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it is a tight little world that we live in

and i am[trapped here]

Andrea Abi-Karam

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I would like to thank Lara, Drea, and Wendy for their endless support and inspiration.

Mess EditionsOakland, CA

2014

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AGAINST THE PATRIARCHY

I’m not sure whyyou feel entitled to touch me.

I never step towards youtry to avoid eye contactsunglasses help but not whenI have to work inside.

is it because I look different?

am I the age old ‘other’that you put in cages uphigh for everyone to see and wonderat the color of my skinand strange proportionsand eyes so big they move you fromacross the room

or is it that I’m not supposed to fight back

that you don’t expect that resistant crackof fists that have been frozen in fury for lifetimes

I’m not sure why you feelentitled to touch me.

and if you ask firstyou move in with you grabbyhands before I even have time to answer.

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I step back and say no and you’reshockedit’s the end of the fucking worldif someone says no to you

so no, you cannot touch my hairno matter how many times you askno you cannot touch me so stop tryingand no you cannot watch me whileI make your latte becauseyou’re a fucking creepjust like the way you were raised to be.

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DESERT DELIRIUM

White lines of waves in the desertcrashing against mountainsidesmisting up into the dry air

sweet ‘Frisco in the distanceI can feel you

heat rising off the pavementalong lonely ’50 formsliquid dreams of lakes and yellow skyscrapers

jobs with salariesendless summercontained wildfires(no campus shootings)

this old camry climbs mountains on the daily

I don’t understand when it rains in the desert.

free danger.

chase the heat demon of democracyinto the mighty mountain

maybe it will be better, there

chase the heat demon of democracydown US 50

til the oceantil it can’t run farther

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watch out for the major deerand don’t get lost in Vegas

there are heat demons everywhere

follow the dusty valley to the endwhen the mountains break downand the road the levels out

we can use our depth perceptiononce againspread out past ourheat ridden valley vision

into the citywhere that heat demon is hiding

give me watergive me watergive me time.

to hang pictures from the ceilingwith white flossframed rocks and mountainsand valleysand lakes

to remember the beauty

before we tear it down

(in the name of that devil,democracy).

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THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING AND THE END OF (SOMETHING ELSE)

Kreon saysyou do not do you do not dopour cool soil over the burning bodyto hide him from the brutal buzzardscircling round and round and down

events don’t happen just once they saytragedies don’t just live in the headlinesthat we often ignore

how can we learn from them anywayswhen we’re too busy fighting each other

seasons are cyclical in most placesbut in the bay they’re an endlesssine waveheaving between fighting pigs on the streetand fighting each other in bedrooms during the rainy seasonit’s a droughtthe body decaysand i slip through the night in a purple shawl

they fought each other outside the gatesand collapsed in each other’s embracea cruel exercise in nature v. nurturegive one an army and one social anxiety

you do not do you do not do you do not wall your own peoplein the SHUespecially with a cable gold and bluethe signature of familynot chosen

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the sign of leaders gone blindfrom their own finger nailsdrunk on rebuilding marble wallsand past greatness

it seems the conveyor belt of time has reversed and we’re falling backinto infancyback into ourselvesback into the sea

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[I AM TRAPPED HERE]

Here here on this stage on this page in this cageEvery breath I take I wish to splinter the whale bone that surrounds me around and around meback and forthBackForthback acrossOver to the chairAnd you know what?I can see you there.Staring.night after night after goddam nighteyes aglow desperate for for forthe fall through the wall off the stagedown to your levelupper-middlemiddlepoorwhorefor a spectacle a show a performance a perfectly curved bodylook somewhere elsethis is realthis is real this is real is this realfor more from where from nowhere move the pieces across the board watch them play watch them play watch me playwatch me play watch meno.watch mecarve the air out above the stageswim along each bar in the csarlaurel halo tangled in my haira tunic hangs loosely

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you look at me strangelyRegard me as queerShould I point my toes?Float, glide, weightless not effortlessDelicate strengthIt comes from within.Will you recognize me among that robotic army?Hair pinned back tight rendering me facelessNo. I am not a pin up doll.Hang me up, all that’s left is my stripped spineRigid (and still not weightless)

Grounded.

I am alone before all of you.

Breathe in.

I capture your gazeHold.

Exhale.

Let my rapture goCenter outward expansionUntil the pins reach my fingertipsGrow out of them like nailsInhale, recruit them back center forwardLook first, stage leftLand with a an echo

Breathe out.

