my family and i have been adopting this beautiful little girl for more than the past year from Guatemala. and though i've never met her, i loved her as my little sister because she was and is, just as much as my other sisters and brothers. we were waiting for her to come home in three weeks. she was going to be the best Christmas present ever. in three weeks i was going to hold her. it was going so smoothly in the adopting, to the point where it was just unreal, as if G-d was setting things into place so easily. we just received her birth certificate, she was no longer an orphan, she was my sister, my mother's daughter, and my siblings new sister.
two nights ago though, Dec. 5th, i found out the most horrible news i have ever heard in my life. i was getting ready to eat some rice at nick's house after he just finished making himself and jehiah pasta. we were playing a show that night. i decided i need to call my mother to let her know i was spending the night at nicks that night, yes i live with my family still. i called her. it at first sounded like she wasn't there. she asked where i was,
"i'm at nicks house."
"okay"
"mom, is everything okay?"
"robby, something really bad happened"
"what?"
"josi was murdered"
"what?!"
i don't really remember anything, other than me rushing outside, dropping jehiah's cellphone, me falling into holding me knees. first came confusion. then disbelief. then realization. then the tears. it was unreal. it still is.
i wanted to destroy something. punch my fist into a wall until i couldn't feel it anymore. bash my head into concrete. jump off a cliff. anything painful. i wanted the physical pain to eliminate my emotional pain, my longing for her to be alive.
i told nick and jehiah what happened. they were in shock and disbelief as well. jehiah and nick kept telling me that if i didn't want to play the show, we didn't have to. i insisted that we play the show, for me to let out my rage. i've never felt so much anger inside me.
anger towards civilization. towards the Guatemalan government for being so ridiculous as to having such a stupid police force, and for how they treat their orphans. anger towards the person who did this for refusing to listen to his heart, refusing to listen to G-d telling him to stop. anger towards the evil one, may G-d murder and torture the one who influenced this person to do this, the one named Satan.
after talking with my amazing friends, and receiving early Xmas gifts which helped. we left for the show.
we arrived. we set up. we played. we were the second band to play.
i gave a speech about Josi, dedicating our set to her, and reminding everyone that no matter what, violence is never the answer.
the set started when i hammered my floor tom and snare into the ground with the repetitive slam 3 times, enter in nick, enter in jehiah, 4 more times, with air between each smash. the song began. my heart was beating as ferocious as ever. beating with sorrow turning into anger and back into sorrow in a circle. Rage into Love. Love into Rage. i've never played like this. i couldn't control what i was doing. i wasn't thinking. i was destroying whatever beats or notes i possibly could. i ended up bleeding, i was content with that. i wished i bled more. i wished i cried more.
My beautiful little sister Josi, whom i was never able to hold. Was three years old when she was murdered.
She is now up with Christ, dancing with the angels, she was never an orphan, she had a family, but more importantly she had G-d, the Father, the Son, and the Spirit. YHWH, Christ, and Spirit.
Josi is now gone from this dying world, living now in a world of Love.
please give your prayers to my family, to Josi's birth-mother, to Josi's now-deceased Foster Family.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving.
I was just lectured on about how America was founded as a Christian Nation, with Christian Principles, for the People, by the People. How America was founded on Free Speech and Freedom of Religion.
I've honestly never had so many thoughts through my head about politics and history in random ten-minute hoot of words.
I stood, more-so leaning on a counter, sipping my coffee while this man talked. I could tell he was a good man, with a good heart. He was from Africa. He had quite a lot to say about America, good things, and a lot to say about other countries of the world, bad things. He also talked about 'racist' against Caucasians America is. He talked about certain horrible leaders of certain horrible nations. He talked of how wonderful the American economy is and that the reason why so many nations hate America is because of Jealousy.
They kept trying to drag me in, saying things that they know arouses my thought, makes my blood-boil, and if i think about it long enough it has potential to bring tears to my eyes. My mother obviously knows my political stand-point on subjects, and that if i even mention at all about what i believe in I'd be laughed and ridiculed in a second, so she is silent as well.
The man continued to talk.
Telling me, it's good i have a point of view, but i need to think outside the box and realize that America is the best and the most generously giving country out of the whole world, and all other countries hate us because of that, including the place he was born in.
I stood there, quiet.
I can hear them now...laughing in the back.
