People are people are people are mortals are humans are earthlings are beings are homo sapiens are physical bodies…
possessed…enlightened…occupied…by something.
some,
non-thing…that throws every-thing over that way…
and
there and here and wayyyy over there to a place where comprehension
often goes blind and madness has the potential to run so rampant that it
runs away from itself…
(insert visual of humanoid hamster wheel here)
And we're all fucking crazy…
And we all think and yell and feel and cry and hurt ourselves (and others) and love and laugh and say
'What's wrong with me?!'
and
'What's wrong with you?!'
and there may not necessarily be anything 'wrong' at all.
Maybe it's different…just…different.
Or maybe it's not intentionally 'wrong'….
or maybe it is.
Or
maybe it's the food we eat, the air we breathe, the 11 commercials that
come on every 10 minutes, our parents, our neighborhood, that crazy
mother fucker over there, the car accident, the abuse, your neighbors
that won't stop fighting, the $10,000 medical bill you just got in the
mail, the mental pollution that is the 'news', our landlord, our job,
our goals, our choices, our wants, our false needs, society, our
educational system, that person that broke your heart, or that person
that never says thank you no matter how many times you open the door for
them…maybe it's all of that…
and then some.
Or maybe…we forgot.
What felt 'right'…
(Ask yourself)
Maybe
those things made us forget and maybe we just have to work on
remembering…and maybe that's what will make you stop feeling like a
lunatic or making others feel like lunatics.
And maybe the terms 'right' and 'wrong' have us eternally fighting against ourselves, within ourselves…
because now there is an 'enemy'
and maybe that enemy was just a figment of our blessedly powerful beautifully creative imaginations.
Oh balance…how I long for thee.
Maybe we just strayed a little off that familiar dirt road…
soil rich of our thoughts, hopes, fears, desires…
Stop…
forget about those things that have made you forget.
And just this moment
Feel the blades of grass on the tips of your toes.
The wind moves gently…press back upon it.
Eat the sun.
Align yourself with the stars.
They will always be there for you.
To guide you…back to your road.
We are cosmic dust.
There is no 'right' and 'wrong' in nature. There is rapture from torment and beauty in death.
(An autumn leaf falls).
There is life…there is energy…there is creation…there is love…everywhere.
There is one.
We are but cells…
Feel your cells. They move and dance as we generate 'wind' ...
We became crazy when we forgot the stars.
When
we forgot that there are more than people and people and more people
and mortals and humans and earthlings and beings and homo sapiens and
physical bodies…filled with some-thing...out there.
And that we can laugh, cry, worry, live, torment, feel, experience love…
and
be able to attempt to understand it…to identify it without trying to
identify it…to feel it…to consciously project it…to set intentions…and
fulfill them. To have the choice to fulfill them…to have the choice to
love…even in our darkest hours.
No-thing…can take that away from us.
We
are not 'crazy'…in the conventional sense…we are longing…we are
searching…we are feeling the forgetfulness that so often accompanies the
human condition…and therefore separating ourselves from the love that
is inherent within us.
That is denying your breath, your
heart beat, your livelihood, that is denying yourself. That is
'crazy'. And we all do it. At some point. To some degree.
We are all 'crazy'…because if we weren't...we wouldn't be human.
And that isn't necessarily a bad thing...
Just please, remember the stars and the grass, and the trees and the soil and heart beat and the breath…
Because you were blessed with the choice to do so.
(c) 2013 by Jessica Freites
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Monday, February 20, 2012
FREE LOVE
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
My Normal is too Weird for You
What exactly is 'normal'? How does 'normal' exist?...I mean, if you take the infinite number of possibilities of situations, thoughts, objects, etc. that someone encounters in a lifetime and ask every human being on earth what they would consider 'normal' in each and every one of those situations, not one person's entire cumulative thought stream of 'normal' would be the same as another. So what fully encompassing definition of 'normal', what scientific measure, what mathematical standard, to what degree can we be justified in labeling something as 'normal?' It seems as if that question just happened to clearly answer itself.
(And for those of you going above and beyond the call of duty to make a calculated effort to be weird, unique, eccentric...to stand out as much as humanly possible for fear of blending in with 'normalcy'. You're far from abnormal...)
(c) 2012 by Jessica Freites
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Necessary 'Do It For Me' Qualities
Written around 6 or 7 years ago...not much has changed. Ha.
I've come to realize, after some reflection, what it is that I need in my next potential "social experiment partner," (I'm not a fan of labels) in order for me to know that there is a chance that this individual might stick around a bit...actually not even that, just that that individual will have an intense impact on me in one way or another and "do it for me" (one of the most awesome "relationships," although we had no label and it was very short-lived was truly one of the illest). I want to make it absolutely clear...these are not qualities that mean I will like someone. They're qualities that mean I'll continue liking them to a point where I'm impacted by them...the initial spark/attraction/interest must already be present. This is probably the most corny/sappy/sentimental you'll ever hear me but...here goes.
QUALIFYING FACTORS
1) To be able to be so comfortable and free with him that we can sit in the car, not say one word to each other, listen to music, feel each other, and drive with absolutely no destination.
2) He's a non-sheep
3) When we're together there's no such thing as awkward silence, actually while in each other's presence silence is quite comforting.
4) We can slow dance in his living room with with no music playing
5) We meditate together
6) We fuck the shit out of each other's minds
7) I can play hackie sack, pool, video games, whatever...all things I really suck at but like to do anyway, and he tries to teach me, I still don't learn shit, but it's ok cause we had maaaaaaaaaad fun.
8) We laugh...A LOT
9) He understands that just cause I'm not in the mood to talk doesn't necessarily mean there's something wrong.
10) He can act like a complete fool in front of me
11) I can act like a complete fool in front of him
12) When I'm in his presence I want to rape him and I'm comfortable enough to act on it (I'm shy...at first)
13) He'll cook with me every once in a while
14) He understands my motivating factors for playing piano and violin and why I don't feel the need or desire to play for others...but he still wants to hear me play
15) The terms humility and humbleness mean something to him
16) He is aware of his health
17) He knows what a blackbook is and understands why I cherish mine so and why it is absolutely necessary for me to take it with me everywhere
18) I fiend and hang onto his scent like a junkie does with crack and when I come home I smell my clothes and smile because they're reminiscent of him
19) I usually don't bother arguing if I'm annoyed or upset, but with him, I actually care enough to do so.
20) He doesn't judge the homeless
21) We respect one another
22) When he falls asleep next to me I look at him and it makes me smile
23) He's a slightly more aggressive male version of myself
24) Sarcasm and wit battles are appreciated and are our version of mental foreplay
25) He's passionate about life
26) He is my best friend
27) He understands the difference between knowledge and wisdom
28) When I talk about hip hop/arts/music/poetry/spirituality for hourrrrrs, he doesn't think it's weird...because he does it to
29) I don't explain myself to him because I feel I have to...I do it because I want to.
30) He doesn't waste my time and is considerate of it because he realizes I have other things and interests going on in my life...and he does too
31) This holiday I already know what I want to get him next year...and I probably get him it now, just because
32) He's willing to teach me how to drive stick and go with me to the gun-range
33) I can completely be myself around him without fear of being judged...easier said than done
34) I can learn from him
35) He's good with kids
36) We can spend an entire day doing absolutely nothin and have the dopest time ever
37) When we watch movies at the crib we often times have a hard time making it to the end of the movie...if you catch my drift
38) We both don't care about "what we are" and our label cause we're just enjoying "what we have" and how dope the moment is
39) He lives spiritually as opposed to just talking about it
40) Play-fighting is necessary
41) When we dance (he must be willing to dance) we dance as if no one is watching cause we're too much into each other to frankly give a shit about anyone else
42) He gets why I want to adopt children and he does too
43) He understands the dopeness associated with chillen at bookstores, art shows, and little hole in the wall lounges
44) He thinks it's cool that my mom does charts and tarots and that I'm into studying the occult, conspiracy, etc., and even though he might not know that much about it, it triggers his interest
45) His corny ass comments/habits/mannerisms that would normally erk the hell outta me...well, they're cute
46) His random body parts, like his forearms, calves, shoulders, the back of his neck, etc...are the most incredibly sexy turn on ever... to the point where that rape feeling I mentioned previously becomes reality
47) His smile makes me smile
48) His musical taste is broad
49) He has ill style, but is confident enough to where he doesn't have to put it on display all the time...sweats and a beater never looked so hot
50) He's not a cocky fuck, it's just most people can't appreciate his bluntness/straightforwardness/sarcasm and someone who just likes themselves
51) He let's me be on top, but he's man enough to also take control, and good enough for me to let him be...visualize a predator prey role reversal type struggle that goes back and forth
52) We can waste an entire roll of film taking complete bullshit pictures of each other...and they're priceless
53) Money isn't his sole and primary motivating factor in life but he's rational enough to realize financial security is important
54) The terms social loner and practical idealist make sense to him
55) He can keep up and appreciates my randomness because he's just as random...and he realizes that they're really not that random, it's just that my linear train of thought moves in light years
56) During sex our breathing patterns force me to listen...hard, and make me sweat...harder
57) He buys me a card and actually writes something in it and knows that I mean it when I say that that means more to me than a bullshit gift
58) I can enjoy pleasing him sexually and feeling him inside of me in hopes of more than just reaching my peak or feeding my ego
59) He's charitable
60) He understands the necessity of giving each other space and that makes us want to be around each other more because our time together is voluntary not mandatory
61) He understands that I'm not yelling...I'm just passionate, expressive, and animated when I speak
62) He let's me pick at his back and his face
63) He doesn't necessarily completely understand me, but he's willing to try and accepts me for who I am
64) He agrees with my views on marriage...that marriage should only be a celebration of what's already there, and an unnecessary option, because the man I want to spend my life with, well, what we're going to have will be so secure and real that we will already be spiritually connected...marriage isn't the next step, it'll be an optional recognition of what's already there
65) He let's me do my occasional short-lived ranting and raving and let's it roll off of him because he realizes I'll get over it in a few minutes
I've come to realize, after some reflection, what it is that I need in my next potential "social experiment partner," (I'm not a fan of labels) in order for me to know that there is a chance that this individual might stick around a bit...actually not even that, just that that individual will have an intense impact on me in one way or another and "do it for me" (one of the most awesome "relationships," although we had no label and it was very short-lived was truly one of the illest). I want to make it absolutely clear...these are not qualities that mean I will like someone. They're qualities that mean I'll continue liking them to a point where I'm impacted by them...the initial spark/attraction/interest must already be present. This is probably the most corny/sappy/sentimental you'll ever hear me but...here goes.
