By them men

I think,
That in music,
as it happens in other art forms

(let's just keep it to music art),
we find that the majority of the work is done by male artists.

I just thought 
that it has nothing to do with women being busy,
breastfeeding or doing the washing,
or prioritising on reality 
so men can have clean music studios 
with no kids running around in them.

I just thought that
that's the way we, 
Fallopian Tube beings, do it.
We listen to men's music 
more than
We listen to what our sisters have to say.

Cus we female people,
are continuously yearning for love.
And we want to hear their voices, 
talking sweet to us
talking dirty to us.
Or ignoring us.

While,

We admire their freedom
We admire their honesty
We admire their unity.

Cus they don't have time to listen to 
what we females have to say. 
It's too mild.
Too boring.

They don't need us that way.
They don't really need our art.

They listen to themselves,
and see themselves expand...

We, help them do that. 

It's OK. Aight.

Makes me put into perspective quite a few things about hetero love.

I hear a change is coming. 

Boy, 

t'is slow. 

***whilst I listen to Navigator Truck by Alex Wiley

Flimsy Poem

The signs of unfairness fading down my female face

Without any faith left to fall for it again

I fail to move forward

Remaining in fear

Life, for some so fruitful for me so frail

The friction inside feels like fever hell

Faster than fashion and flawless like flowers

My power is foreseen by some, maybe four

White flour powder I prefer brown

They function by fallacies far away from me

In fact, it is so safe it is uncomfortable

                        For these times, ahead is my belief

I feel relieved I found you

And that I found me inside you

Forgiveness who am I to forgive

                         Nobody, but I have to forget it.

Forever free, my mind is.

Forever free... 

I...

The f word – I can say Lof.

(But I do love to say fuck.)

For That,

This life I live.

Future proofed be my children’s fate

                         May they find freedom along their way.

Reflexión de vida, amor y muerte

Cuando se muere la persona amada

Su espíritu goza, ama, reciproca 

Por siempre

En ese destino mágico
Cargado por la constante energía generada del amor de aquellos

(hoy nosotros)

quienes le recuerdan, añoran y adoran.
En ese destino mágico
(Ella) vive feliz.   

Los que volverán a nacer

-sin memoria de haber existido antes-
En forma de bebés llorones e inquietos

Que no te dejan dormir
Serán aquellas almas que se quedaron en el olvido
Que para poder existir y gozar por siempre
Carecen de la energía generada por amor y del recuerdo de sus vivientes.

Aquellos, volverán a nacer.
Y esta vez lo tendrán que hacer mejor.

Amar más

...y mejor.

Para que en el momento de partir
Puedan irse felices entre las sonrisas y lágrimas de la despedida  

Y puedan gozar, amar y reciprocar Por siempre

En el destino mágico. 

Mantenidos en el gozo por la energía de aquellos que le aman, 

Añoran

Y recordarán

Para siempre. 

Mayte Díaz, 20 Septiembre 2013.

(Mama, siempre te amaré)

Bitches

In a world
full of bitches

... I'm the bitchest of them all.

Mathematics

All the people around me.
I look at their faces
and I see not two people look the same
Not even twins do.
How is it possible, 

have you thought about it.

Two eyes one nose one mouth two ears
one chin two cheeks one smile
32 teeth if you're lucky.
Eyelashes two eyebrows.

How can we

be so different.

Made from the same elements,
same physics and chemistry,
carbon and all that.
How many possible combinations nature has used, 
uses and will use

to produce us.

Different faces, eyes hands and toes...
Like millions of Mr and Mrs Potato Heads.

It's such a proof
of how infinite the nature
and universe are.

Pure Mathematics.
How many possible combinations.

Simple arithmetical mystery.

A chemical reaction?
Our soul.

How can we be so many,
and yet 

so different from each-other.

Why do we think each of us is special
and then again 

we are so many.

And will be many more.

One 

after the other.

One, two three four five six seven...

(We'll study the soul next. Sorry -did you mean God?)