I've honestly never had so many thoughts through my head about politics and history in random ten-minute hoot of words.
I stood, more-so leaning on a counter, sipping my coffee while this man talked. I could tell he was a good man, with a good heart. He was from Africa. He had quite a lot to say about America, good things, and a lot to say about other countries of the world, bad things. He also talked about 'racist' against Caucasians America is. He talked about certain horrible leaders of certain horrible nations. He talked of how wonderful the American economy is and that the reason why so many nations hate America is because of Jealousy.
They kept trying to drag me in, saying things that they know arouses my thought, makes my blood-boil, and if i think about it long enough it has potential to bring tears to my eyes. My mother obviously knows my political stand-point on subjects, and that if i even mention at all about what i believe in I'd be laughed and ridiculed in a second, so she is silent as well.
The man continued to talk.
Telling me, it's good i have a point of view, but i need to think outside the box and realize that America is the best and the most generously giving country out of the whole world, and all other countries hate us because of that, including the place he was born in.
I stood there, quiet.
I can hear them now...laughing in the back.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
-With a confused look at the moth-
hello there Cedar-Ant blog-thingy, i haven't posted on here in awhile.
I'm honestly curious if anyone reads this or not?
But then at the same time, I sort of don't care, because this sort of place has become a nice little 'rant' section in my life where no one can demand of me to shut-up. its sad, isn't it? how the public of the world has reduced to such fear of each other's neighbor, the fear of having true honesty of how one feels towards politics, the world, love, society, religion, so on and so forth to where we go on blogging about. sort of hoping people will read, and understand, and at the same time for certain posts, hoping they don't understand. in the end we just want to be heard, we just want to be loved. it seems like that is the only purpose to being here: to be loved.
i've been having quite a whirlwind of emotions lately, oh lust and the desire of love is such a curse isn't it? i've ended up a Joseph with the intention of succeeding as he did, but i failed, unlike he who just got his tunic torn, i received that tear and worse, when i knew beforehand that would happen as well! hope can be a beautiful angel at times, when the hope is for love and life, yet it can also be a ferocious demon promising love with you getting fooled and falling into a hole. The hope this time, was one of lust, i admit, and like most adventures with lust you end up bruised with the feeling of being taken advantage of. confused with the intense feeling of loneliness i slowly stopped the infatuation of her, though it rises from time to time, i can ease it off allow myself to know "this is only an emotion, it will pass".
which helps, though now, again, im stuck in such a silly debate with myself continually, and for how young and immature i am, all about the pros and cons of celibacy and relationship. And this happens all the while i am having infatuation with certain womyn, womyn which i know would never be interested in me. I'm not artsy, i'm not intelligent, i like walking everywhere, i'm not really crazy about getting my license(19yrs old, sad huh?), i'm usually confused, i stare at the ground a lot, i have a beard, talking about politics infuriates me, and talking about G-d makes me happy and i feel movement, and i like to write stuff in my notebook a lot which i don't want anyone looking at. <- who wants that? and at the same time, feeling extreme wanderlust. i really REALLY want to be back on a Greyhound bus going somewhere I've never been before, meeting folks i've never met before, and seeing and trusting G-d in ways that i never thought possible. i really miss being overjoyed at the sight of a quarter. nowadays i spend my time reading, drinking coffee, being on the damn internet, and jobhunting. i feel horrid. i miss the Mystery of whether or not you'll eat. i feel as if i've become such a different person than how i was when i stepped off that bus back into a place where i grew up, though i received it as a new and unknown territory. i was truly happy with that Mystery combined with a carefree attitude and with ultimate trust in the Provider. i haven't written a poem in awhile...which worries me. steal me.
"Come quick, you Light that knows no evening"
I'm honestly curious if anyone reads this or not?
