"Our minds are the product of total immersion in daily experience saturated with fabrications to a degree unprecedented in human history"
                         - Thomas de Zengotita


The Lines of Vanity


Erratically aware of the tenacious gravity slowly crushing the insides of my being
My lips part and give way to heavy solidified breathing
Density which abrasively hints at the discomposure taking place inside these
Membrane walls
like fog its thickened hue weaves patterns in the city frost
Starkly contrasting the burn of disintegrated flesh like coal
Sister to the arctic edifice of my ambiguous soul
Its cold- the woven scarf tightens around my neck
Its warmth sufficing only long enough to remind me that I am not yet dead
A loose noose of dissimulated protection hanging me by the tension of its perfection
One last attempt to release life from my eyes like manuscripts tears tell of hauntings of a headless soldier cries
Sleeping weeping hollows deceased-that is me or rather I am she in glamour dipped- for my mind owed me everything I ever had to give
Keeping locked into its crevices the ability to think

I trudge- a passive step closer to the rainbow on this green mile
Stretch of desolate corners capered vengeance of the days tiled
With linoleum of cheap teeth- glaring of the remains of whats not there to eat
It has been three days since I last smelled the sweet
Aroma of water
Add three to these dreams, multiplied by 24 consistant 60’s times itself
since the time I last tasted its merciful help
This cannot be granted- taken, shaken or vanquished
Unrenewable source of deaths prancing casualties
Leaves a chilling fear of gravity that’s already crushing the insides of my being

- Mayra Pereira ©2010

Driving to pick up my mom from work one day, we are sitting at a red light and as I look over there is a homeless woman on the side of the road. Approaching the light, she had been standing at the corner with her sign- but as the car rolled to a stop I saw her turn away from the street and sit down on a small rock, and just cry. Heavy heaving cries- deep sobs into her sleeves. I could not hear her, but as she turned her face to the sky in agony I could almost make out her lips crying out to God in dispair. My heart was broken and I was infuriated. Suddenly nothing made sense anymore. Here I sat in this black shiny 2009 BMW, all the works, but I had not a single dollar to give her. How could I show my face to this woman and tell her that I didnt have a dime to my name- but that God loved her? And then do what? Get back in my BMW and drive away? My blood boiled- how could a seeming blessing be such a curse in a time like this. I prayed- tears streaming- my heart shattered- angry I fought with God. WHY? Why does she have to go through this? HOW? How can I possibly sit here fussing about my situation in complete helplessness unable to provide any financial assitance to her and yet I have what most would look at as priviledge? Now it is a curse. I felt embarrassed. I don't know if any of you have ever in your life experienced the suffering of anothers heart- but that day God put her burden in mines. As I looked at her sobbing, it was as if I sat there on the rock next to her. I failed her that day- not because I didnt give her a dollar or 5 or 10, not because I didnt buy her a meal, but because I didn't get out of my car and share with her the most valuable thing I had- the truth of God's love and salvation. The light changed to green, and when we came back around 10 mins later- she was gone. But the impression of that moment, although she may never know, has marked me forever. My heart will always carry a small piece of hers, and I trust that God heard my prayer on her behalf, but I am not satisfied with a cowardice prayer. I need to do more. Homeless is a piece that came from that day, really trying to put mind in a place outside myself. I have not yet finished it, but this is where the verse has stayed as of now. My prayer is this- God use me. That is all- letting myself be in the disposition of God's servanthood and maybe one day God will grant me the opportunity to see her again. 

Taste Of Regret- Stefanotto

I heard this song a few days ago- and have had it on repeat ever since. The first time around I was caught in a daze between the musical arrangement and experiencing the studio atmosphere exposed on the video. It was that instant click of good music, you know you like it from the first few seconds. Still, to say that I was satisfied with the first play would not do the song justice- the depth of the lyrics are what immersed my curiosity and I found myself mirrored in the versed emotions of musical frontiersmen Stefanotto. He clipped out a few pages from a chapter in his life, strung it to music, and echoed back to me words from my story I could not yet form. Naturally there's a few noun substitutions but unquestionably the details remain unchanged.

