Into the Brain

One of the most interesting Ted Talks i've watched

http://www.ted.com/talks/christopher_decharms_scans_the_brain_in_real_time?language=en#t-25336

Cloud Atlas

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ub4yTO394Ts
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdiLxyGH8Lg

Piano
By Alicia Proto

Piano keys
play the notes
of my life in melodies

chaos
symphonies
as beautiful as the still of a sea

pulling at my heart strings
as wind pulls the leaves on a tree

if passion
does not turn to wealth
does that mean a life unfulfilled?

the keys play the melodies
of my aching heart
hand to key
hand on me

live
with pride
as if thats all one needs

compassion
for the notes of yesteryear
still present on a piano key

compassion
don't forget it
you might have nothing else
but compassion is what keeps life going
the sun on a plant
water in its roots
soil to hold it together

"Through yoga must yoga be know."

Yoga Sutras

Free the soul from bodily attachment

There are 8 stages of yoga

1) Yama - the death of desire / taking a vow

2) Niyama - rule of conduct

3) Asana - Posture

4) Pranayama - extension of the breath

5) Pratyahara -

6) Dharana - concentration

7) Dhyana

8) Samadhi - Trans contemplation

"Through yoga must yoga be know."

Your Damned

Damned if you do

and you do do 

you do all the things you can do 

Damned if you don't 

you don't when you won't 

You won't if you don't

everything is placebo 

Late Night INSPIRATION

Read the book Rent Girl.

The first line that struck me: "Lying was a survival skill."

It baffled me how true this was, how in denial i am about my own lying habits and how bluntly these 5 words made the reality of lying feel almost excusable.

We are survivors.
We are all living breathing human survivors.
We are survivors of the brutally harsh cold world that everyday steals another source of light from our lives while also enlightening us with the most beautiful lessons.
We have survived another day and tomorrow we must face another battle.

Its scary and overwhelming and tear jerkingly emotional on the harder days.
But thats the magic of writing.
An amazing writer captures a moment and makes it into a work of art and thats what Michelle Tea has done for me tonight.



Nan Goldin
http://www.twmp.com.mx/2014/07/10/la-fiesta-de-nan-goldin-juevescultural/

Robyn Jordan
http://muthamagazine.com/2014/08/just-the-two-of-us-a-comic-by-robyn-jordan/

Eileen Myles
http://www.eileenmyles.com

Finding a Mate

To find a mate
might ideally start with a date.
But this isn't always the case.

At any rate,
a mate
could be fate
or
a person you hate.

Don't just take the bait
of a possible mate
with whom may be late
wait.

Wait for the one to whom you think about
when you open your eyes,
when you go out.

Wait and compare this feeling to another mate.
We always have one to take their place.
Of all the drops, in all the lakes…
there must be one soul to mate.

"Whatever I do without feeling has no value."

Feeling. 

Feel.

To numb the pain, does that mean we feel less?
To continue to complain, does that mean we feel too much distress?

Quiet desperation,
 no verbal indication
of a suffering nation
too numb for frustration

Feel, that which is most real
to be ever so present is to skip every other meal.
Give in to temptation,
give out ripples of light
resisting desires
keeps the mind awake at night.

No worries the fury of the other side of the world
for all to know is here in the eyes of each boy N girl

No tears for the years that have come an gone
just ponder them lyrically, write them into a memorable song.

so long to the world, evolving so blue
if ever you were to write, be sure it is presently true. 

Think about it…

In my Intro to Psychology class, we were discussing the ethics of scientific research. My professor asked this great question:

• Where is the line between learning more about our psychology (and any science, really) and harming those in our study?
  
   Its ironic that I've also been watching the show Masters of Sex, the true story of the doctors that began a practice studying the science behind sex, along with the psychology of the person and their methods of mating.
  This weeks episode was all about Sexual Dysfunction, and the current  participants in the study are a man and a woman who are both suffering from a sexual dysfunction that is so obviously linked to their psychological states. Both are nervous, introverted human beings who haven't had the best luck with congenital sex. Everyone has that one classmate that you secretly predict might stay a virgin forever. For a time, I though that'd be me.
  
  It was eye opening to learn how much our minds influence our abilities to have sex. I myself have always noticed this, as I hadn't become sexually active until my senior year of high school, later then most of my classmates and friends. Looking back, I think I could have waiting longer. I wasn't in love, the boy wasn't even my boyfriend. I feel under the peer pressure of my hormones- something I think wouldn't have been a struggle living in a different time, in a different society.
  
