The Noresoup Jukebox

the sun rises every morning - it is rarely late and I wake up to its warmth,  rays carressing my mother's new curtains my mother says the sun rises because God wakes her up my father does not refute but, he says, it is because the earth rotates on its axis we are all part of a cosmic struggle bigger than us my sister charges her tarot cards under the moon the sun does not possess the same celestial power my therapist tells me to see the sun every day something about vitamins and minerals and happiness i was trapped in my room like a prisoner in May falsifying June, recreating July in that dark apartment I woke up and the sun did not know my parents could only ever hope hope that the apartment was kind trust that the food was warm and plenty but a prisoner does not live comfortably there are no sins or virtues, he borrows no meaning from others for what is life if owned by what yields the sun? what is life if abandoned by this power? yet the sun rose and it was rarely late and when ...

i met a man in the spring, in dire need for company  a man who couldn't see pain beyond his own foolish me, curious cat, had grace and empathy i do not know what to believe  the man i met or the man he used to be but my mother says men do not change and back then, i agreed. how long do i have this music before i find out a man is a man no matter how overt they are with their concern  how careful they are with their desires how soft they are with their selves how bitter they are with their past and how foolish they are with women and oh, how they lavish  with the ways the world bends for men and him, feigning pain and suffering  for want of the mother's touch from women  and the bitter irony,  the laugh of the century, their desire for love triumphs 6 months, then 6 days after,  they desire fresher company  and, the cruelest secret  in the pocket of their youth always hides a woman they tainted a woman they could not respect  an...

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...