Anytime we listen to a song, the meaning formed via our processing lens, through which we not only see ourselves and our world but we interpolate on the basis of our past experiences; is slightly altered to adjust to a refreshed understanding of self. The meaning of this song is bifold for me. Not only can I relate to Stefanotto's bars in the sense of his response to a relationship in his past- but the words "the endless taste of regret," resonated in my mind. The taste of regret IS endless... its bitter. We can never undue the things we regret. Three things in life we can never take back- Time, Words, and Opportunities. This is what cuts the deepest- this is that first cut, the acknowledgement that it is out of our control and we must live with it.

So the taste of regret lives on, but will it die? Can it die? Yes. I believe so. I don't want to live with it any longer. It is not to forlorn and prolong the wretched weight of regret but instead to part from it. Coming to terms with the fact that in my life I cannot take time back, I cannot unspeak my words, or regain opportunities missed, only makes me see that I don't even want to have to do so again. The only way to undue the endless taste of regret- for me- is to be bold and wise. Bold? Why bold? Because it takes boldness to make decisions that we will not regret- they are usually the hardest and they usually call for a pull of character. Shaping of character never comes painlessly. Wisdom? Because it takes wisdom to recognize the value of the moment we are living in, wisdom to speak in love, and wisdom to see God's open doors and run through them. So this song- which relates Stefanotto's story of a relationship dissolved by the time, words, and opportunities taken for granted- really runs like a sharp blade. Its about recognizing that not everything in life turns out the way we want- not everyone we love will see love the way we do- time doesn't heal all wounds it just changes the perspective of its pain and its regret. This is her regret. This is mines. This is his. We want it all- its bittersweet.

"we are engaged but want the bridal showers..."



Free the Music

Lastnight I went to check out a show of a fellow musician, and I must say the quality and soul in each beat was invigorating. There's something that spurs from the heart of an artist that can only be identified as one thing- Freedom. The words that reverberated in the room were sustained in mid-air by the passion drenched depth of his voice. Immersed in the resonance of his music, it was refreshing to see the transparency with which Frankie 'Brownstudy' Rosado brought a direct message to his audience. From my seat in the back of the room, I found myself caught in an ironic parallel. I was inspired and brought to respect for a genuine musical soul yet heartbroken to see the apathy with which others in the room trudged out. I sat there in awe that such a captivating and veritable message would be met with a shrug of indifference. Then it hit me- this is the life we have chosen. This is the life of an artist. Anything that we create comes directly from the depths of our emotions, where congruency and sense don't necessarily take part in the truth of our world. We are the only ones who can free the music inside of us only to be met many times by deaf ears and cold hearts.

That is the parallel- one cannot exist without the acknowledgement of the other. Understanding that what we do, what Brownstudy does, what I do, and what countless creative souls in this world do- will be coupled with the reality that not all audiences will see through to the core of the situation. And so I propose this- If music were only beats, and art was only paint and pencils, and if words were only left on paper, and if nothing was to sustain the breathe of these pieces- then what color would this world have? How then could people such as Brownstudy come to the understanding that their passion is more than just a quick step on a short journey called life- but in reality an outlet for all things divine? That the creator of this Universe would have at one moment looked at emptiness and envisioned the very detailed threads that hold our figments together- God was an artist, God was a musician, God was a poet. It was art that brought us to existence and not even the wildest of imaginations could predict the wonders of the world that awaits us post-pardom. The sound of this world is the melodic drumline that times the beat of our passing days.We have become so comfortable with its role that we take it for granted not capturing that silence is truely stunning to experience. The vision of vibrancy around us is shambled by the ruins of our greedy nature that grants us a vain permission to destroy and decease the beauty of its contents, his masterpiece. The Word- the transcending stand of the potent irrevocable truth of his Word, breathes a spirit of liveliness into all that douse into the scriptured lines. This is Art- this is Music- this is real.