  There was something holding me back, a lack of affirmation from a special someone- which was what I needed to feel comfortable. Comfortability is CRUCIAL.
  
  I see now what a big mystery sex can be. For anyone, including those whom sex comes easy to. That never felt like me. I never got the sex I wanted unless I played the game the players play, and even then- was it really what I, eye, wanted?
  
  
  Play the game the players play 
  Have the sex and call it a day. 
  
  First the date starts the game 
  once the clothes are off, you've made it half way 
  
  consent is crucial, consent is good 
  no one must condone forced sex, no one should. 
  
  so make sure your ready, your partner too 
  to do that things birds and bees also do. 
  
  A poem for consent, consent is imperative for the brain. Without consent it means they'll be someone to blame. Sex shouldn't be a blame game, it should be a beautiful dance of the bodies. A two person dance that awakens the soul. After all, whats sex real goal? To bring another being into the world. A little boy or girl. 

Lets talk about it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyctIk4YwZk




My grandfather ALWAYS said:

                            "You gatt a laugh in life."


Grandpa Milton. 

Probably the most gentle and sweet man in my life. 

He'd say it after a corny joke or a poke at the ego. He'd say it warmly, with sincere love, as not to sting but to make you SMILE.

You
HAVE to
LAUGH
in
life.

Which made adoring Robin Williams SO easy.
He could make you laugh even if you specifically trying NOT to.

He was my friend in so many ways.

I must have first heard him as the Genie.

Singing the songs i'd sing to my best friends

"you aint NEVA had a friend like me."

He was right.

I never had a friend like him. He was the kind of friend you could carry with you in your pocket. He'll be there, waiting to crack a joke, seduced by the thrill of creating a fresh smile. 

Now that friend is amongst the stars.
And I can only see him in the dark.
How he shines so bright, stands so proud. His audience or fellow stars giggling from his glistening humor.


A symphony of lights shinning brighter on this night that Robin gave up the fight.

After he gave up the fight. 

For so many, he was the reason not to give up. 

CARPE DIEM ! ! ! 
He said to his open hearted pupils, 

MAKE YOUR LIVES EXTRAORDINARY ! ! ! 


He told them to LIVE! 
TO LIVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! 


I wonder what makes him laugh most… 
I wish I could have made him laugh 
before he turned into casper the ghost. #bars 

I recall him as Mrs. Doubtfire.
He never made me doubt his fire.
He put on that dress and went in drag, out of pure LOVE. LOVE.
Robin was ONLY about the love.

I recall first watching him in a serious role in Dead Poets Society. At first I thought this role was so out of character for him. But once I really UNDERSTOOD that his humor was lessons too, I understood that he was really a teacher more then a comedian. He led by example how to swim against the stream: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnAyr0kWRGE

He was the freest spirit only a child can compare.
He was Jack, the kid stuck in a mans body, but somehow didn't care.



He was my teacher. My captain. My poet.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdXhWS7lLvs

He taught me all my life, and I didn't even know it.



He.
He was life.

He was life.

He is life.

So tonight, lets pray for the light.

Power Struggle

There are times I want to shut out the world.
I want to quiet the noises of the city streets,
of the gum chewing shit talking hand slapping divas who thing they know it all
of those pretty boy good for nothing hoodlums who ride around on their bikes looking for prey,
of those naive parents who go out in the middle of the night in an oblivious rage looking for the child that sound have been in bed hours ago, only to find her lounging on a bench with a couple of young hungry dogs looking for prey but they have fearlessness in their eyes like the ones in your brothers before he died, so dad just yells at you to get your 15 year old ass in bed cause you got school in the morning.

Damn,
I wish i could quiet my mind.
Of the guilt of the hurting who haunt me with their mad eyes.
Like i've done something wrong, singing the same song,
so i change up the beat, turn up the heat
and eventually realize i'm just burning my own feet.

Damn, does this pain have relief?
Damn, do these drugs make me weak?
Damn these easy relief good for nothing habits are a CHEAT.
Yet i still do it every day, every week every hour-
i'm high off the idea that drugs bring power.

When in actuality they just distract and devour,
unless your selling em
and not doin em,
making income an hour
now thats REAL power.

Power. what is that?
A way to control a mouse,
from another cat?

Cat, with your narrowed eyes
are you one of the few animals
that are never caught in a lie?

Lie- why do we do it?
To lie is to fictionalize a feeling
before truly going through it.

Through it, as I go.
I go and I go and I know that I go and I slow and I speed and I cry and I need.

