Tagged thoughts

Hear my Thoughts

by Swesuny

This piece was inspired by the current social and political climate in the writer’s hometown and abroad, in the United States. 


It saddened me to see others look for faults in the other people,
It saddened me to see others misjudge the other people,
It saddened me to see others consider themselves higher – above the other people.
It saddened me to see others use their ability to degrade other people,
It saddened me to know others manipulate the information to sabotage other people,
It saddened me to look at those who are in authority using their powers to disgrace other people.
It saddened me seeing others so full of themselves and forgetting their manners,
It saddened me – things I have noticed and seen around my surroundings,
It saddened me that they can’t be more ethical and virtuous human beings.
A human being that has a good heart ready to accept individual uniqueness,
A human being that has an eye open to see every possibility,
A human being that has ears ready to listen to every person’s concerns,
And a human being that has a hand to help without expecting anything in return.
I hope we can spread love and acceptance, not hate.

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Summer Daze, Summer Haze

by Vivian


The sun blasts through the window.

Hazy rays of light illuminating

Through the translucent pink curtains.

Specks of light fall through green leaves and little eyelids.

Little legs run through fresh-cut greens.

Silky grass grazes through little toes and tickles little armpits.

The warm air kisses the tips of little foreheads and flat noses.

“Weeeeee,” yells Prince Charming as he slides down the yellow slide

That will take him to the Fire-Breathing Dragon:

A test he must past before he can rescue Princess Peach.

“Cha-Ching” goes the lemonade stand. “Splish-Splash” in the pool all day long.

And in one blink of an eye, the little legs run off to school for the first time, ever.

 

The sun blasts through the window,

Leaking through magenta curtains –

The ones with glitter and girly assortments.

Shadows cast on boy-band-covered walls,

Revealing the horrid of a mess from yesterday’s first make-up run

Dirty, brown makeup wipes on the dresser and uncleaned brushes.

Strips of light shine through the window on to hot pink Hannah Montana sheets.

The active legs run down the stairs into the backyard,

Glittery pink eyelids squinting underneath a lavender hat that reads:

I LOVE JUSTIN BEIBER

Walking down aisles of clothes, trying on new dresses that rumple-rumple with every move.

Flick, flick goes the red nail brush,

Coating manicured fingernails and pedicured toenails.

And in one blink of an eye, the adolescent legs run off to high school for the first time, ever.

 

The sun glares through the white curtains –

The ones with the floral décor.

Its disgusting brightness pierces through the tired eyes of a restless teenager.

And on the counter are polaroid pictures of friends,

Scratched out faces of frenemies, and encircled hearts of cute boys.

A bracelet catches light and shines like gold,

Bestowing promises of love and life.

As backpacks swing onto broad shoulders

And aching arms from yesterday’s rowing practice

Carry heavy books to summer classes,

The hours pass by like centuries, a voice speaking at the front of the class.

Something about Ernest Rutherford? Or was it “Earn this rusted Ford?”

“Ring-Ring,” goes the bell as the teenagers throw their papers,

“Crunch, wrinkle,” deep into the black hole at the bottom of their backpacks.

Was it the beautiful summer air that warmed all these stolen moments?

From the stolen kiss from a boy who said, “I love you,”

To the Lana del Ray sing-alongs.

And in one blink of an eye, they throw their caps into the air,

First time to be whisked away to new dorms and the Land of No Parents, ever.

 

The sun glares through the blinds, white and monotone.

Slightly bent, but not that broken from last Friday night.

The half empty beer bottle sits beside an e-invitation, as they laugh in pity at

The pile of returned grades beside a break-up note.

Rays of light illuminate from the curtains with the floral designs and

The familiarity hits of waking up in that old room with boy-band-covered walls.

Old memories of the warm summer air that used to kiss little foreheads and flat noses.

The warm air peaked its head out from behind the tree of leaves

Ran to greet its old friend, kissed the tip of a familiar forehead.

Once again, what lasted for only one blink ended,

As the suitcases rolled to the airport, belts got buckled,

And grumpy grown-ups got whisked away to Adult-Land.

The first time they’d wished to go back to the time of translucent pink curtains, ever.


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I Write a Poem Every Night

by Fidel M. Love


Tonight, I wrote a love poem

‘Cause the words just shifted and sent me

to a happy place as I drifted in memories

of when you used to smile at me

And I laughed a little

thinking of how I let your smile trap me.

So, I wrote a love poem

But last night, I wrote a love torn poem

‘Cause I was feeling that ache in my heart

Why’d you break it apart?

I don’t know if its true love or I’m just taking it hard

That reminds me of a confused poem

which I seem to be thoroughly – I need therapy

for the thoughts in my head

And poetry is what I use for ’em

So, then I read over a beingusedpoem

Since I’ve been used and abused by a few of ’em.