QUALIFYING FACTORS
1) To be able to be so comfortable and free with him that we can sit in the car, not say one word to each other, listen to music, feel each other, and drive with absolutely no destination.
2) He's a non-sheep
3) When we're together there's no such thing as awkward silence, actually while in each other's presence silence is quite comforting.
4) We can slow dance in his living room with with no music playing
5) We meditate together
6) We fuck the shit out of each other's minds
7) I can play hackie sack, pool, video games, whatever...all things I really suck at but like to do anyway, and he tries to teach me, I still don't learn shit, but it's ok cause we had maaaaaaaaaad fun.
8) We laugh...A LOT
9) He understands that just cause I'm not in the mood to talk doesn't necessarily mean there's something wrong.
10) He can act like a complete fool in front of me
11) I can act like a complete fool in front of him
12) When I'm in his presence I want to rape him and I'm comfortable enough to act on it (I'm shy...at first)
13) He'll cook with me every once in a while
14) He understands my motivating factors for playing piano and violin and why I don't feel the need or desire to play for others...but he still wants to hear me play
15) The terms humility and humbleness mean something to him
16) He is aware of his health
17) He knows what a blackbook is and understands why I cherish mine so and why it is absolutely necessary for me to take it with me everywhere
18) I fiend and hang onto his scent like a junkie does with crack and when I come home I smell my clothes and smile because they're reminiscent of him
19) I usually don't bother arguing if I'm annoyed or upset, but with him, I actually care enough to do so.
20) He doesn't judge the homeless
21) We respect one another
22) When he falls asleep next to me I look at him and it makes me smile
23) He's a slightly more aggressive male version of myself
24) Sarcasm and wit battles are appreciated and are our version of mental foreplay
25) He's passionate about life
26) He is my best friend
27) He understands the difference between knowledge and wisdom
28) When I talk about hip hop/arts/music/poetry/spirituality for hourrrrrs, he doesn't think it's weird...because he does it to
29) I don't explain myself to him because I feel I have to...I do it because I want to.
30) He doesn't waste my time and is considerate of it because he realizes I have other things and interests going on in my life...and he does too
31) This holiday I already know what I want to get him next year...and I probably get him it now, just because
32) He's willing to teach me how to drive stick and go with me to the gun-range
33) I can completely be myself around him without fear of being judged...easier said than done
34) I can learn from him
35) He's good with kids
36) We can spend an entire day doing absolutely nothin and have the dopest time ever
37) When we watch movies at the crib we often times have a hard time making it to the end of the movie...if you catch my drift
38) We both don't care about "what we are" and our label cause we're just enjoying "what we have" and how dope the moment is
39) He lives spiritually as opposed to just talking about it
40) Play-fighting is necessary
41) When we dance (he must be willing to dance) we dance as if no one is watching cause we're too much into each other to frankly give a shit about anyone else
42) He gets why I want to adopt children and he does too
43) He understands the dopeness associated with chillen at bookstores, art shows, and little hole in the wall lounges
44) He thinks it's cool that my mom does charts and tarots and that I'm into studying the occult, conspiracy, etc., and even though he might not know that much about it, it triggers his interest
45) His corny ass comments/habits/mannerisms that would normally erk the hell outta me...well, they're cute
46) His random body parts, like his forearms, calves, shoulders, the back of his neck, etc...are the most incredibly sexy turn on ever... to the point where that rape feeling I mentioned previously becomes reality
47) His smile makes me smile
48) His musical taste is broad
49) He has ill style, but is confident enough to where he doesn't have to put it on display all the time...sweats and a beater never looked so hot
50) He's not a cocky fuck, it's just most people can't appreciate his bluntness/straightforwardness/sarcasm and someone who just likes themselves
51) He let's me be on top, but he's man enough to also take control, and good enough for me to let him be...visualize a predator prey role reversal type struggle that goes back and forth
52) We can waste an entire roll of film taking complete bullshit pictures of each other...and they're priceless
53) Money isn't his sole and primary motivating factor in life but he's rational enough to realize financial security is important
54) The terms social loner and practical idealist make sense to him
55) He can keep up and appreciates my randomness because he's just as random...and he realizes that they're really not that random, it's just that my linear train of thought moves in light years
56) During sex our breathing patterns force me to listen...hard, and make me sweat...harder
57) He buys me a card and actually writes something in it and knows that I mean it when I say that that means more to me than a bullshit gift
58) I can enjoy pleasing him sexually and feeling him inside of me in hopes of more than just reaching my peak or feeding my ego
59) He's charitable
60) He understands the necessity of giving each other space and that makes us want to be around each other more because our time together is voluntary not mandatory
61) He understands that I'm not yelling...I'm just passionate, expressive, and animated when I speak
62) He let's me pick at his back and his face
63) He doesn't necessarily completely understand me, but he's willing to try and accepts me for who I am
64) He agrees with my views on marriage...that marriage should only be a celebration of what's already there, and an unnecessary option, because the man I want to spend my life with, well, what we're going to have will be so secure and real that we will already be spiritually connected...marriage isn't the next step, it'll be an optional recognition of what's already there
65) He let's me do my occasional short-lived ranting and raving and let's it roll off of him because he realizes I'll get over it in a few minutes
Friday, December 9, 2011
Free Writing. Emphasis on 'free' and 'writing'.
Trying to write these days has been more than difficult; almost unnatural...But I'm a writer, right? Nah, prob not, just a vessel, who's chosen form of expression for an indefinite amount of time rather fancied the pen. But what to do in a world where pens and paper are but primitive tools to express primitive, thoughts? How am I supposed to feel a particular connection, a surge of warmth circulate through my tentacles of expression through a cold contraption, a mass produced contraption that's made my own handwriting unrecognizable to the portals of observation, otherwise known as my eyes. The connectors or synapses or whatevers between my emotions, thoughts and feelings and means of expressing the such are so...anti-social. My very own ideas have given me the cold shoulder...I suppose my fingertips haven't been getting enough circulation to feel their own warmth...to feel accompanied in the constant need or struggle to express. It's almost juvenile in a sense...narcissistic. A need to be recognized, acknowledged, for discovering or just unveiling the clusterfuck of sensations that most likely exist in us all...But I, said it first...and so eloquently, may I add. Maybe my ego is disappearing, maybe that's why implanting such words on a fixed medium seems so trivial amongst the greater scheme of things. Maybe I'm happier these days? since I don't have to talk to myself as much. Or maybe, my capacity for making words carry meaning has lost itself amongst the over-saturation of words primarily residing and bombarding our peripherals. Who's writing is this? I've never looped an 's' or rounded out an 'e' in such a manner. And for whatever reason, I don't care to change it. If the content of my words lack in their methods of expression, than their rogue appearance encrypts a message beyond conscious comprehension. At this very moment it makes me so happy to write as I please, without the authoritative intrusive red line that is spell-check. How can we grow if we don't make mistakes. How am I expected to flowfully spew out my inner most subconscious nuances, how can I expect for things to so organically 'slip' if consistently, my thoughts, are continually being invaded by that awful squiggly red line. I know what I meant to write. How can I learn the difference between me 3 seconds ago in that dimension over there, and the self-actualization that has occurred from the second I crossed out that word or rewrote the same word four times over again because as I crossed, underlined, circled, scribbled, I actually figured out, all by myself, what I actually meant...to say. Look how messy that sentence is...and I finished it in a just a few brief moments. Look, how much I learned in those few brief moments. I don't want to delete my thoughts. I want them refined, I want to SEE the growth. How else am I expected to truly identify with them otherwise. My energies, my words, my motivations, are real. Why toss them in the eternal abyss that is our computer's recycling bin. That's so...final. And that's just unrealistic, nothing about our existence is final nor permanent, so why deny yourself of the person you were 30 seconds ago. Connect to your scribbles, make love to your crooked letters, embrace your pen's confusion. It's why you're HERE. Why you probably understand yourself better now than you did at the beginning of this piece. Why now your curves and loops are far more grandiose, almost pompous, and why that panic attack has magically...disappeared. Take it out on the countless pages that lie beneath your fist. Embed yourself in its fibers. They're there to comfort you. To let you make mistakes and tell you....it's OK. Be rebellious, write LOUDLY. Make the ink SCREAM. Bet you can't quite do that in Text Edit. So...bland. I want to almost not be able to decipher my words because they appear so unconventionally drawn out...but KNOW exactly what they say because their personality is ALIVE! Because their context is a 3-D experience.
