'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.