So I commend and tip my hat to all who, like me, only seek to impact lives even in the tiniest of ways; to make an imprint with what God has purposefully placed in our genetic composition. We cannot escape it. Even though some may turn away, like Brownstudy proved lastnight, our job is just to be bold and put it out- the rest is up to them and God. I write not to persuade but to expand your intellectual hunger. Maybe after you read this you call it bluff but this is the bottom line- free the music. No industry, no man-made machine of catastrophic social design, no award could ever merit the validity of the soul in music. Good Music. Music that strengthens the spirit and speaks truth to this generation of crippled blanks. These are real people- this is real down to the mars stuff. Don't drown it out in the ruckus of yesterdays noise- this is today's story put to the test and strung on notes. I urge you to check him out- www.brownstudymusic.com and be enlightened to the encounter of new music. If you are anything like me- I am always on the search for innovation- this is it. And like him there are so many others putting out music that edifies and awakens consciousness. Don't be fearful to take a step in the direction that will lead you to exploring your passion- find yourself and free your music. Like Brownstudy says- "I just want to be me..."


Hate Is An Ugly Color

How far would you go for the one you love? Would you die? The word sacrifice is so commonly underestimated- and we have no idea what it really means to die. It breaks my heart to see this and know that my faith is never put into question and even still there are times when I let myself fall short of his love- God's love. Still there are people in this world who die daily and all they ask for is our prayers. And I forget to pray!? Our global view is so skewed and erroneously concrete. OPEN OUR EYES. This is reality, this is our reality. I would trade my comfort to be put to the test- shame on me for ever thinking life is tough. What do you stand for? Do you stand at all!? My heartaches. Am I even capable of loving God as much as He loved me? Can my love surprass the hate that the persecutors have for God? To kill a life for love? And here we sit caught up on nonsense- they've got our minds so tangled in a web of toys and fairytales we can't even look at the reflection of the world. Get over yourself- get over your petty temptations and stand face for God. Sin is a choice not an impossion, and God gave us that freewill because he wanted us to love him by choice not by force. This is what it takes to love.


The Adam

There is something just so jawdropping and undeniably irresistable about a man. Not just any man- The Adam. Allow me to explain.

The Adam:

A man who is unique, standing out not because he has a particular brand but because his charisma and aura dress his every step. He is intellectual and witty, charming and refreshing. Loves God. And best of all- Always looks clean. This is The Adam. He's the first, he reinvents the wheel- he brings his own daringly ambitious sense adamant in taking steps where others are scared to venture. Not just in the fashion world but in the mind. I love a man for his mind. Let me undress your thoughts- escapade through the curves of your vision- engulf myself in the sound of your voice. Intoxicating. The Adam is selective- a mix of urban and high culture that is decorated with passion for life. He exudes confidence and respect- not cockiness but more so in a humble comfort in his own skin. Let's embrace this gentleman my male cohorts- he's dormant in all of you. Its a process of finding The Adam inside- the essence of YOU. That is the only science- be YOU and be Loved for it.


The Tale- The Handmaid's Tale

Fact 1. I love to read.

I Die for knowledge- I am social feign. I recently found myself immersed in the storyline of A Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. True, I stumbled upon it not be mere coincidence but as part of my intricate Women Studies course, but never the less the story gave birth to these words I want to share with you. In order to really fully comprehend the metaphorical parallel to the story you will need to familiarize yourself with the themes tangled in its pages. (sparknotes.com will probably do the trick) The novel tells the story of a woman stripped of her identity- struggling to survive in a society which oppresses the intricate workings of everything feminine and reduces them to sex and labor. Excuse the crude language that may follow I usually don't have such a dirty mouth- but there is purpose behind these words directly linked to the text. My words are moved by emotion and passion- my only hope to awaken in you the same. Enjoy!

