Simple Answers


The answer to most dilemmas in life often turns out to be ridiculously simple. But in order to see and understand the simple answers, we must first wade through what seems like overwhelming complexities in order to organize, prioritize, and unify them so that simple solutions can emerge. – May 2011

wasted concept

I dove into them. A circus of howling voices, splattered into existence by the assistance of the ol piss water and the set sun. It was the sip of the fizz that bathed my gums, tounge glurping, my lips startled and yet so requesting for just one more. Gulp, sip, long draw, ttttt-aste. The curvature of the glass bottle, fit just so, sweating, cold against my pressed palm. The draw, the suction, the swallow down to liver. Delivering inTo brain loose, sway- arcing tides that break in the form of instrumental beats.

To giggle, to mingle, to wink then run. To shake and glide upon linoleum roads, laid down between bar stools and close eared-close breasted conversations.  Lips dripping coos, body bouncing- flailing to internal rhythms. Action-oriented, night delight, time a wasted concept, chasing moment. Inbetween alleys up streets and onto doorsteps, a parade of laughter. We find ourselves saying it all but saying nothing it all, and in turn forget it all.

ring out freedom.

this lust for love remains forbidden


Your intimidating presences is unwanted,

Leaving me frightened and taunted.

I’ll have you know I won’t be damned,

To anyone of your angered commands,

Nor your pathetic greedy demands.

So this is where we say goodbye,

You should be ashamed,

Not I.

Time is slowly fading,

Your memory is now shading.

Yes it’s true you’ve been forgiven,

But this lust for love remains forbidden.

I refuse to break down once more,

You’ll never hurt me like you did before

You say that you never once flaunted

But I for one remain undaunted!

Memories In The Wind

Sacred wind sings a song

About the beings it has traveled upon.

Who unawares are connected within

Ancient grace and truth carried in the wind.

It carries the song into our ears

Of a thousand voices throughout the years.

Man’s actions are now in the winds of time

Recorded and carried with accurate rhyme,

And sang once again after travelling afar

To our hearts all the memories of peace and of war.


Welcome To Taipei

By: Ji-Ling

welcome to taipei
smell the wet air
thick with car, motorcycle, bus fumes
step into the subway
feel the thick heat of thousands of bodies that have pulsed through
look away from the eyes
there are too many of them
but they are all differing degrees of bright
once upon a time children
now shadows of children that are hiding
hiding behind make-up and heels,
suits, vests, and bags
hiding behind poverty stricken grime and loud begging cries,
prostitute women shy yet brazen leaning against the bridge
welcome to taipei
raise your arm above your head
hold on tight as the bus rattles over the bumpy roads
stopping often to avoid hitting the thousands of reckless fast others
biking, motorcycling, walking, and driving
feel the bodies pushing and pulling against your own
and hold your breath when the door opens
and someone steps in smelling like cigarettes
the smell of the wet pavement rising up behind him
well, might as well step out now then
and smell this wet pavement
rich with too many years of too many feet and vehicles
wonder about what lies beneath the pavement
raise your head to look beyond the buildings
and watch the clouds reaching and pulling towards and away
from the tall mountains
some soft some jagged
so far, too far in the distance
imagine the echoes of monkeys howling
close your eyes yes even on this dirty street corner and
see ancient spirits living in holes in rocks in caves in mountains
mountains so old that even here in this city
there are shrines honoring the mountains spirits and earth gods
say yes to the grandmother that offers you some incense
she gives you three sticks of incense
one for the sky god, one for the earth god, and one for the god of the present moment
smell all the years of incense trapped in this one little room
all the smoke wafting and billowing up into the red rafters coloring them a dark blood red
closed eyes again, seeing the blood of my own body coursing through into my heart
feeling the pulsing of my feet hard against this cement-layered earth
feeling lava pushing way down below my feet
so far below
but it once created this very island we stand upon
welcome to taipei, taiwan
sit upon these old stone steps with me now and watch the sun rise
it first hits that tall skyscraper over there
and then the light bounces over to that other skyscrapers over there
until eventually we can see the reflection of big red circular mister sun himself reflected on that skyscraper far over there
and the birds will sing louder and louder
until eventually they all get drowned out by the motor vehicles’ songs
welcome to taipei
watch the faces of the thousands of people passing by and listen to their little songs
the gate guard sings a native american chant as he bikes to his post
a customer returns day after day to a shop. they are friends now
the schoolboys walk fast and chatter even faster. something is so very exciting.
the women’s voices are high pitched, their skirts even higher pitched.
an old couple walking hand in hand, him carrying her purse and umbrella, her laughing at his jokes.
couples at night all over the old temple, watching the lights of a city that doesn’t quite sleep.
faces with scarves that show only the eyes. walking fast. going somewhere incredible.
browned farmers at farmer stands everyday with loud voices and fresh fruits.
bus driver that says peace be with you, and you are blessed. gentle eyes in the mirror.
old women dancing all the same dance in the park, saying come join us, and welcome.
the eyes of a baby in the subway, shining, laughing, innocent, curious, and amused.
welcome newborn one, welcome to taipei.
here, enjoy this cup of fresh tea.

