these words

With these words you can let it go

You can proclaim your secret love

You can start a revolution

With these words you can say yes

Or no

These are yours now

You decide what they mean – their potential is as limitless as you

With these word you can say

I am sorry

You can say

You were wrong

Take them

Make them physical

Shout at them

Use them to wipe away your tears

Tear this paper

Crumple it

Stomp it till its flat again

Hate this thing

Make this into a bird

Or a plane

Bury this in your garden

So you can look out your window

And imagine it slowly breaking down

A thing you could consume for years

Taste it in the juice explosion of tomatoes

Or hear it in the crisp snap of green beans

Feed it to your dog

Then take it to the park and do not scoop that poop

Throw it at the third rail in the subway

Light it up and toss it in your backyard bbq

Then close the lid and do not watch it burn

Or watch it burn

Then piss on the ashes

Toss it from a building or a bridge

Take it to your library or work

Make the font too big

Then print a thousand copies

Or just leave it on the screen

And walk away – don’t stop walking until your smile is invincible

Put this in your pillow case

So each crinkle reminds you of the truth

These are your words

You can add more if some are missing

_______________________________

_______________________________

Speak them if you want

Or flush them

Make them the worm in a bottle never to be emptied

These are your words

Own them

Make them magical

These words are the talisman you need

To perform the ritual

The one that frees you

That obliterates those well worn excuses

That frightens every monster in your mind

It doesn’t matter what you do

As long as it makes you better

But do something

Take this

This moment

Take these words

Use them

Believe differently

Wield your power

And know this

I love you

I love you

I love you

I believe

In you

I know

There is nothing you cannot do

Just Me by Da’shade Moonbeam – or Why Austin Hip hop ought to be on the dang radio.

  Some people you meet in life are there to lift you. They do it in different ways. Some folks have your back. Some people always include you. Some are funny. Some always make you smile. Then there are folks like Da’Shade Moonbeam who are all those things and freakishly talented to boot.

Let me take that back a bit. Freakishly talented is not fair. That’s my baggage. I want Da’Shade’s talent to be something untouchable and odd, so that the distance I feel between his and mine can be explained away as a gift or an aberration. Truth is he works too hard for that. He always has. The proof of this is simple to find. Just go to any of the amazing shows he puts on around Austin (or the country). His live shows are a carefully sculpted mix of over a decade of writing, performance, MC mastery, dance, stage combat, and nerd culture that culminate in a sort of inspirational, hard core, dorkgasm of truth and power.

If you’re not yet convinced or at least titillated, (what are you, dead?) allow me to offer an aperitif. Just Me is the new CD out by Da’Shade and from first beat to final reverberation it is the best combination of fun, hard, cool, and crazy and a great introduction to Austin Hip Hop and one of its hardest working ambassadors. Da’Shade does it all as the title implies and it is one of my favorite CDs bar none.

Here’s what I would do if you’re not used to new, local Hip Hop music. Use the first couple of tracks to tune your ears in. You’ll get another taste of Fresh at the end so just let it be what it is (which is a booty shaking call to . . . well . . . shake your booty). Practice your head bounce. If nobody’s looking, toss in a stank face and a shoulder roll. (Maybe use Google to look up stank face and shoulder roll.) The point is to have fun. Serious doesn’t mean you have to lose your sense of humor.

The Most Magnificent is an old tune with some new hotness and a great track. At some point you need to let yourself say, ‘uh’ or ‘what’ or ‘damn’ to this one. You also have to laugh. There is too much toilet humor in this one not to. Next is Love, a bad-ass little piece of reflection that feels borne from a thousand notebooks worth of serious musing. It makes me long for those old days when I dragged my butt all over Austin writing and making the kind of mistakes that teach you more than you want to know.

Then, Gotta Get On Up serves up a fat chunk of energy-drink-filled, Original Gamer, jocularity. Seriously if you’re not a fan by this track, you’re doing it wrong. Start again. You should be laughing your butt off and dancing by now. This is maybe the best hook I’ve heard and is a great example of Da’Shade’s incredible writing ability, verbal skill, and serious mojo.

It just gets better from there. I wish I had Girl Song ten years ago. My poor wife would have been defenseless. There would have been candles and kisses and . . . that’s all I’m saying. (note to self – no need for a time machine, set candle and kisses plan into action.) They Are Coming is so much street nerd cool that I wish they would come and I want to run with whatever crew Mr. Moonbeam is hanging with when they get here. I feel bad for ‘em though. These folks don’t play. (see https://www.facebook.com/cryhavocaction) Yeah that’s him too.

