense, maybe, you can feel free and safe now. Maybe now, you will know angels. Maybe one of the people’s gods will be their waiting. You aren’t scared or insecure at least not any more so than usual. You actually have a smile accompanied with a small sense of relief. This isn’t so bad. You start thinking of sleep, and how good it will feel. Soon you’ll be under such a deep slumber that no life could ever wake you.

This isn’t so bad. You thought for sure that you’d have passed out by now though. Your shirt feels drenched. This could be so much worse though. So much worse with tears and screams trying to hold on to what’s left of life.

But not you.

You’ve imagined intolerable pain, but this does not hurt any more so than life. The shock has taken over, released adrenaline and dopamine into your body to numb the pain and all thoughts. Instead of pain you feel a sort of peace in the tension being released and removed from your body. Sort of like electric shocks flying slowly up and down your spine, creating a tingling sensation upon your brain.

Your body is starting to feel tired for much needed sleep and rest. Eyes keep getting more and more heavy. Your chest feels heavy, and all you can focus is on your slowing breath and heartbeat.

You start to think, “Finally some fucking peace and quiet.”

Some things are red, others feel gray, and suddenly all of your life, your hopes and fears fade to black, and you fall under.

You think of Kurdt Cobain, “It is better to burn out than fade away.” You think of Jim Morrison, “Retire now to your tents and to your dreams, tomorrow we enter the town of my birth, I want to be ready.” You think you think and then…

in chicago: notions 34-35.

notion 34.

pues nunca he sabido
como explicarme bien.
que el sol
me esta pesando
el alma
con el recuerdo
de que otro
día vendrá,
y yo aun
sin verte.


las imperfecciones
todos mis defectos
y deficiencias.





notion 35.

y te tengo
un regalo,
pero lo tengo
bien escondido,
pues podría
venir alguien
quien me lo quiera robar.
lo llevo conmigo
adonde quiera que voy
que ahora te lo doy.
pero ten cuidado por favor,
pues que eres dueña
de mi corazón.


in chicago: notion 33.

notion 33.

somos sangre derramada.
entre la tierra
esta la esencia
de nuestra historia.

pero pronto ya
todo esto
como todo lo demás-
enterado entre los sueños
o los demonios,
que nos han obligado
a recordar.

somos sangre derramada.
entre la tierra
esta la esencia
de nuestra historia.

fuimos creando imagines
para poder comprender
todo lo que
estaba pasando
hasta completamente


in chicago: notions 30-32.

notion 30.

and then one day
as i approached
the end of my journey,
i realized a new one
had just begun,
and so now
i find myself
on a never ending


notion 31.

i asked the river for advice.
she whispered.
there was wind.
i could not hear.
she disappeared.


notion 32.

find us a safe space.
you know what the
is thinking.
i can’t
even imagine
what they could be thinking?


in chicago: notions 26-27.

notion 26.

so i escaped into my dreams
’cause dealing w/ people,
that type of thing
was the type of thing
that’s gotten
me going crazy,
and i’m not just
there’s nothing reaching
me so forget about everything, and
whatever you all was thinking.
time passed by w/out blinking…





notion 27.

so while the whole world focuses on the
the industry has created.
an industry to promote its industry,
and so i can’t escape this underlying feeling.
got me worrying, got me wondering,
what’s really happening?
and is anyone noticing
cause everything’ll keep on going.
most the masses been slept on.
they become more of the forgotten.


in chicago: notion 25.

notion 25.

let’s walk.
let’s just walk tonight.
it doesn’t really matter where,
and we don’t even
to really talk.
we don’t have to discuss
anything interesting,
or unload all our worries.
let’s forget about how time’s passed.
let’s just walk tonight.
to get to?
we’ll end up?
how fast can we get there?
let’s just walk tonight.


in chicago: notions 21-24.

notion 21.

if i was more bourgeoisie,
melting under the sunset.
we are slowly slipping
there is a need for more.
more time and space to breathe.





notion 22.

finding what else,
wonder what hides
behind shadows,
since there isn’t
a lot of what we’d
i wish i was like
exactly the way.
which road is leading?,
and who is leading?
the doors all locked,
and the ceiling caved in.





notion 23.

some spit
what could
never get
just an
or on-
ly an
illegal alien
exported from mexico.
imported into this country
w/ in my mother’s womb.





notion 24.

you have brought me,
carried me along.
almost felt myself
floating away.
you said, you could fly.
i didn’t believe you.
and said that you’d teach me
to float away.
you reached out your hand,
and we closed our eyes,
and finally everything
i ever needed
was there
in you.
and i hope
i can keep
you from
floating away
w/out me.


in chicago: notion 20.

notion 20.

left handed piece for the broken right.
go in reverse.
go in reverse
to curse the verse.
which is worse,
we are stuck
here on earth
w/ out wings to fly,
or an imagination
to escape.

so i start asking questions,
and then my brain starts
to wander off
into the night
cause this is just a
left handed piece for the broken right.

and i’m not afraid to dream.
and i’m not afraid to sleep.
left handed piece for the broken right
cause i am not like you.

we will all just become
someone else’s memories,
but so then tell me
what were we before?
(because what is
the standard of reality?)

please, an island.
find me an island
to wander off
into the night.
cause this is just a
left handed piece for the broken right.

we sing our songs
to remember the worlds
inside of our minds.
how i hope
that this wasn’t for real,
but i fear that it is.

the universe scattered fragments
of which we are all pieces of
which don’t make sense,
so why not then
just go.
go in reverse. go in reverse.
and what is worse
feeling cursed
like we are stuck
here on earth
w/ out (any) wings to fly,
or an
to escape.

so i start asking questions,
and then my brain starts
to wander off
into the night
cause this is just a
left handed piece for the broken right.


in chicago: notion 19.

notion 19.

so i give you the key,
and you just throw it back at me.
reminding me that i can’t be
free because of dreams.
there is no love we can see hiding
in my sleep. i am secrets, i should keep,
but my love becomes dissolved
because what’s this earth,
and what’s our worth?
who’d be interested in
such a thing
like you or me?

but you are so conceited.