What a relief as I take off into the cool breeze,
I’m feeling the air, hearing my footsteps as I sweat it out,
I zoom into the void of my path ahead.
My mind drops into silence from its usual chatter, ever-loud;
distractions disappear like a leftover fog from a cloudy day.
Peace sits between my ears as a flock of seagulls sets a course ahead to explore. – RSM
All the time, so it goes,
a quick shift lifts my consciousness out the nearest window,
a random round-robin of rare realities rage,
ranging from what’s reasonable to the completely unfeasible,
my mind is a flip phone with T9, sometime in 2002, after 9 –
unlimited. It talks all it wants.
A gust of wind blows me back in,
a nano-second long journey takes me across the universe and snaps me back to my reality.
Then,
through the entropy of imagination, the cosmic jungle of all possibilities seen through my own unique lens,
I’m. Once. Again. pinballing through existence, leaning into this mysterious experience, with no resistance –
And here I am, back in an instant – sliding right into my third eye’s home plate, where it always begins, this,
Infinite, unpredictable winding pathway of pathways, it sounds overh’whelming in writing, but I find it lovely,
My thoughts are on shuffle, my mind jumps into the Google text box, but never hits ‘Search’ cuz I’m always ‘Feeling Lucky,’
My ego’s like Jasmine on the balcony: playing hard to get.
But just like Aladdin my imagination is stationed on his magic carpet,
hand outstretched with a smile, asking her, “Do you trust me?” – RSM
The air lies still.
A docu-series rambles on, recanting memories of generations past.
A storm batters the trees outside with violent gusts, endless rains ravage the view beyond my closed windows.
I close my eyes for a long few seconds. A familiar light bulb clicks on in an old dusty attic bathed in bright moonlight on a clear, chilly evening – emitting an aqua blue hue, suspended from the center of the ceiling.
I travel here when I think of death and the afterlife, either on my own or from external stimuli – sometimes a dangerous daydream scene emerges from a quaint reality:
For instance – I’m waiting for a bus and wonder what would happen if it hit me, resulting in death on impact – how do my five senses respond? Where does that leave ‘me’? Or maybe a plane goes down on a trip and before I know it I’m on a new found post-life trajectory.
Be it a heart attack, something else sudden, or a terminal expectation that everybody sees coming, I’ve thought about what death would be like here and there as far back as I can recall. I remember looking out my window as a toddler, and wondering if I fell and died where my mind and soul would come to reside, where I would travel to, where would my soul wander – where does consciousness go after this life?
The aqua blue lightbulb in the attic is in my mind’s eye, on a different plane where all my inner imaginings lie – I have an old journal as thick as a small brick. Pages frayed, leather-bound. I flip to the nearest blank, past thousands of older hand written engagements, I write it all down in the aqua blue-lit attic while imagining another possible path or experience that may come to pass when this life is finished.
In those few seconds with my eyes closed on that dark, stormy evening, I visited the attic where the blue light glimmers – opened my old journal, and wrote down my latest vision. – RSM
It’s Bad Bitch, Part 2, she’s thick, curvy…
our first year’s on lock, wheels still turning…
another week away down on South Beach,
flashy, classy, sassy, she’s a damn Queen,
wearing all her hubbies’ sunglassies,
looking hotter, than the sunset now..
She’s been so down and under pressure
she’s way too fine to be this stressed, yeah
I’m used to her, and now she’s used to me…
So let’s grow together!
Turn up the music…let’s celebrate
It’s been a year now… a lot more on the way
Okay… alright… it’s about damn time!
In a minute, we’ll be chillin’,
tanning, drinking, margaritas, along the coast,
We’ll be grinning, reminiscing, a little kissing,
Beach babe with the matching Coach –
Admiring her nails, laying on the sand,
Gazing at the water with a drink in her hand,
the baddest bitch around, on water, air, land,
got everybody looking at her like ‘oh, damn!’
She’s been so down and under pressure
But she’s a Bad Bitch, there’s no question
She’s looking fine, no glasses needed to see…
It’s about damn time!
Turn up the music…let’s celebrate
You’re very welcome – happy anniversa-ray!
Okay… alright… it’s about damn time! – RSM ❤
Inspired by ‘About Damn Time’ by Lizzo
We’re all friends, and have a collective jump that shakes the tarmac beneath us,
girls on shoulders, kandi traded along sweaty wrists
as the bass permeates our skin, we feel it in our bones –
a wave of loud cheers erupts from stage to stage,
dozens of countries’ flags on display,
makeshift kandi masks donned as hundreds of shufflers scrape the floor with their sneakers,
a pounding of sound calls you from every direction.
Wavy, euphoric vibes, and dilated eyes all around
About 10 giant bananas are running around together
But the most beautiful thing are the water bottles being passed around.
Smiles, glistening bodies of all shapes, sizes, genders, colors, 100,000 faces
And when one falls, there are 10 to catch them,
We check in with our crew and pass the water bottles around –
We all vibe out, some like to smoke, and some won’t,
Some like to jump and scream, and some roll, and some don’t,
but everyone passes the water bottles around.
