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Mo86- Every Famous Last Word

2009-10-04 - extension: zip - size: 43 MB

Mo86- Every Famous Last Word

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Kayleb Lee Chan - Son To Mother [SPOKEN WORD][W.2]
click more 4: LYRICS + INFO + ETC. Week 2. Every Sunday starting April 13, 2008. A new video (More) click more 4: LYRICS + INFO + ETC. Week 2. Every Sunday starting April 13, 2008. A new video spoken word/artsy thing will be posted. Info: This is a piece. All right, info IS IN the video. My Writer's Book: http://kaylebleechan.blogspot.com LYRICS (the actual lines): "Mom...why do people hurt each other?" and my mother stands there quiet as the warm breeze brushes against her hair she crouches to look up at me, never want to look down on me her son, her intellectual heir she doesn't want to speak and i can tell by her calmness she wants to say the right thing but the evils in our hearts and personal greed makes her shed a tear and everyday is the same thrown 360 degrees 7 days a week 24 hours OF a day she's a single mother and as her son stands there an innocent child, full of light full of energy wishes he too can nurture his mother with the same nature she has taught him she slowly takes a hold of hands and says, "son, you are my child as they are my child people are people, no matter how tall, how small how bitter or sweet, respectful or wild" but I can tell she clouds her world away from mine and only half of my light will ever shine on her world while the other sleeps in darkness but i want to ask her a million questions before i can speak she places a finger upon my lips before i can speak she hugs me but I feel cold and I feel rage because my mother loves humanity and oh the humanity that destroys the essence she breathes while they pollute her soil, her roots with black gold they want black gold to feed their mechanical machinery that stats shows kills at least 2 of their automotive pilots every minute... 2 dead every single minute of a day just riding in a vehicle and they feed their cotton greens with product of child laborers who builds fashionable covers for our deformed physiques that over eats on the value meal value meal... VALUE MEAL?! and that's the deal a world overpopulated with obesity and one coffee shop on every corner to caffeinate the lazy unfair trade of coffee beans so bucks can fill in the cups of a star-but plaster these massive walls of super MARTS FUCKING WAL-MART. you made mother fall for your low prices low prices, everyday... low everything. low wages, low healthcare you're just fucking low. and what about our children who believes junior prom, senior ball is a night to remember when junior is just the prop of a plastered multimedia rendered to teach our kids to be cool is to smoke, to drink and fuck up life before you understand what is right and what is wrong you grow into the next phase to become a dear old senior in an elders home and the only ball in the cotton ball you knit from the fitted mindset that lived in high school memories varsity boys and cheerleader girls are just empty vessels who never graduated in maturity and while one in six teenagers believe reality t.v. will make them famous ain't that something? one in six of all our children believe t.v. is more important being famous is more important and at least 54 children collectively get expelled from school a year for bringing.. a weapon they rather arm themselves with cold metal rather than hard covered books be a crook or hook- so mother please let me shine light through your clouds you've shrouded me with i can see i can see clearly let me, save you because these other children do not love you because even today they seem not to be able to land their minds that another third world child still dies from land mines the war is never over the one-third of it is still fighting in civil disputes the other producing the last profiting and our children taints their native tongue with fingertips and text messages but not realizing at least ten languages die out.. each and every year.. speak up my child speak up and i smile. that's what i am happy to hear while mother turns a tear into power she let out her cries in the form of natural disasters she cries out for her fellow sisters who become an item on auctions a tenth of a million every year becomes sex slaves 2 million mutilated to not feel pleasure and so mother is tired tired of this humanity so she still clouds me with her sugar-coated stories while she deals with this herself she calls it global warming. but slowly this son, this bright yellow glowing sun awaits the day and as he pulls for his mother to come closer evidently to give her the warm hug and shine his light all around her world and the day he has revenge for mother, mother earth, mother nature mother, these people won't hurt you anymore (Less)

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Constantine Cavafy: Poems 64-68
64.RITES OF PASSAGE All the things which, younger, he thought of doing, he now does; all his (More) 64.RITES OF PASSAGE All the things which, younger, he thought of doing, he now does; all his erotic fantasies made real. He walks the streets with a most enticing wiggle; is out all night; lets himself go. He's young; and it's all new and so exciting. Intoxicating lewdness is his drug: he sells himself to get it and gives it free. He's a spectacle worth looking at, a lovely living poem in flesh and blood. 65.IN THE EVENING Experience tells me it wouldn't have lasted long. The stronger the light the sooner it's spent. And anyway the hand of fate soon stalled it. While it lasted it was good. It had the scent of summer roses in pure mountain air where we lay on fresh green leas body to body. An echo from those peaks came whispering back across the granite rockfalls of the past -- a letter full of the passion of those mornings. I read it and re-read it as the slow light faded. I went out onto the balcony to seek some alteration of these long sad thoughts by gazing at the movement of my city -- footfalls on the evening streets; the stir of the lighted shops. 66.FOR AMMONES, DIED IN 610, AGED 29 Raphael, you've been asked to pen some lines for inscription on the tombstone of the dead poet Ammones -- well, obviously he's dead, hence the tombstone! The sort of thing you're good at: elegance with taste, for a much-missed friend. I know you'll mention his verses; but also, please, his beauty, the delicate beauty we all admired. Your Attic is exact and metrical -- make it glow! Pour out the sentiment of your Egyptian soul to express our grief in Greek. Dear Raphael, I know that you will write with absolute precision to reveal the passion of our lives; your every word will show you are an Alexandrian eulogising a fellow citizen. 67.IN ATHYR (NOVEMBER) The inscription on the stone was old and worn, some of it obliterated: 'O Lord Jesus Christ'; 'beloved soul'; 'in Athyr our dear Lefkios fell asleep'; 'he died aged twenty-seven'. How sad to see a young man die so early! In the damaged part there's a clear indication that Lefkios was Alexandrian. The epitaph is mutilated here either by time or by the hand of man; but i can just make out 'Our tears and our great sorrow, tears for a loved, lost friend.' How touching that he should have been so missed, Lefkios, who fell asleep in the month of November or 'Athyr' in the Egyptian. 68.TOMB OF IGNATIOS In this place I'm a different Kleon from the Kleon who was famous in Alexandria (Alexandrians are not easily impressed!) for my great houses and gardens horses and chariots diamonds and silks and all the rest. Here, I'm not that Kleon any more, he has ceased to exist. Now i am Ignatios, lay-reader in the church, who found himself at last and for ten happy months knew the joy of Christ. (Less)

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