I've said enough...you get the point.
(©) 2011 by Jessica Freites
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Suicide Lover
Personal fave...Written: Dec. 11, 2006
RIP Robert...
Suicide Lover
My suicide lover
We've come a long way over time
And cause of my baby I'm goin out with
style
and in the meanwhile
I just wanted to let you know that
I'm thankful for having you in my life
For the emotional roller coaster
ride
of excitement
you've provided
and now I'm ready and willin for you to slide up in it
cause
in my time of need
you gave my nonexistent life and
me
meaning
I remember in the beginning
First I'd start off with a long island
maybe followed by a line 'n
eventually in time
some crack rocks
and popped off bottle tops
so I could swallow my medley of pills
and we'd
just
...chill
as they flowed
down my throat
to the point where I almost
choked and overdosed
from this masochistic
deep-throat
and now
even better to get me wetter I'll make it extra sexy
and suck up just enough liquor til my liver shivers
like my clit in an epileptic fit until it just
quits...like the gun that'll be goin'
click click
after being thoroughly lit
cause I want some passionate hits
into my life that's abandoned and rampant of uninspiring
shit,
and so I want it hard and fast
with my pulsating eager finger that quivers on the trigger like
BLAST BLAST!!
as the gun busts its bullet nut
from its phallic barrel shaft,
ramming and fucking my brain
and it might seem
strange or even insane, but no one understands
i need you
because just the thought of you givin' it to me releases me from my carnally inflicted
pain
Life is cruel and neglecting
and when we're together you're just so attentive and protecting
Really,
the only sense of comfort I feel
is fromt the thought
of the sensual warmth of
cold steel
as the thin sharp blade
serenades,
seduces,
and caresses
my vein
only anxious for deep
penetra-
tion
where my orgasmic cum
is of
hot blood
rushing and escaping from the spiritual raping
that's led to this love affair with the blade
but
these secretions aren't of semen
they're of tears 'n
I'm afraid that I've reached my peak
and now I feel incredibly weak
But once again
thank you for making life seem less bleak
and saving me in the current moment
cause
my heavy breathin' and moanin'
was actually a blood curdling
cry from my
soul
to be,
in desperate hope
spiritually free...
(©) 2006 by Jessica Freites
Pushaman
For Mama...Written: Dec. 27, 2007
Pushaman...
If they say you are what you eat,
that must explain why there's so many fake-ass-mothafuckas out there
Cause when I look down at the space that occupies my plate
and all I see is fallacy consisten' of
monosodium glutamate,
potassium sorbate,
blue lake,
sodium nitrate,
and an array of sulfates…
all delightfully put together for us compliments of the
F. D. A.
and for the main entree
they'll be servin' up some sauteed,
I guess you could call it meat
with a side of Red. 40
smothered, simmered, basted, and glistening in
radiated heat
from being grilled to perfection
in a little box called a microwave,
making sure everything we ingest
becomes a catalyst
for a cancerous tumor fortress
in women's breasts
only to leave us distressed
under paramouting amounts of stress
because we're too coo coo for co-co puffs cracked the fuck out on our
OVERsweetened
OVERsaturated
OVERall
OVERprocessed
food that consistently leaves thee
always fatigued
explaining our physically and mentally
UNDERnourished levels of rest.
Although,
I know
my wallet is suffering from the catastrophic pressures of forced duress
since the only food types that seem to suffice
in NOT adding to the shortening of my already
scientifically coldly calculated span of life
are ridiculously
OVERpriced.
But, I'm FDA aristocratically, elitely, and royally fucked,
cause if an IV were to penetrate me this very moment,
I'll be bleeding a Pfizer concoction
that's led me to
OVERstand that our only option
is to prepare ourselves for yet another unforeseen plague of dis-ease
that'll just create another STATE OF EMERGENCY
leading to the need of an urgent vaccine.
See, the WAR is solely an illusion
to distract the masses to the selling of souls to the
TV Dinner God
who governs in the land of
prepackaged food AND minds
to promote RED ALERT LEVELS of
confusion.
And if you really want to speak on terror then I suggest we focus on the modern day
drug war, where we're all becoming
med whores, because their troops are creepin' inside you insides.
and we must start becoming aware of their
covert actions and unleashing of guerilla tactics
upon our cellular composition
cause all we seem to do is sit and listen
to the bullshit
this chemical dictator spits.
Where it lands, rests, and manifests within the confines of my mind and cerebral spinal cortex.
Trickling it's way down-…
…town
to Wall Street
to provide the funds to clone a society, or better yet said, herd
of patriotic sheep,
all in a reality where in actuality, there is
NO democrat or republican
when dealing with a Babylonian government.
Where there's no need for a warhead or a bomb
when all of our food is
palette friendly poison
fed to us to keep the physical ill, emotional depressed, and mind
n u m b
But it's ok…
that's why we got trusty ol' Zoloft.
And I know that those runnin' the medical industry already knew that
cause when you got politicians and doctors investin' in
darvocet,
percocet,
morphine,
and penicillin,
along with
viagra,
immuron, and
amitriptillin
and the answer to every child's behavioral problem is to create a
junkie hooked on ritalin;
and they wanna start bannin' vitamins cause God forbid there's the slightest chance of competition.
Let's re-evaluate
who's really the pushaman
and who is the
victim.
(©) 2007 by Jessica Freites
Pushaman...
If they say you are what you eat,
that must explain why there's so many fake-ass-mothafuckas out there
Cause when I look down at the space that occupies my plate
and all I see is fallacy consisten' of
monosodium glutamate,
potassium sorbate,
blue lake,
sodium nitrate,
and an array of sulfates…
all delightfully put together for us compliments of the
F. D. A.
and for the main entree
they'll be servin' up some sauteed,
I guess you could call it meat
with a side of Red. 40
smothered, simmered, basted, and glistening in
radiated heat
from being grilled to perfection
in a little box called a microwave,
making sure everything we ingest
becomes a catalyst
for a cancerous tumor fortress
in women's breasts
only to leave us distressed
under paramouting amounts of stress
because we're too coo coo for co-co puffs cracked the fuck out on our
OVERsweetened
OVERsaturated
OVERall
OVERprocessed
food that consistently leaves thee
always fatigued
explaining our physically and mentally
UNDERnourished levels of rest.
Although,
I know
my wallet is suffering from the catastrophic pressures of forced duress
since the only food types that seem to suffice
in NOT adding to the shortening of my already
scientifically coldly calculated span of life
are ridiculously
OVERpriced.
But, I'm FDA aristocratically, elitely, and royally fucked,
cause if an IV were to penetrate me this very moment,
I'll be bleeding a Pfizer concoction
that's led me to
OVERstand that our only option
is to prepare ourselves for yet another unforeseen plague of dis-ease
that'll just create another STATE OF EMERGENCY
leading to the need of an urgent vaccine.
See, the WAR is solely an illusion
to distract the masses to the selling of souls to the
TV Dinner God
who governs in the land of
prepackaged food AND minds
to promote RED ALERT LEVELS of
confusion.
And if you really want to speak on terror then I suggest we focus on the modern day
drug war, where we're all becoming
med whores, because their troops are creepin' inside you insides.
and we must start becoming aware of their
covert actions and unleashing of guerilla tactics
upon our cellular composition
cause all we seem to do is sit and listen
to the bullshit
this chemical dictator spits.
Where it lands, rests, and manifests within the confines of my mind and cerebral spinal cortex.
Trickling it's way down-…
…town
to Wall Street
to provide the funds to clone a society, or better yet said, herd
of patriotic sheep,
all in a reality where in actuality, there is
NO democrat or republican
when dealing with a Babylonian government.
Where there's no need for a warhead or a bomb
when all of our food is
palette friendly poison
fed to us to keep the physical ill, emotional depressed, and mind
n u m b
But it's ok…
that's why we got trusty ol' Zoloft.
And I know that those runnin' the medical industry already knew that
cause when you got politicians and doctors investin' in
darvocet,
percocet,
morphine,
and penicillin,
along with
viagra,
immuron, and
amitriptillin
and the answer to every child's behavioral problem is to create a
junkie hooked on ritalin;
and they wanna start bannin' vitamins cause God forbid there's the slightest chance of competition.
Let's re-evaluate
who's really the pushaman
and who is the
victim.
(©) 2007 by Jessica Freites
WORD!
Written August 9th, 2008
WORD!...
Poetical pistols pop off poisonous penetrative projectiles
that propel
profound proverbs and
pronounce pledges and prose
all perfectly off my palette
feeding pumping, injecting and numbing
yo' mind with nutritional paraphernalia
like a potent pick of some pristine and powerful puff of purple haze piff
that with every hit
makes you say
GOD DAAAAAAAAMN THIS IS SOME GOOOOOOD SHIIIT!!!