Blast from the past-raw & unfinished

o not need to catch my breath anymore. Define it dream it but so soon i
forget it and leave it. This morning i forgot to pray and carelessly left my
shoes on while entering the house. Threw myself on this artificial couch and
stared at my laces which yearned to be double knotted. Waiting/wishing for a
cough to rise and explode through my lungs. I plotted and diagrammed my
escape fingering the seams that ran the length of my soiled limbs. The ideas
disintegrated between the tips of my hands and i was lead defeated into a
tapestry of conversation. Can’t say i prefer it this way but it seems that i
have tumbled onto my own foreign doorstep. Scraping away the mold on my mind
which has rooted its self too tightly. All this chatter becomes a layer of
discontent, rearranging myself between the flat screen computer and wasteful
amounts of food. If i was rich i would tear it all up just to feel how
worthless it will become. embarrassed to admit that i am embarrassed of my
surrounding. once i tried to kick my shoes off at the door but i felt the
house slither into my veins and run to my spine. i slid to the tile but the
cold crept to my throat and i blank stared the refrigerator for fifteen
minutes. it all felt ugly and square and bleak like rained in fog. now i
never forget the double knot so i will be ready to run.

my purse smells like stale weed
every time I dig for change
the past has been consumed into the inner threads
it just won’t go away

“I just tapped my foot along and closed my eyes
to make believe I still belonged in the moment”

this hurt is sticky
I don’t know what to say, to write, to think…I want to take comfort in silence that hasn’t yet existed. I’m searching for a reason to cry, but self pity doesn’t look too pretty today. Maybe I’ll try something else on. Maybe a nice purple shade of regret.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate. I can admit it though with lowered eyes. The sort of thing you tell yourself while taking a shower, only you’re whispering so the sound of the water hitting the tub drowns everything out.

This house with old forgotten things. Reminiscent of distance memories, like cobwebs in my mind. Faded, scared, insignificant, capturing an image displaced so far that i strain to feel it again. Disconnected from this space and the objects that fill it. Home consists of a connection of relationships. Underneath every off hand comment, every small gesture, every raised voice, is a foundation I’ve never been able to see. Love, there is love, safe and secure never to deteriorate, never to be forgotten-like these things.  We fit together in oddity, in difference, there is a familiarity. With different perspective of a similar start, how can any one understand me more? There is tranquility in the clockwork routine of patterns, repeated for years. Imprinted, inbeded, unphased, yet now attempting a new reaction after all these years. Love.

sing fear, sing.

Inner perplexion,

hotwire my phobia,

place it on pins and needles,

elevated above 500 staring eyes,

dissecting innards.

Leave me hog tied

a sorry joke,

caught in buffoonery,

While I bellow

8 trembling stanzas,

17 sour notes,

one crasing song

That went on 3:54 seconds too long.

Fight or Flight

head under covers,

accumulating air,

bent, fetal

holdign arm’s arm


keen to echos

house sighs,

murmurs of voices a far off.


rearranging memories,

watching scaling shadows crawl

engulfing heart, squeeze.

Reality check, imagination, please.

Insomniatic night dream,


trigger hand, palm place, perfect fit

scheming puzzling


hiding places.

playing out scenario





Soothing rational self sweet talk,

Moments pass.

Unconciously unconvinced,

wisely pace the house on tiptoe.

timidly approaching foreign corners of the house,

jiggling deadbolts,

freezing in window reflections,

Jack rabbit heart.

Writing prompt

What its like to be a military mental health technician:

I try to make each person I meet with feel comfortable. Slouching low in my chair with a casual tone, like two friends conversing, I put them at ease. I even put the pen down when emotion rises and let empathy flood into my eyes. Questions drum off my tongue with quick succession, “ How old were you when your mother left?”, “Have you ever been abused?”, “ Are you having any thoughts of suicide?”. The words flow, floating their way into the atmosphere to meet a patient‘s thinking pause. And no matter the content, no matter my heart wrenched surprise, no answer ever gets an eyebrow raise.

I walk the chow hall with a bucket full of others’ secrets. As I wait in line I watch Smith seated amongst chattering friends, absentmindedly stirring the mash potatoes on his plate. He relapsed last week, and I wonder if his lunching buddies have noticed his recent introversion. When it’s my turn in line, Davies, who’s going through a grueling divorce, serves me my order of pork chops dispassionately and forgets to offer an “Have a nice day” as I take the plate. Seems things have taken a turn for the worse, he’s been shuffling around like this: blood shot eyes, sagging expression, and wrinkled uniform for the last week. At least Callaway is doing well today. I spot her near by lightheartedly joking with her boyfriend. I had a feeling Lieutenant’s counseling style would work well with her, I‘m glad I put them together. The cashier rings up my meal and Callaway catches my prolonged glance and quickly averts her eyes.

I push through the 11 am lunch crowd, a field of camouflage, loud voices, and brief “hello/goodbyes“. I pass familiar face after familiar face which brightens in recognition. Yet, shortly brightness collapses to quiet shame, exposed, as their recognition leads to a memory connection. Their story falls off the book shelf of my mind, revealing sour tidbits. Raped when he was 10, diagnosed with bipolar disorder, on 24 hour watch. I can barely see their eyes looking at mine, just labels in Times New Roman font under SOAP note: Diagnoses: Axis I. II. III. I quickly look away, out of respect. Our exchanges are a silent unwanted acknowledgment, that holds too many seconds, and I breathe better as I exit. Yet as the distance between us grows, foot propelling foot, I am left rereading the opened story in my mind. I just don’t forget.

colorless glasses.

Mirror reflection,

Day in day out,

Same sort of thing,

Different taste.


The music is the same,

Colors, stereotypes,

Ramble on.

Yet today it sits,

Like silt,

Like residue,

Like filth.

Sliding in sliding out,

Of an all too

Obvious reality.

Fight as we might,

We are stared down,

By the same weary concepts,

Faith vs. death- money vs. love- right vs. wrong

Tick tock,

Mind clock.

Awakes my sense of lingering time.