by Autumn Turley
i fell off the wave... it always happens at this time of year... and i always think to myself, "this time i will stay on!" but i always end up falling... every single time. but what has changed, is the hopelessness, that feeling that once you're down you'll never get back up again. and in its place is anticipation. i want to shake it all off like i wet dog... and sometimes i can, momentarily... but it all settles back on again. but this month is a transition. this month i am graduating college. and then i am going on tour! and now i am projecting into the future, feeling the feeling of something missing, or feeling the feeling of things being a lot heavier than i thought they would be, or feeling the feeling of being weightless... but i've got to stop doing that... because i don't know what i'll be feeling! and at the same time i know exactly how i'll be feeling, i know everything i'll be feeling... but there's no need to go there. this year things changed. this year i set aside days to take breaks. but what if that is not enough? and i wonder, am i really moving forward or am i running up an avalanch? no, i don't really wonder that, i only wonder that when i am stuck on the microcosm, because, when i get onto the macrocosm, i know that the concept of forward exists in spirals, and i am spiraling. i remember sitting on the bench with him, and he said, "how have you been?" and that question, i hear that question every day and usually it is so light that i can blow it away, but when he asked it, it was so heavy, heavy with the weight of a year, with the weight of a lifetime, with the weight of many lifetimes. many lifetimes... what is that feeling? what are these challenges? what are all these magnetic forces pulling me onto the microcosm? and what it's been coming to lately, is that i need to breathe... and breathe... and breathe. i was talking to her about that today, about how when i am stressed out the tension builds up in my chest and throat and jaw and neck, and she said "you know what you need to do? you need to breathe through your diaphragm." i know that i need to breathe through my diaphragm, but how do you breathe through your diaphragm when your stomache muscles are always too tense?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Scabs
by Autumn Turley
i killed you
you opened your mouth
and i stuck my hand down your throat
and pulled out your life thread by thread
it glowed in my hands
while you lay pale
your mouth still open but there was nothing
your pain wasn't physical
it was the knowledge of the future that would never be
then why did you let me do it?
why does death bring so much pain
if life only leads to destruction?
we're parasites that rape the earth
leaving irreparable ugly scars
on what is not ours
getting high on the death of the sky-
...but if life is so ugly
then why does it look so beautiful glowing there in my hands?
is there more infinite beauty out there than there could ever be negativity?
i killed you
you opened your mouth
and i stuck my hand down your throat
and pulled out your life thread by thread
it glowed in my hands
while you lay pale
your mouth still open but there was nothing
your pain wasn't physical
it was the knowledge of the future that would never be
then why did you let me do it?
why does death bring so much pain
if life only leads to destruction?
we're parasites that rape the earth
leaving irreparable ugly scars
on what is not ours
getting high on the death of the sky-
...but if life is so ugly
then why does it look so beautiful glowing there in my hands?
is there more infinite beauty out there than there could ever be negativity?
Permeate
by Autumn Turley
drink sadness out of a shotglass
feel it burn through your veins
warmth tingling through your body inside out
and watch the sadness flow through your head and out your mouth
twisted along the path by aphodic words of love
you don't know where they come from
you watch them slide out like watching a movie you have no control over
words of love raining down on thoes around you
who you didn't even know you loved
but once you say it you know it's true
and to watch thoes people breathe in your words like mist off wet grass
leaves you empty
drink sadness out of a shotglass
feel it burn through your veins
warmth tingling through your body inside out
and watch the sadness flow through your head and out your mouth
twisted along the path by aphodic words of love
you don't know where they come from
you watch them slide out like watching a movie you have no control over
words of love raining down on thoes around you
who you didn't even know you loved
but once you say it you know it's true
and to watch thoes people breathe in your words like mist off wet grass
leaves you empty
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The Little Drummer Boy
Destined to be, the little drummer boy carried his oversized cow skin drum that still hummed of rotten flesh and heated meat chunks. Tripping over his beat up sandals, he scurried throughout the village in haste to make each religious appointment placed before him. Sacrifices were the way life among his people and no ceremony was legit without the acccompaniment of the one beat constant drum. Boom, boom, boom, boom...One swing, one dry bellow. The timing never changed. The tempo and pitch remained the same as it had for ages and ages into the past, when long ago the dust now blowing in the wind used to walk the mother earth in human form. The ancestors were pleased for the tradition to live on in such dedication and vivacity, unchanged and unspoiled, as all old folks wish to see the world before their eyes unfocus for that last time.