See, I'm a poet, a word connoisseur of sorts
a reporter and fragment contorter
And to write is my vice, plight, utter delight
and sure as hell
MY GOD GIVEN RIGHT!
My words at times may or may not rhyme
they may or may not ring nor chime
And you ask yourself why?...
Because they're passionate
like fists that want to kiss and reminisce
with your brain
to BUST knowledge into your domepiece
like BOOOOOM!!
with the force of a premie grasping onto the me m o r y...
of their mother's womb
or for most
grasping onto the fear of burying
their mental tombs
Emotionally impaled by the vibrations of
prefix and suffix fix-ations
to fix
my ailments
from the attack of complacent non-stimulations
which bombard us on every
TV Station, Radio Station, Train Station
to keep us all, well
station-ary
as opposed to spawning prose
written in the mental codes of visionaries
But before I unleash the spoken word shank
and vernacular attack
on your fiending and yearning for stimuli crack
and expansionary learning
Pppppppppause.
STOP
and play back the track
rearrange the jazzy free flow over the hard
boooom boooom boooom BAP!
and take a peak behind the mask
Cause I have a secret, you see,
my continual affair with a word, fragment or phrase
to my narcissistic dismay
is primarily need based
Since my psyche tends to get the best of me
and I've been neglecting her for a while now
So I'm being stalked and harassed by nervous
break...
d
o
w
n
s
which has led me to prowl in therapeutic sessioning
that results in no diagnosis and
only the verbal verdict of wordplay sentencing
And well,
I am merely parts of many
a life experience, cultivator, harvester and pack rat
articulating the pack of traps
that abruptly catch, pinch and grasp us
by our sensory follicles
resuscitating our visions
by passionately spitten'
pure liv-id liquids
into the cesspool of third-eye imprisonments
through this audible monocle
Otherwise known as my therapeutic chronicle
But I'm sure you all understand
because for the most part you're here
listening to me, a poet
sit up here and spit
letting every saliva droplet
to drop it
on the ones and twos
and back to the one
solely to son you
with my verbal voodoo
and thank you for making a societal misfits
words fit
because to fit in with the rest of the world's life context
would be
SOME REAL WACK SHIIIIIIIIT!!
...WORD
(©) 2008 by Jessica Freites
WORD!...
Poetical pistols pop off poisonous penetrative projectiles
that propel
profound proverbs and
pronounce pledges and prose
all perfectly off my palette
feeding pumping, injecting and numbing
yo' mind with nutritional paraphernalia
like a potent pick of some pristine and powerful puff of purple haze piff
that with every hit
makes you say
GOD DAAAAAAAAMN THIS IS SOME GOOOOOOD SHIIIT!!!
See, I'm a poet, a word connoisseur of sorts
a reporter and fragment contorter
And to write is my vice, plight, utter delight
and sure as hell
MY GOD GIVEN RIGHT!
My words at times may or may not rhyme
they may or may not ring nor chime
And you ask yourself why?...
Because they're passionate
like fists that want to kiss and reminisce
with your brain
to BUST knowledge into your domepiece
like BOOOOOM!!
with the force of a premie grasping onto the me m o r y...
of their mother's womb
or for most
grasping onto the fear of burying
their mental tombs
Emotionally impaled by the vibrations of
prefix and suffix fix-ations
to fix
my ailments
from the attack of complacent non-stimulations
which bombard us on every
TV Station, Radio Station, Train Station
to keep us all, well
station-ary
as opposed to spawning prose
written in the mental codes of visionaries
But before I unleash the spoken word shank
and vernacular attack
on your fiending and yearning for stimuli crack
and expansionary learning
Pppppppppause.
STOP
and play back the track
rearrange the jazzy free flow over the hard
boooom boooom boooom BAP!
and take a peak behind the mask
Cause I have a secret, you see,
my continual affair with a word, fragment or phrase
to my narcissistic dismay
is primarily need based
Since my psyche tends to get the best of me
and I've been neglecting her for a while now
So I'm being stalked and harassed by nervous
break...
d
o
w
n
s
which has led me to prowl in therapeutic sessioning
that results in no diagnosis and
only the verbal verdict of wordplay sentencing
And well,
I am merely parts of many
a life experience, cultivator, harvester and pack rat
articulating the pack of traps
that abruptly catch, pinch and grasp us
by our sensory follicles
resuscitating our visions
by passionately spitten'
pure liv-id liquids
into the cesspool of third-eye imprisonments
through this audible monocle
Otherwise known as my therapeutic chronicle
But I'm sure you all understand
because for the most part you're here
listening to me, a poet
sit up here and spit
letting every saliva droplet
to drop it
on the ones and twos
and back to the one
solely to son you
with my verbal voodoo
and thank you for making a societal misfits
words fit
because to fit in with the rest of the world's life context
would be
SOME REAL WACK SHIIIIIIIIT!!
...WORD
(©) 2008 by Jessica Freites
This Is the Life...
Throwback mini-gem...lol.
The path of living is on some dope skitzo shit
approached and flipped
into a battle of wits
with hidden agenda tricks full of covert operations and tactics
where the transitional final product is the immaculate gift
of the conception of one's
...LIFE
The trife life, basked in nebular limelights
where the enemy can't come to phase you since they're only dwellin' in
the 2nd dimension,
n'
missed the last ride on the express time continuum
bobbin' n' weavin'
bobbbbbin' n' weavin'
bobbin' n' weaaaaavin'
tetanus infected
jagged wrenches
Constantly attacking your voice of reason
and then you could end up like me and...
Smiling and breathing and moving and healing
Keeping the faith and embracing your inner heathen
Collecting the the day in your memory banks
Psalms sung by sparrows and freedom chants
Navigatin' odyssies next door
Comforter sessions on the spaceship floor
Loathing mediocrity whores
Embracing simplicity...and escaping the bored
This is the LIFE...
(©) 2010 by Jessica Freites
The path of living is on some dope skitzo shit
approached and flipped
into a battle of wits
with hidden agenda tricks full of covert operations and tactics
where the transitional final product is the immaculate gift
of the conception of one's
...LIFE
The trife life, basked in nebular limelights
where the enemy can't come to phase you since they're only dwellin' in
the 2nd dimension,
n'
missed the last ride on the express time continuum
bobbin' n' weavin'
bobbbbbin' n' weavin'
bobbin' n' weaaaaavin'
tetanus infected
jagged wrenches
Constantly attacking your voice of reason
and then you could end up like me and...
Smiling and breathing and moving and healing
Keeping the faith and embracing your inner heathen
Collecting the the day in your memory banks
Psalms sung by sparrows and freedom chants
Navigatin' odyssies next door
Comforter sessions on the spaceship floor
Loathing mediocrity whores
Embracing simplicity...and escaping the bored
This is the LIFE...
(©) 2010 by Jessica Freites
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Hemp Q&A
**Disclaimer: Only those who partake in herbal appreciation will understand this, although it is to explain my specific motivations for smoking. Regardless, if you don't you're probably judging me anyway (cause that's what non-smokers do...or at least how all smokers feel about non-smokers)..it's ok though, soon enough I'll be too far away too care...
Why do you smile, laugh, cry, pretend, celebrate, rejoice, mourn...
Why do you drink, or eat pounds of lard when you're going through that break up from the pits of hell...or when you're celebrating...on any occasion?
Exactly see,
Naturally, I don't like being told that I can't
And it feels good
Because it's a great motivator to stay hydrated and healthy and drink plenty of water
It so casually fulfills my desires to be anti-social
The smoke patterns, especially if the light hits them at just the right angle, look pretty effin gnarly
Music tastes better
And food feels better
If I can light up with you...especially a clip, we just got through stage 1 of breaking down awkward social barriers
At times I want to live in dreams and other times I don't want to remember my dreams...
Why, why do you care so much about...nothing at all?
Other times I engage in self-loathing and it helps me forgive myself
Doing my makeup and rolling blunts turns into arts & crafts...and who doesn't like arts & crafts
I blame the spirits of suburban graveyards and the chaos of concrete jungles
Oh, I blame NY too.
You ever get this one..."What are you running away from?"
Why do you gaze ever so curiously at yourself only to realize you're not who or where you want to be?
It smells like...love.
And in its lack I have a tendency to forget to eat
No one ever committed a violent crime for being too stoned
It's a justifiable reason to laugh more
Bonding over a bowl is a far more intimate experience than bonding over a drink
My creative genius unwinds a bit once the smoke settles
It doesn't talk back
Sometimes I need an energy boost and sometimes I need to go to sleep
And it's way cheaper than a therapist
It's an aphrodisiac...obviously
Sometimes I like myself more that way
I'm probably more productive than a good chunk of the population on my third j
Dancing ...on every level
And after a while the incessant chattering, correction, bickering, of my internal monologue aka my super-conscious, conscious & sub-conscious aka my multiple personalities that I give other fancy titles to not sound like a lunatic, well, they, after a while, they start driving my main personality so mad that I'm not even completely sure which one was the main one to begin with. The weed in turn helps me help you to identify the main me...or at least the one I let you see.
