kagablog

im coming down from being
high on a ridge
looking out on the vast landscape
of my own being
breadcrumbs crumbling
under the weight of my own
tears flowing like
a river my head
is aching..

my temple pulsates
as the sun shines

i am reminded
of crows circling
her body
swooping in
to pick at her eyes..
i remember the day they found her
broken up by the wayside,
i, a simple boy watching the flies
buzz swoop and saw
their booty..
later me being chased away
by the elders.

high on a ridge,
i see that boy
i see my own mother
leaving me there
by the airport,
the planes falling from the sky,
a sad goodbye
forever.

now as i sit and ponder
and wonder
my head aches hems and haws

i feel the stress of my pain
seeping
through my veins
my limbs my muscles
and god
this is the most pain
i have felt
in a long long time
i havent the strength
to call out
or scream out
i sit and feel
the terror
of such anxiety,

like when i saw
my mother
at the kitchen table
clutching her head
bawling out ..
loud
till the neighbours
came
and took me away.
..that is how i feel.

they say its the stress of the past
nine months
the past of my past
the fear of the future
future

im hurting now,
the pills dont make it
go away
nothing does

im blinded by my own need
to let go
let grow
into a kinder opening
cus god knows
i need it..

i know.. im not the only person who feels this way
but in my ego
eco system

its jus me and my children
and their own need
to hold and caress
and keep
life’s light alive
in their beings..
and

.. im incapable
of even doing that
..for them
right now.

“I’m always in these pictures as this girl in a pink dress and a handbag,” she said, wearing a pink dress and a handbag.

i told the students that it was inspiring
to teach them
to give them the will
to boldly draw and feel free -to -doom themselves
into bad work and good work,that by enjoying the process
that they would and will find themselves and their voices
stuck in their throats hearts and head.
i told them that by me working in the classroom
i demonstrated to them that
i do not see my process and my end result
as higher than theirs..after all one
teaches from experience and dream,
but mostly what is possible
with hard work
and earnestness.
told them that
i show my work internationally.
but the process by which i arrive
at making my work
is the same as theirs will be..
and could be..
indeed the whole process was to strip the ego
and the egocentricity that comes and goes
along with artists who teach..
making the whole experience a two way street..

what i found out about my work and their working process
inspired me,
it made for good fodder for creativity,
their work habits were influenced by mine
and vice versa
right down to the anarchy of music
playing on the ipod
the student characters.
while on the surface it seemed out of control,
it wasn’t,
i was in the midst navigating
with each lesson brought new challenges,
with each new lesson they gained more
and the installed drawings in their
paper mosaic-ness, mine included
represented and showed them
another way to present work..
(see image of the installed work)

.. what was a class of students
became a band of creatives
who by their own will
became embattled with getting out
what it is they had inside,.
for some it was easy and for some it was hard
and remains hard..
the ones who tried..
succeeded
knew and felt it
the others who tried and wobbled to the end line.. also felt liberated..
that they were able to find their own way..

i guess the point here is that by the virtues of trust and the bestowing of respect,
i was able to somehow allow them to show me
what they wanted from themselves
but more importantly
what the art and the act
in this case
drawing
is asking of them…and among other things..
that it was really about reaching a place of security
and allowing for things to flow
namely the act of doing.

innervoice
(passion for teaching for learning through teaching)

there is great potential in the act and beauty of teaching,
the nurturing of the minds eye the beauty
and wisdom of pure understanding and overstanding.
i have in the past experienced it from others
who have taught me
the wisdom of life’s light,
have guided me through treacherous
seas, a lighthouse..
have given me the tools to navigate learn and grow.
today as i sat by my window watching ships slip up, down this river
contemplating finishing this poetic evaluation,

i declared aloud i want to teach.. my way.
as i spoke a ship with the words
“devotion”
emblazoned on it
came into the frame of my window
slipping slowly into the ice cold daylight..
followed by another that said vecht,
in the steady flow of my own quietness

i asked underbreath that the beauty
of my own way
be understood and that god in her wisdom
and glory may give me an opportunity
to impart by teaching others
some wise words and thought of this life

standing firm standing for something
allowing lifes own innocence
to flow that we may all find it
in our hearts to be selfless
giving back to our
own daily
humanity.. light.
jimmy rage

life

..our only
beauty

the glory of
our
becoming..

soundtrack by jimmy rage and bamba nazar for bodega sounds

voice, sound, words
and beauty,
fall like manna
from an
indifferent
heaven
as we try to walk
the crooked edges
of a world
gone mad ..
making
mischief of pain ..
screaming
blues hosanna ..
with the eyes
of brown earth,
red dust
in
our lungs..
searching for
the elusive footprints
that disappear
at the moment
of finding..

who knows..
we may never
walk this
way again..
so
rise and shine
and give
her
all the glory..
amening
a sweet ..
song to the
inner self,
and
the outer world.

i go into your house, lay in your bed, look in your fridge and feed on the remnants of food,
all the while thinking you will appear, looking for you, looking for signs of you..
no image, no photo of you, nothing..
to tell that you have lived here,
lived and have made this your nestling ground
your home away from your africa,
i sit i stand and wait and tarry
the sky waxing poetic
empty of your face
traces of your eyes
your mouth..
i whisper a prayer underbreath as i exit your home ..

on the street i shrug my shoulder from the bitter cold
amble up the block zig zagging
hoping to see you
i walk as i always do, alone.
looking to the dark sky ..
playing tough
hoping that my kingdom
will come.. but i know.
at the corner i spot a black cat running up the block,
she stands stare and waits for me,
in front of the building,
she meows and i open the door
she climbs the stairs and goes into my empty house.
i break open the cat food
i had bought for her days before,
wish her happy new year and feed her..

i sit and look out the window and she comes i pet her and watch as the ships slip into the night.
she climbs on the table and sits next to me .. then she goes and lays on the children’s bed
i turn my heart and gaze to you there somewhere..
wondering if i can will ever get over this angst
of you leaving
coming going
and leaving again.
feeling all the while abandoned..
left somewhere
with his own head
of anger
tangled dreams
of failure
and success
being here all one
alone in the arrowed
madness
of my own directed
journey.

i miss you
more than my head
and heart can handle,

i am quieted by own talk
down,
beat down
broken down
memory of st catherine,
being back there
watching the sky
hoping that one day
i will never have to watch
the sky
and wait..

i am here
now
knowing that love
wont come
love wont turn
anything around
that in
this quiet
as the time
ticks down ..
that i must
pack my things
be ready
to move
to the next place
post station
graduation
from stability
to mobility
from hostage
to ransom
to freedom..

and then i am awakened by all them ghosts
calling out
from my dreams
my hopes and aspirations
as the sun never
comes
and as the voice never comes
as i never will be here
in this way again
i know..
that yes it is gone.

bittersweet memories
of extorted
kisses
caustic
loving .
lies
moaning,
our own
guilt
and greed..

clearing
our
tabernacles.

these shackles,
they hiss
sing,
ping -
ponging

rising
above the net total
of our own
dwelling ..

art
is
my vein.
the body
of
my being
its instrument.
you are flesh
beauty
sound
and
fury.