nothing has ever

You once asked me what is it that i see when i'm looking out, with my mouth hung open and all these words that don’t come out. I don't know where to start,to tell of the multiple stories that palpitates my heart from the bulletproof current that keeps my body curled up and my head cocked up. Everything about the brilliant blue renders me speechless, eek.

I was raised with the east river 500 ft away, i’ll turn over from bed to tilt my head over the pier, awaiting the sun to twirl my body into reflective diamonds chasing shadows over and under, hugging the wooden poles, gliding my hands as close to the ripple water that my little fingers will allow while dreaming of the earth underneath my feet.

And then the stories begun, what happened happens. A wild child, I was already too afraid to love too madly. The sea speaks and I’ll listen to the grumbling stomachs of a rainstorm, the pitter patters of a snowday, the vast lonliness that continued after and before the happiness was to begin and cease, repeatedly I saw the world drown slowly by this wrath. And there was never enough of a good moment for me to express all I saw, there was no one to share with, no one that I could relate with. So i always admired from afar from such close distance. And my mind rambled on and on as my heart crumbled and crumbled. Then the war....

of spoonfed sugar melting into disgust,broken gin bottle shards lit up into nightly bon fires, scraping the callowness out of our smoky skin, and what you see inside a world of star dusts and strawberry fields ages you quickly. The foul taste never left my mouth from the outpour of blood dripping down the wooden planks ,maybe perhap cuz i couldn’t ever stop licking the pain from my lips, falling angels that swims forever in the blue and becomes of it. I cannot turn my head away from the tragedy that still beckons its beauty, so i stare on.....

til i get here again, no matter at which point of the world’s end, i’m still here again. And what i see when I”m looking out, all the same, all the casualities gargling in my mouth as i breathe in and out, heavy from the exhausation of hustling in a torturous city, surviving with too little folks to love and too many too far...when you make it, in life that is, the baggage creases the heart. You learn to love all the same like you’re learning to walk agaain, misguided baby steps of lost wonder years. Hah hah the good old sickened grief ...

Oh, the fucking accumulated heartbreaks and meltdowns all withdrawals once i’m here again, the sweet sound of the gentle blue beast dancing from an open womb, again and again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
Who are you to ridicule me from my flapping arms if you never attempted to set yourself free, come.....come....

Nothing
Nothing

Nothing
Nothing

Nothing has ever been this beautiful. Shh.



DEDICATED TO MAKEEBA BROWNE

runnning tracks

yesterday i dreamt i was on the run from the city's slick,
crossed the river, up the ladder towards the tunnel's snake.
how long can you ride on these busy tracks,
as long as forever in astoria, it'll always turn back.

hey, hey santa fe.

from city to desert: "You can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind..." so hey, hey santa fe.

(Video Playlist: 1. Sting-Desert Rose 2.Coldplay-Beautiful World 3.Gnarls Barkley-A little better (To Gid.), 4.Cachao-The Journey 5. Israel Kamakawiwo-Somewhere over the rainbow 6. Weezer-Island in the Sun, 7. Kill Bill-Good Night)

hey hey santa fe,
i shall let go of this madness
that has become of me,
bye bye roaring new york city.

hey hey santa fe,
i can begin to breathe the desert skies
and awake by 6am, just to chase the
breath of the mountain's kiss.

hey hey santa fe.
hey hey santa fe.

32,000 feet high

when i was a child, i always had my face against windows....i just.
i just couldn't adjust to the stale spaces in between
the walls that laid out isolation like standing corners waiting to turn corners,phew.
i grew up squinting heavily, stunned by the sun that pushes the endless breeze array like an unspeakable madness. i've always knew I wanted to run. run on sentences, run.

i couldn't fall easily for the stigmatization but too easy,
the dirty lower east's gritty,pretty sloppy city.
how could this be, me?
i needed bare feet on dirt, needed my fingers to claw through the clouds,
wanted my skin against golden blades of weeping willows,
i weeped as a child begging to run. run smack into the sun.

and shatter into star dusts..

smirking,

how dope it is, to wake up with my face against windows

grabbing the sky by the handful.

'So the darkness shall be the light and the stillness the dancing'

"you do not really understand something unless you can explain it to your grandmother."

grandpa still awakes startled at night howling past the kwanyin goddess and towards the moon. he can no longer hear your spirit come but he can still feel you as he longs for your hands to rub his back, back to calm.....

i use to see you in my sleep, lost you since but now through meditation,your spirit breathes......and through a gentle breeze at the monastery, i can just taste the childhood memories of burnt rice chips and your fon saw dumplings...唵嘛呢叭咪吽

"I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are daughters of one religion, and it is the spirit. "

he knows.

on saturday mornings as I am
still curled up under his covers,
he wakes me up with music.
he knows.

a love poem.

i never forgotten how to dance in between the night time gun fires, shooting in between shooting you and shooting up, shooting stars-we're all always looking up...
but then...
love comes along. (what does love got to do with this?)
and you realize when one falls, we all crumble.
i, walked away wounded hearted-
i, ricochet off toward the wind; in crutches.

we fast foward,

i still sleep with my hands under the pillow,
a familiar last stance. grip. a veteran.
fire still reminds me of the way bumble bees move,
deadly and pretty.
like roses laid silently in cemeteries.