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It comes from within.Open the blinds, raise the curtainsCrack the window unlock the doorLet the stark light inThere are no walls left anymoreYou, you don’t know what you want

And yet, I envy you.I seduce you without meaning toIn this moment, but how can you not stare?I am up here you are down thereI am before you you always just behind me

Run skip land hop drop padI had to step across knee floorReach out to youUnfold from withinMold melt down stageEarthPageair

My hair is unruly.

That won’t stop meYou cannot stop me

Watch out.

watch out for your eyeswatch your eyes outwatch

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I chained her wrapped the links around her ribs and pull and wrenched them tight crack smack rack I killed them seared them cold as many as could find for for fear of being queer I fucked her tore her open and mangled the blade before I twisted turn the key trapped in a cage on the page up on a shelf only when I need you I need you to stop please stop stop staring at me

This is not a world in which I wish to live.

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Silver glass on the floorPeering back at meEyes eyes eyesGlowing twirlingStep over them carefullyBe careful not toPress depress impress

Do you know my name?

Do you think it’s possible to die before being born?

Do you think it’s possible to feel cold while standing in the sunlight?

Do you think it’s possible to be wrong?

Do you think it’s possible to drown in a sea of logic?

Do you think it’s possible that sanity will not save me cannot save me won’t save me

to overcome oppression opposition restriction constrictionto be innocent, again

to have a conversation and be remembered

to fall asleep

to be free from expectation

to count forwards

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let the stark light in.

to my drawing roomunderwater coffinbisected solar plexusreflective mind

illuminate my desirefinger my father’s pistolmove with me

it is myself who has never lived in this tight little world.

seeking a language a movement a bullet a line to express our troubled condition with no omissions.

[stare back]

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PIPE DREAM

when the fog rolls incity councilors make drug deals in the washed out streets of San Francisco

when the fog rolls ina waitress shucks oystersin a smoky kitchen

officials draw maps on diner napkinsof routes that don’t exist

the fog shrouds the sky

when the fog rolls instudio masturbatorssteal their neighbors’internetfor some lonely kicks

when the fog rolls inveterans rock to sleep under US overpassesheadlights flashunder their eyelids

a hospitalized trucker whosedriver’s seat pushed his back out of lineso bad he can’t walk

when the morphine kicks in

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he dreams of that open roadsneaking in extra night hourspassed the legal limitjust to feel that mainland (midnight)momentum

driver’s seats force spinal step offsonce a week in his sleep his rightfoot pushes down hitting the gasof white dreams

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TRAPPED DREAMS

for jami

2 days before the electioni dreamt i was hiking past polling stationsand got jumped from behindcuffed upstripped downand put away.

inside outside same side

repeat until the walls disappear.

i dreamt i was released.i dreamt i was alone, taken and gone for three days.when they let me out, we drankchampagne on the steps of the courthouse.when i bailed out there was no champagne.just bright sun to beat into my pounding four day headacheright before I got my fix

an airy cappuccino will not erase this.

inside outside same side

repeat until meaningless.

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i dreamt there was grass in downtown Oakland.that i was singled out in a group, questioned, and arrestedmethod of restraint: ankle cuffs. i dreamt that while they looked the other way, i slippedmy left foot free and ran into the suna single ankle cuff dragging onthe pavement.

inside outside same side

repeat until free.

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BUREACRACY WITH REPERCUSSIONSfor the ACAC19

these yellow hallsthat force your skinso sallowthe lights just soto see the strained expressionson every faceyou can’t hide hereno, not in this place of so called justiceplease, don’t kid yourselvesthat empty starebeneath this oppressive glarethey make you wait, for a reasonthey make you wait until it sinks inthat slow draining gravity of realityto make your head spin andyour neck hairs stand on endwhen will this endwhen will this endthose 9am dayswhere nothing happensexcept another pencil mark in the court calendarof stolen time and scheduled anxietyand to think we made itthrough an entire yearwithout nineteen hearts falling apartbeneath authoritative madness

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email disagreementssunday night park meetingswhere the sun fallsbefore we have a chance to get warmthe night stretched thin around usthe yellow hallspressed close against usthe lawyers yelling timetimefiling in to creaky seatsthe room of waitingthe room betweenclosed door secret dealingsand deliberation alleywayis it over yetis it over

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FLASHPOINTS

it’s a fridayi slept ‘til noon i am tired of this lifethey pick me up driving through truck routesand port ornaments on the bayit’s half past and i haven’t had coffeeand through the dusty window i try not to consider how this is all useless anywaysi roll down the window and we’re therea dive diner in the bottoms of Oaklandand our growling bodieswe sit bar style on creaky stools thatscream if you try to move and ordergreasy breakfast as though it is our last meal before the end ofthe city’s sanitysimulacra of ourselvesand surreal as fuckwe talk strategyas though the three of us in some dinercan find the fittest flashpoint tosparksomething bigger than just usand our friends who spent the wholewinter fighting each otherwe receive large plates with eggs and toast and hashbrownsi worry about the consequenceswe’re all broke and lawyers are expensiveand jail fucks you upwe can’t waste our energy on something smallthat will be forgotten once it stops trendingi sip on bottomless coffeethis is not what we want to hear but we have to say it anyways