Breathing makes more sense
I'll never feel understood...that's another reason
I'm fond of Mary more than I am most people
Because my insecurities don't ever seem to let me forget who they are...or their stare, point, and cackle.
It feels freakin amazing when you're stretching
I like feeling like I'm not...
Everyone enjoys a good ol' ritualistic oral fixation
So funny, cause I don't even like smoking that much, and I really don't NEED it.
I want it. And I like wanting it.
I don't mind forgetting certain things
You ever feel like everything would just be better in slow-motion?
Sex and showers and even sex in showers penetrate in a tantric kind of way
It's a better alternative than heroin, alcohol, pills, whippets, crack, meth...oh yeah, and cigarettes.
I'm 25, technically with "arthritis" and psychologically knowing that if I was in Cali I'd be good to go with a med card makes me feel as if I'm disenfranchising myself if I didn't
My moms is pretty cool with it
And also due to my moms...from a situational point of view
Family and those people that 'affect you'...it's cause of them too
My crazy is regulated and can be passed off as being quirky and/or 'high'
It makes me lose recollection of...and often remember you, you, and you
And as much as I think I know, I just really don't
Due to days like this
When you've answered the why's, then maybe you'll understand why I do so...and please do let me know. Cause despite our arrival here, I'm still not quite sure myself.
(c) - 2011 Jessica Freites
Why do you smile, laugh, cry, pretend, celebrate, rejoice, mourn...
Why do you drink, or eat pounds of lard when you're going through that break up from the pits of hell...or when you're celebrating...on any occasion?
Exactly see,
Naturally, I don't like being told that I can't
And it feels good
Because it's a great motivator to stay hydrated and healthy and drink plenty of water
It so casually fulfills my desires to be anti-social
The smoke patterns, especially if the light hits them at just the right angle, look pretty effin gnarly
Music tastes better
And food feels better
If I can light up with you...especially a clip, we just got through stage 1 of breaking down awkward social barriers
At times I want to live in dreams and other times I don't want to remember my dreams...
Why, why do you care so much about...nothing at all?
Other times I engage in self-loathing and it helps me forgive myself
Doing my makeup and rolling blunts turns into arts & crafts...and who doesn't like arts & crafts
I blame the spirits of suburban graveyards and the chaos of concrete jungles
Oh, I blame NY too.
You ever get this one..."What are you running away from?"
Why do you gaze ever so curiously at yourself only to realize you're not who or where you want to be?
It smells like...love.
And in its lack I have a tendency to forget to eat
No one ever committed a violent crime for being too stoned
It's a justifiable reason to laugh more
Bonding over a bowl is a far more intimate experience than bonding over a drink
My creative genius unwinds a bit once the smoke settles
It doesn't talk back
Sometimes I need an energy boost and sometimes I need to go to sleep
And it's way cheaper than a therapist
It's an aphrodisiac...obviously
Sometimes I like myself more that way
I'm probably more productive than a good chunk of the population on my third j
Dancing ...on every level
And after a while the incessant chattering, correction, bickering, of my internal monologue aka my super-conscious, conscious & sub-conscious aka my multiple personalities that I give other fancy titles to not sound like a lunatic, well, they, after a while, they start driving my main personality so mad that I'm not even completely sure which one was the main one to begin with. The weed in turn helps me help you to identify the main me...or at least the one I let you see.
Breathing makes more sense
I'll never feel understood...that's another reason
I'm fond of Mary more than I am most people
Because my insecurities don't ever seem to let me forget who they are...or their stare, point, and cackle.
It feels freakin amazing when you're stretching
I like feeling like I'm not...
Everyone enjoys a good ol' ritualistic oral fixation
So funny, cause I don't even like smoking that much, and I really don't NEED it.
I want it. And I like wanting it.
I don't mind forgetting certain things
You ever feel like everything would just be better in slow-motion?
Sex and showers and even sex in showers penetrate in a tantric kind of way
It's a better alternative than heroin, alcohol, pills, whippets, crack, meth...oh yeah, and cigarettes.
I'm 25, technically with "arthritis" and psychologically knowing that if I was in Cali I'd be good to go with a med card makes me feel as if I'm disenfranchising myself if I didn't
My moms is pretty cool with it
And also due to my moms...from a situational point of view
Family and those people that 'affect you'...it's cause of them too
My crazy is regulated and can be passed off as being quirky and/or 'high'
It makes me lose recollection of...and often remember you, you, and you
And as much as I think I know, I just really don't
Due to days like this
When you've answered the why's, then maybe you'll understand why I do so...and please do let me know. Cause despite our arrival here, I'm still not quite sure myself.
(c) - 2011 Jessica Freites
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Marrying Type
is a mess
an inner eccentric mess
The love of my life will be a madman of sorts....i met him...too bad he's damn near charging forth the gateways of insanity.
Living for PASSION! is going to be the death of me...oh well, death is guaranteed regardless.
Sex on skyscraper rooftops...love in the crevices of valleys of darkness. is one of my various meanings of life...all 'meanings' vary depending upon the time of day and day of the week though, naturally.
Now. Generally speaking, the sentiment and the scent of him are moreso more missed than the actual specimen of him...that usually goes for all of you, too.
vulgar...and soft...pull my hair..and gently press your lips on my cheek.
Not the relationship type...but soulmates for specific occasions are in high standing.
cold, often unfeeling, way too entirely giving and a hopeless romantic that falls face first in l - o -...infatuation.
Expert dater...horrified by dating...a great girlfriend...and refuses to acknowledge the concept of marrying...
i like boys I shouldn't...and could care less about the men i should.
At some point...i'll probably hate almost everything about him...but at least he'll stand out in a crowd...
There's something about the madness of it all...that makes me feel perfectly at ease. Boredom...is insanity.
shy...and aggressive. know what i hate, and have no idea what i want.
At what point does any of it ever really make sense?...i guess when posed in different lights reflecting off different mirrors in different rooms...of my mind.
don't even know if i want to be in love...just want to think i am.
Around once a week i come to the conclusion that i'm bi-polar..suffering from depression every other month...and overwhelmed with joy and blessings every 2-4 days.
A good eye fuck will increase your chances of me actually wanting to speak to you.
for me, letting go is as easy as pi or pie...varies in degree.
He needs to relish in book stores...and most likely has a criminal record...that he's not ashamed of. Hopefully it's for a non-violent crime.
frivolously attracted to most...could care about less...and in turn, not particularly inclined to any.
The art of objectifying men...occurs in my world.
not a bad person though...
an inner eccentric mess
The love of my life will be a madman of sorts....i met him...too bad he's damn near charging forth the gateways of insanity.
Living for PASSION! is going to be the death of me...oh well, death is guaranteed regardless.
Sex on skyscraper rooftops...love in the crevices of valleys of darkness. is one of my various meanings of life...all 'meanings' vary depending upon the time of day and day of the week though, naturally.
Now. Generally speaking, the sentiment and the scent of him are moreso more missed than the actual specimen of him...that usually goes for all of you, too.
vulgar...and soft...pull my hair..and gently press your lips on my cheek.
Not the relationship type...but soulmates for specific occasions are in high standing.
cold, often unfeeling, way too entirely giving and a hopeless romantic that falls face first in l - o -...infatuation.
Expert dater...horrified by dating...a great girlfriend...and refuses to acknowledge the concept of marrying...
i like boys I shouldn't...and could care less about the men i should.
At some point...i'll probably hate almost everything about him...but at least he'll stand out in a crowd...
There's something about the madness of it all...that makes me feel perfectly at ease. Boredom...is insanity.
shy...and aggressive. know what i hate, and have no idea what i want.
At what point does any of it ever really make sense?...i guess when posed in different lights reflecting off different mirrors in different rooms...of my mind.
don't even know if i want to be in love...just want to think i am.
Around once a week i come to the conclusion that i'm bi-polar..suffering from depression every other month...and overwhelmed with joy and blessings every 2-4 days.
A good eye fuck will increase your chances of me actually wanting to speak to you.
for me, letting go is as easy as pi or pie...varies in degree.
He needs to relish in book stores...and most likely has a criminal record...that he's not ashamed of. Hopefully it's for a non-violent crime.
frivolously attracted to most...could care about less...and in turn, not particularly inclined to any.
The art of objectifying men...occurs in my world.
not a bad person though...
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Temporary Thoughts...
Too much to say...and not a word in sight...
I'm not even sure what to write...I just need to get THIS...
this all oppressing, mental bulldozer of bitter truths cloaked in spite
out. of. me.
See, matters of the heart are no matter at all...
until you're entrapped in one
until the avalanche breaks into bloodthirsty shards
promising the deepest of scars
pummeled by depth of the fall...and now we're buried in the trenches of the situation...
I mean, I'm serious...
at this point
the tear isn't worth the touch
I have no idea what the hell I'm saying, or what I'm doing here, I just know...it's far too much,
Too much nonsensical fuss, too much regret for the both of us,
for what???...
I guess I did it cause
I'm an idealist
I loved the idea of us
crashing tides of idea lusts
but nonetheless
it's
too much of 'this' one day, 'that' the next,
confusion of truths and personality contexts,
This is just far, far too complex
How can one expect in my current state of mental content to process, digest and spit back out words into the atmospheric vortex
in hopes of attempts at making the most subtle bit of...
sense
**deep breathes**
My sheets still smell of his scent...