But then at the same time, I sort of don't care, because this sort of place has become a nice little 'rant' section in my life where no one can demand of me to shut-up. its sad, isn't it? how the public of the world has reduced to such fear of each other's neighbor, the fear of having true honesty of how one feels towards politics, the world, love, society, religion, so on and so forth to where we go on blogging about. sort of hoping people will read, and understand, and at the same time for certain posts, hoping they don't understand. in the end we just want to be heard, we just want to be loved. it seems like that is the only purpose to being here: to be loved.
i've been having quite a whirlwind of emotions lately, oh lust and the desire of love is such a curse isn't it? i've ended up a Joseph with the intention of succeeding as he did, but i failed, unlike he who just got his tunic torn, i received that tear and worse, when i knew beforehand that would happen as well! hope can be a beautiful angel at times, when the hope is for love and life, yet it can also be a ferocious demon promising love with you getting fooled and falling into a hole. The hope this time, was one of lust, i admit, and like most adventures with lust you end up bruised with the feeling of being taken advantage of. confused with the intense feeling of loneliness i slowly stopped the infatuation of her, though it rises from time to time, i can ease it off allow myself to know "this is only an emotion, it will pass".
which helps, though now, again, im stuck in such a silly debate with myself continually, and for how young and immature i am, all about the pros and cons of celibacy and relationship. And this happens all the while i am having infatuation with certain womyn, womyn which i know would never be interested in me. I'm not artsy, i'm not intelligent, i like walking everywhere, i'm not really crazy about getting my license(19yrs old, sad huh?), i'm usually confused, i stare at the ground a lot, i have a beard, talking about politics infuriates me, and talking about G-d makes me happy and i feel movement, and i like to write stuff in my notebook a lot which i don't want anyone looking at. <- who wants that? and at the same time, feeling extreme wanderlust. i really REALLY want to be back on a Greyhound bus going somewhere I've never been before, meeting folks i've never met before, and seeing and trusting G-d in ways that i never thought possible. i really miss being overjoyed at the sight of a quarter. nowadays i spend my time reading, drinking coffee, being on the damn internet, and jobhunting. i feel horrid. i miss the Mystery of whether or not you'll eat. i feel as if i've become such a different person than how i was when i stepped off that bus back into a place where i grew up, though i received it as a new and unknown territory. i was truly happy with that Mystery combined with a carefree attitude and with ultimate trust in the Provider. i haven't written a poem in awhile...which worries me. steal me.
"Come quick, you Light that knows no evening"
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
This title is called: Are you Kidding ME?!
A couple days ago I saw this in the L.A. Times::
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-usafghan10-2008oct10,1,3401113.story
Apparently the US is now going to start training Afghan militias to bring order to the crippled country (well who on Earth caused this crippling?). Because when I think "order" I immediately think "militias", not government (congratulations an Anarchist just stated that there is more order in government than militia control, minus 5000 Anarchy points), not democracy.
And take a look at this!
not only did I GOL out loud, but I actually LOLed out loud (am i hip yet internet?):
"Taliban spokesman Zabiullah Mujahid leads the way in Afghanistan. Defense chief Robert Gates said the U.S. would consider reconciling with the group as part of an exit strategy."
Okay, okay, maybe I'm overreacting a bit, I just thought that it was the Taliban we were fighting, because it was them who bombed the towers right? And I thought we were liberating Afghan from the Taliban insurgents that put womyn through horrible laws, not allowing them to talk, show their face, etc etc, and that the Taliban were those radical Islamic folk that hated everyone except Allah? So, i mean there's nothing wrong with working with people that some folks considered as worse as the Nazis...right?
Just know, in 30 years from now, if something else gets blown up by folks from Afghanistan or somewhere else in the Middle East that were trained to "defeat terrorism" or "communism" or whatever the hell the scare is now, you'll know why.
Remember when those commie-tree hugging-pinkos brought up the idea some years ago that maybe we should try diplomacy and talking with the Taliban and Saddam? And our glorious leader stated, without a pause, "i don't talk to terrorists". But now we know, he'd rather work with them, than talk with them, what a humble fellow...(I wonder if they converse using sign language? Well no, because i guess sign language is still a form of talk).
So dear dead souls of Afghanistan, I wish to apologize. While I didn't give the command, I stood idly by, confused, not acting out of love. I didn't act. I was too young to know that those bright light images shown on the television were bombs that were tearing apart your houses, bombs that killed your friends, your loves, your lives. The bombs were dropped for the sake of revenge without intellect, revenge without a heart, I now know, revenge is a curse. Never a blessing. Revenge hurts. Forgiveness heals. I know it will be a long time until you will be able to rest peacefully in the arms of G-d or Allah, whatever Loves name be, just know I'm so so sorry. Words cannot express how I feel I should have died, not you. Not your children, not your parents, not your wife, not your husband. The air strikes may have killed you physically, but your life, and your poetry continue.
