A light purple, if you will,
So trill, the hue of royalty hangs itself above the ever-moving metropolis,
it’s a shade that flirts with blue, purple, and grey – every so often, this, horizon
glows above us, quietly, yet proudly.
Not unlike the dusk that follows, it wanes into darker times, yet reminding us to be not afraid of the night. – RSM
Carrying one has given me perspective.
Kinda like when Goku and Krillin took their turtle shells in Dragonball,
you’re taking on a debt of labor to bring what you need along with you
and far and wide, near and close that weight is literally on your shoulders.
The parable of fool’s gold regulates the way we lug along those things we need for wherever we are going;
and booooyyy let me tell you when that weight is released –
whether it was books for class, I had just got home, touched down across the world, or just got to the car – I feel the difference.
I feel free. – RSM
A silent battle yearns for an armistice
Within the trenches between the earlobes,
But it’s kinda weird, tho, not in a bad way,
How a sudden burst of icy waters give the fiery tides of the mind such a cold crush, brother!
A reset button, “mind-body hacking,” if you will,
No toxic foam needed to fizz out the flames that spontaneously blaze and overtake brains,
Just, ice the body quickly and the mind will be freed
From the clutches of the unsteady hands of anxiety.
Quietly, piously, the change in temperature always, always does the right thing,
it might make you scream at first and your skin will perk up and sing,
But after the first few seconds, you’ve made it, a quick dip in cold water is a sobering thing
and a return to peace of mind is the blessing it brings. – RSM
Rising to power? Need power to rise?
The only ‘citizens united’ are the oligarchs who got Citizens United passed – google it – so they can do ‘what they do’ wit’ it:
The geysers of authority are the ol’ white guy-sirs with mad coin,
Way more bank than young crypto dudes enjoy
The highest ups with seniority try to sift the words from the noise
And lend a long ladder through loan letters and grant checks,
Checking the boxes of their grand plan –
“Money, power, respect, get you eatin’ right”
With thousand dollar a plate fundraiser catered potlucks on diamond plates;
In shatters and shambles lie the stained glass windows of the process of democracy, a shituation gone archaic,
But the ‘powers that be’ be like “Look, what a beautiful mosaic!” – RSM
Empowering, uplifting, generational gifts, with unity, family, love, faith, a safe space, but
violence, disdain, exile, and prejudice run alongside some traditional ties mixed in with lies.
All it takes is a little misinterpretation to find ourselves armed to the teeth
with grief and contempt for those not following doctrine,
We don’t tempt the gods, supreme beings, nor leaders who we’ve been told to worship / fear / revere as we grow,
and as long as hatred is sowed in the fields that we teach our descendants to reap,
our loving traditions will be intertwined along with guidelines on who to love, who to hate, and who doesn’t belong.
Traditions are the chorus of humanity’s one song, and in this uni-verse I’ll gladly sing along,
but I’m not down for the twists and turns that changes love for all into misery for ‘others,’ and only love for some. – RSM
Sneakers and boots swarm the shoe rack by the front door.
The apartment is bustling, the air is rustling,
buzzing with the electric bliss of danceable beats,
beer cans clicking open – a romanceable heat fills the air.
I’m there, purple pants gliding by the guidance of my black socks beneath.
I didn’t know that this pretty girl I hadn’t met yet had her bold brown eyes hovering my way,
but I’m glad that when she saw me for the first time, I was at my happiest –
I was just vibing, speaking my soul’s most fluent language.
We broke the ice with our feet and the beat
as our words flowed flawlessly over the backdrop
of about twenty-something other twenty-somethings,
grooving along to the music that moved us.
I let her know that I liked her necklace, and when she said “Thank you!”
I was introduced to my favorite smile in the world.
Today we’re ten years beyond the night we had shared our first song.
Anniversaries and holidays now align
as we dine, travel, work, live, love, laugh, and still dance together.
From days to weeks, months, years, decades, and more
I always look forward to the next time we share a dance floor. – RSM ❤
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
My mind is always spinning.
I’m a fuckin’ whirlwind.
The curved air rolls with the force and speed of the images produced within my consciousness,
Third eye, dizzy –
Hitting all corners at least twice before realizing I’ve been spinning.
A grand, rotating revolution, spinning is the problem – and spinning is the solution!
Just endless spirals, lights of the night go round and round,
Images, viral, reaching right into my retinas as I recall the square frames
as I endlessly scroll down –
S
P
I
N
N
I
N
G
!
A regurgitation of recent memory, trains of thought criss-cross-crashing, flying off the rails,
airplanes flying, shooting my thoughts up high while spilling out white streaks of racing-thought chemtrails
SPINNING around, my point of view’s on ballerina style, just a Whirling Dervish,
morphing, contorting – an 18th century French poem, written in cursive – a lightly used, Hello Kitty themed furnace,
a concerned Greek chorus, singing, trying to warn us – a rebellious sect of spaghetti, bobbing and weaving away from a fork –
it’s, a natural force of the mind, subliminal– it keeps [spinning] it goes so fast, unpredictable,
Mind’s eye like a set of 24-inch Sprewell rims from 2003
a wheel within a wheel, a Mayan calendar of an experience
sPiNnNiNg I change channels in my head
From Tik-Tok clips to Cher’s greatest hits to random scenes from Eddie Murphy’s ‘Delirious’
I’m serious, just kaleido-scope into my third eye view, and see whatever comes to;
Mind you, at times its not intentional, the way it aligns, but,
nevertheless, I’m usually just a happy, little mess;
Rotating revolutions, all mixed with randomness,
Self-entertaining, that’s what my mind’s eye be like, fam;
If you catch me laughing to myself, no te apures I’m doing just fine!
I just paused on something funny I saw on my internal screens, and just had to hit re-wind. . .
Because, you see, my mind is always spinning.
I’m a fuckin’ whirlwind. – RSM
Rubén Sebastián Muñiz | ∞ 