pineboxing

[pineboxing]

In Another Place and Here

Songs from Mestizaland

for Dionne Brand

The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle

. . . for the Lorde

the Masters’ house was mastered

by the ones who built it up

the tools of trade

their blood and bone

their tears they did sup

to water the seeds they'd planted

into the depths of time

full of grace

a lion's pace

hook sinker and line

they plumbed the depths

each time they wept

and greased the chains in time

A Tribe Called Red’s Red Winter

for John Trudell

‘You are the spark

That will ignite

A thousand more

People’

Idle No More restarted the clock

Then they rocked the standing rock

Thought they could break us

Thought that we were fucked

But John Trudell remade US

As Alcayrazes voice

Calling from the ancestors

Giving us a choice

Kunte Kinte’s children

Were always there with you

Hidden in the bloodlines

Running through and through

The Heron’s call of the Winter

in America so cruel

Sounds so bleak and stark to us

Tho whiteys on the moon

Then Aaron Bushnell joined in

His name evokes the Jew

The one who fought the Nazis off

They knew just what to do

His fire was a pyre

A sati fice not a thrill

Asking us to witness

His indomitable will

His fire was the spark

That fired the alleged gun

Defend Deny Depose they said

The bullets from the son

And now that winter is coming

And we are tied to its yoke

A rainbow tribe has arisen

Of non Indigenous folk

Peeps who heard pachamama cry

Could not bear the sound

They danced and danced and danced for years

Barely breaking ground

Cause white folk are so privileged

They do not give a fuck

For as long as their comfort

Never becomes unstuck

But winter still is coming

For them as well as you

If they ask for help what then

What then will you do

Whiteness is obsolete I say

They must give it up

Go back to their family tree

Go ahead and look it up

Pick a line in nature

that is rooted in kith and kind

And bonds of other statures

That is so to bind

Back towards the mother

So as to reindigenize

Bring forward all your spirits

No longer in disguise

Say they must ask for Treaty

Unpack their colonized minds

Become a voice for truth

To reconcile the tribes

If they do the actions

That show their heart is true

Then ask them to join the rainbow tribe

Unraveling white lies to tell a history renewed

At least that is what you've told me

In between the jokes

Exchanging gifts along the way

Usually a pack of smokes

La Madre in Oaxaca

lilacs on the alters

breathing torment and transgressing

hidden under the preacher's veil

of blind sermonizing

I'd gone there with san judas

looking for the mother

la madre en espiratu

and a lad without a father

I found the mother in the church

la madre de guadalupe

and as I knelt staring up at her

a revelation crept through me

the preacher's going on about

the man up there as god

but nowhere on the planet

can he be found in flesh and blood

(pour ma mere)