Art and Death

It is our fear to death
the ultimate reason for
creating.
It is the fear of ending.
The anxiety of feeling the clock ticking.
The desperation of realising
that one day, we won't be no more.
No more.
As far as we know,
we don't fucking know.

Inquisitive towards institutional on-a-tray-laid man-written religion,
we pursue a journey
where we dig and dig
trying to reach the deep sands of it.
Through art,
we explore the different dimensions to life,
the layers to it.
As many layers
as our spirit's depths,
or heights.
As dimensional as you want it to go.
Timeless. Eternal.

Art is a journey of life
because we fear death.
Because we desire to remain,
forever and ever.
Desperate for grabbing the Now
and engrave it in the shape of colours
sounds
or words.
I don't want it to finish.

Listen to me!

Not just yet!

(...)

A legacy that will stay and live on
through years and beyond eras.
Art.

Our fear.
Our spirit.
Our desperation for life.

We wouldn't create if we didn't die.

Liricasoul 7 February 2012

Slow Mo (Erykah)

Slow mo.

Her voice

Like none.

The lil notes
The higher notes

Look for hidden small corners

inside you
and fills them in

tickling you and pinching you
No sound is a waste
Every gasp of air her breathing
It just fills me in
Leaving no gaps
Painful most of times
But exuberantly marvellous

... Feeling the friction of her voice

Her soul
Taking her time
On every note

Erykah!

That Hump

Erykah Badu

Spotify

Duality

Some days

I wake up feeling the strongest mother.

Other days

I wake up feeling the weakest woman.

                                And most of the times,

my mind don't sleep at all.

 

Complicated delicate duality

                     of being responsible 

of and for 

the most wonderful miracle

such as giving life to him

and at the same Time

                       trying to be who I've always been.

Having to use the word TIME again

- that is what life is all about...

I remain constrained within my stress

                              which I wish

I could just pull off from my skin 

and throw it far                    far away from me.

Incrusted in every mark,

every line on my face.

Carved so carefully... Why do I care.

 

Some days

I wake up feeling the strongest mother.

Other days

I wake up feeling the weakest woman.

 

And most of the times,

                              My mind don't sleep at all.

 

Music so fast

Artists are releasing albums too fast. 

Like cooking hotdogs on the corner. 

One after the other. 

Back in the day I used to have time 
between the artists' albums releases

to actually go back in time  and find out 
what they did before even before they were big. 

What samples they used what music made them be.

This is the way I got to know more music from the past. 

More and more.

Music from the past 

that took me

                        to like music from the future. 

Which inspired me to make music myself,

to be a part of the music revolution myself 

one way 

or 

the other.

I am somehow angry cus it feels 

we the audience are hens 

that have to be constantly thrown grain so there's no time to think. 

No time to evolve. 

No time to look at the past, 

learn 

and move 

                        forward.

And it is not happening only with music.

We are paying a very high price for the so called Freedom of Expression.

Untitled

Push me
Push

Me

Push me
Push me to the
Edge

Push me
Push

Me

Push me
Push me to the
Edge

Push me
Push

Me

Push me to the
Edge

Wait.

No

Don't push me.

Cause I'm already falling.

Love (in brackets)

(Hope)
Warm summer night
She was standing by the light post in front of the cinema entrance
At a glance short black vinyl skirt white Lycra top high heeled white leather boots
Looking for a room in somebody’s time and space
Her face pale her hair long black wavy shinning like the sky that night
In her mind the emptiness no smiles just a slight fake stretch of her lips
Her hips ready to conquer his eyes his pocket
His pocket piece of bread on her table at home she had a teenage girl
There, Hope was waiting for the end of that night’s projection
And there he comes.
He,

He knew no rejection would be a fact
His suit, his shoes, his shirt, his car it all proved the perfect catch
She tried not to shiver he said would you like to come
To come
To come with me tonight...
- Just tell me is 200 going to be enough
Her heart wasn’t there but she was

so she got into his car…

(Lily)
She couldn’t sleep it was too hot
He was not in bed yet not even at home
Lately they couldn’t pretend things were not going well between them
She got up she walked towards the dressing room
She sighed
5 in the morning summer light sliding through the curtains
The pain kept inside the jacket he was wearing the day before
She put her hand into the inner pocket a telephone number a woman’s name
Her heart sped up like a rocket
The business card read, “Do you feel alone?” Written in red fonts
She would not believe