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we might not be scared of their tear gas pepper spray cans and flash bombs andlooming black sticksthe short term is something we can understandbut we are scared of their cagesWhat’s A Little Eye Irritation And Dulled Hearing If We Get To Start The FireLet’s Just Be Careful Ok That They Don’t Put It Out By Putting Us All AwayBeneath Bad Press And Bad Charges And Bad Ideasif we only has more hot sauce, i thinkWe’ll Never Get Anything Done If We’re Too Nervous To Try That’s The Whole PointOf What They Try To DoI See What You’re Saying We Have To Be Selective Don’t Stop Just Don’t Start At The Wrong Timeour plates emptysomeone gets a parking ticketa construction worker picks up a to go orderi sip on the end of my coffee and whenthe course black liquid leaves the bottomof the mug white i longed for the answerto be as simple as thatWould You Be Down, If This Meeting Gets Together To Start Some-thingI’m Going To Yell For The Hunger Strikers Tomorrow In The Hot Sticky Valley But I’m Down To Start Something When I Come BackBut Only If It’s Creativesomething they haven’t seen beforesomething to stir them up and arousea coordinated chaos across citiessomething that stops daily life for awhilei dream of taking the bay bridge at rush hourthey drive me homesilent on the way backour bodies heavy and our minds darkforesight too thick to break down in thirty minutes.

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A CITY IS A CITY IS A CITY

we sit and wonder what makes a place worth living in.

but really we should ask ourselves what makes us worth living here at all.

the rough city airproximity to water

what’s summer without late night swim sessions

they ask me why i moved hereas ifso disturbed i could let go where I’m fromand follow the beatsand the punksacross the groaning continent to the edge

as if a city can be broken down into positive traits with collapsing syl-lables

‘public transportation’‘cultural capital’‘good weather’

it doesn’t matter who lived here before us except that now they live under freeways and we live in their houses

but we’ve got that guilt so it’s ok

number of empty jobs to fill with warm bodieswork is work is work ok another reason to stay somewheregreen streams hold you closeto the groundthe steaming concrete

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the sweat falling of our bodiesendlesslyfor the paper thin futurerolled up tight between rubber bands

i just have to pay rent you know if i didn’t have rent then i wouldn’t work so much and be so tired drunk depressed all the time did you know you can get a pint of whiskey for five dollars here that’s pretty good so i think i’ll just stay awhile and give in to the liquid pyrite awhile try to warm up the night a little.

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BECOMING-TIME

when the lights turn outany character can fit the partit’s just a simple stage show.the art of assembling a mirage before you, for youthe art of assembling weapons in order to win wars

do you love your country more than you love me?

don their colors green, the body rich with power envyblue, they see right through you, deviance subsumed, to red and redbefore putting a price on your own head, they already have, try not to give themanythingthey can sell back to us, when we’re dead

the war inside my head when it rains and on the eleventh hour you sit on my floor and ask if i gave your name. no. and thanks for the beer.

but now, it’s now is just different forms of absence mixed together when i wake up and it’s already dark the house is empty the parking lot is empty and it’s now and the time is out of joint and the joint is out of place and the place is out of time to heal

we lack the measure to measure, this

we lack the hands to tell the difference

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a politics of the imminent, open endor as i want to say, a politics of the open road

i am open to disruption.

i might be on probation but i still want to climb a fence with you. keep your eye out for shadows.

an event based measure of how to remember how a crisis feels foreverclosely stacked frames, black and white grain

how our familiarity with fear is not a coincidence but more a collective consciousnessof being seen as traitors to the nation.

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ARM THE NIGHT

Let’s showcase our sins ontelevision.watch the streets from museummountain tops (it’s safe up here)

wash your hands after the showwash your hands for at least sixty secondsto feel clean from indifference(that’s what the bottle says)

pour five ounces into a glassadd iceand drink deepto feel free from loneliness(that’s what the bottle says)

tired fingers reach through cracksin communicationfor a soft touch(quick, before they hear us)

black boots trod through the night(quick, before they find us)

in the march towards freedomthey will stop at nothing tountie our shoelaces

in the march through repressionwe will stop at nothing to singdiscordances.

