"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

Homeless

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..."

The Science

PLEASEEE VOTEEEEE

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.