'Stars got tangled in her hair whenever she played in the sky.'

rest easy above me: Ajay (Jane) L. Suh


Lay out in the soft brown earth, feel the grass tickle your gentle toes and listen to the silence day in day out. tell me how soft the skies curl around your fingers and how dope it must feel that you're trippin' above me, an infinite high-forever. i will always remain a night chaser... just don't forget to dance through the stars every time you hear the sound of my drums....i'll always look out for you.

'We lay there and looked up at the night sky
and she told me about stars called blue squares
and red swirls and I told her I'd never heard of them. Of course not, she said,
the really important stuff they never tell you.
You have to imagine it on your own.'

Missing you,
Moo.

on my way...

and after you resuscitate me,i have a million plus breaths more.
the darkness fades a bit more every day forth
and every extra mile traveled,
the past times stops chasing you as heavy.
the story here is the story of me now,
healing from the times, times i never let lost.


high fives,
davina.

Gum San (Gold Mountain) 金山

We grew up together less of a daughter, less of a father. Separated by the repercussions of sacramental apprehension and concrete wars dividing us from us becoming cohesive. But dear father, blood has no nationality and if giving birth to me meant gold mountain opportunities, then look at me. Because without you, I was raised tattered with heads turned and hearts damaged by traditional cross fires mingling through silence. I am too tired of becoming your #1 American enemy...and these goddamn hierarchal barriers we construct and destruct are not the morals I wanted to be raised with. I've been spitting out the shrapnels lingering inside of you since I was born. I, too know of war, father. The sound of the machine gun sang to me when you disappeared and it ran chills down your spine every time. We both could hear the longing for years. We both live for the storms, wondering if our own cataclysm would be burly enough for us to catch a long wicked breeze, long enough for us to breathe..long enough for us to breathe.

.

My father; a gold mountain, who dared chase the American dream and ceaselessly stomached a blow of suffrage every time he spun astray.. And for your daughter, who remained unyielding with an obstinate persistence to repair a lineage war. Our lives so closely flawed and intertwined by grief, stricken from growing with more neglect than comfort, and with more of a violent heart than a familiar face.

My father; a gold mountain who clutches dearly to his gangster heart who couldn't speak of, spoke of rearing neglect, overcoming hindrance and dividing sacrifice in between heartbreaks. And I unflinching, dying to forgive. My father, despite his calloused war stories still swags. Nothing ever scares and comforts us more than the grave sea. Even in America father, one can suffer silently too. We become orphans and I just like you, am you. And he nods and says, We,a father a daughter- duo gangsters-will sail over troubled waters and we'll learn to love adaptively through fist bumps.

if love was a snowstorm, it'll be this.

soul mates

i, saw the wounds of the world

breathe like shooting stars

at midnight, when champagnes glasses

were touching lips

and i knew we both stared at the countdown blankly,

(simultaneously as we always are)

as if we were holding the sky up with our palms

waiting for the sighs of raindrops to

carry forth our souls towards the open blue.



a decade past of knowing you,

and i have reincarnated multiple lifelines,

we,an ancient duo, continues to spit our souls

reasons-why our spirituality

has become more paralleled and aligned,

and our fears has lessened and became lessons

so our hearts beats wickedly and widens.



and if anybody has ever doubted the way

growth grooves, i assume they haven't crossed

either one of us yet. danger reckons fire,

astrologically the definition of beautiful has us healing,

quicker than we're breathing. hearts beating.

becoming a pantheon of owning our phenomenon,

where we sip by the rocks

and write sweet poetry...........

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GUcXI2BIUOQ

A lower east collective

we're moving too quickly and i forget how to stand still.
everything's changing, dear.
the legacy of how i grew,child- was once here.
I was born and raised in the gritty beauty of the lower east
and now through the inevitable gentrification of our hood,
my heart cannot
speak of it any further.
this collective is my heartbroken
attempt to hold on to the ugliness that made me
witness beauty in its entirety.

don't be afraid, don't run away.
stay a little longer
we just all got to keep on, keepin' on.

happy hour madness

...thinking of spaces in between the eerie feeling of running wild.
we live pretty crazily trying to run afar from the absurd danger of who we are.

i got burned before matches lit under boxed mattresses
sleeping into a masked glow of fire
and i'm running slow.

sometimes you're just not suppose to make it...

but when you do, you begin to weep from within the chest that carries
the onslaught of your happy hour specials......
until i forget how to cry and i begin to slur drunken howls behind a smile.