I digress...
You CAN'T be melting into numbness...freezing by a hint of touch
...the rhythm of your vibrations warms the breath of life too much,
I wanted to lose myself in your tones, be your melody...
our song could sing to the strings of my touch
Layers of paint, still damp, still encrusted on the tattered brush
to shelter the moments sketched in the crevices of a home built out of rush...
The home I once lived in, a mosaic of hopes collisioned...
Painted projections of a blind fool's vision
Beams of clarity now blurred to a dim
Trust and passion turned illusions of lust and infatuation,
and now all of those things,
no longer within...
no longer intend...
to keep you any longer...
not even as a friend...
The energy you curse me with is of a cold violent wind...
and even an embrace freezes and pains the skin,
Chipping away, Peeling away, Shattering away, Shutting away...
all light of day...
turned icicle rays...
reflecting nothing more than memories in vain...
Diving headfirst down a desolate drain
Nothing more than a black hole dining on my whole,
a puncture wound found at every pressure point of the soul,
jagged holes bleeding stained letters which once had told
a truth that would hold
its index finger down for sometime on rewind, others fast forward, pause and play
generating enough mental foreplay
to keep a silly little girl trained to engage
in a marriage of false promises and smiles of dismay
I do try and leave...
but I can't because your shadow keeps haunting me...
dreams soaked in sedatives of memory...
Forgetting that forgetting will remedy
the damaged molecules of our chemistry
a force to enforce the strength of being this weak...
I know this feeling goes away,
I know its temporary...
but why does it feel so permanently engraved
across the left side of my heart...where our heartbeats intertwined into a braid
fabric woven rhythmically composin' all the minutes of the day...
Wandering into a shadow's trance
I light kerosene lamps
to find daddy issue plagued tramps
begging for self-esteem amps
to be amp-lified
Just so they can be heard by a heart on the outside
Just so they can silently cry
tears that scream only when hidden
Just so they can be seen for the woman within,
not solely recognized in a mask and robe of harlequin skin
But just know, despite
the fact that
I may not ever be 'the one'
the one you see as your wife
I will be the one
the one that solidifies
that you never are really quite right in attempts at loving again
in this life...
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Monday, November 22, 2010
Ban on B.A.N. (Bitch Ass Nikkuhs)
This one goes out to all the fellas who are infected by the bitchass nikkuh disease. Thank you for all the gents that love to run your mouths and the nice young man on the train who seemed to be extraaa shiny for inspiring this...along with all the other faggatrons disguised as men that seem to be running rampant in these times...smh.
Gents, it seems that bitchassdedness has become an epidemic
Please stop frontin like you're the owner of a brand new pair of vaginal lips
afraid to approach a female who can outsmart you in a battle of wits
afraid to put pride aside...
afraid to admit...
let alone ever understanding how to initiate a conversation with a clit...
Are you seriously crying on the internet???...that's not even deemable to be called a tiff
You really should take boxing lessons
cause a mouth that loose calls for a busted lip
No, but really, you got beef on the web??...
Go thump in the street and get your teeth knocked out instead
Now maybe you won't talk so much...get a full time job
exercisin' those gums and jaw
slobbin up some nob
while rockin ya bitches a-cup braw
You...Batman?....helllll nah
Not even Robin,
cause even with your effeminate desires of pressin' up on 'bad' guys with that tightass suit on your skin...
your 'nots' must be tucked...or be a small fit
since they stillllll ain't poppin'
So yes, men, afraid of your own semen,
please go to a gay club with all those unnecessary excuses to act so damn feminine...
Apologies in advance to the 'straight' men who secretly are less suited to strut and more to prance
You know you're an STD dumpster slut…stop worrying about her past
We know what's up...
you got leprechaun meets infant meets midget hands...
Stop braggin' about how many bitches you got tryin' to get in your pants...
be more concerned with a need to socially advance
and knowing how to hold down an income, a home, and a mindfulness of future plans
a desire to truly know yourself...understand
Shit, you're 30 and live at home with your momma
TRUST...you are NOT THE MAN
Actually, with the amount of time you spend in the mirror
I'm surprised you don't practice a Zoolander glance
and that little 2-step dance...
so you can make sure you got your angle right and get on your
"I'm a peacock, please, please, pleaaaaase other dudes in the club, please notice me"
stance...
Your fear of self and emotional acknowledgment
is just a pathetic excuse to inflict,
words rooted in insecure rhetoric
I mean really, so quick to diss, so quick to knit pick
Is this all just a mask to hide your man boobs turned double d tits??
She's too intimidating, she'll break your heart??
Stop using that lame ass excuse to always be the one to inflict the scars...
You fuck with hoes, chickenheads ad grimey bitches,
but technically,
you're their penile equivalent
Silly bird, you're a dude more insecure with mommy issues
than a 15 year old pregnant chick
who dreams of trickin' for a livin'
Someone in your past hurt you so it justifies your current state of being a prick...
I'm tired of the excuses...
Get the fuck over it.
Oh, and while you're at it, you might wanna spit
but be careful before you get his cum stains on your girl's brand new carpet, since she'll surely trip
And while you're at it
Get some lotion on those knees so the rug burn doesn't stick
Men, no emotion?
They don't voice their feelings?
They don't have time to understand love and devotion?
You're in a delusion
grow up and move past it, understand that you're human
Now you might be able to truly materialize your vision
Once you accept that, you'll be more than a man
Until then I have no patience for your over-hyped self-perceptions...
and needs to wallow in sado-masochistic rituals
of female deprecia-tion
She thinks differently, that's a problem??
She's too outspoken??...c'mon son
Your penis is shrinking and your balls are gonna be too small to dot the question mark that is
your constant erectile dysfunction
And of course I can demoralize your image by attacking your phallic self-obsession
Your self-esteem is frail
Forget about the fact that intellectually
your softer than a baby's bottom
Gossip, talk shit, we fucked??...
That's funny considering we've never even hung out, hugged or touched...
let alone kiss...
anyway, I understand...
We could never in real life cause you're probably too paranoid about having a little dick complex
Please, I know you truly wish that you could imaginatively enhance the girth of your 'magic stick'...
Hold up...
Exactly...
It's magic...poof, where'd it go…What happened to it??
So with that, seriously, although I know you're envious,
back the fuck off....
and reeeeeally, hop off myyyyyy dick.
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Gents, it seems that bitchassdedness has become an epidemic
Please stop frontin like you're the owner of a brand new pair of vaginal lips
afraid to approach a female who can outsmart you in a battle of wits
afraid to put pride aside...
afraid to admit...
let alone ever understanding how to initiate a conversation with a clit...
Are you seriously crying on the internet???...that's not even deemable to be called a tiff
You really should take boxing lessons
cause a mouth that loose calls for a busted lip
No, but really, you got beef on the web??...
Go thump in the street and get your teeth knocked out instead
Now maybe you won't talk so much...get a full time job
exercisin' those gums and jaw
slobbin up some nob
while rockin ya bitches a-cup braw
You...Batman?....helllll nah
Not even Robin,
cause even with your effeminate desires of pressin' up on 'bad' guys with that tightass suit on your skin...
your 'nots' must be tucked...or be a small fit
since they stillllll ain't poppin'
So yes, men, afraid of your own semen,
please go to a gay club with all those unnecessary excuses to act so damn feminine...
Apologies in advance to the 'straight' men who secretly are less suited to strut and more to prance
You know you're an STD dumpster slut…stop worrying about her past
We know what's up...
you got leprechaun meets infant meets midget hands...
Stop braggin' about how many bitches you got tryin' to get in your pants...
be more concerned with a need to socially advance
and knowing how to hold down an income, a home, and a mindfulness of future plans
a desire to truly know yourself...understand
Shit, you're 30 and live at home with your momma
TRUST...you are NOT THE MAN
Actually, with the amount of time you spend in the mirror
I'm surprised you don't practice a Zoolander glance
and that little 2-step dance...
so you can make sure you got your angle right and get on your
"I'm a peacock, please, please, pleaaaaase other dudes in the club, please notice me"
stance...
Your fear of self and emotional acknowledgment
is just a pathetic excuse to inflict,
words rooted in insecure rhetoric
I mean really, so quick to diss, so quick to knit pick
Is this all just a mask to hide your man boobs turned double d tits??
She's too intimidating, she'll break your heart??
Stop using that lame ass excuse to always be the one to inflict the scars...
You fuck with hoes, chickenheads ad grimey bitches,
but technically,
you're their penile equivalent
Silly bird, you're a dude more insecure with mommy issues
than a 15 year old pregnant chick
who dreams of trickin' for a livin'
Someone in your past hurt you so it justifies your current state of being a prick...
I'm tired of the excuses...
Get the fuck over it.
Oh, and while you're at it, you might wanna spit
but be careful before you get his cum stains on your girl's brand new carpet, since she'll surely trip
And while you're at it
Get some lotion on those knees so the rug burn doesn't stick
Men, no emotion?
They don't voice their feelings?
They don't have time to understand love and devotion?
You're in a delusion
grow up and move past it, understand that you're human
Now you might be able to truly materialize your vision
Once you accept that, you'll be more than a man
Until then I have no patience for your over-hyped self-perceptions...
and needs to wallow in sado-masochistic rituals
of female deprecia-tion
She thinks differently, that's a problem??
