First Review of Slow Living by Notty Bumbo


Linearity is discouraged.
After an immersion in Slow Living, by Kenyatta JP Garcia, from West Vine Press
By Notty Bumbo
How he said it. How it got here, gets here, sends messages, goes sideways, across time and back, bounces history across personal synapses. This is a work unfolding, a journey despite its most ardent desire to locate a fixed point from which to observe, debate, break open anything within view or hidden behind unreason. From the Greeks to the Geeks, a brief mention of (the first) Hannibal, and never depositing two hundred dollars, Kenyatta goes and goes, his prose opposes fixed coordinates, this/these poems unfolding origami-like before the limits of understanding. A diary of mad fun and sullen rectitude, careening around my skull in philosophical glee. I suspect “JP” means Jet Propelled, or Just Perusing, or Jamming Profundity. I give this book an easy ninety-nine with a bullet– you can dance to it, all right, all night, outta sight!

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Take Place


Been rubbernecking. Keeping an eye out for where time took an odd moment to add an extra scar to the road.

*

The last ditch that took some effort to carve. To assure a certain waylay for someone just needing to get away.

*

The truth for all its power sets everybody else free but itself. Instead chooses transformation. Settles for concealment. To be protected from witnessing itself.

*

Can’t turn my back on myself but my back also won’t look me in my face so what good’s a back anyway? If it didn’t come with the body why would anyone even bother having one?

*

The faults furthered the cause of the tectonic shifts. Line breaks will always be a part of this world. Each side is a stanza. The earth quakes suddenly understanding another version needs to take place. This place.

Afro-Nowism When The Future Feels Too Far Away


now as much as ever we need space even more.

steel and superpowers.
we been magical
but sorcercery hasn’t been enough.
*
oh lawd, can a nigga get a force field!
*
let’s talk that real pillow talk
holding onto hope
when thoughts and prayers have failed

let’s snuggle up into cybernetic fantasies of nanotech
smarter than the biology of fingers
and tin of badges
*
oh jesus, how much stronger we got to get?
*
whom does the singularity include?
*
why couldn’t creation have just been a myth?

electric memories keep eyes lit
all night long computing
while chains keep bodies in place,
while cells provide shelter
when the streets fill up with the phobia generations in the making.
so long in the making time travel has more dangers
than the edge of the universe.
*
send thoughts and prayers to parallel dimensions.
maybe they’ll be of some use there.
*
maybe the horizon holds another event
the roads of this dystopia
have yet to find.
*
what good are the pistons without the gas and the grease?
what’s a mission mean
as acid rain tears at the hood
revealing rust and the algorithms
of a nation
forcing you to drive onward?
*
what’s left?
what else is there when only space seems safe?
when to leave is the best defense?
because to stay is conflict.
everyday is a casualty.
the struggle is actually an assault.

Overcast


“… can never forget

Once every wall was water…”

Mary Oliver

Goals were never stated

for tears

set free

for overcast

brought about

by and for

some unknown

bend of shame,

regret.

 

Dampened consequences

bringing to rot

an idea

someone else

would

die for.

Planning


As so on a by-passed day

when the self

so willed

to find a sharp

and 90 degree meeting

and rest there

a bit

facing away

from the room

it also created

when action

overpowered

planning

(inspired by Luis Cernuda)

Now And Again


Our heart. Yes, ours. If only ever. What a want to share one with someone/everyone else.

 

All is lost but we’ll find it again. I promise if you promise too.

*

I’ll never wish for sleep. I only ever want to be awake. I don’t want to miss a minute of when things get good. Get great. Become what they could always have been.

I wan to witness equality. All I need to see is consistency then I can rest in peace.

*

I’m trying to keep a little laughter in me but it’s getting hard to do. Somebody told me what to do. Dig into your half of a heart and give me some sound advice. A sound. A lyric to sing to myself when I’m feeling lonely. A verse to hold onto for the uphills when my legs are burning. Give me the song that’ll have me begging to meet the sirens. The sirens here to help us. The sounds of emergencies averted. The sound of a miracle worker’s footfall.

*

Justice isn’t blind. It’s bound and gagged and I don’t know who’s getting off but I know it didn’t come cheap.

*

Don’t trust me with your money I’ll bet the house on us. We have to win. We didn’t come this far to lose even if we’re losing now. Now and again.

At/HERE


New Year’s resolution –
stop talking to yourself.
*
I have no promises to keep.

So it seems, good sense only goes so far as genius allows. As one grows increasingly informed, the desire becomes to lose commonality and the sensibility which accompanies it. What good is a sense if it is only used for good? Give me a sense which brings a sensation – hand on stove, fall from heights. Excitement in known harm but unknown consequences doled out by nature.
*
What I wanted was not really to be alone but to be head over heels over someone. Someplace for emotions to go. I’m ambitious that way.
*
Who will concur while I wait? Without a fever for the infirmary. Without need for quarantine, who else will be here to hear?
*
I don’t like ‘cool.’ I don’t like ‘beautiful.’ I don’t like. I just don’t like. Let me love something indefinable for once. Let me hate. Leave me the freedom to go beyond dislike to the extremist position against certain notions. Let me have floors and ceilings in this room. Leave my food by the door. I’ll swallow it when it cools off a bit.
*
In solitude, I take even the public rather personally. Get offended or let joy arise from those passing by.
*
Consequences are irrelevant to cruelty.
*
Am I guilty of or for irony? What liberty, what power in producing, being, becoming another ending – only somewhat unexpected. Because, who doesn’t account for the curse of the paradox?
*
I am barbaric. Or I was. Or I want to be. Anyway, Barbary is close to me.
*
What forms of expression are at my disposal?

Have I seemed happy for at least some of the time?

Maybe in the end it will appear (to be) more apparent.
*
Somebody is talking about a fear of airplanes and I’m here thinking about a fear of talking to anyone or in particular – a someone across the room from here.

Neither these nor those books are shields. And besides, a proper glance caught in spectacular timing cuts right through.

Oh, but a look caught in flight can see a lot of turbulence.
*
Patience will always prove random is regular. Chaos dictates how the lines will shorten. No turns are being taken, orderly, while waiting.
*
Does one exist who is deserving as much of admiration as affection?

I feel I’ve been born into a banned life. I think I understand now that there is no room in languages frequented or neglected for duality. For similarity to feel the same.

This soul came passed down from those passed on with certain policies intact. Boycott the insincere. Embargo bad faith. Find distant compassion for those who are fake only because otherwise there would be no need to ever use words. There’d be no comprehension of a range of emotions.

Nonetheless, I’ve given up on smiling.

(originally published in eccolinguistics)