Need. Feed. Greed. Weed…
Weed,
the bond of the stoners who think weed somehow helps.

Help.
Help!
HELPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!

I am.

Opening up the conversation

The sudden suicide of Robin Williams has sarted a domino effect of conversation about mental illnesses and substance abuse.

Youth today have become accustomed to calling themselves functional drug addicts.
Some are too young and materialistic to realize how much they put their futures in danger by abusing a habit that is rooted from impulsive desires or peer pressure.

We must remind each other of the meaning of life- to live.
But sometimes life is taken for granted.

Are we living from one high to the next?
 Are we living from one orgasm to the next?
   Are we living from one breath to the next?

Female Rappers of the Resistor Movement Inspire me

Tank Girl 

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l0S-hDrlaUM/UBL7OdbLT-I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/PoWJPEi1Xxk/s1600/TankGirlBadWindRising.jpg

http://www.tank-girl.com

Shadia Mansour

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEFU1MkMdNU

https://myspace.com/shadiamusic/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGbsExyxmps

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LScONIyhp-k
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LScONIyhp-k

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ld_mW3SuIdw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyTnEhRBTeI

Ana Tijoux

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-k8YaItg-Jo

Foolish Games

What are these games
foolish games
that brings
too much
pleasure or pain?

What are these foolish desires
mirrors and fire
impulses
dire?

What are these powers
in my hands?
they are super
unplanned.

what are these controllers
in my head?
they remind me
it time for bed.

I like to observe.
Observe.
Ob(serve)

I like to sit back
and watch
as the other kids
play
i'll just sit and observe
and see what someone else does all day

i'm not curious about my own findings
i like watching other peoples curiosity unwinding

its magnificant when you've found someone good
their story building in suspence
acomplishing goals like you should

i like to just watch what the others mouths tell
and become captivated in their carefully constructed spell
i like to just feel what a person intends for me to feel
and believe their their love for me listening to them
is still somehow real.

Love is infinite

Never ending
 the moments that will pass
  the space that will make room
   for all that has yet to cast

       tomorrow has yet
     to show blood
  of the greatest hearts
 of the darkest souls
fear to grow old

nothing to fear
 but fear itself
  but beer and wealth
    how it numbs whats supposed to be felt...

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

Quotes from The Art of War 

“Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.”  

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” 

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.” 

War.

The topic of discussion
the possibility for defeat
another blood shed for our feet.

Death.

Inevitible to the living
heaven on earth
hell is creeping

Population control.

Theres not enough room for all
survival of the fitest
only the weak need the strong.

People.

what makes up this population of lost souls.
Whats the meaning of life?
To turn dreams into acomplished goals.

Spirits.

What your body is without a shell.
You spirit can fly like casper
but cannot cast any spells.

Souls.

The heart of the spirit
souls are the essence
that precedes possibility.

What is the real goal?
In the art of War?
What is real god,
when you starve the poor?

"They kill for their god" says my mother
"we don't speak to the same god" says her brother.

Child Psychology

The Power of Trust / Wanting to Heal

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2-Re_Fl_L4

Where does anger come from?
Bottled up repressed emotion.

"Because when I hurt other people, I'm really just hurting myself."




How a child thinks:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jw33CBsEmR4

Therapy = Listening (being silent)

I am blessed

I am blessed
to be a woman.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SS02GeKuWQ4

Draft 1: Dear Mister Jusdge

Dear Mr. Judge,

By Alicia Proto

How do you do Mister?

My name is Alicia Proto and you have been assigned my case.

My father has just informed me that my legal troubles will be settled as of 9/11/2014. What an odd day to resolve a legal issue.

What an alarming date 9/11 was and still is. That will be a day in history to look back on for eternity.

Those numbers- signify help. That day was a cry for help if you ask me.

CURRENTLY it is 4:08 on this Sunday afternoon and I am standing here typing this letter with ease and urgency. Yes, I am standing as I type on my laptop. I prefer to write as I stand. When my body is perfectly aligned. I do my best thinking this way.

Now, you see Mr. Judge, may I call you that?

My father says its too informal- but I think being a little informal makes it more personable.

Well, Mr. Judge, I am not too good at being judged.

9/11/2014, to me, feels like Judgment Day.

I have never been good with judgment, really. My parents were never quick to criticize- rather they guided me through most of my early years of life. They were kind people, and good parents.

They never told me there was anything wrong with me.

So I never thought there was.

Until the day my big sister- Jessica- started bullying me.

Err- perhaps “until” is the wrong word.

Because I honestly can’t even remember the exact day I became aware of it.

