howard zinn

"the power of the people on top depends
on the obedience of the people below.
when people stop obeying,
they
have
no
power."

building

An undeniable statement that I never hesitate to express is that there exists among us a certain unity- a unity that exemplifies and embraces our differences.
Whether we act according to this understanding of our unity or not, we cannot deny that we live, think, and produce for each other; as social animals, we are beings that communicate within a chain of human activity that links us together. Call it the activity of a collective worker, human family, or family of workers, but this chain of human activity exists.

And whether we consciously produce on this basis or not- whether we understand our unity or not, it exists. An eight year old girl in Bangladesh made the shirt you chose to wear today, the milk you drink was extracted by the hands of a farmer in Atlanta, the machine that made your computer was put together by someone in Mexico. No matter what, everything we do is connected to someone else. We could not survive without the help and activity of each other.

The unfortunate thing is that many of us do not consciously produce for the needs of others, much less understand that our productive activity can actually contribute and improve this chain of human activity. Instead of valuing our relationship as human beings, we produce and value commodities and their prices; instead of understanding this chain of human activity as our bond and our power, we prioritize the commodities produced by others and completely disregard the time and labor spent into creating them.

We have chosen to value THINGS more than we value PEOPLE.

And Marx called this the "fetishism of commodities." Because we worship objects, technology, and other inanimate things in a sickening perverse way.

by the people for all the people.

by the people for all the people
is a disregarded saying
believed to be a cliche statement that sounds
similar to “bless you” while sneezing
or “have a nice day” as you leave the coffee shop.

an utterance exhaled but never well ended;
and a mantra chanted but never fully comprehended.

by the people for all the people.
doesn’t mean by some people for these specific people
nor does it mean to stunt intellectual growth
and discredit multicultural actions and words, both
of which enrich the people who believe
they have the right to disenfranchise in the first place.

experiment.

Thoreau said that if you get an old newspaper
and just change the names of the people and places that appear in the articles,
the news then would reflect exactly what still happens today.

galvanize

instead of picking cotton
i have been told to repeatedly collect
case after case after
case
of mindless, mechanical distraction.
and when the sweat skates
down the side of my face
i realize that
i have been enslaved
by the things of this world.

it is mindless. yes.
and i have been absorbed. no,
my mind has been absorbed
by abstract and worn
nuisances that relentlessly fight

to flood it

with the belief that what doesn’t matter
really matters more
than anything i attempted to illustrate.

constantly hoodwinked,
i am told to function
according to a pattern
i never chose to accept,
and every symbol surrounding me
deceivingly, represents
how foolish i am by believing that the
Absurd
actually makes some kind of sense.

and even though my pennies of creativity
have no expiration date
i am still being convinced that i have to spend,
spend
spend
them on countless things that extrapolate
all the last minute still breathes
i usually conjure up in April.

and the point is that they are just things.
inanimate, lifeless artifacts
of fiction and deceit:
they do not provide the comfort i need
nor do they create the happiness that i seek.

So when Malevolence laughs
at you, at she, at we
it makes me re-evaluate
how I accentuate
this world and its slavery.



romans 12:2

winter libretto.

1.
as the pacifying sun warms the morning display,
a mantle of snow calmly coats the unassuming landscape.
soon after, I realize that today’s serenade
will be melodies of heartfelt laughter.

later, as we sit
by the fireplace, we recollect
and i ask
both my Grandparents
about that night in Nashville, circa 1947.

She, a sparkly gem, describes the jazz place where they meet
filled with smoke and percussive feet-
He, a noble soul, takes off his hat
as he kindly asks her to dance
And she, taken aback,
just thinks he is the handsomest man.

I listen to their story
and realize how vivaciously raw
unpretending Love can be,
and how present, past, and future tenses
don’t always alter the vibrancy
of romantic experiences.

Then we feast, at my aunt’s,
where words like “too much” cease
to mean anything.
and all of us, numerous,
drink wine and rant about how
we never get to see each other enough.
and here, at this cradle of kindness,
we constantly radiate love.

2.
a house of heat and oxygen tanks,
in a Carolina land that hosts
an infinite amount of pine trees
and pickup trucks.

He, the Candy Bomber, sits down
sips his coffee and shares histories
of translation and unorthodoxies:
“I traded a pack of cigarettes
for your Grandmother’s wedding ring,” he says
as he remembers the things he had chosen to forget.
the narrator thanks me
sense fully, and barely breathing,
as i pat his violently coughing body.

a pause, then a sigh:
“that fall of ‘45
Berlin was left starving,
and I got a Purple Heart
for simply surviving.”

he then mashes food
in the butterfly room
and tastes his dinner
with wrinkles of experience.

and we
try to be immune
to the renaissance tunes
but celebrating the birth of the One
is hard when you’re preparing to mourn
the death of the Other.

3.
a thank you letter
and a brief recollection of Birmingham:
a rapture, and
a fondness
of its forest benevolence
and crispy sunshine air.

with a contagious laughter,
its participants jovially
ruminate
about pain, its effects,
and romantic social etiquettes.

but it’s not part of their nature
to dwell on decadent possibilities.
instead they live, gleefully,
blaming superstitious activity
for life’s strange occurrences.

and as I nonsensically,
factually, say that “I believe in energy”
they, good-heartedly,
express amusement and agree,
emphasizing how one
doesn’t necessarily have to speak
the same language
in order to be comprehended.

so,
a thank you letter.

to those who defined “this is worth it”
so much better than anyone else.

4.

i love sunshine.

but what i love the most is
sharing it
with people
who close their eyes
and tilt their minds back
to break the uneasy ties
between faith and reason.

seemingly disorganized,
i live drastically different occasions
at similar, familiar destinations
completely unabashed by the instability
of my plans.
and, like a marvel in sand,
alone, i find comfort
in my own misplacement;
i find pleasure in boundless Disorientation,

and i find joy
in witnessing the sounds of
Life’s perpetual surprise.