Diné Dene Done

for Natan

mind the bridge

bridge the gap

relapse

heart attack

heart too cracked

to kintsugi it back

follow the black track

Jimmie’s voice

a choice

rejoice

inside

a guide

of pride

hallelujah

Jah

Allah

ha ha

he he

she she

they they

hey hey

Heyoka hey

Elbows Up

at Stephen Harper

Welcome to the circus

where the Carney's do hold away

Taking all our money

then deciding who can stay

White boys still run this show

white boys oh so proud

King and cvntry is their thing

of white supremacy endowed

Generational wealth built on the backs

of the poor and downtrodden

First their own in country of origin

workhouse debtor prisons their wealth gotten

Now they think to spin the tale

that their wealth here was earned

But colonizing genocide

was the base of their rate of return

And now they want to send away

those who built more wealth

for them to confiscate

using money games played in stealth

Now they sit there elbows up

Hijacking politics from pp and his crew

with the Harper the Harper in the back

Oh Stephen you're showing through

The White Imagination

once I entered a white room sole

bleached of all shadow

blinded by light unable to see

nary a path to follow

sitting there unable to move

I felt a fear creep near

lightness has a heaviness

and I was caught in its beam like a deer

remember now where I was

in a constructed room

but I swear I had this realization

of a creeping doom

in the white imagination

Einstein is never a Jew

the Indian is a savage

until they dreamcatcher him through

MLK is never black

his dream a whitewashed fence

Malcolm X is interesting

but they're glad he was shot dead

Fuck the Fourteen Words

Whiteness Is Now Obsolete

It has become very clear that the fault lines upon which the modern world is built, political, social, economic, cultural, are being exposed as ready to crack at a time when the planet herself has reached the edge of her ability to dance back from the attack she has subjected to for centuries now. Those of us who wish to survive, and are oriented towards protecting everything that exists as we and she adjust to the coming days, understand that we are engaged in a battle, with a very clear enemy. Whataboutism aside, for the last several centuries, the white man has arisen as the focal point of oppressive forces in the world. First as himself, a phenotypically 'white' penis bearing human of the aristocratic order who through a series of conquests and invasions came to rule over what is now referred to as western europe, and then, through a disastrous release of his poison in the world, made possible on the backs of his 'unwashed masses', went on to conquer and colonize the rest of the mother. As he did so, his whiteness spread beyond phenotype, where in a series of campaigns of first outright rape and pillage, then rule by divide and conquer (told now as beguiling stories) he coopted and cajoled legions of the colonized to play his game, and they became white too.

This whiteness as a construct, built on genetic accident, is a category of existence with ever expanding and collapsing borders dependant on the needs of the perpetual centre, that white skinned upright ever in charge male model that usually, but not always, wields a penis. Some of the phenotypically white never are, too disabled, too female, too poor, too queer, too culturally contaminated to be comfortably collapsed within its boundary. Perpetually pushed to the periphery, doomed or blessed to never access this center pole of power, they are always of the masses, and in the coming battle, have the choice of foot soldier for empire or resistance fighter for the future.

This is not a new battle, but rather one of a series mounted against the colonizer since colonization began. A series as well of the perpetual battle of the proletariat against capital, the peasants against landholders. The stakes, however, are cataclysmically higher. The fascist tides birthed in europe have come to their fruition in her blighted offspring, the United States of America, the current ruler holding the reigns of white hegemony. And through this monstrous orifice, the weapons of war and domination are being disseminated on a scale set to further engulf the planet. Surveillance technology, drones, war planes, ai and the ever present nuclear weapons are all in play. Further militarization of the police and the on the ground evidence of the coming police states in 'democratic' countries that don't currently exist in one is obvious. And underneath it all, the threat of white supremacist christofascism holding the reigns of empire.

What to do?

The key to winning the battle and what should be essential to our strategy, is an understanding that the white man doen't change. The American atrocity that was prophesised by Aimee Cesaire has come to be, and that inherent inflexibility is on display for all to see. But we, the amorphous masses, are a writhing seething bundle of change. Defenseless, unlike the white in their aura conditioned, bubbled up boxes of priviledge, never exposed to the elements, either physical or psychic, and so never having to adapt, we as a matter of survival have bent and bowed ourselves into such a shape as to slide through all manner of adverse circumstances that we come out the other side twisted and at times stunted, but all in all in alignment with an increasingly hostile environment that will bode us well in the coming times. The white man's time is almost done, rooted as it is in an imaginary ideology that he is king of all he surveys, a solitary creature of conquest through might alone, one who, through his mind alone, (severed from the body in an act of will so vast he has deluded himself into thinking he can live without it) can manifest the solution to any problem and mold the environment to his unchanging self. Instead, it meets the implacable reality that no man is an island, entire unto himself. While his gaze has been turned inward, the termites have invested his uninvestiged, not looked at crown, and are slowly eating away at everything he holds, until defenseless he will be thrust out into the mother's waiting arms, where we will be waiting as her new children, and we will watch as he dies, finally, inexorably, and we will stand over his grave to make sure he is dead.

Until this time, we hold the line, chipping away at their strongholds and the networks that sustain them. Multiplicities of meanings in motion is our message, and through our inherent diversity of tactics, we will not only hold the medicine line our ancestors created for us in the past, we will extend it out into the future. Seven generations forward.