All I know is that I figure she didn’t ALWAYS hate me.

Maybe she did, but she never REALLY let on until maybe we wereeeeee…. 3?

Or rather, it wasn’t until the 3 great tragedies of our young lives made me realize that my sister didn’t always like me.

Because when I look through all the old photographs, when I tape them to my wall around my mirror and STARE at them- I can see she loved me.

She’s always loved me. But the memories remind me that she also didn’t always like me.

She may have been jealous, she may have been misunderstood.

Thing is, I always loved her anyways. I always wanted to know what she was doing, thinking, feeling. She was just THERE when I arrived and I arrived totally adoring her presence. She was my pal, my playmate. My twin.

She was there waiting for my life to begin, she hers could also begin.

The life as my adopted twin.

“Noooo.” My mother says reading over my shoulder as I type.

“I ALWAYS told her the story. It was like I hit the lottery.”

I’m rolling my eyes.

Apparentlyyy…

People would stop her on the street and gush over Jessica and I together in the stroller.  They’d ask if we were twins or blab bla blaaaaa.

I love to watch my mother look at the pictures from that time.

“Look how radiant” she’d say as she looks touches the old photographs taped to my wall – majority at the time of our infancy. “It was the happiest time of my life.”

That may have been the age she was told Jessica she was adopted. Yea, my big sister Jessica is adopted.

My mother tried for like 9 years to have kids. At least that’s what she told me. She went like nearly a decade WANTING to have a baby and never getting anything but a bloody reminder that your spared a change in route for another month.

Mom always says that was some of the saddest years of her life. Though I know she was happy to have my father, her life partner, with her through these hard times, it was still an emotional struggle.

Yup- my mom desperately wanted me. She was overjoyed when she discovered she was pregnant just months after she started the process of adopting my big sister Jessica. She was ALREADY overjoyed about Jessica- because as Jessica always says “I made her a mother.!.”

But I can resist throwing it back at her. “Jessica, I was a MIRICLE child. Yes you made Mommy  a mommy- but it was nearly impossible for mom to get preggo and then leggo I ARRIVED!”

I chuckle just thinking about it. My sister and I always had such a playful competitive relationship. When it was good- it was a blast. When it was bad- it was trash.

She and I fought a lot too. She had a hard time growing up. My parents tell her shes adopted, right? And then hree tragedies happen in three conesutively over the span of 3 years. First our Grandpa Ben dies when we’re 5. Then our dad- Bob- gets hit by a car when we’re 6. THEN our Aunt Lisa DIES at the age of 34 when we’re 7.

It was like god reached into our lives and pulled our heart strings for 3 years. Testing my mother the most. She passed with flying colors. What an inspiration that woman is.

Now its 2001, September 11^th. I’m in 4^th grade at p.s.116 on 34^th between 2^nd and 3^rd. My sister was moved to a Jewish Private School on 68^th and Lex. She was at a different school for the first time in our lives. She had become a troubled child after our Aunt Lisa died. That was in 2^nd grade.

There’s a theory I’ve heard of where they say your life shifts every seven years. That was definitely true in this life. Our family was shrinking somehow. People were disappearing. Jessica’s heart was weakening. Mine was clouded with sadness. That was probably the first signs of depression being very present in all of our lives. All 4 of us, the Proto family, we were jolted. People were dropping like flies. There was sadness in all of our eyes.

But life goes on. The beat goes on- as they sing in that Beatles song.

So, back to the day of 9/11.

What chaos.

 But, no loss for us that day, the day that lost thousands. We didn’t lose not one.

We were spared loss that day.

What a relief that was.

9/12 and there after.

Now I have taken a seat on my queen sized bed because my lower back has been hurting me. Sitting after standing awhile is such a treat. To give your legs a rest and focus more now on writing has given me a boost of creativity that is now flowing out my mind, down my spine and out my fingertips.

Poetry.

As the years passed, Jessica got more and more bad.

She was rebelling. And I was hiding.

She would seek out outgoing people while I lingered in the background. Waiting patiently for her return.  

I liked to observe.

Perhaps I was a bit of a scared-y cat.

I used to prefer  watching t.v.

Everyone and anyone else’s life was more interesting to me then my own.

Perhaps I was sick of talking about myself.

I would watch a whole lot of different things.

Usually comedies. I liked to laugh. 

Jessica was more the explorer.

She’d go out, play sports and games. Meet new people.

Come home and share her knowledge of the outside world by acting like them.

She wasn’t much of a talker.

She got better with age. After years of my parents struggling.

