How many mountains so we have to climb
to finally feel worthy of a little bit of time to unwind?
How many victories require a tax?
How many little breaks ended up bringing us back?
How often does a good life moment have some heavy fine print?
How do the happiest times turn to shit?
How does a celebration end up a challenge?
How do emo songs at midnight once again become valid?
How does paradise come with a catch?
How are we to face this? How are we to act?
How many little tricks does life like to play, and what do we make of it all, anyway?
– RSM
Looking Forward
I look forward to being a morning person, reminding you of the time, and making breakfast,
while you sleep through your alarm clock.
I can’t wait to cook with you, clean with you, run errands, watch our shows, go on walks, have long talks over dinner, and make more routines with you.
I can see ahead, we’ll be pushing each other to be our best selves, having tough conversations, taking on new adventures to new places, both close by and far away, packing our love for each other wherever we go.
Every time the moon rises I look forward to our next day, because when the sun rises I get to be a morning person again, and be your sunshine when you wipe the sleep from your eyes.
Each day together has been a gift, and with every sunrise I look forward to being blessed again with your love. – RSM
Keyboard Rapper Vol. 7
I’m so complete, I flip things around and make the drums march to the sound of my own beat,
Never discreet, I bring heat to the mind, my thoughts are alive
as they flow out from my crown and vibrate toward the sky.
It’s science, guys! Like hot air, my rhymes rise – the literary paintings I craft
are the kinda masterpieces that canvas can’t grasp.
I’m a key-er, not a rapper, I just type in my writin’s
that take y’all’s minds on wild rides, like psilocybin – pardon me, I’m vibing.
Lyrical bread, thrown out to the masses,
like emboldened Romans from times, olden,
I’m the Emperor of this whole-thing, I roll in with the royal guard chanting my slogans
and rain these brain-baguettes on the people, just knowing
that they’ll be back next week for the word circus, and more bread,
“My coliseum bars will shine throughout time, long after I’m dead,” – The Emporer said. – RSM
Chicago Weather – Without Using the Word ‘Cold’
Coffee cools a little quicker in the Windy City –
petty arctic air for-ces people indoors, it’s,
my park-ing spot I-called-dibs-it’s-not-yours, since,
I-dug-the-whole-thing-out early this morn-ing,
I coulda sworn only the poles would have these snows,
Sub-zero ice collects on my windows
as double-digit temps in the negative show
on the local weather reports, I’m mad out-of-sorts,
I’m daydreaming of the times I hung out in sunny-weathered resorts
and when people ask me “How bad is the weather out there?”
I kinda wish I had a more-better retort.
Icicles on my eyelashes, double-sweatered, for sure,
but you’ll still see at least one white guy jogging around in little blue shorts.
But apart from that one, brave soul, defiant of the day’s low,
everyone’s glad to shelter in place, and just stay home. -RSM
Fresh Air.
I’ve been trying to follow the rules, cuz at the day’s end
I’d rather end each day in good health, not laid in
at an ICU, or self-quarantining at the Day’s Inn.
I’ve been going on long walks
and having long talks with my most
loved souls as I stretch out my soles.
My glasses get frothy, my vision has
me fogged up,
trying to breathe fully with a mask on makes me feel all clogged up,
But on a walk last evening, I had a several block-long window of space
where no one was around, only my mask and fogged glasses were strapped to my face,
So I pulled down my mask and fully inhaled –
It felt like diving headfirst into an ocean’s wave,
Like the crusted cage encasing me was unlocked,
my lungs were unshackled, all chakras unblocked-
I felt free.
I grabbed a hold of mother nature’s hand as it reached me,
and exhaled, audibly as the sidewalk scrolled beneath me.
It made me so happy, with a smile so candid
to breathe a full breath of fresh air,
something we’ve all taken for granted.
– RSM
Happiness is Practiced, Not Pursued.
Tranquility is not a place on a map,
Not a thing you can only achieve with a trendy new app,
or a 6 month deal, half off on the media
that you read, hear, or watch to establish mindful criteria.