×××÷÷÷×÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷×÷÷÷÷×××

Dedicated to the memory of John Trudell, Descendant Now Ancestor

Dream

for Gloria Anzaldua

last night I dreamt of you

lying in your dark place, silent and still

while Frida

camped amongst your relics

painted delicate lines of light

she sang

a whisper of breath

not quite a song

a forgotten lullaby that

collided with the light

and broke through

but you

you

went deeper still

I followed you

queer eyed

mongrel headed

masked we danced in streets

empty of movement, cavorting in rhymes

while those

packed into boxes

discreetly by the side of the road

awaited pick up

I have migrated here, edged

against barbed fences hooked

both ways

keeping me in and out

while Frida sings gently in the corner

Winter is Coming

for Drezus

Les habitants

Les habitants

Toute depend on you

You fought with thirst

quietly outburst

fucked the english through and through

the wasps they are a coming

those honey seeking badgerers

paper thin

delicate

born of original sin

And faggoters

Black folk from Africville

that history in this land

Stolen beaten desecrated denied

still they will make a stand

And here and there the tribe of Jew

Bagels and smoked meat sandwiches

Solomon’s temple lives in them

applies the spiritual bandages

Tiger wasps will follow

Sikh warriors keeping pace

Standing on this bountiful shore

arm in arm embraced

Vietnam was welcomed

in a manner such disgraced

that kkkanadians should bow shoulders

hide faces shame defaced

But they will come forward

as will all East Asians true

for in this land they found a home⁶

across an ocean blue

The waves of further peoples

carpeted the land

A tapestry interwoven

from ancestral homelands

Together with the peoples

who were here before

³From Dididhat and Pacheedaht

To the Boethuk who are no more

Inuit to Aluet

Diné Dene done

John Trudell’s ghost did birth for us

a bountiful beautiful son

A Tribe Called Red’s Red Winter

Indigenous through and through

Drezus is the Warrior Chief

His words do ring true

So gather around good people

of Turtle Island and Mestizaland

Fight back against the fascists

and their cuntbro fucking friends

Grandmother Pachamama

Filaments of

Light

Guide

Slide

Space to

Grace

Face the

Sun

Father

Undone

Come

Through

True

Blue

Box

Beating

Treating

Meeting as

Greeting

Seating

Tools at the

Table

Able

Now stable

At last

Grasp filaments of light

Blight ridden

With hidden

Gems

Stems of the new

Root

Pow Wow with the Goddess

First invite

Swear it's true

The Houdeneshoune People

Saw her through

First to pop was the maiden

Gently asking permis

Dance the said young maiden

Bring to us your bliss

So dance and dance she did that day

With the Sackeney and Shadi

Happiness and the hackey sack

Planted the seeds that set us free

Next in line were Mohawk kin

I was fauk hawk Mohawk

hawking then

it cost to enter

sad to say

so Johnny and I

could not play

me the homeless homeboy

and him out of respect

a story shared between us two

a tale of the stacked deck

We realized

Me and him

That our paths had crossed before

Years back me a student

Him lying on the

Great Grate of the Great Beast

In the Belly

It’s eternal machine

His fire at night

to fight

the winter witches bones

so crone she was

for Sackeney

both times if truth is unmined

And each time he did turn away

And graciously declined

From Johnny I left

Westward bound

By foot and bus and bike

After west

Headed south

Or so I was inclined

But karma declined

And I was directed to salty

By a shoulder curled up cat

Stuck for 5 bloody moistly months

At least my ass got pat

I left and traveled the condor

After the hummingbird

The lake between

Filled in the seems

Courtesy of Elizabeth Moes

Toes deep in the water

mni wiconi filled my soul

the goddess she did call to me

asked me to follow

Of that tale I will not speak

As it is filled with pain

But a third pow wow appeared for me

Courtesy of African rains

I was broken down and beaten

White folk destroyed my pride

