Wings of Fire

In a few days she’ll be back, wrapped inside a thunderstorm and with wings made of fire.

She’ll visit me in that garden where we first met — under the tree with no name and leaves heavy with iron.

And together we’ll drink the venom that bleeds from the tree, and which turns Eden into a dying mire.

Then I, too, will get my wings and together we will fly. High into the heavens where mortals go to die.

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Vanity.

I thought I was free from it. Or, at the very least, I thought I fought hard against succumbing to it. But I’m not so sure about that anymore. It’s like acid burning through armor. It’s like horse blinders that keep me infatuated with one thing: my own fortune.

And what a miserable fortune it is!

It stares back at me with a sly grin, knowing its effects on me. It feeds on itself every single time I look down at the phone to check for the signal — for that validation in zeros and ones. It taunts me, knowing I revile it, yet beg it to stay close by.

It destroys what it loves most, just so that I can call on it some more. It loves pain. But it doesn’t feel it; it just lives it. Completely unbeknownst to its host. But it’s there: Feeding on the last few memories that come across the cables of information and life.

And it’s there because it knows we tried to escape. Because we grew our wings before they were given to us. So now it attacks us at every moment it gets, and it tries to drown us whenever we try to forget.

What’s left to do….but fight The Beast.

Though I know while I do, I’ll feed it, too.

HOME: THE PROTOTYPE OF THE COMMUNIST COMMUNE

The Cardinal Rules

It’s become apparent to me that by faithfully following the Marxist-Leninist maxim of “From each according to his ability, and to each according to his need” –  and doing it so naturally, to boot! – my Home has come to resemble a Communist Commune/Community.

Everyone here contributes all that they can, whatever their skill and/or level of ability may be, and we all contribute through our own accord. That voluntarism, more importantly, applies to everything, even to the level of ability and skill that we want to put forth; in other words, whatever our individual trade may be, we individually – though with the strength of that entire human-network behind every decision – strive to excel at it. No decision, though in fact taken wholly individually and resolutely, is made in the name of one person, or of some interests over others, or without the consideration of the entire network – even our two dogs! Everything is debate and argument in the best sense of the word; everything is a consultation over and consideration of the ultimate goals, purposes and repercussions for everyone. But most importantly, above absolutely any other consideration – the very Essence of our Commune: Our Manifesto, as it were – is the thought of whether or not we, as individual ambassadors of our Home-Base – our own Anthill – are acting with the utmost integrity, with the most transparent sense of dignity, and with pervasive, unmasked and blunt sincerity…ALWAYS and FOREVER!…Sacred Principles violated FOR NO ONE! Not even God!

Moreover, everyone is free to take as much as they need or want. There are absolutely no restrictions, and yet, not one person dares or even enjoys falling victim to the predatory hands of excess. No one takes/buys/spends more than they really need, and whatever they want, is only within the confines of what they needed it in the first place. And curiously enough, everyone adamantly insists that the other “take more”, whether it be food, money, time, or any other thing under humanity’s shared blue skies, or within our own, womb-like abode. We never seem to be in dire need, simply because we never seem to go beyond them in the first place. Thus, there always seems to be abundance, as our very souls are seldom afflicted with true need or, worst yet, with true excess.

And it is interesting, once again, the “natural” way in which all this comes – and the way it all feels – even though it has all been learned: learned from the time we could barely walk; learned from the time when we were Knights inside our very own Kingdom, in the throes of childish ecstasy and innocence; learned throughout our young lives, through the years of school, sleep-overs and personal awkwardness; learned at every corner and instant of our lives, as the cardinal rule, that life was much sweeter when the sun’s warm and tender rays hit you, than when you’re accosted by millions of jewels; learned that the less that I had, the more I really gained; and learned that the only way to really gain that authentic enrichment, was to share from the little or the lot that I had, with he who didn’t have at all, or with he who had a little less; and learned, in my adulthood, that all those years when they were telling me those things to the point of redundancy, to the point of saturating my nerves, to the point of instilling angst and resentment towards them, was all so that it would now feel natural to do it, and, likewise, feel repulsive to do otherwise.