She liked to draw.
 Or rather she’d color in.
She’d print out countless blank images and color them in with marker. She’d sit on the couch and do that as she smoked a cigarette. It was actually hilarious.

She reminded me of Tank Girl, who also usually has a cigarette in her mouth. She didn’t give a FUCK who didn’t like the smoke. It made her feel better so she did it. 

I guess in a way I respected that enough to let her continue to do it- as much as i yelled and complained.  The main reason was that I didn't want to make her feel worse. My mother always told me to be the bigger person because if I wasnt jessica would turn into a monster far more quikly then I would.

Break My Heart

Break my Heart

Break my heart
leave me for dead.

Take my sight
cheeks flushed and red

i like when you hit me baby
i like the pain

keep pushing me farther
like its a twisted little game

i don't want your sympathy
i have no real shame

let me explain,
I go insane
cause I like the pain.

I am not ok.

I have not been ok for a very long time. And I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

http://www.spiritscienceandmetaphysics.com/man-tries-to-hug-wild-lion/

Hug me with your words,
comfort me with those blue ocean water eyes.
Kiss me with your good energy.
Make love feel more real.

Erotica

Dear first love,

I read this quote and thought of you...

"If I had a penny for every time I caught you undressing me with your eyes I'd be a rich woman and I'd know all my senses were real and not a lie." 

Sincerely, 

Alicia 

Movies i want to see.

Emma Roberts is just as good as her auntie. These pretty women have talent.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbBSR1o6li4

Relaxing to the tunes of:

https://soundcloud.com/dolosouth


My darling Remedy said to me:
"we both our own form of crazy"


i am a slave to my sensitivity?!

i am Maleficent
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fr6oVCtpKB4

i am beginning to see myself 
through the mirror of anothers eyes 
it is a deep and scary surprise 
to see how all this time you've been in disguise 
hiding the true person that is screaming inside 
that is now so fed up of the bullshit and lies 
that all she can do is meditate until she dies.

I am a lonely street Angel

I roam the streets aimlessly
searching for the stories waiting to be written

I am invisible only to my own eyes
I don't see myself or judge my own lies

Lies are the stories I wish were true
what may be real to me may not be real to you

you - the person I so wish to impress
it was you I had in mind when I put on this long flowing dress

dress, in a way you'll notice me
perhaps if you like what you see you won't look away so quickly.  

quickly, before the moment has passed.
Don't read this poem too slow or too fast.

stop looking at my past, for that is behind me now
just peer up at the sky and see how I hide in the clouds.

Clouds, more comforting then a mothers whom
who shall I be if I have yet to really bloom?

Candy Tastes Melancholy

My father likes to recite this poem to me when I am in distress about my mood swings:

Feeling good 

feeling bad 

feeling happy 

feeling sad 

aint it great

Just to be feeling

If my dad was a poet

If my dad was a poet
he's be a dark one
like Edgar Allen Poe

he'd write them in the margins of news papers
back of menus
or on napkins

if my father was a poet
he'd recite them aloud
play with the words in the air
and let anyone contribute
repeat them fervently proud

he'd let you think your were brilliant
he'd praise your efforts at all
he'd wear the poem like jewelry
he'd sing em like a song

he talks to the strangers of pedestrians
they have man a stories untold
"get to start drinking
and damn can't start"
ohhh wee the personality
 in that voice
south holds the most beloved treasures
of memories of past choice

he says
"I'm sure everyone has a good reason for
doing what they do,
if only we could listen
perhaps we'd understand too."

oh the things i've learned from those
who did what they were told not to
who lived in ways forbidden
who pushed the boundaries through and through

thats what we're all meant to do.

What do I want?

After years of confusion and mystery,
I've noticed one good thing I do is write of the things I feel and see.

Watching a Russel Brand video inspires a serious of ideas.
He said the 5 senses distract us, limits us.
The answer to our deepest questions
Comes from within.


Consciousness.
Brand speaks of consciousness

Space is infinite
Time is eternal

To do list:
Write
Meditate
Breathe
Read
Eat well
Yoga
Breathe
Read
Love
Love
Love

We are by our nature spiritual people.
Within ourselves there is an infinite capacity for connection off all things.

Poem for Antwuan

Antwuan

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
His little lungs roar
sending squirrels darting for the trees
as if a forbidden monster
has just been released

His 8 year old feet
big for his age
stomp through the parks
with an imaginary warrior rage

he is a hunter
and these squirrels are his prey
theres an adventure brewing in his imagination
he is strong, smart and brave

Far wiser then his single digit age.

