Conflict and OccupationShortly after the World Trade Center attacks on September 11, 2001, President Bush seemed to be intensely dedicated to find those responsible for the attacks, and give them what they had coming to them. Fingers were pointed at Afghanistan, Al- Quaida, Osama bin Ladin; it seemed to America that anyone of Middle Eastern descent, Muslim, Arabic, or otherwise, were guilty by association of race. Then, somehow, the President made the “War on Terror” a part of the domestic and foreign policy of the United States. In the paranoia that swept the nation, the blame for the attacks seemed to be forgotten, as the President focused on a new threat in hisConflict and Occupation
Lost, somehow.It was sunny, warm, about mid-70’s with a slight breeze blowing. A typical Saturday during a typical April. I waited. And waited. And waited. Then he was here. I dressed him up, played like only a child would. Of course I was trying to take photographs with a camera too advanced for me to use yet. And then parents. We got out, out and away from them. I had my wonderful black jacket on then. I remember how he smelled when he gave me the silver Sharpie he stole from work… Walmart… And I was so delighted that I tried it out right away, putting my signature mark on the left cuff of that jacket. Heart-Star. My timestamp to clock me into miseLost, somehow.
a lullaby to the restless oneInsomnia, come put me to sleep Nauseate and permeate And penetrate right through me.a lullaby to the restless one
Insomnia, come tell me my dreams Blinded and deafened And senseless, it seems.
And I’m awake, I’m awake I’m awake With all of this pain that you cause me
So sing me a lullaby, tell me your sweet
goodbyes I will be your everything (For now)
Insomnia, come help me to breathe Suffocate, obliviate And forget what I am to be.
Insomnia, hold me as I weep Consumate and desolate And still awake as I scream
Please
I Am, We are, It is... to Be.“I can’t believe you’re only fifteen.”I Am, We are, It is... to Be.
These words came as whispers from his lips.
I could feel myself wanting to reassure him that the numbers lie in their truth. Deep down, I wanted to tell him, “Darling, I am older than time tells, I have the wisdom of the world. I am a cloud: dancing water molecules, quivering with anticipation to fall upon the earth. I am pure, not yet poisoned by the smog of humanity that is my destiny. One day I would rain acid, but yet I have not. I am a butterfly, graceful and mysterious. I am a flower: daffodils, tiger lilies, orchids… playing like childre
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