And that’s it, except for a remix of Fresh (featuring the always amazing Nook) which gives the CD a bit of closure and cool. This is Austin Hip Hop. It’s not the only think going on, but it is a great example and I highly recommend it. You can get the tracks here: http://dashadespeaks.bandcamp.com/album/just-me-ep. You should also find Da’Shade on FaceBook, (http://facebook.com/dashade), twitter (dashade), and YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/dashadespeaks) and like him or friend him. Then find out when his next show is and see it. Do it now before he hits it big and we lose him to his calling. As for me, I’m gonna listen to the whole dang thing again and then I’m going back to the lab (such that it is). I’ve got work to do and a coolness deficit that must be dealt with.

~ Aaron Sanders

For spring and Etta

New day

We go through his nighttime routine

Cleaned up

Jammies on

Go peepee in the potty

Daddy reads books

Two, sometimes three

He has eighty

He only wants to hear the same two or three

He can quote them

But he wants to hear me read

I change up the voices

For 15 minutes it is a vaudeville act

And a circus

And an open mic

And then I turn out the lights

I close the curtains

And it’s time for snuggling

Sometimes we switch

And Mommy sings the quiet encore

His favorites are a secret

He likes improvisation

Then there is more snuggling

You can communicate all of creation inside of a hug of pure intention

He is well loved

We are defenseless against his charms

We are happy

Even when we try not to be

For a time in the dark

We struggle

For space

For connection

For comfort

Sometimes there is bliss for two full minutes

And then a realization sets in

Soon there will be darkness

Soon there will be loneliness

He angles for more time rather than enjoying the moment

Not knowing he is a microcosm

He is always living his life in anticipation of the next thing

He is too much like me

He says, I need you

And he does but . . .

That is not why he is saying that

He says, Don’t leave me

And the heart breaks

He says please – just like he’s been taught, but more earnestly

He works his magic

Manipulating

And 15 minutes turns into 45

Until finally a line is drawn

And inevitably

The cry before the sleep

I have tried to reason with him

I have asked him why he would want to end such a wonderful day with tears

I have asked him how anyone could cry after getting everything they wanted

I have lost my temper

I have walked away

I have given in

I think the hardest thing on Earth

May be closing that door

(Every day I am thankful that this is my hardest thing

It could be food or electricity

It could be selling myself or taking a beating

It could be my life or my family’s

It isn’t and I am so lucky)

I tell him it will be ok

I ask him if he had fun today

I ask what his favorite part was

It’s almost always playing cars

I say we just have to go to sleep for a little while

And then we can do it all again

Only differently

He says, yeah . . . OK

But I can hear in his voice he’s still busy convincing himself

I say if you need us you can come get us

But you need to stay in bed and go to sleep

He says, Tomorrow’s a new day (I think he picked it up from Chicken Little)

And I say that’s right buddy

Tomorrow’s a new day

And I think I’ve won but,

He starts negotiating tomorrow’s exploits

Visits to friend’s houses or grandma’s

Cookies, chewies, cars, and video games

He’s so effing cute

He’s so full of joy and possibility

And despite a desire to stay all night I interrupt him

I love you – good night

I was just talking about. . .

I love you – good night

Um daddy could you stop saying that I’m trying to. . .

I know what you’re trying to do

I Love you – good night

. . .

You have to say it buddy

I love you too daddy – good night

And I bring his door to a close silently

Peace is not a closed door and a sleeping baby

It’s a smile

It’s him reaching up and holding my hand

It’s the chase

And unbridled laughter

We wind the day down, lonely

Listening for him

Secretly hoping he wakes up again

Wanting some water

And needing a hug

We never really rest

Some part is always joyfully waiting

Playing at all the angles

Planning for the next thing

Each New Day

We hide the Easter eggs

We sow the seeds

We run the race

We cry and bloom

We sing and play

Each day is another chance

Another way to say

I love you

Turtles all the way down

Reach down into your heart

Down into the library where you keep your precious things

Past the archives of mental pictures of the people you love smiling

Past the lost and found

Just south of the place where you know it doesn’t matter

And that it will be ok

Reach down into your heart

And ask yourself

Are they among the galleries of perfect spring days

When you think of your heroes

Do they ever have ties on

Are they giving interviews from some mason built irony about how they disagree

Are they drunk and mean at some party taking hipstomatic pictures of absently lit cigarettes