This boy could steal your heart
he used his body like a work of art
fighting, dancing, hugging his peers
angry, sometimes, from misunderstood fear

fear, the only thing to fear is fear itself
knowing this boy has brought me invaluable wealth
from this day onward i carry him in my heart
til the day i die, in his name i will create art.

I want to be a researcher

"Seek first to understand, then to be understood." 

Such a generous thing for anybody to do, put another before themselves. So selfless. I suppose there were times I assumed a person would want to understand me forever. 

But just like the ticking of a clock, life is always moving forward. And with that movement comes change. A change in mind, a change in mood. A change of heart. 

Change can be beautiful, and it can be painful. But no matter what, change happens. 

Change changes. 

In your arms

I've taken a lover.
I've gone under covers.
I'm hiding beneath the sheets.
I'm curled up, hands to feet.

This may be the happiest moments in life,
a lover that is suffice,
a body to nuzzle and stare
two more hands to play with my hair.

Its seductive to lay in the night
skin to skin
no clothes
no lights.
Our senses are honed into one
feeling you touch me has won.

Breath in more deeply
and hold
pausing the moments of gold.
Let that sensation unfold
making me more and more bold.

Gasp for some air
and repeat
let the pleasure curl out of your feet.
Grab the mattress for dear life
give me your lower lip to bite.

How delicious this feeling can be
to feel you so close to me.
How lovely two bodies unite
safely in your arms wrapped tight.

I can relax in the air that you breath
i can be the affection you need.
Let me rest here til our heartbeats leave
I am safe here, I am free.

Dance World.

Bodies, like the words on a page.

Making sentences with the movements from sound waves 

speak a language only feet can play 

making stories out of  melodies, 

letting go of our worries. 

Bodies, like the workings of a clock 

record the passing of time 

by the aging skin 

juxtaposed by the fading rock.  

Give the mind a rest, 

put that body to the test. 

Let those hips rock to the beat , 

letting each tic direct your stop 

its rhythm can quicken and then 

you are twirling in circles of friends. 

Be safe here, 

be alive. 

Let the rhythm relax the eyes.

Theres control
theres release.

In every motion 

you understand it, 

It provokes emotion. 

The brain is the only organ that strengthens with time.
Give it what it needs to stay alive. 

Its memory may fade

but its ability to learn skills only sharpen.'

Education stimulates 

while water nourishes.
Practicing movement
keeps the body in motion.

Lets learn how dance releases stress
how its imperative for the balance
that makes us our best. 

Its liking yourself.
Its loving your health.

Its rather simple really, 

the crash, the burn.
The surrender.  The defeat. 

It all makes sense when you think about it.
When you stop moving your feet.

Its all the in-between shit, 

that makes you feel invincible,

that fucks you up.

But it can only send you into a new dance,
as long as you never give up. 

write.

Alone with the mind
is how a writer creates a world.

Silence of the senses
eyes on a blanket of white
only seeing the words
only feeling the story unwind

drink it in
the creation flowing out your finger tips
this is where meaning exists.
the magic to let go and trust in your wit.

watch it grow
the story never told
see how it unravels
in a direction you didn't originally imagine it'd go.

Follow its path
your allowed to look back
unlike in life
your creation is yours to edit and revise
it becomes whats most appealing to YOUR eyes.
What flatters YOUR heart.
Here is your start.

a poem by E. E. Cummings

(For my big sister Jessica)

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

One Art a poem by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master; 
so many things seem filled with the intent 
to be lost that their loss is no disaster. 

Lose something every day.
 Accept the fluster of lost door keys, 
the hour badly spent. 
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: 
places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. 
None of these will bring disaster. 

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, 
or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. 
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

I lost two cities, lovely ones. 
And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. 
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

 —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) 
I shan't have lied. 
It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master 
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. 


If I were to write it, i'd say to you - my first love- 

the art of losing you felt like a disaster. 

Dancing with death

The idea of death
Used to comfort me
In my darkest hour
I wanted to die
But it's not what you think
I wanted to see
How people would be
In my absence.

I used to sit in class
Anxiety accelerating at the speed
It took my professor to read.
I would stare out the window
At a beautiful tree
Feel comforted in the fact
That I could die easily.
If someone were to just hit me with a car
I would be free of this misery.

Gradually, those feelings left
Happiness crept
And I could breath once again
With ease.

Today I dance a different tango with death
For now that I want to live
The fear is to lose a love
That's helped me bare this life.

It doesn't get realer then this. . .

It doesn't get realer then this.