So invited in I was with Toto

By the Cowichan tribe

Finally finally I could dance

My spirit spilling forth

For Great Spirit showed that day

My deep respected worth

So thank you very much my friends

My Indigenous friends and kin

You’ve showed the mother welcome here

Pachamama can now rebegin

Sulis of the Well

the gap

in Shiva’s third eye

or Odin's solitary one

the cauldron

weeping water

steams and bubbles

shifts and stumbles

from the goddess cleft

warp and weft

the tapestry

wobbles forth

catastrophe

getting worse

the gap

in the Sulis’ well

or Minerva's brain

the kettle

potted black

speaking back

is the gap

that tracks

fact from fiction

a friction

a predilection

of tradition

mined

from the mind

blind

except for Sulis’ eye

Wyrd Words

we

weirdly wyrding weirdos

wobbling whimisically

without words

shuffle softly

silently sighing sibilant

syllables

cascading cantations

collapse coalescing conundrums

causing

hovering hyper

hijacked hallucination

highways

(for Chuck and sisi)

Alban Eiler

wintertime passes and takes with it

the bones of the winter king

blankets them in hidden groves

on steep hillsides

the green man comes

creates carpets of colour

softly blows the trees to life

and wakes the goddess from her sleep

ensouled in the land

the land wights arrive

emptying sacks of seed

onto the waiting earth

the goddess and the green man

grab hold of handfuls

silently break their shells

and spit them forth

we are here with them on the precipice

tangled in dreamscapes

woven from old stories

almost forgotten

portals open to the summerland

and we dance on the edge

caught somewhere between

this world and the next

Crossing the Medicine Line

intertribal

medicine.

woah!

man.

for Keanu Reeves

crossing the medicine line

past the peyote purge

mescalito sings to me

cutting off this urge

to quantify, to qualify

proselytize or vilify

the voices of the divine

crossing the medicine line

past the mescaline mush

mescalito calls to me

coming in a rush

to mesmerize or demonize

democratize or vivify

the choices of the times

crossing the medicine line

past the hikury hurl

mescalito calls to me

letting it unfurl

to whirling gyring

tumbletots

hidden in the clouds

calling past such silly things

to just sit and laugh aloud

[pineboxing]

I ain't getting killed by misogyny

hoes before bros

she said

a twinkle in her eye

bros before hoes

he replied

on that hill I'll die

hoes and bros ain't foes

said I

it's all a made up lie

with surprise

(and a sigh)

he turned to me

said quietly

now sisi

you see

hoes against bros

is how it’s been

from the farthest reaches of time

and bros against bros

to access the hoes

to give to them their dimes

fight and might

are the blight

out of which we have been spawned

our dawn was drawn from clawing

our way forward

toward

mastery

supremacy

of a scale both planetary

and elementary

conquest and dominion

are the pinions

pinning

our decisions

no revisions

of history

can impede

the logic of my reasoning

the reason being

here I sit

on the summit

while you

a twit

submit

willingly

or not

plot all you like

you and your kind

but I'm here to remind you

that nature breeds true

all that's taboo

is due

to be purged

of the urge

of the demiurge

which is a purported

distortion

of the mind’s contortions

and you will find the grace

of your proper place

face to face

with this bigotry

I dug inside of me

to free

the witch and the bitch

with words as a switch

I said sweetly

sweetie

be free

to be

naive

in your belief

of male superiority

and the inferiority

of the majority

of us

trust if you must

that the cluster fuck

you mustered

might look like custard

but underneath the crust

is a musty smell

kinda like fumes from hell

can't you tell?

this demiurge

you wish to purge

is merely the urges

of a body

mostly shoddy

I agree

but please

don't you see

that we

by that I mean me

and my kind

have been alive

in the seams

your dreams

our lived reality

since the beginning of eternity?