And yet, as with life, which so often seems naught but a paradox in itself, we also learned to have our little claws always sharp, albeit hidden – or rather tucked – under our inviting paws. We learned – as we were taught with the utmost poignancy – that precisely because we were to extend our paws to absolutely everyone who was in need of it, there would inevitably appear those who aspired to bite them, if not completely chop them off at the wrists. Yes, we were taught that with the responsibility of helping he who needed it and, at times, even he who wanted it, also came the resolute and absolute right to defend that spirit and that fight with everything, even with our lives! Particularly in a home where it’s doors are always opened to absolutely everyone, our guards, we were taught, should always be up.

We learned that peace and sharing were the Key to a happy life; and that strength of character and the resoluteness to defend it with violence where necessary and, more appropriately, against whom dares attack it, were the Locks to the doors. And curiously, it was in Nietzsche that I found the two sentences to express a lifetime of learning: “The lonely one – [free from all material wealth and pain] – offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters,” he says. “[But] [t]o some people you may not give your hand, only a paw: and I desire that your paw should also have claws.”

Not long ago I found it expressed again, but this time in a popular song by a hip-hop group called Calle 13, where they say, much like we were taught as kids: “No le tengo miedo a las confrontaciones/Porque yo me crié con invasiones/Y como las hormigas si tengo mala suerte/Defiendo mi hormiguero hasta la muerte” (Loosely Translated: “I’m not afraid of confrontations/Because I was raised amid invasions/And like Ants if misfortune should befall me/I’ll defend my Anthill till Death herself Calls me”).

However, despite that militant nature and constant vigilance over our own little Revolutionary Gains, the very coveted and seemingly evanescent virtues like Harmony, Peace, Love and Fulfillment are always constants, never variables. And though the building may be shaken by violent winds from time to time – by the “invisible hands that ben[d] and [torture] us the worst”, as Nietzsche puts it – the core of the structure remains as real as the sun’s daily rise. But, perhaps we have an advantage, because more than jewels, green-backs or vacation get-aways into the various oases around the world, satisfaction in our life consists on the harmony of the system; on its self-fulfillment; on its perpetuation of itself. As I see it, as long as the Sun continues to rise, our days will be bright, even the nights; even the unavoidably dark times that life cannot be without…The Sun always seems to shine inside our home.

The Individual Within the System

Moreover, in regards to our family dynamics, more specifically about our individuality within this seemingly enveloping organism/system – and much like the revolutionary guerrilla fighter Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara points out in one of his works about the New Socialist Man – I’ve noticed that we have not only not ceased to be individuals – lost our personalities, as if to say – but we’ve, in fact, gained much fuller ones, much sharper ones, much more creative ones that, while being entirely unique in each one of us, nevertheless naturally converge with the goals of and expected repercussions upon the entire system. In other words, though we are wholly different as individuals – with our own likes and dislikes, habits, hobbies, interests and even vices – our course of action in everyday-life seems to naturally opt for the most harmonious results for the home. Thus, we seldom have fights (though seldom does not mean never, and that is precisely due to the fact that some differences are simply irreconcilable, and thus, sometimes a clash occurs; however, the clash is no more – and goes no further – than the immediate parameter of that specific issue, then it is dead and over forever; it is all, in fact, quite therapeutic).

The most obvious example of this is between my brother and myself. Anyone that meets us and knows us for more than a couple of hours will readily admit that we are of extremely opposite temperaments: whereas I am more impulsive with my decisions and in my general behavior, perhaps even somewhat ‘neurotic‘ (quite like my dad), my brother is as calm and laid-back as a leaf floating through the air, though precisely knowing where its going to land (quite like my mom). Moreover, our artistic talents and hobbies differ a great deal: he is a musician who learned to play the guitar and drums almost instantly, as if he had always known how to do it, even though he had begun rather late, and yet, he does it extremely well; I, on the other hand, only remit myself to banging on the drums, mostly to let out some of that neurocity, but my real talent and interests are in writing.

These obvious differences – particularly in our temperament – have indeed led us through quite different ways at times, giving us each a different and unique set of obstacles to overcome and circumstances to deal with; we’ve likewise had different taste in women, different kinds of fights with our parents and friends (even different kind of friends), even different vices (though we may sometimes not admit them as vices but rather as hobbies). In any case, the point is that, though we have at times appeared to walk through different ways, at the end of the day, we have both – as well as our parents – traveled inside the same forest. And ultimately, it seems, in this time we’re living of apparent awakening – a time when it appears that we have all opened our third-eyes – we effectively have individually, though simultaneously, emerged from the forest at the other side, fully aware of our individual trek towards our communal future.

Communism, it seems, has seeped into my home.

