Sunday, January 25, 2015

what is lost | arnoldo garcía

I cannot take back
what I lost
what I lost
now belongs to another
If I take back
what I lost
I will have to take it away
from another I
I cannot take back
what I lost
what I lost
is only found in my memory
a body that needs another
to be found
to be whole
to be un-lost
without having to take back
from another
who is just
another I
Another I
who is lost
And cannot take me back
without taking away from me
what is lost...

Sunday, October 26, 2014

The human story that turns against herself

The human story that turns against herself: forced migrations. Humanity became humanity when she rose up and started walking, following the rhythms and flows of the natural world.

The first migrations were forced by the changes that occurred in the relationship between humans and the natural world. These changes in turn affected and transformed the relationships between humans and humans and those relationships in turn affected the natural world. Our skin, our pigment, tells the story of longer and shorter stays along the longitudes and latitudes of the world. Movement was indispensable till someone, a woman or women, more than likely, among the humans took note of the seeds and caught them at the headwaters of the natural world.

My ancestors walked toward the horizons cut by the rising and falling of the sun. The earth tilted for its seasonal bows to the sun, creating longer and shorter days, shifting the human settlements.

Human movement has been an indicator of social, economic and cultural development. The only borders the earliest human migrations knew were bio-regional, geophysical and followed the movements and migrations of other earthly species more in tune with the gravity of the world. Migration is a shared story among all two-legged, four-legged and other species who like humans were connected to the magnetic fields of life herself.

Along with movement and migrations, all species share the water to live and procreate life and her cycles and her plants and offerings among species to share the energy of the constellations of earthly life in all her shapes and forces. Movement, water and plants are now subjugated to the dominant industrial modes of human settlements.

To be human is to be a nomad.

The most human of humanity today are migrants, who have been forced to leave or flee for their lives, to survive, a cosmic spiral of sorts that links migrants to her first ancestors, who changed their relationships and became more human by walking together.

--arnoldo garcía

Monday, July 07, 2014

my status is Palestine

My status is Palestine
There are no walls between our lands, our skins, our hearts
Palestine is the horizon of humanity
I am Palestine
I am nomad on the longest walk to return to her
Palestine: either we are all free or we are all fucked.
Hold my hand
Hold my body
Hold my head
Hold my tears
From your bed to the workplace
From the long-distance phone calls to your voice
Hold me Palestine
Her first name is love
Her last name is peace
She will hold me
For she is Palestine
The land is Palestine
The sea is Palestine
The sky is Palestine
The moon is Palestine
The sun is Palestine

wherever I stand
wherever I dream
wherever I cry
wherever I love
wherever I live and die

My status, write it down, is Palestine ...

Sunday, July 06, 2014

ABC's Palestine Free Free Free!

Amantes Yes
apartheid no
Beauty Yes
border walls no
Collective Tenderness Yes
collective punishment no
Democracy Yes
dictatorship no
Equality Yes
expulsions no
Freedom yes
fascism no
Gaza Yes
garrisons no
Hugs Yes
hate no
Intifada Yes
identity cards no
Justice Yes
jackals no
Keffiyehs Yes
kkkisraelis no
Land Yes
landlords no
Mohammed Abu Khudeir Yes
military murderer-monsters no
Nectar Yes
nakba no
Orgasms Yes
occupation no
Palestine Yes
police-state no
Qasidas Yes
qualudes no
Return Yes
racism no
Solidarity soul Yes
settlers no
Tierra أرض Yes
takers no
Uprisings Yes
Untrammeled people Yes
Victory Yes
victims no
Water Yes
weapons no
X of the heart Yes
x of the barbed-wire no
Yearning Yes
Y of the arms open to embraces Yes
Y of the Palestinian flag fluttering in my veins Yes
Zhrah Yes
Zatoon Yes
Zahra Yes
Palestine free yes...

Saturday, May 17, 2014

arnoldo garcía: soledades

I cannot possess you
anymore than you can possess
the wind, the water, the land
And I will never possess you or the land
Yet all I want is to be buried in you
So that you can possess me
Turning me into
a flurry of wind
dust across your watery back
a muddy caress of your feet...

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

arnoldo garcia: I want to share the moon with you...

I want to share the moon with you...
holy bread
pale burnt tortilla
pock-marked face
rotting mirror
antarctic slip
wounded smile
loudspeaker of suns
disposable tambourine
frying cymbal
griddled plane
ingestable hands

I want to cut my wrists with the moon...
so all the oceans will come gushing out
becoming impotent crayons and a scar of dark matter
on either tear ducts of your sex

I want to become the moon
translucent serpent
transitive kiss
fugitive son
the library of all memories
a bed of erotic servitude
a coyote of sadness
a minstrellated lung
the cyclical war
of time and menses

I give you the moon
a pact of dusks to hold you
an endless unforgetting
shells, caracoles, topographies of soul
my effigy-tongue
to burn as an offering to castigate the men

I make you the moon
a quilt of contradictions
a multilingual kiss
where the sun snipped
the umbilical chord of swallows
drowning your grief with her laughter
strumming the curves of the water
the clan of your eclipse
putting down the rabid sun
the reader of my calloused palms

Wednesday, May 07, 2014

Rebellions | 7 mayo | may 7

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it's right to rebel. -- mao

my eyes are rebelling
they're tired of seeing for me
they want to see for themselves
they want to see the sun, become the sun unblinding explosions
my eyes say let your brain see in the night without us
you'll appreciate your knees more as a penitent for light.
My ears are joining the rebellion, too.
they're tired of hearing the blues
they're tired of hearing your scratchy voice beat on my drums
they're tired of listening for the ecstasy of your shadow
so my ears just hiss and hiss
Singing a static song out of a B natural note
they scrape the note over and over until the their hissing drives me crazy
and all i can hear is what you said to me the other night
the hissing becomes a womb
gestating the noisiest web of musics, embraces, cries...
my eyes will impose their dictatorship of darkness
my ears their military junta of airlessness
my soul retreats to organize a guerrilla, a little war, in the mountains of my heart and lungs...