The bi polar tango between
breakdown and acceptance.

We've lost us a child
a baby of only 8 years
everyone around us
has been drowning in their tears.

I can hear him now
saying
"Catch your breath dad,
I am here!"
This young boys voice
is the only one I hear.

Your voice
rung like the first sound of church bells on a sunday morning.
Echoed through the trees and into the sky
the wind listened to you as you voiced your adventures
with passionate fervency that had squirrels darting for the bushes
as you chased them on foot
pigions flocking to the sky
where your spirit now flies

And the beat goes ON
replaying in my head
even though our son is dead.

We have lost a bit of air
entertaining the feeling
that your no longer there.

Glued to the bench
tears in his eyed
trying not to cry
rather, he tries to reminisce of your time alive.

"I'm not crying, I'm mad!"
Sharda, the rock of this family
frustrated from being misunderstood
saddened to stand alone
where you both once stood.

This experience is transcendent
to feel the spirit of a child
teasing you through the wind in your hair
forcing you to reflect on your life
from now on demanding you make it truly worthwhile

there is a stillness in the air
no one can breath
we are all alone in our heads, with you
realizing now its you we NEED.

We have lost you and its unbearable.
My deepest condolences.

Mathew 19-14

I asked my Uncle George to find me a passage from the bible to include in a eulogy for the passing of an eight year old boy. 

He read me this one: 

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” 

Perfect, I thought. 
Thats all I needed to hear. 

Om

It would be understandable if I lost my mind 

but that would only be a HUGE waste of time 

so instead ill think of you as i stare at the sun 

and recall how your presence never hurt anyone 

you were a simple joy in this chaotic world 

you were comfortingly innocent, just lie every young boy and girl. 

I must think good thoughts. . .

for it wasn't me who lost a son.


Life could always be worse,
but this feel like a treacherous curse.

I am still alright
I am still alive.
Yet life feels heavy
my heart has changed
it beats differently now
with pain.

I have pain in my heart
for the life too shortly lived
for the potential unused
for the growth that has now ended.

my love really lies with the parents
one biological and one adopted
still  love all the same
this the same family
who has kept me sane.

Its interesting what you notice
when you really open your eyes
when you see what you've missed
that were standing in front of you all along…
breath.
stay strong.
you can't lose your mind to this.

Lets give him one last kiss
recall the life that bloomed before your eyes
he was a natural leader, bold and alive
he will connect us in grief for the rest of our lives

It beautiful really, the way people bond in distress
its poetic really, now one boy can be missed by all the rest

We lost an angel that day.
Friday April the 4th- 4,4,14
But his memory will live on in my stories
this adventurer deserves an epic journey
walk with me as i imagine your glory
and how you will save us from suffering in your absence.

I am anything you want me to be.

I am anything you want me to be.
I live in the shadows created by sunlight
I am the gorgeous color of the leaves

Come play with me
lose yourself in beautiful fantasies
a state of ludos- latin for easing pleasures
letting go of all your worries and embracing the moment as if it could last forever
breath darling, take in that air
your son is waiting there
in the moment when all in life makes sense, it is alright
for such a sad to thing to have happened because it helped you want to fight
fight for the justice of a man wanting a chance to love his child
and all the while
fight for the strength not to let the heart go completely wild
hold tight to your sanity, your son still needs your to be strong
rather then destruct your own life irrationally
lets put these feelings into a memorable song
he would have liked that
sing of him in all his glory in all his days
he liked to sing and dance right with ya
he would be smiling in all types of ways

he was a joy to have around
and whenever his voice got real loud
i'd giggle and hug myself, not caring who was around.

to think…

I think i loved you because you made me feel something.

You made me feel sincere happiness.
You made me feel loved.
And then that love died.

And i cried and i cried.

And now all these years later
I can barely remember
feeling anything for you
compared to what i've felt
for these people who got me over you

and those same people
who consoled me in my darker times
now theres pain in their eyes
having lost a child.
a CHILD of nine.
And here I am
their loyal friend
feeling helpless
crying from agony and madness
a deeper cry then before
this cry opens dark doors
it numbs the brain for intervals of time
then releases a wave of grief that tsunamis the eye

its an exhausting roller coster of the most intense scenario of sadness i can imagine for any human in all of man kind

it is a maddening situation that tests the strongest person who has ever loved a child or any human being more then his own mind

it is a nightmare, a tragedy - a heartbreaking sad ending.
But the story has not finished for it never does

The story of this beautiful family lives on, and he lives now through our hearts.