Your tears break dams around the West's heart.
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-usafghan10-2008oct10,1,3401113.story
Apparently the US is now going to start training Afghan militias to bring order to the crippled country (well who on Earth caused this crippling?). Because when I think "order" I immediately think "militias", not government (congratulations an Anarchist just stated that there is more order in government than militia control, minus 5000 Anarchy points), not democracy.
And take a look at this!
not only did I GOL out loud, but I actually LOLed out loud (am i hip yet internet?):
"Taliban spokesman Zabiullah Mujahid leads the way in Afghanistan. Defense chief Robert Gates said the U.S. would consider reconciling with the group as part of an exit strategy."
Okay, okay, maybe I'm overreacting a bit, I just thought that it was the Taliban we were fighting, because it was them who bombed the towers right? And I thought we were liberating Afghan from the Taliban insurgents that put womyn through horrible laws, not allowing them to talk, show their face, etc etc, and that the Taliban were those radical Islamic folk that hated everyone except Allah? So, i mean there's nothing wrong with working with people that some folks considered as worse as the Nazis...right?
Just know, in 30 years from now, if something else gets blown up by folks from Afghanistan or somewhere else in the Middle East that were trained to "defeat terrorism" or "communism" or whatever the hell the scare is now, you'll know why.
Remember when those commie-tree hugging-pinkos brought up the idea some years ago that maybe we should try diplomacy and talking with the Taliban and Saddam? And our glorious leader stated, without a pause, "i don't talk to terrorists". But now we know, he'd rather work with them, than talk with them, what a humble fellow...(I wonder if they converse using sign language? Well no, because i guess sign language is still a form of talk).
So dear dead souls of Afghanistan, I wish to apologize. While I didn't give the command, I stood idly by, confused, not acting out of love. I didn't act. I was too young to know that those bright light images shown on the television were bombs that were tearing apart your houses, bombs that killed your friends, your loves, your lives. The bombs were dropped for the sake of revenge without intellect, revenge without a heart, I now know, revenge is a curse. Never a blessing. Revenge hurts. Forgiveness heals. I know it will be a long time until you will be able to rest peacefully in the arms of G-d or Allah, whatever Loves name be, just know I'm so so sorry. Words cannot express how I feel I should have died, not you. Not your children, not your parents, not your wife, not your husband. The air strikes may have killed you physically, but your life, and your poetry continue.
Your tears break dams around the West's heart.
Monday, October 13, 2008
If Aristophanes Could Kill...
"It could be dangerous Art as a real threat" - Refused 'Protest Song '68'
"Art is Individualism, and Individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of machine" - 'Soul Of A Man Under Socialism' Oscar Wilde.
Imagine a world, with authority on its knees, pleading for survival. Not those in control, but control itself, not those who feed the machines, like you and like me, but the machines themselves. Our war is against Power. The Power that denies a soul to humanity. The Power that enslaves the oppressed to "lack of" and the oppressors to an "addiction of". The Power that continues its war against its ultimate enemies; Thought and Art.
Through Art we find the world. We find the downtrodden, the poor, the weak, the hungry, the screamer, and the fields. We find the factories, the banks, the wealth. Through Art we find the aesthetics of life, along the confusion, hurt, and surprises.
In Art, i mean, sincerely, Thought put into action. Either by pencil, song, film, brush, spoken-word, stencils, those cans that go 'ding-ding' when shaken, and with every motion of life, every thought, every action, every word, we create our own poetry.
With Art we have the ability to destroy the world, in order to create it yet again, though this time the light at the end of the tunnel will become our sun, our light, our guide towards progress; no longer will the light be a "hope" for "change" as some politicians with excellent status and a knack for manipulation say.
We will never reach Utopia, Progress is Utopia!
Real Progress, not some farce saying by some rich fellow willing to sell you chains and proclaim them "ballot!".
Art breeds Progress.
Through the thought-provoking images of Van Gogh, the politico-satirical comedies of Aristophanes, the stories, plays, and essays by Wilde, the Cabaret musicians that laughed at hierarchy and jabbed at the heart of Mammon, the Jesters that were martyred for the sake of comedic-truth by using jest to tear down the gold in the crown to show the dried blood forming around the rubies, the brave women that didn't care about the laws and continued to draw, to paint, to breathe, to live.
