Never Tired

The day started out with a discussion of Rodolfo Gonzales' epic poem Yo soy Joaquin at 9:30 in the morning. A political boxer that some would describe as a 'non-poet' (even better).  I was caffeinated. Prepared.  Luis Pérez's El coyote la rebelde (1947) was mixed into a discussion of pachucos and class.

The perspective of "hoodlum" will forever be saturated with class-based residue. Who you think is a hoodlum/bad seed/troubled youth/shady character can easily and simply be someone more loyal than anyone you've ever known in your delicate little life but, instead, you choose to hang a loose frame of BAD around him/her/them/us.

Don't be fooled by what you think you see.

(pause)

In other news:

That wall you're afraid to let drop?

Let it fall.

It's not serving anyone in an honest or sincere way.

After all:

What good is the peach that you cup in your hands

if you are too afraid

to allow your mouth to move towards it?



be well; be loved,

k.


P.S. I've been listening to a decent amount of Childish Gambino, lately, but I've also been stuck reaching back for  Frank Ocean's Thinkin Bout You , lately as well.

(image: Tumblr)
(title: Lyric from Drunk in Love/Beyonce)