Some shuffle, some head bang at the front, some crowd surf,
some just sit back and kick back toward the back,
some throw up the peace sign and the duck face,
some are on the ‘gram, while their favorite DJ goes HAM,
taking snaps and videos and selfies with selfie sticks-
Some even start passionately kissing, or give sweaty, glitter-filled hugs
and rave hands, glow sticks, LED gloves dancing in the air,
some make new friends, and some stick to their tribe,
some are wearing next to nothing, some are dressed like batman;
and some are so lost in the music that they’re in their own zone…
and they’re all passing the water bottles around. – RSM
Each moment we find ourselves at another crux – a six-way lane change that cluster bombs out into an infinite range –
Perpetual potential possibilities present powerful plans, possessing mis pensamientos,
Gathering speed while moving forward is the most logical direction, but this multi-dimensional intersection has me sometimes traveling through space-time, second-guessing;
With every new open door is the draft that slams the last one,
Shutting out the doubts and tribulations from yesteryear’s thick fog, and dark clouds.
We don’t look back that much, that’s why the rearview mirror is so small,
But at times we do look back again and see things a little differently, a perspective updated,
With these previous moments’ emotions expired – examining experiences end up expedited, prorated.
Taking off back to the now, elevation is the growth, and the speed is the effort, we’re the pilots of our own narratives –
Journée-ing toward a new day, and as our lives fly upward, forward, we can’t help but check our six
to see the airspace behind and below us where we used to be.
Forward is still the way to go, the brave steps we put our feet towards, even when we feel at a loss for words, we can’t let past what-ifs or regrets have us hesitate to smile with love upon the open skies ahead.
Hindsight is a weeping angel, a stampede that gets closer every time you look back at it, hoping to touch your mind and send you down your own pasts’ never-ending rabbit holes.
The pedestrians on each crux of your life’s choices can overrun your mind if you don’t use your right of way, right away;
Let each quantum intersection be part of the breeze you feel as you fly forward – let hindsight be a record of lessons learned, a pilot’s manual to guide you to a higher plane as you fly on. – RSM
I kinda want one of those sarcastic banners I’ve seen in a meme somewhere-
A string of gold letters that usually says something like
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY”
or
“CONGRATULATIONS”
but instead it says
“PLEASE LEAVE BY 9”
Yes. Perfect.
It’s been a cathartic, nostalgic space for my mind lately
as every turn of the year compels me to rewind and review
the last 365ish spins of the Earth –
As the cosmos rotate around our skies I recall
so many more Earth spins before,
when I was having ‘mind parties’ and heard knocks on the door –
All the homies came through with gifts and fun things,
some of them had horns on their heads, hoofs for feet, or huge, bat-like wings-
Badass mfs who like their music bumping, minds wavy, and their lettuce dank,
Stomping on the floor with me, getting the neighbors mad, making the whole hallway stank,
Music getting loud, ganja getting louder,
Bass vibrations emulating such a buzz that the friction made an old lady downstairs drop and spill her hot bowl of clam chowder,
Louder – my mind’s house got even crowded,
LOUDER – more otherworldly party animals found it,
LOUDER!! – I shared my location with my multiversal wild ones,
Passing all the fun around until 8:59, but,
Me and my demons go all the way back, jack,
So I’ve sat them down before and set some clear boundaries –
They know when it’s time to have fun and make scary sounds, but,
When I tell ’em it’s the last call, they know to turn it down, and
Get a broom and mop and clean up all the mess,
Cuz, there’s no point to partying if you don’t get any rest,
nothing to celebrate if you don’t work hard enough to pass your life’s tests.
I always liked the idea to “Treat death like a friend,” from Harry Potter the Deathly Hallows,
I have my own angle to add, though –
Have fun in life, party with your demons, but, let’ em know when the party’s over.
My winged, scary-looking friends know the deal –
The time has come to help me clean up this place and “Until next time,” I tell them, “It’s been real.” – RSM
Been there and back but the panic attacks clap with the sound of deep thunder and return with the whiplash of a well-thrown boomerang,
Random and abrupt these emotions emerge, the flood’s surge suffocates, a work-stoppage in my mind and I’m unable to produce words
Energy sparks like a super saiyan transformation, but all the wild hair and screaming is on the inside,
‘Alive and well’ turns to a silent hell at the blink of an eye’s notice,
The day’s events’ recap just kindles the flames, stimulating the flight/fight response, my
Heart rate goes off the charts, looking just
like this poem, when you rotate your screen 90 degrees to the left –
Engaged in a battle with the heavy, inner winds, but I win all these bouts when I just follow the first letter of every line, and remember to breathe. – RSM
A chisel and hammer stammer with the speed and clamor
of a hand driven jackhammer –
and the artist, the handler –
is precise as he is impatient,
sparring with the marble slab to carve a sacred new representation.
The stone was flown in from the doldrums over in Moldova, and
he’s crafting a goddess – so graceful, so flawless.
His hands cultivate a muted peace while fighting against time;
unfocused energy heads up his spine,
increasing his heart rate
with each imperfect puncture of the stone he molds.
As somebody once told,
it’s the work done preparing for the future that makes us old;
He make these fine cuts and chisel away.
He sculpts his dreams into the waking day. – RSM
It all worked out, despite the odds.
It’s on me to keep the good going.
A setback or two has no place in my mind
cuz I crush those with one hand now, without even trying.
The strength gained from it all isn’t seen on the physical,
Rather a strong mind, soul, my ‘guns’ are metaphysical –
I love the love that I have, it’s a skill
that’s built through the storms of life, even still,
I know our lives are a painting or a novel unfinished
as we look back on our bad times when we felt diminished;
But trust me, my guy, my ‘rock bottom’ is a flex
Cuz I know the grit and grime it took to manifest
The present, past, future that rises each morning,
Seven years later I’m not just flying, I’m soaring. – RSM
Rubén Sebastián Muñiz | ∞ 