Through Art we were able to understand the Nihilists in Russia, the pathetic apathy of the rich, the absurdity of war, the beauty of nature undisturbed by Man and concrete, the longing for freedom and autonomy, the stupidity of power and capitalism alike.
Now, today, where is that Art? All Art is being choked to death by scenes and clubs creating rules, regulations, when all Art is is individualistic means to express, to ask, and to change.
Art is supposed to break the chains, not adhere to them.
Politicians are not the leaders of the world, those continually engaged in absolute Art are the leaders.
Artists like Mother Teresa, Gandhi, George Orwell, Marcos, Aldous Huxley, Arundhati Roy, Oscar Wilde, Joe Strummer, Cesar Chavez, Ammon Hennacy, Peter Kropotkin, Dorothy Day, Emma Goldman, and millions more, today, yesterday, tomorrow. The Knowns and the Unknowns.
You don't have to know how to sing or draw or write or paint to be an artist.
Putting Thought into Action is Art.
Embrace Art, and unleash it upon those in Power, upon those in fear, upon those you love, upon the haves and have-nots, upon the world.
The World is a canvas, your thoughts are the paint, and your actions are the brush.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Honestly? No one reads this thing, so why worry...right?
I hate the punk scene.
I, robby.
I hate scenes, they do nothing but cause division.
"Up the punks" is the exact same rhetoric as "up the skins", "up the squatters", "up the crust", "up the indie", etc etc.
It
Is
the
same.
I'm sick of hearing punks talking shit on crusts, and druggies talking shit on straight-edge kids, and straight-edge kids talking shit on druggies, and indie kids talking shit on metal, etc etc.
When the scene is more important than a message, there is surely a problem.
When a kid who spouts peace, love, and brotherhood among humyns owns a gun, there is surely a problem.
When one complains of this or that band "selling out" simply because of little tiny things, because they didn't live up to that certain person's standards, there is a problem.
When someone spouts about how one is inferior to another based on sex, scene, religion, non-religion, musical taste, substance-taking, non-substance taking, there is surely a problem.
People who are talking against fascism are spouting consistent fascistic-like stand points.
People are complaining about a speck in one's eye, whilst a plank is in their own. (myself included, no need for me to spout ego-centrism, considering it is false, ego is false, ego is false and brings nothing but hurt.)
People point the finger and judge, but sometimes that finger belongs in front of a mirror (myself definitely included, especially at the moment)
I want to crawl onto some mountain and never leave.
Punk isn't a religion, seriously, it is music nothing else.
Why is this bothering me so much??
DIY is cool, though it becomes to focused on one's self.
Humyns are meant to be co-dependent, working together in community.
Individualist hymns do some good if you want a spirit booster, but too much and it becomes a cult where you worship that floating brown piece in your bowl with a hole to the sewers, conveniently located next to sink, or sometimes in some other place.
I'm done with individualism.
I'm done with violence.
I'm done with slogans.
I'm done with scenes.
Music is supposed to set us free, so why on earth are we trying to box it up? Give it rules? We act as though it's some sort of vampire, and if it does wrong, that we must get that darn stake.
Bands are not heroes.
Bandmembers are not gods.
Musicians search for the answers, consistently ask questions, and we do NOT have the answers.
Bands are regular people.
Bands have mistakes, loves, and pains.
Look up to certain aspects of this band or that, but if you just wish to be in total and complete awe of them, listen to every word they say as if it is from G-d's lips, then, my friend, you will be disappointed.
I love you.
I love my friends.
I love my enemies.
I love my family.
I want nothing bad to happen to anyone.
I only want to simply point my finger at the mirror, instead of just pointing it at someone else.
Take me away, someone.
The midwest calls for me.
That mountain is still begging for me to lay upon its rocks.
I, robby
I hate scene
"Up the punks
It
Is
the
same.
I'm sick of heari
When the scene
When a kid who spout
When one compl
When someo
Peopl
Peopl
Peopl
I want to crawl
Punk isn'
Why is this bothe
DIY is cool,
Humyn
Indiv
I'm done with indiv
I'm done with viole
I'm done with sloga
I'm done with scene
Music
Bands
Bandm
Music
Bands
Bands
Look up to certa
I love you.
I love my frien
I love my enemi
I love my famil
I want nothi
I only want to simpl
Take me away,
The midwe
That mount