That’s why I choose never to use but soothe you

I remembered a poem I wrote about the touch of your hand

How it had the power to turn the strong into cowards

and have them struggle to stand.

Then I found a poem you wrote and one day handed me

Saying, you loved knowing you could do that

and I was the only man you’d need

So, I can’t understand how you could stand and leave

I’ve wrote so many sad poems that I can’t stand to read

Alone poems, I need a home poems

Lost without his own poems – and gone poems

How I need you to be strong poems…

You brought a clear view to my night, I write every night

‘Cause it was a poem that bought you to my life.


About the Author 

Fidel M. Love is a creative mind and spirit, born and raised on the South-side of Chicago, IL. He has been writing poetry and fiction since age 12. He is a graduate of East-West University with a Bachelors degree in English & Communications. He’s always reading, writing, studying, and learning more to perfect his craft and pursue his dream of being a successful poet and author.


You see SIX I see NINE.

A Rule of Thumb Inspired by Rudolf Carnap

 by Johnny


One day, I was striking up an interesting conversation with a friend about laws. We looked into the diversity of laws, viz. laws differ from region to region, from country to country, from era to era. We shared a moment of silent admiration after our shared realization that ages of legal and moral laws were all products of human actions.

It’s funny that humans authored this intricate and enormous system of rules and norms, but we can’t seem to escape the banality of our lives.

All of a sudden, my friend said: “You know, even though humans wrote all these laws. The credit goes to God.”

“Here we go.” I muttered.

“No, man, look. Where did intelligence come from? Where did moral intuitions come from? Intelligence and moral intuitions are teleologically meaningful things. They are meant for something. Like helping us establish and further our pursuit of truth and goodness.

It’s natural to think that they exist by the design of a creator. If you see a watch on the beach, would you think it’s more likely that some watchmaker fashioned it or would you prefer to think that the watch formed naturally? I’m allowing the possibility of a watch forming naturally. It is indeed possible, however remotely.

But I choose to believe that something as intricate as a watch, which clearly has a specific purpose, is the product of thoughtful design. Now, would you really rather believe that intelligence and moral intuition formed naturally?”


“A scenario of intelligence and moral intuitions forming naturally, by means of mutations and natural selection is actually more plausible. My narrative tells a much fuller story. Check it:

The origin of intelligence is just one or a few mutations. Before you say your creator is behind mutation, there is a full bio-physics story that explains how a mutation occurs as well. Let’s leave that aside for now.

The genes of intelligence get added to the gene pool and get passed onto future generations. This ability turned out to be advantageous or even the key to survival in a lot of situations. So intelligence and its corresponding genes stayed in a lot of species’ gene pools rather stably, until hominids began consuming cooked foods, which, in time, increased brain capacity and gave intelligence a huge boost.

So, to answer your question, yes, I’d much prefer believing that intelligence formed naturally, rather than by the design of some creator, of which I see no evidence. The same goes for moral intuitions; there is a full narrative that does not involve a creator.”.

Our stimulating conversation eventually turned into a repartee, and it could have gone a lot worse if we weren’t friends.

Too many of us get lured into these disagreements, which trap everybody in an atmosphere of anger and rashness, and nobody ever gets convinced. Then, perhaps we shouldn’t wantonly get into these arguments.

A Christian, who praises Jesus for her fruitful day, shouldn’t be met with my scorn if I asked about her day; if I wanted to convince an atheist, empiricist good-samaritan to come with me to a Hare Krishna soup kitchen, and he says no, I can either try to persuade him by making the case that humanitarian work is humanitarian work with or without religious branding, or I could move on to the next person.

Barring extreme situations, there is really no need to discuss a person’s narrative of life, the cosmos, or anything, unless the narratives are the topic that is agreed upon.

Make maximal use of what agreements you can solicit, and tolerate other people’s alternative narrative.


Moorish American Philosophy Summed Up

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A Song of Seeking Within the Shadows: Discovering the True Shape of Vulnerability

Very rarely can you come across a unique piece like “The Vulnerables”. The Rapper who goes by Lafu Maton brought us to a new level of a dark, soul-crunching experience, which truly showcases the level of beauty and capability of musical expression. A special take on poetry and hip-hop, “The Vulnerables” is a song that explores on music format, pushes boundaries with lyrical content and expresses creativity in production. 

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Why Do We Keep Calling Native Americans ‘Indians’?

In the same way, Natives were robbed of their ancestral lands, slapped with a label, and pushed to the margins of American history. But American history IS their history. The United States of America is an infant aberration of THEIR history.

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