She’s deceived.
She walked to her office desk her temple in the room next door
She had more work to finish up before seven she didn’t cry she didn’t have the time
Her pride wouldn’t let her

50 e-mails in her inbox that was all… That and the boy
The young man they brought up sharing their love

She dragged herself to his room
The young dude
Magazines all over the floor the PlayStation still on
He was smiling in his sleep maybe dreaming about a very young girl
Lily closed her eyes and so the door
Her only thought to hid alone under the bed covers

yet cold...

(Martha)
Day so bright temperatures so high
She was trying to concentrate on her Maths her heart wasn’t there
But she was. She was thinking about him that kiss at the back of the school
Like a fool

she fell into his arms he slightly older than her and seemed to be so mad
Teenage attraction
Martha was clever in class however her mind let her down hungry for his heart
She was alone mom had gone to work
Alone for long, maybe till the next morning
Lonely she understood the right and the wrong although experiences will take over
All the things she knew
A crime to a child but again she understood
And now she’s grown up Knowing that love is nothing to buy
She misses her dad she doesn’t know her dad
Maths she was studying… They won’t be the ones giving solutions to her dilemma
Why. What for.
She inhaled the breeze from her window to numb her heart
And still
She was dreaming on the day she could see him again kiss him again
Maybe hurt him again
Teenage love has no brain
The heart of a child the body of an adult
The most dangerous combination…

(Isaac)
That afternoon was so hot
After so much weed he couldn’t even guess where he was
Too much to drink his pocket always full of mom and dad’s cash
The hole the solitude
All those argues at home he thought he was strong
So young and thinking he had it all even her and all the others at the school
He gave his love to each girl he tried hardly to remember the first kiss
The bliss he felt he was so high His friends were too
Always trying to be like him the jacket his shoes his jeans
Isaac was the one with the style
Meanwhile he fantasised with that girl he closed his eyes he could feel his heart
Why. What for.
It may hurt. He rather kept it in his safe stoned cold world
Where answers are none and so the questions
With no tensions he decided to head back home his mates were so high
It’s so hard to be a teenager adult and child
He entered the code at the front door and headed to his room his temple
He felt alone but still he was starting to feel horny
The kiss her smell
The woman in the magazine suddenly seemed to look like her
He turn the PlayStation on so no noise could be heard from the room next to his
He scratched his young beard and thought about that girl
The kiss the bliss
The numbness of pleasure he had succumbed to
He was finally defeated sound asleep the pain was gone for today
Not in vain he had that teenage smile on his face - he wouldn’t help it…

Lirica Soul, August 2009

Ofili (Outro)

Maybe
I should also make my life
stand
on top of two rounded elephant dung feet
so it wouldn't touch the shit
that lays on our ground...

Lirica Soul June 2010

Ofili

I went to the Tate Britain one Sunday afternoon with rain.

Hesitating.
Thinking that maybe this is another representation of whoknowswhat
from some superwhoknowswho
which many whoever
-some vegetarian
some into organic
some into French cuisine
or Californian deep bloody red wine-
would observe…
up and down
left to right
corner to corner
drawing a diagonal with their eyes hidden behind their specs
showing admiration in their faces
like they understand,
understood.

Some counting the seconds
they will stand still glazing at one piece
-while I have just stepped in too close,
apologies, didn’t notice the bar on the floor-

Staring never too fast…
Never for too long…
Or the others may think
you don’t feel the meaning
you just don’t get it.

Yes that was that day I went to see Ofili at the Tate.
My usual frame of mind
However… slightly different.
It tickled me.
It tickled me to try diving into Ofili’s State of Mind
It tickled me to,
to find out

Investigate
Think really hard

What do whoevers know about Raekwon.

Lirica Soul June 2010