A Garden Named Gilead

These thoughts of vengeful intellect are fleeting
Only slightly standing in victory as passing history repeats
Not the creator of time but the forger of lies
Fiery pit of Dystopian hell that only burns the genitals of women like me
I’ve come too far to turn back
The reality is numbing
A sensation of candor giddiness that tickles the fermented core of this silver heart
Reminding me of times when its beat once felt alive
Now mushed into the depths of my rib cage
Pushed into the outskirts of my mind
Rather their minds, for mines has become a phlegmatic array of error
Meticulously picked apart for all its matter
A fictitious emblem of life

Could the winds that whisper softly outside my darkened window
Tell the secrets that my soul desperately seeks to cherish
Crying fainter than a willow’s branches hanging limply to the fleeing breeze
This mind is a disease, intoxicated in vague lustful desire
To be lustfully desired- evidence that my womanhood may still exist
Longing to be held to the beat of a lover’s heart in passions thud
Instead I lay covered in this muck, of tragedy
Not a single word to speak
Damned be the Eves of this forbidden Garden
Feeding the hungry mouths of snakes as Adam sleeps
Betrayed by the single seconds passed
I naked could never turn back

Too long the distance I’d have to run, could I even recall the path
Slowly stir the current candy of tasteless commands
The glossy reflection of vowels sting, my lips ache to make out their ring
To resound like a scream of jealous fury
Hate me and break me- take what once made me
But these intermitting flashes of consciousness
Can never be reproached
Never loathed the bourgeoisie, until it outdid me
Consider an elite form of death
A sentence to starvation of feminine breathe
A suffocation of everything red, drenched in the blood staining rain of sex
Limbs of sensual senseless skin step cautiously
Stretched over the horizon that paints the sky scarlet
The wall that divides me from my fait
Plastered in membrane of valiant guts, I remain
Slave to the side I embark to resign
To never turn back the hands of time
In my mind I’ve tried

Ive failed
Complacent in nothing yet this is my tale
Like hundreds before me and numerous yet frail
Get over the hype you may be the one
To strike back and blot out the weapons of mass destruction
The lips of sinful loveless
know nothing more of these
Own nothing but blackened wasted knees
Scraped with the prayers to a God who hears the meek
Personifying his bodied soul- weary be the captain ghosts
Inheritance was promised for those like me
Breasts that milk the rivers running deep to infertile grounds
Wrenched the drops of its honey stinging the areola of its endowed crown

Turn away- run back- be free in your mind
Never let these bastards take part in murderous demise
All that is you be prepared to package
Carry the luggage like the branding passport of envy
Stamped with the parallels of worlds transferred in time like a stitch
Touch not the forbidden fruit for you will surely shrivel in sickening cringe
Welcome to the this Garden, the land of theocratic manipulation
Dissertation of wombs executed for verdicts of hysteria and truth
Melody of a common thread, weaving the cloth of this crimson bed
Serene is the joy that comes from ignorance
To be caught in your own trap
Lays the foundations cracked with cement
Be weary as you enter the gates of Gilead.

-Mayra Pereira ©2010

All material published and written on this page comes directly from Mayra Pereira and is therefore my property, and subject to its protection. Please respect the Art.

Obstruction of Justice

Allow me to introduce the demise of innocence as we know it- My sisters. So commonly the misconeption thrives that in order to understand our world and how it moves we must be tainted by its sin. Still nothing tickles new frontiers like the fingers of a crisp untouched soul. Uncanny sense of fashion and rawness that is only enhanced by the severity of their beauty and intellect, not a day goes by that these two don't cease to amaze me, I love them. The making of the future is in our hands- let's take it on with elegance and ingenious taste for fresh. 

Envy the Influence

Some paramount form of concrete soul oozing from the depths of our being when no one is watching defining the very stamp highly crowned as cool- this is an Elite. A class of distinction that can only be achieved through an alterior realization that self is the only thing left to posses and exhibit.

INFLUENCERS FULL VERSION from R+I creative on Vimeo.


Carnal Institution

Sometimes... we just have to question what is really ours....