you bred this catastrophe

collapsed family

into dynasty

bound the tree

sanctified Mary

made her exchange divinity

for hypocrisy

bathed Sulis in Minerva's energy

even killed Kybele’s

memory

then you

co-opted theory

cherry picked reality

Darwin's ghost

would roast

the host

of you

maybe not the most

of you

but enough

to stuff

the lot of you

outside

the right side

of humanity

in your monstrosity

of the patriarchy

boxed inside a constructed binary

the denies the androgyny

in me

cc

that meets and greets

the man

who stands

under a grand

understanding

that the muck

he

Chuck

is stuck in

will begin

to thin

as

to your chagrin

he places me

sisi

at the centre

of his endeavour

to be

truly free

you see

Octavio Paz

being a man of peace

was not discreet

in his teachings

that the freedom he sought

could never be bought

at the cost

of the freedom

of the feminine

in the body

not shoddy

like me

being now a bit too grimy

but the glory

of the whorey

and hoary

all of her story

my story

my sisters’ story

and oh

the glory

of the stories

of our mothers

of whom we are daughters

now torn asunder

from the wonder

of the woman

bowing

not discreetly

to the woman before me

I twirled freely

if not gracefully

off that hill

careful not to spill

the love

doved

in hands gloved

in the matter

of the mother

[pineboxing]

Percival and The Chapel Perilous

No man is an island

Entire unto himself

Yet each knight entered the forest

On a path on which only he dwelled

Break this contradiction

If you want to avoid this fate

Percival in the Chapel Perilous

For which the Grail was bait

He lost his mind to delusion

That it was only him

Who shaped and molded his life

It shook him to the brim

His tower became broken

His mind is snapped in two

The island that he lived within

Became encased in a sea of blue

The ocean of emotion

Slammed him to the ground

Dragged him under shook his bones

Wrapped his head in the sound

Of the Grail being broken

It’s blood now pouring forth

Mary screams of delightful pain

She finally sees her worth

Freedom is another word

For nothing left to lose

Mary'd lost it all before

Been drowning in the blues

Now that Percival was broke

His tower cracked in two

She was free to fuck around

So she fucked off into the blue

Ocean of emotion

Leaving him behind

No longer worthy of the task

For ego made him blind

To the island he created

When enter the forest he did

Self reliant to a fault

He misunderstood bliss

Now the Grail lies there broken

Beneath the tower broken in loss

Percival staggers endlessly

Underneath a cross

That St John spoke so clearly of

The dark night of the soul

That only the mother now can heal

But Mary has fucked off whole

‘What to do’ he cries aloud

‘My mind and heart are torture’

Broken beaten battered still

He becomes a creature

No longer a knight pure of soul

But merely a man delirious

Haunting the tower at the shore

Besides the Chapel Perilous

[pineboxing]

the songs is sisi_part one

blessed are the feet of the beloved tyrant Ashvatthana where I rest my battered head

destituted prostitute

tantrized

by his eyes

I sigh

and cry

Ashvatthana Ashvatthana Ashvatthana

please m’lord I do not want to die

why?

why!

I subside at his insistence

that my resistance

is persistence

of a fate

that leads to a gate

where great horrors await

but lord lord do not deny

that my cry of pain

is not insane

but is from a membrane

framed

by a perspective

that is directed

by a psychopathic collective

bound so tightly

that nightly

my bones creak

will not release

oh lord, grant me peace

a surcease

a cease and desist

a slip of paper

stapled to my head

that says

‘Be Free!’

for eternity

[pineboxing]

The Rape of the Milly

cloaca coal

shoales the shore

sheerly

deviant ducts

duck docks

and

cocks become cunts

clocking time

mine the mind

find the fellow

bellowing

from the belly

jelly roll

unfolds

retold

boldly

by her

heroically

her story

glory

glorified

horrified

whorified

who

who who

hoo hoo

hoots the owl

power personified

peeps the tide

crests the crescent

waves the waders

wandering

with the weather

where it is a better

bet set

that the setting

Son

is done

[pineboxing]

maiden mother maestra

the maiden is the father falling from the sky king of hearts carrying the grail teaching us to fly

the queen becomes the mother rooted in the earth mni wiconi the roots are water the waters of our birth

jack be nimble maestra show us the way through whip the horses back in line pain shows the mood of the dude