She's too outspoken??...c'mon son
Your penis is shrinking and your balls are gonna be too small to dot the question mark that is
your constant erectile dysfunction
And of course I can demoralize your image by attacking your phallic self-obsession
Your self-esteem is frail
Forget about the fact that intellectually
your softer than a baby's bottom
Gossip, talk shit, we fucked??...
That's funny considering we've never even hung out, hugged or touched...
let alone kiss...
anyway, I understand...
We could never in real life cause you're probably too paranoid about having a little dick complex
Please, I know you truly wish that you could imaginatively enhance the girth of your 'magic stick'...
Hold up...
Exactly...
It's magic...poof, where'd it go…What happened to it??
So with that, seriously, although I know you're envious,
back the fuck off....
and reeeeeally, hop off myyyyyy dick.
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Friday, November 5, 2010
Love and Light...
Love and Light...
unconditionally bright, despite pitfall plights lurking in the most silent darkness of nights, alone, you stand and grow to exponential heights, towering over gray clouds that hover tears overlooking the moon, rising over redwoods and beanstalks in bloom, all with the intention of a child in womb...all with the ascension of rapture spawned out of doom...in the hours where the right and the wrong seem to dance along to a song that's nothing more then penned tragedies, blessings forgone, this ballad is nothing more than a madness psalm, a song sung by madmen, for ages unknown and you're ready to retire as lead in this tune...but all is really more than right because you're still in it, still in the fight, round 12 has approached and your opponent is withered of pride, the swiftness of his strength no longer has you mesmerized, you've managed somehow to hollow the evils inside, his black breath is weak, in dying whispers it begs for reprise, his left hook is shot, his right couldn't make even an infant cry, as he is consumed by the light, he falls to his knees, battered blood pools vanish into nothing more than dust, 'victory' is painted along the tattered canvas, bearing reproach on past visions, obstructions in sight, your opponent was no opponent at all just a mindful eye, a spectator, to witness the winning match of I against I.
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Friday, July 23, 2010
Venting Adorned in Poetical Face Paint...
I feel like everrryone can relate to this to an extent...that's the funny part. We're all so connected in our forms and manners of disconnection in hopes of self-understanding. But well, sometimes you don't need anyone to relate to you, you just need to be you...you need to be able to SCREAM and be left completely alone. You may want the whole world to HEAR you and could really give less of a fuck if anyone actually LISTENS...just as long as you weren't told..."Hey, stop shouting"...when in actuality you're just breathing...LOUDLY.
This is not poetry...this is me venting...this is me telling you, Hey! how ya doing...actually, no 'how ya doing,' just me telling you how I feel. This is what's driving me insane at the current moment...this is what's making me feel like me yesterday made more sense than me today and me tomorrow is my only hope for today...this is what's making it excruciating to have a conversation of substance with 99% of the population 99% of the time. This is why I smoke...regularly...this is why I cry in the name of joy and laugh in moments of suffering. This is why I'm me and you're you and we vibe AMAZINGLY or not...at...all (despite what you may think). This is not a cry for help, it is a testimonial of what is...I'm not requesting pity, nor understanding...I don't want a follow-up conversation...that's why I'm writing this as opposed to speaking this...although...This is not poetry.
This is the way my hand holds my heart, my fingers yell, my pen screams, my notepad processes and my ink bleeds...for me...in the name of MY understanding. This is venting. This is not a letter...there is no 'Dear so-and-so'...or 'To Whom It May Concern'...it may concern no one. I'm fine with that. Actually I prefer it that way, because if you're concerned, you shouldn't be and having to UN-concern you would only deplete me of more energy which has already seeped and drained through my...vents...pun intended. This is not poetry.
If I wanted pity and/or attention I would have let myself cry in front of all of you a long time ago...I'll cry later...Otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten so good at smiling...all the time. I would've made you feel lucky...or hate yourself...or hate me...for complaining so much, about the most insignificant matters of life...of your life...because those matters don't really matter to anyone but yourself, let alone hold any matter of weight in life...pun intended. But...I listen...I smile, laugh, bitch...about the stupid shit, so you'll never really know what I'm venting about...you wouldn't understand anyway...there is no room for interpretation...This is not poetry.
This is not a rant...well, maybe a little...this is me venting. Pumping air out of my lungs, my words escaping breath, seeking refuge from ears, so they can fall and plummet into an abyss that lies somewhere between Pg. 0 and infinite...absorbed and eternally embraced... and only existing...here. This is me figuring out where my loyalties lie...where my words' best interests are the topic of non-discussion...where they resonate past your perception and are silently heard. This is me telling you I know what's best for me without telling you a damn thing...not to mention, I refuse to take advice from someone just as, if not more emotionally and mentally challenged than myself...no thank you...no critiques necessary...
This is not poetry.
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Assault on Emotional Intelligence (EQ)
For me to write this is almost self-defeating...I shouldn't acknowledge human weakness, right?...actually I should, it's probably one of the only conditions WE all have in common...and this here...this is MY platform, MY stage, MY "connection" to relating, helping YOU help ME...
MY ego might like to believe...
I might just be helping YOU...speaking on behalf of YOU, YOU and YOU...oh and YOU too....making the other YOU maybe step back relax, inhale and prevent your other inner YOU from acting like a blithering idiot...the one standing over there...yeah, HIM...or HER.
But we're all ONE...right?...that's what one of my YOUs is telling me to tell YOU...
My insecure ME is smirking as YOU read this...thank YOU for that.
By definition, 50% of the population is below average -- where intelligence is concerned...look around...which one of YOU is it?
And what kind of intelligence are we talking about here??...the one that got a 1400 on the SATs?...no, no. The one that can memorize and recite formulas and verses and equations
and put to rest the rest of anything taken out of context found in a text-book...or even a text?...
shake...
MY...
head...
Nahhhh, not that one. Wait, wait...lemme think, I almost got it, I feel it, I can't really describe it...I mean, YOUUUUU know?...right? Common sense isn't common and feelings are often the victims of perpetual serial suicide. We hold on to insecurity more than we do love...oh wait, that's cause we can't hold on to love...
it holds on to us,
if it chooses...
Let me rephrase that; we grasp insecurity firmly, violently, passionately pressed to our chest...with nails carving "I LOVE YOU" in so deeply that the pool of blood on the floor leaves us where we started...
alone,
with only a reflection at best...
But yet...
we keep grasping tighter and deeper and longer...Time doesn't even have this much dedication...and our loyalty is measured by our own emotional destruction...
We love to hate love...
We love to hate...ourselves...
MY wrists have converted to jackhammers and now I can barely see the bits of my nailbeds because they're nailed in,
embedded
in-bed-dead
tossing and turning, drowning in red-rum nightmares, hemorrhaging hearts,
cesspool typhoons, thimbled fingers nailing looms,
sewing towels to sop up the mess...fabric smiles to shield, using them to fight...
ourselves and the aborted notions of
future happiness.
Oh insecurity...
emotional intelligence only has so much patience for your antics...
the same insecurity that forces a male to think more with his head's foreskin...
to feel like the MAN upon
penetration,
to say "I Love You's" one day, I never cared the next, let's fuck on the third, and c'mon you always knew you were my favorite...
Let's be together now, before I was scared...
I wasn't sure if you'd always be there, I miss you, I miss your stare...
but wait let me figure out how to keep the others engaged...you know, just in case...you go astray...
I'm still the MAN...they still see me...I don't see them though, it's only you...
I just keep them around to remind me how special you are...
You don't feel the same?...the memory of our lie isn't entertaining to you, you're not amused by my games?
It's a waste of time?...Oh no???
Well fuck you, you're just another chickenhead hoe..anyway...
the same insecurity that has her more concerned with destroying her past lovers love interests than nurturing the self-love which she continues to neglect...
We have so much history, I can't let you leave...
you complete me...
I'm loyal, so loyal I'll kill myself and kill you
all in the name of a love that doesn't even acknowledge absolute truth...
and I'll hold on and grip, and to shreds I will make sure to rip
anything that destroys my wedding bell dreams...
even if the memory of we is really a nightmare...
even if it means you hating me and me hating you
but it doesn't matter cause as long as I own you
in my playhouse then I can play house and pretend there's a we and to be the woman
I will never know as me...
the same insecurity that has my ethnic brethren chillen at the bottom of economic stepladders because a pair of fly kicks and stacks fatter than the content of our gray matter is what really matters...right?...
Let them know how proud you are, how loud you can scream
BORICUA!! DOMINCANO!! LATINO!!...
let them know how loud your bass thumps, how to thump on your children's temples and self-esteem,
how to instill...fear...
how to have THE MAN fear you...
just make sure you clock in on time so THE MAN can keep feeding you...
Make sure your hair and nails are done,
the gold on your chest lies precisely in sight...the gems in your ears make me you a conquistador queen...
You just haven't conquered how to feed your children food that won't poison their Spanglish tongues and not turn them into
illiterate fiends....
Insecurity, the imaginary best friend we never had...
In-Security; i.e., NON-Secure...Does that make any sense???? holding on to the non-secure???...