Rarely do we question what is ours, possession thus marking an undeniable territory that stands only to testify that we belong. But where do we belong? What is this place that creates this sense of comfort that tickles the fancy of our being in knowing this is our space? The answer lies in the folds of the things that we call ours. We do not question them because they are us. To threaten the existence of our right to own would merely prove to be a corruption of civilized truth that only stands the test of time.  Our things- Our space. It is not in principle the extension of self to material fabrication but rather the reflection of self in the mirror of our surroundings. Questioning such propriety, scribed in the inlaid portrait of our social atmosphere would undermine a foundation that preceded our birth- a social agenda. This social agenda chronicled to make u believe that in this culture- you have a world. That it is yours and if there is anything that they can’t steal- that is your Identity. What they don’t tell you… is that they’ve sold it to you.  You have nothing. We are mindlessly taught to believe that everything we wake up to is our reality. We’ve acquired a sense of motionless hurry where day in and day out our hours weave through lost moments and the only thing that is vivid in our day- is the truth that it was ours. The face of space changes- but the nature of space never will. In essence- what you are is what you see, what you see is what you want to be.  We gather around us ways to perform our lives- the things we own. So space never leaves, we are just constantly redefining it by our things.  The things we do not own. Our space is social- these lifeless characters are the intricate ways in which we prepare ourselves to lead the role we have chosen. Space can only be defined by time and time brings it to an end.  These are the things we love.

Time makes a place for us to develop who we want to be- let’s name time Life.
These places in Life where we develop ourselves- let’s name them Experience.
These Experiences generate guidelines - let’s name these guidelines Values.
These Values define our surroundings- let’s name these surroundings Community.
This Community structures the people in our Life- lets call these people Family.
This Family forms a space- Let’s call this space Heart.
This Heart births thoughts- Let’s call these thoughts Mind.
This Mind makes us believe we exist- let’s call this existence ME.
Me only  thrives as long as Life is present.

Therefore everything inhabits our space has been stamped with the certificate of time and it is only a matter of time before these things no longer define our space. My space is as follows:

The Space of Self-Evaluation

The Space of Social-Self. Friend or Foe.

The Space of Self-Discovery

The Space of Self-Awakening

The Space of Self-Fullfillment

The Space of Self-Ambition

The Space of Self-Reality

Our space, the things that we define as ours, exist in our minds. It is our adaptation of them as our very own that gives them a value and a power to shape our Identity. As social beings, thriving in social space, the performance of self is inevitably contingent upon its proper interpretation through our community. They define who we want to be, not because they control us but because we perform socially therefore we are reflected back to ourselves through their eyes. It is that matter that they see is as we want to be seen that validates our space and our Identity. That is why Time has the power to change our space. Our motivation to perform is altered through the effectiveness with which we are percieved- thus we either progress or digress, altering accordingly our space to fit our needs. We find that both space and time belongs to us, My time- My space. We do as we feel best fits our modes of survival- and the ways in which we allocate our time- and the spaces or venues through which we act in it. In doing so we work to adjust that who we want to be. Still our social atmosphere creates in us the understanding of certain expectations- thus our time is really only ours in limited aspects. These aspects are as follow: We must meet these expectations. Therefore, we arrange our time to fit into this social circle. That is the only part that we can in as much begin to define as ours. But time is not ours- It is Gods. He gives and he takes away. He gave us this space- the product of his hands to bring to our fingertips the extension of freewill and free mind. To chose and feel and love as we desire- in his sacrifice to open a road for us to reach his heart. Social space- confined only physically to the walls of this arctic mindset which is sold to us in everything we cramp into our surroundings and minds. Liberated only by the perfection of truth that can only come from the understanding that- this life means nothing. The only Identity to be found is through He who created in us the ability to love- Love himself- God. 


Young Is The Life That Knows No Fear

This is a small wonder to express my creative soul. I am an artsy loner so welcome to my world.
God. Art. Words. Music. Fashion
 Sometimes I'll say alot-sometimes I'll say nothing at all.