The Noresoup Jukebox

i was silent all May my voice must have passed with the spring  i believe it will continue into June be it summer or monsoon  heat or rain with their tangible fury all the love that kept me warm November to April autumn to winter were all a farce, a cruel ruse disguised as formidable lovers loyal to the pretense  leaving just as expected  my voice ever so coddled by the spirit my faith could not satiate in that abyss of solitude  north wall of my apartment  bleak was the future before me, near and far and speech could not convey to others the aching - long were the silent conversations on my bed quiet was the hope that gets one up loud was the silence

i know it is like the sight of mangoes before you get your hands on them lovely, yellow, bright, desiring, yearning, longing to take a bite like the  pot my grandpa used to brew red tea, redder tea and the occasional arbi stew like the  tombstone white from fresh carving, dust on my hands from the touch colour darkened from the crying i know it becomes the  rush of joy, first bite, juice dripping down the hands hands full of something holy like the pot that holds the stew for a family, the tea for after the stew the pot washed and dried on the rack like the touch  that keeps the mold from flowering smoothening the rough edges weeds pulled, thrown to the side. i know how it can be when the hand is empty and the not knowing settles in -  left alone to deal with the stickiness it leaves behind it could be the pot collecting dust, collecting dents now used to keep old trinkets no longer heated, only stains remain from the brewing, the stewing it could be like the st...

  on this week's blasphemy  i cannot un-fear death it is too deeply ingrained in me on today's existential dread this meaningless treachery today's menu, yesterday's ramen  tomorrow's sermon for better servants  i lay on the highway behind the pews on tonight's agenda a slight delay coffee spilled on my laptop, the start of my sombre decay

SZA - Crybaby stiff as a board, plain as a wall I grew up with you, I know you pretty well last I heard, you were stressed searching for a bar but you tell me your therapy sessions ended well must be heavy carrying a family on your back to be the head so young, too early and yet knowing there is no one else to do what must be done so you find other ways to walk through it you call me up most nights, other nights you're silent in your room I couldn't go a day without the knowing that I have you to go back to you scold me most days, you aren't gentle with your words but neither am I, so we work just swell together I ask you to marry me, and you shut my pleas down quickly quicker than the frustration that bubbles up in your chest when I say, with meekness, that I haven't been eating lately and I am not certain that this illness will rest you're quiet with your loving, stronger with your caring because last night you sent me a letter saying you loved me and wanted me to...

Joni Mitchell - California i dont know much about politics i was told it is my biggest fault well what if they knew, it's been a few weeks without their collective God my nose isn't used to the dust collecting from my lack of time or is it my laziness, regardless, forget daily chores,  i only know how to get by haven't talked to my mother since i moved out of my old apartment dote on me in long letters mum i do not have the life in me for short messages selfish to say i want more when love is so freely given to sit in front of my childhood God to try and lose myself in prayer  to feel my spirit might have gone and left my gut emptier if i lose God, i lose myself too  so i hardly know who shows up in the mirror how to say i am losing faith without inciting demonic fear in the other and my loss isn't honourable for in it's place isn't intellect  it isn't politics, neither clarity nor knowledge  a believer tells me to fast, survive on His love  an atheist says...

americano and latte with pizza saved for later this cafe couldn't be better than for convos with yepe i hate my hands! i wish they were softer more lady-like, lesser veins, fairer but i would not trade them or change them in any way for they may be manly but they are just like my father's my mother's hands are mine as well first thing she said when i understood her words she says they are reminiscent of a man's but no bigger blessing than to carry life with her hands sometimes i get angry most times i do too i get an awful lot angrier you do not understand, i do too i am pregnant with soft rage i wish i had grown up better but you have  but you know we missed homes where rage did not matter ah i forget, i have not been home since the spring set in i haven't been a child in a short while i tend to forget what it means may i be a child with you? i fear it is only you who understands can you hold my hands as we walk? could you take the lead till i have to leave? orders...

keep my father away from me i do not know how to be gentle like when he held his first baby his hands rough and slightly awkward softer as more came handling with much more ease but keep my father away from me i do not know how to get softer perhaps if i had two, maybe three i'd know how to be a kinder daughter but rage, it comes till it leaves so keep my father away from me i only have one but he has three he can pour all his love to the others i will survive, i have tougher, rougher skin I can make the mundane suffice so keep my father away from me.