Hey y’all, I have been sitting on this poem for a while. Lately, it’s been difficult to write, to feel inspired. Luckily, I always remember the one thing that always gets me out of a rut: reading. Wild, I know. Lately, I read “Capitalist Realism” by Mark Fisher, and please, check it out from your local library, or use the Libby app to access it. It’s 90 pages, and it made it possible to get back to writing. It’s about the theory that we live in capitalists wildest imaginations, and that makes it extremely difficult to imagine another reality that isn’t one based on capital (money, but also “ownership”).

The ongoing genocide of Palestinians by Israel continues, and it becomes harder and harder to belive and exist in our current systems. By design, power has been concentrated through capital, and because we exists to maximize profits for corporations, that means sometimes ( alot of the times) going to war, carrying out a genocide, and heating up our planet. The demands of capitalists are not that hard to understand: make more money by any means necessary. This is our current reality. inescapable, innevitable, all-consuming.

At least we are told.

Entre Mundos

I wonder how all of the world came to be.

If there was a battle between the gods
Or if they decided on a dice roll maybe all they did was wait because they understood something about patience and how to stalk prey
If there really are gods, then it makes sense that they would run out only when the time was right patiently waiting until we showed ' our heads peaked through the water of Rebirth

Much like the darkness before existence in the womb, and even a place darker than that
A universe between universes
Un mundo entre mundos

Where the stillness of it all seems to envelope us, and the way we look at each other counts for something, maybe even that becomes the reason to exist, our gaze held on each other

Maybe we are the ones we have been waiting for
Maybe we are the gods
Maybe we are the prey and the stalker

The same way our ancestors loved and destroyed one another
Because colonization happens through more than violent decapitation
It is slow and insidious and makes you forget that once we were whole
And the world ended, and once again, we have to recreate the world
Lost in the mess that is a culture not of our own

It is indeed wholly new
Not unlike creating the universe over and over and over and over and over
We are left with pieces, unable to perfectly make them fit

Or are we afraid to really hold on to the things our ancestors found holy?

Because, that would rip a hole between the world corporations built for us
And the desire for connection
You can't want what you were given as a birth right
Taken by a border, a bounced checked, private equity

Are we fearful of our imaginations, to let them take flight
Graze the heavens and dive deep into the ocean, into the depths
Of a world unknown,
Because once you are done looking outside,
The only way through is in.

How many more things need to become transactions
Before
We understand the most valuable things
Are prayer, a story passed down through generations,
How our faces look like our parents, and that we fear the
Sound of bullets tearing through flesh,
Because your body remembers the wounds
That your family has already forgotten about.

When the moon comes crashing down to the earth, and
Our sun explodes into a supernova
Will there be anyone around to remember our names?
Or will our words and paper and computers vanish,
Return to the nothingness, our bodies turned to ash

And this is why I hold on the hand of my lover for as long as I can,
Take my time to eat my dinner, and breathe slower, as if to delay
The moment I will return to the stars, and once again,
Become the stardust from which I was created.