Listen to Militance:


I can think of fewer more apt words to describe.
The feeling that overcomes my body.
When I assert. Confidently.
My position, as if I am being attack.
I often feel under threat. I don’t know by who?

Do you?

Tied up in a state of paranoia.
Born from the continued discovery of my history.
Of your history.
Raised from the awareness.
Of my vileness.
Suspicious of Random Acts of Kindness.

Tender to the Touch.
Hungry and Thirsty but nothing seems enough.

It’s Militance.
That’s my state of mind.

Perpetually seconds away from fiery rants and raves.
At pressure to have all the answers. At my fingers.
Trying hard to raise the words of heroes from their shallow graves.
Anxious. Damn Fearful to propose anything positive.

Bitter. So damn Bitter.

How quickly does my voices curl out vicious words.
Where does that come from?
Now I wear a short beard.
It hides the surprise.
Of these songs that leave me.
That utterly shocks me.

Building on every proclamation.
There is at the back of my mind this incessant expectation.
That this fire inside is at the end of a short match.
Burning quickly.
Albeit brightly.

Fucking Militance.
That’s my state of mind.

I get this feeling sometimes. Like I’m channeling someone greater.

“Standing on the shoulders of Giants”

Sometimes. Delivering flowing diatribes.
With ready rhythmic rhymes.

Feeling empowered.
Like speaking with Power.
To Power.
No longer feeling like a damn coward.

But where on Earth is this going?

I’m starting to get a sense.
Of why so many with better sense.
Prefer to keep quiet.
When you bring your own Soap Box.
And send out your Good Word.
The silence.
Like the kind.
The preludes bullet sounds.
In the Mind’s mind.
It’s deafening.

Don’t you feel tired?

Trying to scrape together a life.
Tied up to things that make you busy.
Feeling like.
Your Buzzing. In droves.
Like bees to honey.

Disrupting through Militance.
Attempted office coups.
Coffee cup revolutions.
Campus-led Paradigm shifts.
Signing on that dotted line.
When it’s Petition time.

Yeah, that’s my state of mind.

My mask.
Shielding me in the warfare that is the everyday.
It’s there.
Whether or not I choose to participate.


I hate to be like this.
But I don’t feel there is any other way.
At the end of the day. Even you what can you say?

When you are alone. When you get home.
In the darkness of the space that surrounds you.
Before you rest your eyes and go to bed.
The specters of voices killed by your militance.
Return to haunt your sleepy head.

Fucking Militance.

2015-02-27 13.00.46


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