They should be teaching

They should be inspiring action or solving problems

They should be making children laugh

The view is disappointing

We have to turn the other cheek

If I could hold you while you cry it all away

I’d be there with soft arms and radical empathy

But there are too many of you

No matter how much there is of me

Anyway

If you believe like I do

I am always holding you

Just as the turtles are holding me

You should know

I don’t have heroes anymore

I do not have gods or overlords

I have love

And a menagerie of talismans

That I say are fraught with power

But are really only reminders of love

Reach down into your heart

Massage it back to life

Brush away the plaque

Jericho the barricades

Quiet down the cannonades

And listen

That is not crying

That is not something you saw on the internet or cable tv

That is not the song they want you to sing

That is the song of yourself

The voodoo that you do

It has been lost in the din

It has been succubus sucked

It has been so brave in the dark

Yelling out the chorus with equal passion time and time again

Dig that nasty base line

Let it resonate

You are a beast, a singular creation of power and portence

If no one else has said it today

I am amazed

You are amazing

Believe what they say

Or believe what empowers you

It is all made up

Only you make it true

Just do what you do

You do you

Reach down into your heart

Reach past the way it is

Beyond the broken dreams

The embarrassments

The learned lie of failure

The struggle for perfection

Manifested as popularity

Reach down and want the things you want

Define your own dreams

Paper is not people

The journey to a piece of gum is little more than the anticipation of aspartame

But the journey to flight . . .

The Tao of freedom . . .

The path to a durable happiness . . .

To love my family

To say what is inside of me

These are precious things

Reach down

Because you know it isn’t as close to the surface as it should be

Reach down

And resolve to feel more

Reach down

And fail spectacularly

Reach down into your heart

And love defenselessly

Be afraid, but do it anyway

Reach down into your heart and be

Mild fever - mild ear infection

I am searching for my voice

Even as it escapes my throat like barbed wire

And dreams

I am interpreting the blueprint

Conceived in a child’s smile

My pantheon unfolding

The revolution rescheduled

I am not going to write another word about how I am broken

I am ignoring a desire to pen poor prose in place of truth

The ducks are fine (I’m not sure about the beavers)

Thanks for asking

The sun is rising earlier

I am sleeping less . . .

I am trying to discern the pattern inherent in the chaos

Like remembering the echo of a flicker on the screen

Repetition is the first step to defeating natural freedom

The next step is incandescence

Then oh how the dominoes flow

It requires your belief

You have to ignore the rhythms calling to you from inside

You have to wear shoes if you want to go outside

Do not step on the grass

I see the anarchy of the morning dew, daily

I spout subconscious talking points with equal regularity

No I did not see the Oscars

If the revolution was televised I missed it

I turned off the cable

I know how it all ends anyway

I am the worst dressed

I dropped the f-bomb

I’ve been sleeping on a single bed beneath a coughing child

I have been applauding the bravery of persisting through pain

I have been negotiating the peace accord of dinner time

2 more bites of chicken

2 more pieces of broccoli

Drink all of your juice

Then you can get down

Crying gets you nothing from me

Except for hugs and sympathy

The idea that I am settling is the thing I set on fire in protest

As it has always been, today is the best day of my life

I am a forgetful bastard

I know

I know

The dishes have become a sculpture

The dishes have become the mashed potato mountain from Close Encounters

They cannot be done

It means something now

They must be worshipped

They must be pondered

I sacrifice this inexpensive pizza to you dishes

I kneel to your girth

You are a wanton thing

You are a benevolent, forgiving god

The bourbon is placed in the middle of the kitchen

A welcome waypoint between the altar in the sink

And the unfolded monument that extends like a mountain range

Like a dragons back

Like a poor man’s pyramid

From the washer and dryer

Hail to you oh god of sleeplessness

Praise to you sweet lord of getting through

I have lost all patience

It is my song to you

I worship at the foot of the xbox

Inside I am a champion

I am a warrior

My sword is augmented with purity and experience

My halfback is unstoppable

He sits on my lap and says maybe we can find some treasure

Or kill some monsters or something

Maybe we can play the crashing game

Maybe

Maybe

He is reconnecting me

Even though his cold has ruined date night

Even though her cold has pushed us beyond arm’s length

We circle the wagons

We aid each other

And we become a heap of tissue, and blankies, and peace

All of my new dreams will be of other people’s happiness

Phase one of project blue beam

I will make a joyful noise

I will initiate the unconditional love protocol

I will project something worth believing

Let the dishes linger

Leave the clean clothes to wrinkle and pile

I have almost gleaned their meaning

I’ve been loving you so long

I will want to sleep tonight

It will be my intention

But you will sleep

And I will linger

In a quiet world

Interrupted by the echoes of you two

Coughing upstairs

I will love you best

In the darkness

With my pure hope

I will pray

That you persist

That you get better

That you don’t leave me alone

That you keep loving me

There are so many of these moments

That you will never know

Moments of gathering strength

Moments of tenuous joy

Moments of thankfulness and scars

Moments when I think I hear it

My voice scattered like stars and good intentions

I am searching for an unnamable feeling

I am trying to define a wordless something or other

I am seeking you oh god of guts

I am up

Too late

Again

Recounting my blessing

Pointing a finger at each subtle failure

Forming a mythology fraught with beauty and lies

Somewhere

Amongst the stream of possibilities

Is the perfect me . . .

