.75 atishoo

currently listening to

'cello suite V, (the one with the scordatura)

j.s. bach

but if meant to be is not,
then think of me:
and bang
the kickback rocks
the hinges of my head
forward the sound waves ripple a surprise
(and then we all turn to oblige
with onomatopoeia
or blessing).



somehow,
dressing in the same mass-produced fabrics
and color styles (right now, plaid)
and with the same make-up
or the same shoes
and the same education
even if i match these same
as the 'skin-colored' raffle tickets
available 500 to a book
now find me as your stereotype
write a book on me
or a page in a book of stereotypes
(to set me apart from the rest,
and make me
different)

somehow,
it won't be all same.



the moment of surprise
is not necessarily so, though
for are we?
at the moment, yes
but maybe not so much at the person -
for even without sight
and only sound
theirs has an owner, of much certainty.
discernment, to the skilled, is crystal.



and even if,
in one day,
when inter-racial sex has taken its ultimate course
as russell peters says,
and we're all
baige

somehow,
it won't be all same.



further
(which implies that maybe it possess you
and not you, it):
the moment is not ever to your choosing,
you cannae will it
and normaltide, nor do you expect it.
an eruption from within
even,
this expression of self,
deep inside,
innate and distinct,
this is no less than an autonomous exclamation of the soul.



and sure,
freely compliment me on my beard
(or do unlikewise, freely also)
so long as you can also understand my own social insecurity
behind why i am trying to stick out.

unique,

like a sneeze.