"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and
expecting different results. "
-Benjamin Franklin
And yet these insecurity cycles continue...we see them in every aspect of society...every human, every culture, every generation, every relationship, every YOU, every ME, every WE...and we embrace them more than truth...we fight wars over them, we commit "crimes of passion" over them, we raise future emotional terrorists because of our need to project these wounds onto the exact beings which are supposed to be products of our "love" and in doing so we continue to fail miserably on the Emotional Intelligence scale. We forget that love predates us...It is not dependent upon our definition. We must learn its definition, we must live its definition...even if we can't write a 1500 word SAT essay on it.
It exists with or without YOU...it is not conditioned upon us and our insecurities...which means it is bigger than and more powerful than ALL of us...
Let love condition YOU...
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
MY ego might like to believe...
I might just be helping YOU...speaking on behalf of YOU, YOU and YOU...oh and YOU too....making the other YOU maybe step back relax, inhale and prevent your other inner YOU from acting like a blithering idiot...the one standing over there...yeah, HIM...or HER.
But we're all ONE...right?...that's what one of my YOUs is telling me to tell YOU...
My insecure ME is smirking as YOU read this...thank YOU for that.
By definition, 50% of the population is below average -- where intelligence is concerned...look around...which one of YOU is it?
And what kind of intelligence are we talking about here??...the one that got a 1400 on the SATs?...no, no. The one that can memorize and recite formulas and verses and equations
and put to rest the rest of anything taken out of context found in a text-book...or even a text?...
shake...
MY...
head...
Nahhhh, not that one. Wait, wait...lemme think, I almost got it, I feel it, I can't really describe it...I mean, YOUUUUU know?...right? Common sense isn't common and feelings are often the victims of perpetual serial suicide. We hold on to insecurity more than we do love...oh wait, that's cause we can't hold on to love...
it holds on to us,
if it chooses...
Let me rephrase that; we grasp insecurity firmly, violently, passionately pressed to our chest...with nails carving "I LOVE YOU" in so deeply that the pool of blood on the floor leaves us where we started...
alone,
with only a reflection at best...
But yet...
we keep grasping tighter and deeper and longer...Time doesn't even have this much dedication...and our loyalty is measured by our own emotional destruction...
We love to hate love...
We love to hate...ourselves...
MY wrists have converted to jackhammers and now I can barely see the bits of my nailbeds because they're nailed in,
embedded
in-bed-dead
tossing and turning, drowning in red-rum nightmares, hemorrhaging hearts,
cesspool typhoons, thimbled fingers nailing looms,
sewing towels to sop up the mess...fabric smiles to shield, using them to fight...
ourselves and the aborted notions of
future happiness.
Oh insecurity...
emotional intelligence only has so much patience for your antics...
the same insecurity that forces a male to think more with his head's foreskin...
to feel like the MAN upon
penetration,
to say "I Love You's" one day, I never cared the next, let's fuck on the third, and c'mon you always knew you were my favorite...
Let's be together now, before I was scared...
I wasn't sure if you'd always be there, I miss you, I miss your stare...
but wait let me figure out how to keep the others engaged...you know, just in case...you go astray...
I'm still the MAN...they still see me...I don't see them though, it's only you...
I just keep them around to remind me how special you are...
You don't feel the same?...the memory of our lie isn't entertaining to you, you're not amused by my games?
It's a waste of time?...Oh no???
Well fuck you, you're just another chickenhead hoe..anyway...
the same insecurity that has her more concerned with destroying her past lovers love interests than nurturing the self-love which she continues to neglect...
We have so much history, I can't let you leave...
you complete me...
I'm loyal, so loyal I'll kill myself and kill you
all in the name of a love that doesn't even acknowledge absolute truth...
and I'll hold on and grip, and to shreds I will make sure to rip
anything that destroys my wedding bell dreams...
even if the memory of we is really a nightmare...
even if it means you hating me and me hating you
but it doesn't matter cause as long as I own you
in my playhouse then I can play house and pretend there's a we and to be the woman
I will never know as me...
the same insecurity that has my ethnic brethren chillen at the bottom of economic stepladders because a pair of fly kicks and stacks fatter than the content of our gray matter is what really matters...right?...
Let them know how proud you are, how loud you can scream
BORICUA!! DOMINCANO!! LATINO!!...
let them know how loud your bass thumps, how to thump on your children's temples and self-esteem,
how to instill...fear...
how to have THE MAN fear you...
just make sure you clock in on time so THE MAN can keep feeding you...
Make sure your hair and nails are done,
the gold on your chest lies precisely in sight...the gems in your ears make me you a conquistador queen...
You just haven't conquered how to feed your children food that won't poison their Spanglish tongues and not turn them into
illiterate fiends....
Insecurity, the imaginary best friend we never had...
In-Security; i.e., NON-Secure...Does that make any sense???? holding on to the non-secure???...
"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and
expecting different results. "
-Benjamin Franklin
And yet these insecurity cycles continue...we see them in every aspect of society...every human, every culture, every generation, every relationship, every YOU, every ME, every WE...and we embrace them more than truth...we fight wars over them, we commit "crimes of passion" over them, we raise future emotional terrorists because of our need to project these wounds onto the exact beings which are supposed to be products of our "love" and in doing so we continue to fail miserably on the Emotional Intelligence scale. We forget that love predates us...It is not dependent upon our definition. We must learn its definition, we must live its definition...even if we can't write a 1500 word SAT essay on it.
It exists with or without YOU...it is not conditioned upon us and our insecurities...which means it is bigger than and more powerful than ALL of us...
Let love condition YOU...
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Monday, April 26, 2010
Untitled Love Poem
The beauty often lies in the shadows…
where the curves and dips lurk
awaiting the shadows of another
Only in the coolest of shade
such deeply misunderstood trenches are
a bed bred of
warm breath n’
hot sweat
enough passion and sex
to keep the dimming lighthouse
within ya chest
fueled,
beaming, gleaming and streaming
up
massaging the nape of your neck
deep tissuing your spinal cortex
and
surging, cracking and blasting
the thick walls of your tunnel vision mask n’
Now,
the same curves and dips are baskin’ in
….light…
in the dance of
rays n’ wind
….bright…
just raise ya hand
…right…
…never the left…
Feel me.
See,
cause, I was chillen
alone, numb and cold
in my maximum security snowglobe
Forced to reflect upon walls
of tainted mirrors made of distorted glass
Pictures painting self-portraits portraying crystal ball futures
laden of false pasts…
My solitary snowglobe…
But you,
you helped me bust
through the frosted dome…
(all three of them…ha)
And now the shards of broken glass
reflect spiderglassed glimmers
of memories past
With the sun’s hand reaching down
to wipe away the debris of dust
clouding future’s path
No more are we on the inside looking out
nor merely on the outside looking in
We’re IN our outside
and OUTISDE our in
and when we philosophize and dwell upon
each other’s skin
there’s a loophole in time
and a shift in spatial atmospheric
conditions
That when we breathe to each other
we generate….wind
So bold and so transcendent
Sweeping away the still hollow solitudes
of snowglobes within
So put ya right hand up and
FEEL ME.
Feel his words breathe…
You take my breath away…
actually,
I gave it to you willingly.
Let that same breath
be the oxygen that lights THAT flame
within ya chest
guarding it
with a bullet proof vest…
My hide-out vestibule
for blind love-fools
shell-shocked
from cherub bows and arrows
and hollow tip travels
into the cores of
right and left ventricles
With shock absorbent forces
to absorb the clamorous stampede
of horses
who’ve trampled my heart
in previous affairs
with an
“I’ll always be there…”
type of sentiment
But you…you’re different
Cause you,
You make me feel a certain kinda way
You know, that certain kinda way when your glances
play tag…
that glance you get withdrawals from and fiend for
that glance that later develops into a stare
A stare…that’s always lingering
riiiiiiiight….there.
Cause regardless of your physical
where…
abouts
there is no doubt
that you SEE me
You see me,
You know me,
You HOLD me with your gaze
speaking to me
at my dream’s peak
and as intimidatingly
as it may be
I want it…
That feeling
You know that feelin’
you be feelin’
when you’re feelin’ like ya illin’
like a group of children
who just
went in on
some sugary sweet
Sour Patch chilerrrins
So sweet, so so so sooo sweet
You’re gonna need
some new fillings
to bite, to suck, to lick, to fuck
to harness your inner smut…
Well,
that’s the other side of that certain kinda way feelin’
When the idea of his seminal seed
implants itself into your
bed of thought
to sprout various versions of perversions
adorned in thoughts of romance
n’
holding hands
n’
all that corny shit
that’s got you smitten,
lifted
off into an outer planetary trip
trippin’
off endorphins
cause the horizons of bodies in different orbits
make me want to astral project myself
into your landscape’s orifices.
To learn the shadow of your eclipse
and experience the constellation of your
Big Dip-
per
and I’ll stay and get lost in you and you’ll get lost in me
just to come to realize that
we
as one
are universal consciousness in love
The beauty often lies in the shadows…
where the curves and dips lurk
awaiting the shadows of another
- © 2010 by Jessica Freites
Friday, February 12, 2010
No Homo - You're Gay
"You can't be fuckin people in the ass and say that you're a gangsta" Thank you Method Man for the clarification.
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