La Carpa del FEO: Fandango en East Oakland is a mobile cultural and community space for performance art, music, spoken word, poetry and theater to re-establish a new presence for local culture and talent to retake our local community space and services for residents and neighborhoods in East Oakland.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
I am a ghost
there are days
when i believe
i am a ghost
haunting stairwells
and abandoned migrant camps
sleeping with Billie Holiday
and getting drunk with drunk Indians
Being pulled into seance sessions with bolshevik clouds
Having to possess her body to become real
Ghosts do not cry. Ghosts do not die. Ghosts have unfinished revolutions.
I cry so maybe I exist.
I will die so maybe I still have a shot at space travel
My revolution has not started so I continue offering sage
to the ancestors and to the babies whose future I hold in mine.
When night comes I become a ghost in other planes of existence
I am an apparition in another dimension of her heart
Even the noted dialectical materialist, Frederick Engels, believed the world and her double were being recreated simultaneously in another realm of space at the same time.
I have visited that world, actually worlds, several times.
She is different, beautiful, you can choose to be yourself or another, because she is free of the restraints of our skins:
There you can walk barefoot,
drink the water from the ground, from the streams and rivers,
no danger there except of not wanting to return.
There the rain is made of crystals that bend the sun into a creaking womb of life.
There i can fall through the sky and enter my house through the roof of my bedroom.
There it is always morning.
Then an arm pulls me through the walls and I cry out, gasp as I land once again on the floor of my reality, my ghost hood.
Come talk with me, tell me how you're doing -- that will be enough assurance that I am alive and well -- and if you want to know the future come visit me in your sleep
I will show you how a ghost dances cubist cúmbias and gets electrified at the neighborhood pachanga.
You turn out to be a ghost and I turn out to be your body
You turn out to come from those other worlds and I turn out to return the visit
You turn out to heal your wounds and I turn out carrying them all so that I can say I am human because of your gentle laughter.
So tell me, who do you see?
Am I man or ghost
Am I human or shadow
Am I real or just someone you conspired with at another meeting to exorcize the ghosts who rule through war and illusion
I will be a ghost until the world I need becomes real...
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