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WE CANNOT SELL THIS

For the Chilean Poets

we are obsessedwith this so calledcost-effective analysis

books collect dust on shelves.and blue mold in dark basements

how can we sell this?how can we sell ourselves?

Pinochet blasted Neruda’s house to the groundfor his ink that bled intopaper and his words that found peoples’ voiceson the streets

we are obsessed with the deadwho lie passively underground

‘how can I imitate his turn of phrase?’books collect dust on shelvesand blue mold in dark basements

we are obsessed with picture framesand student blood running free inside them

we cannot sell thiswe cannot sell ourselves

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WHO TOLD YOU THIS WAS NEWS?

the bike you used all this time was usedby someone who worked at thelocal liquor storefor years and yearson his way to work everyday(he worked 7 of 7 fateful days)he’d stop at the marketand pick the reddest strawberriesjust to make his day insidejust slightly sweet

what happens when you find yourdreams are not so new at all?

reimaginations of every otheroverconfident mindof a house with a fenceand a backyard with an organic gardenair too close to the freeway to breathethe people that lived there beforehad kidseveryone knows you shouldn’t raise kidsin dirty air anyways(what were they thinking)the landlord pushed them out

5 bedrooms are desirable these daysso now you write him a crumpled rent checkand hope it doesn’t bouncebecause you don’t want to be pushed out

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(this is not my story to tell)

the family moved under the freewayi hear it never rains in California anyways

how can we carve out a space for ourselves inthis world so full of itself already? the streets are not wide enough for usfour lanes deepwith faded yellow traffic linesrunning parallel alongthe course of our livestrying hard to intersect with somethingnewthe concrete edge the metal linesthe painted sidewalks and blurry signsthat we seeare used.

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LOVE POEM, BERLIN

The layer of sweat that sticksTo your skinWhen you sleep on a couch that’sToo short for youWhen you should have slept in theBed insteadWith your friend that wrote you a Crush poem last winter

You should have gone home With the city that nightExcept you’re in the cityThat never sleepsAnd doesn’t even needThe speedLike NYC

Berlin! I will sweat on your couchesAll summer longInstead, I slept on your futon for a weekAnd smitten,I dug my claws inTo the cobalt blue fabricI climbed into afterThe pale sunrise Every night

I say, maybe they’ll let me staySink in to the heaving City streetsThat push you throughGraffiti heaven In every alleyway(the situationists would love this place)And on to rooftops

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That keep you awake For days just to gazeAt the city that neverSeems to work but alwaysPlay

Berlin, you drive me Whiskey wiseAnd wild eyedThe city that pushed my body against a dark, rock wallFor a sultry momentOutside a smoky jazz club

And Berlin, freedomSo direct The kind of approach I want to haveWhere an Italian punkOn the night bus(that’s always on time, by the way)say they love it herethey feel free, finally

Berlin, the city that pulls you in.

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[nightmares]

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nightmare 1

we just wanted to go swimming.but they sky turned darkagainst usi did not want to jump.

nightmare 2

we just wanted to make some moneyour boss drove us into a tree

nightmare 3

it was too dark to run.

nightmare 4

i was Ulysses in the final battle

nightmare 5

it was winter.

nightmare 6

we were silent.

nightmare 7

i was Antigonewalled up and redi was Antigone walled up and bluei was Antigone without a veil.

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nightmare 8 you were kidnapped

nightmare 9 can i come in. no. i need to come in. no. let me in. no. i need to come in. i don’t know you. go away. nightmare 10 your face was made of glassbacklit with blue

nightmare 11

we were together. we were alone. we were together. we were alone. they all jumped off the porch and it was just the two of us. and them. break-ing up a party with firepower a bullet that went through your neck an aggressive hickey that spiraled into a nonconsensual surface piercingyou fell to the boards of the porch i kneeled and i reeled and pushed the bullet out before your body swept it up. i lay your head down. you didn’t bleed that much i thought you should bleed more.

nightmare 12

we didn’t fight back

nightmare 13

we fought back

nightmare 14

i murdered the two cops who shot you. there wasn’t much left. i hid them under the floorboards.

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[public transit nightmares]

Underground Part 1

the walls are round in the undergroundmy head scrapes the ceilingmetal bristlesunderstand compressionthe air thickwith rushelectric eccentricity

a systemthat doesn’t know where it’s going.

Underground Part 2

people read the paperon the undergroundinstead of that empty bluestare intovirtual no future

the doors openwe press outcaged beesmust remember how to fly

they run into each other often.

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Bart Nightmare 1

bart screamed underwateri pretend we are suspended insteadwatching the sunrise over themythical city of foggysan francisco

the tunnel must be rock solid

i’ve never seen bay water dropson the windowsbut i’m not always lookingbart bucks

we all look up

for a second it seems we might ram the tunnel walland let our metal snake outfor a morning swim.