We have planted a tree of him in our hearts where he will grow.
Life is somehow more meaningful now that i carry a piece of you wherever i go.
We must rejoice his life-
 and then take ownership of the lesson this fate has disguised.

What can we do to honor him?
What does he understand now that his life has ended?

This is a wake up call in itself, more important to learn from tragedy then to acquire wealth.
Love is the most valuable aspect of life.
To have loved a child so pure, innocent and new to the world- and then lose him before he has been given a proper chance to grow- is horrifying.
It is the worst kind of fate. But it does not kill the soul.

We must remember Anne Franks Father. What a human duty he did by sharing his daughters diary. A real person going through one of the most horrifying fate's god could muster.

But he lived on for the sake of his child, to honor her life and the service she did by writing.

And thats what we must do for you, Sweet Antwuan.

if my heart were a garden...

If my heart were a garden
my lovers would be flowers
my family you be grass
but you
my sweet little angle
you would be a weeping willow tree
planted sturdy, roots deep and secure
you wear your vines like pearls
the wind playfully invited you to a romantic dance

open those eyes dear
notice the signs
the connections, read in-between the lines
theres a message hidden in every moment
the pretty sights, sounds of nature
singing to you from Gods lips
pleasing the ear
flowing out your finger tips.

He is here with you
he is alive through you
on the page
in your mind
imagining him in heaven
breathing with ease in his eyes

Death is a safe place
escape from suffering in this world
let all your worries go
and just float
and breath
and enjoy the fact that you lived at all.

Thats all we can do really.
Is be happy for what we had.
Laughter.
Love.
Loss.

Feeling it all.
Happy to have felt at all.

RIP my beloved Antwuan

Friday, April 4th 2014 marks the day the world lost an angel but gained a beautiful bright star in the sky. 

Today I wake up with tears in my eyes but wipe them away with a smile.

It's a beautiful day and I just want to celebrate the life of a beautiful child.

May you, Antwuan, always live in my heart until we are reunited in my own depart. 

Every time I look up at the sky, and feel the warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of fresh cut grass with the sound of children playing in the background - I'll be thinking of you. You and how magical you made the world feel just by the sound of your laughter, by the sight of your smile and the warmth of your hugs.

Your legacy will live on, in our minds hearts and souls. I shall write a million stories about you, about the burning fire of love you have sparked in so many hearts. I am honored to have know you at all little guy. 

Suddenly- I am listening to the music of bag pipes playing in the background as I type this. This marks beginning of a new sports season. I hear the children cheering for joy, and my heart is swelling for you sweet boy. I feel you here, you are rejoicing as well - you are playing in the sunlight that touches the face of your strong father, Dell. 

Carry on my sweet little angel, play in the clouds so that we peer up at them we'll feel you there look down on us. proud. RIP <3 p="">

Growing Pains

Alicia Proto

March 20, 2014

Poem

                                                            Anything is Possible

You’re the character from all my stories

The one in all my poems

Somehow every person I’ve met after you

Any other I could write about

Only leads me back down this familiar road

back to your safe house.  

You are the one I think about at night

I listen to old songs that leave me hugging myself tight

When the room is cold

And only my mind stays light

With the warmth of your presence in my head

As I curl up smaller in this far too big bed.

You are the heroine in my tragic tale

I sigh just pondering your face

How it changes as different emotions take shape.

You fought off my demons

Scared the monsters under my bed

Said you’d never leave me

Had me convinced you’d be there til I was dead.

You’re the song I so badly want to sing

Even though it feels like sin

Like how just the sound of a powerful wind

Can still numb my room temperature skin.

There’s a picture in my mind when I close my eyes

Its almost always winter time

A season where these feelings blossomed

Even in the dead of cold

The look of your eyes staring into mine

Made me feel not so alone.

Mother Nature can tell that I long for you

She teases me with every gust of wind

Spinning abandoned leaves in a dance

That tickles the skin

I was always waiting for my life to begin

Until you walked in

I was aimlessly looking for a sign

I was blind until the night you looked into my eyes.

Is this obsession?

When a beam of light

On a cloudy winters day

Warms my face

Beams so strong

If I shut my eyes

 it almost feels like may.

Its you I picture there

Looking up at the same sky

Wondering how all this time has flown by.

Insanity is a terrifying game

And here I sit typing, feeling so terribly insane.

Sadly, don’t have any tears left to cry.

So I just sigh

And wait for the clouds to go by

As to hide the sun

The frigid air reminding me

that there’s really no one there.

Reminding me

How life never promises

To be fair.