The Home Must be Revived

Therefore, as I see it, the first point of departure for the type of Socialist Education that is to build the individual that will not only be receptive to but the protagonist of the communist world, must come even prior to formal schooling; it must come from the Home. As such, we must find projects that aim at restrengthening the real essence of family-values, the core of what is to become the Communist Society: a Free, Selfless, Creative, Moral and entirely Harmonious Community.

An Eternally Broken Heart

MOON TALKWhen I looked into her eyes, ever so deep and wide, I saw nothing but despair;

So I took her broken heart, calloused fingers wrapped tight, hoping it weren’t beyond repair.

But in a moment of vacillation, as I mended fatal wounds,

She took me by the hand, and pleaded I not move.

“Leave me be with this here torment,” she begged of me – a voice ever so tender.

“For it’s man’s eternal pain that I’ve placed upon my shoulders;

“And if I weep and sigh – if I feel the time draws nigh,

“It is because by Morning’s splendour, your sins will not be mine.”

And it was then I understood, on that lonely and breezy night,

That life without the Moon, would be serenity denied!

3 LIBRAS (PERFECT CIRCLE SONG)

Threw you the obvious and you flew with it on your back, 

A name in your recollection, down among a million same.
Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed, and passed over 
When I’ve looked right through, see you naked but oblivious. 

And you don’t see me.

But I threw you the obvious, just to see if there’s more behind the 
Eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy.
Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded
But I see, see through it all, see through, see you.

‘Cause I threw you the obvious, to see what occurs behind the 
Eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy, oh well. 

Oh well, apparently nothing. 
Apparently nothing, at all.

You don’t, you don’t, you don’t, see me. 
You don’t, you don’t, you don’t, see me.
You don’t, you don’t, you don’t, see me.
You don’t see me.
You don’t, you don’t, you don’t see me at all.

…at a quick glance…

She has a “beautiful” face, but the word itself is misleading. It isn’t what first comes to mind when someone says it; it isn’t the normal, “shallow” sense of the word. There’s another kind of beauty I’ve been able to notice in some people, because it is more than aesthetic beauty. I guess it’s what people normally and rather mindlessly, I think, refer to as “inner-beauty”. But I’ve actually seen it, or at least i think I have…Actually, I haven’t really seen it, per se; I’ve just wished and desired to see it so passionately, that I’ve begun purposefully and consciously seeing it in any girl who I’ve felt fits the mold ..But this time, I actually saw it.

There’s a quiet, almost imperceptible sadness in her eyes, but it reads more like Quiet Dignity – Reserved Humility. Like a paradox, they shine bright and almost shimmer with intensity, and opened so wide as they are, her eyelashes curl at the tips, giving her a doll-like face…On the surface, they look anything but sad; Joy is what they say. Yet there’s something that the slightest moment of lingering reveals. Looking at them – I mean really looking into those Almond Shaped Pearls – is like looking inside a Halo: there’s something mystical, almost unreal, inside that invites you in as it whispers some kind of Divine Secret. And therein lies that sadness…or rather, that Humility.

She pretends nothing, and her Eyes tell you so. There’s pure kindness in there; Love; Empathy. She is unmarred by the colours that adorn other girls’ faces; she needs no decoration. Her eye lids are soft – they remind me of funeral palls gently coming down on her eyes to hold back tears…But she’s not really sad. her lips make sure of that. There’s a faint smile which, like her eyes, holds yet another secret.

She is untroubled by Pain, though; that’s important to remember. She is Pure. I see sadness because I cannot comprehend her simplicity – her willingness to admire the simple things: the birds’ tweets, the breeze’s swooshing, because I envy that ability.

Her voice is secure and reassuring. She says everything with poignancy and certainty, as if it is a fact. She is sure. But she never pretends to be right. Everything is a big Guess – She’s just an avid Guesser. She loves life. She loves the Real Life: The Sound, The Feel, The Touch of Things; The Patterns in the Sky; The Smell Outside; The Lack of Concrete and Steel; The Abundance of Green Meadows and Large Mountains; The song of Otters; The Dance of Lions; The Cycles of Butterflies; she simply Loves Life. And her voice always says so.

And all this makes her Beautiful. Her transgressions too. Her questions and her demands. Her risks. The way she dresses  – without a care; with no hang-ups whatsoever. Her Priorities: the Preservation of Purity and Beauty at all costs…

I’ve seen her. And she is Beautiful. Alas, Where has She Gone?