Bart Nightmare 2 (Bart Strike 2013)

the trains stopthe buses restthe bridge is maxedthe cars are fulland the city still worksand all the chaosalmost goesunnoticed.

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Bart Nightmare 3 (Bart Non-strike 2013)

my time is not my ownshackled between transit schedulesand narrow tracksand they still have to run the trainseven ifa strike goes downto keep rust from eating throughthe tracksthat san francisco salty airgets deep into everythingthe sweet feelingof waking up near the oceanand not going to work.

WAITING FOR DISASTER

SeatbeltClick clickRiding fast through the mountainsClick click clickThe hills the suburbs the madnessThe trolley lined city streets shakeWhen you run them over

ClickOne pull of the trigger andYou’ll fly through The windshieldClick click

It was icyClick clickSpinIt was humid

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A subway ride is $2.25Click click clickA turnstile has three barsClick click clickGas is $4.49The bodyBorn of the earthInterrupted by metal boxesThat take us home from the night

It’s all compostable when it’s carbon

Click clickWe’re all just carbon anywaysClick clickThe time table of our lives is Counted in carbon ionsThat fly on hidden maps

There is only speedNo place no destinationNo goal no reasonClick

What were you doing that night?Skate all day til the sweat pools Below your eyesAfter a day of concrete solitudeYou need social stimulationAnd eventually a ride home

In this suburban hell No Neon lights cut the dark skyTrapped gas can last a long timeWaiting for the moment when atoms Collide fasterThan us

They make light and we make cries in the nightclick clickwaiting for disasterclick.

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THEY COME IN THREES

It’s a Monday.and a Monday doesn’t mean muchbut it’s understood that Monday meansWorking.

and the beginning of a stretch of workingit’s a sobering day with diversions far in the distance, well relativelyconsidering the internally countlessbut authoritatively quantified hours of thedreaded trope of ‘early 20’s starving what the fuck ever service job’

it comes in threes

for the next three days i’ll work nine hour shifts til nine pm each nightand bite my tongue at what customers say every three seconds(i should not complain)

it’s Mondayand twenty minutes in to the routine my short female coworkerswho doesn’t get taken seriously said she was enojadaand i said porqueand she said i don’t know the word in English but I think it’s rapid and now my niece is pregnantentiendes? Entiendes?Do you understand do you understandEntiendoI understandHow old is she14

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then she said something about coffee.I said are people going after himshe said she didn’t understandI wanted to say that I knew people in that tiny town in Mexico and that he wouldnever do that again andthat they would hurt himbut i didn’t know anyone and shedidn’t understand what i was saying and so i said something about coffee

she said she didn’t understand whyand I said neither did I

it was just another Monday.

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IT WAS THE END OF DAYS

the sun crested at the edge of the earthsunk deep beyond the sea leaving the world in darknessan eternal sleepfilled with dreams in black and whitethe memories of this landon replaywhile the nighttime watch dogprowls on through silhouettes of lifethe outline of a bare tree reachingup in winterof the cliffs at the end of the landthe cliffs decide where we falland where we travel behindthe walls of the world

it was the end of days and the beginning of nights.

where the rays bled into the sky and stretchedtheir crooked fingernails to the curved surface of the sky waiting for nightto descend and obscure their deformitieswith the dark blanketscribbled on over and over til theink ran thick and filled the whole sky

‘i hoped the darkness meant something’

it was the end of days and the beginning of nights

where the walls break downat twilightshine catches your camera

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so quick it becomes the perfect momentrepetition routine and regularityfall awaybreak down

fade back into the morningor wait on the next one

the Pacific splits the sky at twilightthe witching hour of wonderthe routine falls awayand the lone wolf unleashed uponthe world, eyes ablazesearching for freedom

oh, the things that are possible when we forgetlife is not just a frame of dates and timesand places to be on time

it was the end of days and the beginning of nights

the lone wolf stalks the night

darkness subsumes the linesbetween our bodies and the land we roam between our feet and the groundfills the spaces until we become trees

it was the end of days and the beginning of nights.

they’re coming for usrolling in hard and swallowing the jagged rocks between the edge of the earth

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fill in the craters at the surfacemake them fullmake them swallow the earth wholemake them swallow me whole within itthen rush right past them

coming closer always coming closerchanging colorsabysmal black to midnight blue toturquoise bright and ready to burstwhite

the sea line planets betrayed the landwhen they just crumbled rightoff and fell into the sea

where they were sucked upand drowned and disappeared into a new worldanother world.

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