I’m writing this as a PSA to myself,
so for you, my way might not be the best way,
But I prefer to close my eyes at any time or breathe deeply
instead of pointing at my calendar, looking forward to my ‘best day.’
Destination addiction is the baseline of the rat race,
the ‘pursuit of happiness’ is a road to nowhere but an exhausted, sad place.
Happiness is a state of mind. You can’t search for, dig up, and literally ‘find peace,’
rather, find some time to unwind,
just a few seconds to reset your second-guessings,
Devote some time to breathe, and watch your fears melt, anxieties evaporate, wash away your stresses.
The outer battle goes on, and even if you didn’t ‘get it all done,’
when peace of mind is the mentality you practice,
No matter the battle, the war is already won. – RSM
Seven Haikus About Life, And Stuff.
‘Beauty’ is the air
between your eyes and the things
and people you love.
–
Important moments
pass by so quickly, that we
replay them ’til death.
–
Intimate moments
with oneself are works of art:
Powerful. Priceless.
–
Life is a dancefloor,
ballroom dance moves are the norm.
I like pop-and-lock.
–
Staggering to think
how many realities
we’ve made, and destroyed.
–
It’s hard to maintain
a peaceful flow, like water,
but fires are no match.
–
Understanding you
is your most important skill.
You are worth your time. – RSM
Midwest Winter Grievances:
Ice and pavement mix together below my toes,
encased in old boots as I avoid the slick sleet, bro.
shuffling my BIG SHOES slow; that’s the way it goes when it’s Farenheit 32 or below,
and there’s only one frozen path, the only way to go.
All the flowers, birds, beautiful butterflies- THEY’RE ALL DEAD.
Only us humans and other annoying lil’ ICE DEMONS still reside right around us as questionable-ass rabbits
gaze at my apartment building, and scurry right past’it.
Ain’t much positive, winter is the fucks,
got kids digging out the car for like, 10 bucks,
all the animals outside look mad suss
and trying to hibernate on the weekends is tough.
Me and winter go together like bacon and cement,
the winter is a squatter in my life that pays no rent,
But, after 90 days (hopefully) it’s a wrap
Call the cops on the winter, watch them throw him in the back, damn;
Understand, me and Invierno have our moments
But he’s just a bitter old man, and his age is really showing.
The holidays are great, as well as my birthdate,
But apart from that, the winter is an icy ball of hate. – RSM
Wake up Exhausted by Tegan and Sara
I’ve held the strong belief that certain chords on guitar carry a feeling (like Cadd9), a vibrating set of strings spring our minds to pick up a particular vibe,
our emotions churned by the same chimes over and again, burned into our memories, for better, worse, or all of those places in between.
Songs are the superstructure of these tones, several notes forming harmonies, patterns creating melodies,
as the unique energy they give flows into our mind’s eye, tagging up the walls of our memories.
A certain feeling is cultivated, after ‘that song’ is heard after about a thousand times,
be it a sad, somber thang, a high energy rage ballad, or something very monotone (like ‘Sex & Candy’ by Marcy Playground),
a unique quality – warm, fuzzy, and unmistakeable – calls to our souls by way of our ear drums.
Some songs feel like home, no matter what they sound like, and on its 10th repeat or more, that’s really all that matters. – RSM
The Joys of Civic Duty
Lemme get uhhh dozen talking heads with a side of fries,
Pointing-screaming-yelling telling off all the other guys-
-something Wise, like the owl on the blue bag-of-chips,
everybody’s speaking heavy, but they’re not saying shit-
Tired of the tired lines fed from the big rectANGLEs-to-our-heads, entANGLEd-in -our-heads!
I don’t think it matters who I vote for, honestly,
I wanna be a believer, but the bullshit bothers me.
The world is way bigger then a red and blue bina-ry,
But it is what it is, every single prima-ry.
“I don’t want to be involved, no, not at all,”
But I’m compelled-by-some-spell that I should vote-no matter how small,
Bubble in my scantron, take my quick picks,
Slide my vote in, DM it to my district-
Now my “waste of time” light’s already blinking,
aaannnd back to my cynical way of thinking. – RSM
Rubén Sebastián Muñiz | ∞ 