[pineboxing]

thin white line

it's a thin white line sliding through your spine fourteen words out of time trying to fix the broken divine

it's a thin white line that sets the stage sublime shadow dancing all the time for your spirit to find the rhyme

it's a thin white line that makes a great divide constructed whiteness is the sign that it's time to turn back the times

so which side are you on, boys which side are you on? which side are you on of this thin white line

which side are you on, boys which side are you on? which side are you on, boy of this thin white line

[pineboxing]

The Rape of the Milly

cloaca coal shoales the shore sheerly

deviant ducts duck docks and cocks become cunts| clocking time

mine the mind find the fellow bellowing from the belly

jelly roll unfolds retold boldly by her heroically

her story glory glorified horrified whorified

who who who hoo hoo hoots the owl

power personified peeps the tide crests the crescent waves the waders wandering

with the weather where it is a better bet set that the setting Son is done

[pineboxing]

Progress

you say nigger's a trigger but to you a faggot's still the maggot

both words shit out meaning demeaning not yet redeeming

there’s you leaving and me unreeling from feeling layers unpeeling inwardly screaming

coming back to the dreaming I rest in this space of quiet and grace contemplate the hate that grates and grinds until I find the right kind of mind to define the line between black and white

not quite a fight but more a delight of the wyrd way the queer sway where words play and I stay somewhere delayed between mind and heart then I start to unfold the mold

be bold shift veils on the untold

that finger on the trigger those words behind that snicker meaning still a flicker we relate to a state that had a gate behind which death was our fate

[pineboxing]

fascists conform at the fascie connected at the root tradition spills forth in night lies under the zeitgeist boot

purity is what drives it a murder of the other across enemy lines constructed by denial of the brother

hatred of the mother dips and bends from men who dropped their balls underneath it all my friends misogyny creeps and crawls

[pineboxing]

I follow a triple braided path, woven together of teachings of my own lineage as well as those I have encountered during my time as a seeker of knowledge. The first strand is golden, genetic and cultural, in my calling as a Celtic Pagan Oracle following the yellow brick road. It is the mackennian path, the one of the artist, the one that Terrence McKenna called the only true shamanic path for the Western Shaman. Most of this involves dancing with the spirits while reading tarot cards. Then I write the spread into a poem.

The second strand is the path of the red right hand, which is my dedicated path of devotion for Kali Ma. As a somewhat practicing Hindu [trust me, it’s not official], and a definitely practicing yogi, this is a blending of eastern technologies of the body in order to facilitate a Kundalini rising and invite the goddess into the body. Whether I chose her or she chose me is up for debate. I call her The Mistress. She is here to save pachamama from the psychopaths of Western society.

The third strand is the Royal Road, which is the path to enlightenment via the twin strands of wisdom and compassion, from Vajraonic Buddhism of the Tibetan kind. I say enlightenment with a giggle. Once you toss the box, the light goes dark, and it’s shadow dancing all the way.

All of this is held together by the articulated strand waiting to be woven, which is the marriage of anarchy and taoism. Anarchy as faith, taoism as practice, and the praxis is the meeting point.

[pineboxing]

Pow Wow with the Goddess

First invite Swear it's true The Houdeneshoune People Saw her through

First to pop was the maiden Gently asking permis Dance the said young maiden Bring to us your bliss

So dance and dance she did that day With the Sackeney and Shadi Happiness and the hackey sack Planted the seeds that set us free

Next in line were Mohawk kin I was fauk hawk Mohawk hawking then

it cost to enter sad to say so Johnny and I could not play

me the homeless homeboy and him out of respect a story shared between us two a tale of the stacked deck

We realized Me and him That our paths had crossed before Years back me a student Him lying on the

