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s.t.e.v.e speaks

TO LIVE: THE FEELING THAT POSSIBLITY CAN COME TRUE

The hardest thing about being alive is knowledge that you must continue with the endeavour of life. Life is not something you can brush off like flint or self-absorbed poetry. Life is a commitment.  I feel this is why so many get upset about death. They feel that they were promised something- they feel as if they should have a say over death – but this is not true.
Death owes you nothing.
To live is to be in active movement and process of becoming. I am committed to my growth and the changing of M.E but this is not easy.

S.T.E.V.E

M.E: Movement Explores
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Poetry

.

Its mother’s sound,

The one that makes you

Beat yourself aloud,

Its mother’s sound,

The one that makes you scream out

Loud.

It is mothers sound that makes you love in desire and flow into the deep.

It is mother’s sound that makes you cry and weep.

It is mother’s sound that makes you love in desire,

It is mother’s sound that gives blood out for hire.

It is mother’s sound that makes

Mother does not speak.

She does not breathe.

He does not call.

Mother, unbound.

Will save us all.

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Stories Uncategorized

Is it finished?

He was confused. He was trying to pay attention, to what was running beyond him, skipping between him and threading itself into each corner he could not reach. Nothing would satisfy him. Perhaps, the love was almost out and there was nothing he could do. How could love fit into sand, how could civilisation count on him, love was bigger than sand and could not be held but he was, searching, pleading for more time.  

The Gods were cruel, how could they give such a task to him, a man that spent his life wishing for what he had lost. A man that spent his life trying to be what he assumed he should be and thus had no care to be the person he needed to be. Need, he hated the word. He needed nothing but he wanted the world. The Gods knew this, and placed him in a space where his understanding of ‘world’ would be tested and he would be asked- Is it finished? The Gods were not cruel and they did not enjoy having to test and deliberate with beings that felt themselves lost in the expanding inquisitive quintessential spec of the universe that they found themselves in but time was running out. They had spent and spilt themselves in every direction but up. His civilisation had used everything given to them, and had tried to for more. Yes they had managed to go to the stars, but somehow they tied their vision to the mechanics of sight rather than the opening of it.  Without time, love would find new spaces to belong and fester growth. Without time, this man would have lost what he did not know h

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Poetry Uncategorized

A story from M.U.M

The time for waiting was finished. If we waited any longer then our freedom, would be left to the dust mites. Hungry creatures, with no discipline, just like us.

Now that is unfair, of course we had discipline but we had it in all the wrong places and we wanted them, yes them, to help us. They can’t help us. The next time I ask a hungry man, where the buffet is, the next time, I wait for my freedom.

She did wait- she waited until everyone was packed and ready to go. She waited till the storms of Jupiter had calmed and until earth’s moon had a new technologically driven friend. She waited until her heart, gave up and her forever spirit took over and protected of her loved ones. She waited because freedom did not exist for the individual, if it did not exist for the collective.   

AS Logo by ASTRO

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The place beyond Visiting

I wanted to go somewhere, I had never been. I wanted to explore beyond- what I could recognise. I wanted to share in something bigger than me. I assumed that the majority of persons wanted that.

My lecturers later told me, that this could not be true, as the liberal free minded person was not the ‘common man’ I met in the market but rather the person beyond my life- the person who had someone go to the market for them.

This dilemma stayed with me. How could we incite change, if the majority of persons were the problem?

Chaos. The answer was chaos.

You may wonder what chaos would solve, the answer is nothing, chaos will simply permit chaos but after the many organised and liberal free-minded persons had killed my children, raped my wives and husbands, slaughtered my father- buried my mother and noosed my beliefs, along with my  ‘common man’ – I assumed that chaos could be the answer to my problem.

I wanted to go somewhere I had never been and I have never visited the space after liberal free man.  

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To whoever will listen

I do not want to begin at the beginning. To begin at the beginning, is to give space to the horror, the blood, the hurt and the untimely death of a young child.

This is not where I want to begin- so instead, I will tell you how courageous she was. She was not your usual child and thus she was predestined to tell a great story- but a great story is rarely told and thus this child made themselves into the beautiful story. A story being something you can tell others. For without this story, this child would have died with everyone else, without recognition. The child named 0 believed themselves to be a spontaneous happening, they saw nothing beautiful in their existence and saw no lasting recognition of their time or their suffering. Yet on the night of their death, they wished upon a star. A star moving through the sky at a rapid speed- before the star could land and destroy everything, the child wished for the ability to choose. The child wished on a comet of change and this comet remembered the child’s location and their wish and when it came time to begin another world. The comet found the little girl and said, “I feel you wished for another time and space. Follow me, I know the way.”   

Photography by Michelle Gutiérrez

Categories
Poetry

Three words

You built a cage,

A safe.

A collection of broken pieces

I desired to seek.

    I treasured,

A pleasure.

That was never intended,

     for thee.

You amused,  

.

A fantasy.  

.

       Seeps into a vivid dream

A sickness,

     only you could remedy.

.

I want to please.

.

    I lay down,

     Take me.

.

    Your love bleeds.

            I hold the hardness like smoke in my lungs.

.

    Your past excrements are secrets,

    Tightly wrapped. 

.

 A dancing hollowness,

 Configures, my wings

     Beyond the cage

I helped you make.

In exhalation

I play,

   With the memory you used to take

.

      Our love,

               the bitter taste of chains and frames

.

No lock,

    No key,

Simply the possibility, you were the one;

  I would need. 

.

How foolish I was to believe,

   You were anything but a hollow beak,

            I had to feed.

Photography by ndidi iroh