I am beginning to think

This struggling soul

Is the best that I can be . . .

San Tropez

I've been listening to Roger Waters and Pink Floyd again. Man . . . that music has a pass card to my secret lair. It just walks right in and starts mucking up the place. Self programmed through repetition. I am and have been more a fan of Floyd than the Beatles, or Led Zeppelin, or the Doors. I have been a consumer of the others, but never in the same way. I have tried several times to leave Pink Floyd behind, but they are a soundtrack of my self and however much hip-hop or alt pop, or bad rock I listen to, they remain a watermark of my musical taste.

Incidentally, my mom says that Dark Side of the Moon was her favorite album while she was pregnant for me. She listened to it constantly during those nine months. At some point when I was young . . . I want to say I was seven . . . we were driving down the street and a song came on. I started singing along, knowing the lyrics without really knowing what it was. I asked her and she freaked out a bit. It was Time. The idea that music could imprint and follow me from the womb fascinated both of us.

Sometimes it is astonishing to think that in some way my melancholy matched up with the sad introspection of post war English youth. In my mind, their reaction to their parent’s fears, to an evolving national identity, to the sadness of learning the truth, and to our ravenous and evolving global economy could not have been given a better life than through experimental music and the fact that this music made them any money at all is a tribute to their unflinching lyrics and musical virtuosity.

Hard truth is my favorite kind. I like beauty and love too, but I have always felt that the last thousand years or so have been a series of mistakes and the lies we tell ourselves so that we can keep moving forward despite the obvious insanity of each step. We are so out of balance now that the new fantasy, as expressed so vividly in Reagan’s 1987 address to the UN, is that some diabolical outside force appears to force unity and change.  (Let me just say, that I see a lot of amazing has happened too, not the least of which is me and Pink Floyd. : )

The amazing thing about this odd dream is how powerless it is . . . even at the supposed zenith of control we can do nothing but plod forward toward our own demise and wish it was different. Personally I believe we are better than that, but I see how anyone could let themselves become overwhelmed by our time. I’m sure if I knew what a president knows my mind would be changed, at least a bit.

There was a time I wanted to save the world, like Superman. And I guess I still do, but I think my tactics have evolved. To me our only hope is to look at ourselves, see the hard truth, admit who we are and what we have done, make amends, and then change. I don’t think we will. I just think it’s our only hope. I have gone from advocating wholesale global change to a faith in or hope for entanglement and its ability to spark a fire that leads to something big.

So, I spread happiness one person at a time. I hold doors open. I smile. I trust in my belief that I am connected to every atom and quark, every higs particle and each undulation of time, every desire and every star system. My ripples mean something. The way I live has an effect and one day my joy will contribute to an inevitable shift. I am empowered. I don’t try to control you. I just do what I can do. I have bad days . . .

On bad days sometimes I find my way back to Time, or Wish you Were Here, or Us and Them. I remember that I’m not alone, that it is sane to feel sad, that relentless hope is a worthy religion, that words have power . . . When the melancholy threatens to overtake me I stop and I listen to this or this or this or maybe this - and then I find my smile and walk, whistling into the twilight.

Get out of my secret lair Pink . . . and clean up before you go.

SOS - three

I have not learned to play guitar yet – I still imagine skateboarding along and through the many obstacles of the city when I am not driving – I keep a heard of butterflies whose only job is to flap until there is more necking in this world – I also keep several kinds of bugs with allergies – their job is to achoo randomly – I like surprises - I look up words to make sure they are what I mean – I have come to enjoy the diversity of flatulence – I imagine that you’re laughing

There is a magic to America – sandwiched between country music stations and mountain ranges – the loneliest highway is wonderful if you can bring a friend – I-35 a long lick between our collective cleavage from concrete jungles to redwood forests I have leaned my head back in stunned gazes – I have memorized voices, gleaned their meaning, and lost the words like leaves down river – everywhere I went I loved them – the hopeful, the angry, the crafters trying and trying again – you can still find them, open, opening and curious

I saw the people on the streets today - the wind adding its own cold sense of urgency - it whispered run or you will die outside - I tell you friends the wind has never lied to me

I Texas not Texan - I Texas State not UT - admirer of longhorns, who sometimes sweats burnt orange - fan of old cowboys and tigers - sparky and too tall - conceived in Grand Rapids - heart broken in Lansing - my families could be family if not for the similarity - I left the cold for a reason - and now the season has me