Great Grate of the Great Beast In the Belly It’s eternal machine His fire at night to fight the winter witches bones

so crone she was for Sackeney both times if truth is unmined And each time he did turn away And graciously declined

From Johnny I left Westward bound By foot and bus and bike After west Headed south Or so I was inclined But karma did decline

And I was directed to Salty By a shoulder curled up cat Stuck for five bloody moistly months At least my ass got pat

I left and traveled the condor After the hummingbird The lake between Filled in the seams Courtesy of Elizabeth Moes

Toes deep in the water mni wiconi filled my soul the goddess she did call to me asked me to follow

Of that tale I will not speak As it is filled with pain But a third pow wow appeared for me Courtesy of African rains

I was broken down and beaten White folk destroyed my pride So invited in I was with Toto By the Cowichan tribe

Finally finally I could dance My spirit spilling forth For Great Spirit showed that day My deep respected worth

So thank you very much my friends My Indigenous friends and kin You’ve showed the mother welcome here Pachamama can now rebegin

[pineboxing]

The Ghost of Marc Lepine

‘you’re all a bunch of feminists!’ he screamed as he opened fire Marc Lepine on a rampage strung taut as a wire

walking through l’ecole polytechnique he separated the men from the women walked them out locked the door sent the women off to heaven

I was twenty at the time halfway through uni year two fighting though I'd been for years I felt my fight renew

misogyny had been dogging me throughout my short lived life brought me rape and punches plus years of psychic strife

from long years spent forcing men around me to see that the patriarchy they're supporting will never set them free

now years later here we stand with the trumpers at the helm terfers running rampant rape a war crime near Bethlehem

the ghost of Marc Lepine haunts us both as nightmare and as guide to the women fighting to be free and the men who have them in their sights

it’s current still runs through our avenues of power fascism feeds on misogyny meets women’s grace with a glower

sees in the feminine something to despise sees her softness and mocks her or when women decide to stand up strong subjects them to torture

and even though I've transed out now and am no longer called a woman I still have the bits I was born with the ones they think make me less human

the bits they would call out just like Marc Lepine did pull out a weapon kill me dead screaming ‘you’re just a fucking feminist’

[pineboxing]

the song of Isaac

a palimpsest of

LeonarD CoheN

E

A C

E N. D

T

N. O. W.

O

NOnnoN Ancestor

O

N

you were only 9 years old father with his blue eyes cold vision holy mountain told god bespoken axe of gold

[ smaller lake mirror ]

[ wine broken hands ]

eagle vulture you decide father alter run and hide boy killed for the pride you sacrifice the man

stop the scheme tempted god bloody hatchet of a job

[ word becomes clearer ]

[ brother forgive the plan ]

dust kills age old must we must help with our trust do all we can

mercy calling uniform god bespeaks a broken word hold up the peacock fan and reunite with the land

[pineboxing]

I Ain't Getting Killed by Misogyny

bros before hoes he said a twinkle in his eye hoes before bros she replied on that hill I'll die hoes and bros ain't foes said I it's all a made up lie

with surprise (and a sigh) he turned to me said quietly now sisi you see hoes against bros is how it’s been from the farthest reaches of time and bros against bros to access the hoes to give to them their dimes fight and might are the blight out of which we have been spawned

[our dawn was drawn from clawing our way forward toward mastery supremacy of a scale both planetary and elementary conquest and dominion are the pinions pinning our decisions no revisions of history can impede the logic of my reasoning the reason being here I sit on the summit while youa twit submit willingly or not

plot all you like you and your kind but I'm here to remind you that nature breeds true all that's taboo is due to be purged of the urge of the demiurge which is a purported distortion of the mind’s contortions and you will find the grace of your proper place

face to face with this bigotry I dug inside of me to free the witch and the bitch with words as a switch I said sweetly sweetie be free to benaive in your belief of male superiority and the inferiority of the majority of us trust if you must that the cluster fuck you mustered might look like custard but underneath the crust is a musty smell kinda like fumes from hell can't you tell?