The young drummer boy thought long and hard about the idea of tradition, for he felt it was an excuse to be uncreative. Rules and laws and superstitions and unchallenged half truths kept the curious young at bay, teaching them to obey, respect their all too wise elders, and never question the gods. He did not question openly, but from within he felt the need to question himself. Why must I follow and do as everyone else does? Why can't I learn from my own mistakes instead of being told how to messup and do right? His elders had answers to every problem, nothing surprised them. Before you knew it, a story was streaming from their mouths of spirits and animal kings and queens followed by a moral of great or little significance, believable or not.
The boy grew on, changing physically and mentally among the constant mindset of the village brain. The drum bore on, growing lighter with time, but the boys mind grew heavy and wary, dragging thoughts and visions within his stretched shadow. Ideas pondered upon deep into the night seemed to vanish with the darkness as the sun melted away all uncertainties...except one.
Why must I always drum my cursed cow skin the same tempo and same loudness without veering away even in the slightest of intentions? His body screamed to whack the drum with eyes closed and feel the cows heart and soul whom sacrificed itself for the gods love of music. Music? The constant heart beat echo resembled a warpath as much as it did a death song. No variations, no changes, no creativity. The gods were boring. Or were the people who proposed the gods wanted tradition over change the boring ones. Maybe they were afraid of their gods as much as they worshipped them?
Questions. The boy questioned asking the elders. The boy answered his own questions with realism and solid pain. The boy changed the beat of the drum to his own liking. The boy dismissed his traditions. The boy grew into a man and sought to see past his village boundaries. The man gatherered his belongings and decided to leave his native home. No, he did not run away in doubt or fear when no was looking. Instead, he announced his departure days in advance.
The village gathered to see him leave the day of, placing holy flowers before him to aid him in his condemned journey of uncertainty. Villagers poured out of windows, alerted by the new beat of the drum, a change so subtle, but attractive. A new wind of hope blew through the streets causing adrenaline to redline, a feeling strange and new to the family of followers. Many longed to join the well known drummer for an instant, but quickly changed their minds and dismissed the urge. For at the edge of the village, a group of elders waited for the drummer to advance upon their formation.
The drummer neared followed by his beat, smiling uncontrollably in his excitement. He stopped directly in front of the elders and spoke his intentions, drum still beating, always at his side. The elders demanded he stop this new noise, unfamiliar and unholy to the gods ears. The beat wore on. The elders asked the drummer why it was that he was choosing to disband and ditch his fellow friends and family behind on such a selfish quest. The boy simply replied with "Do not question the gods." And with that said he pushed his way past the elders, cow skin pounding, and left his shadow behind in a cloud of dust along with all his friends and familiy and their traditions. Looking over his shoulder for one last time, the drummer says just loud enough for the elders to hear, "And as for the story with the moral, I will tell it in full when I return..."
The young drummer boy thought long and hard about the idea of tradition, for he felt it was an excuse to be uncreative. Rules and laws and superstitions and unchallenged half truths kept the curious young at bay, teaching them to obey, respect their all too wise elders, and never question the gods. He did not question openly, but from within he felt the need to question himself. Why must I follow and do as everyone else does? Why can't I learn from my own mistakes instead of being told how to messup and do right? His elders had answers to every problem, nothing surprised them. Before you knew it, a story was streaming from their mouths of spirits and animal kings and queens followed by a moral of great or little significance, believable or not.
The boy grew on, changing physically and mentally among the constant mindset of the village brain. The drum bore on, growing lighter with time, but the boys mind grew heavy and wary, dragging thoughts and visions within his stretched shadow. Ideas pondered upon deep into the night seemed to vanish with the darkness as the sun melted away all uncertainties...except one.
Why must I always drum my cursed cow skin the same tempo and same loudness without veering away even in the slightest of intentions? His body screamed to whack the drum with eyes closed and feel the cows heart and soul whom sacrificed itself for the gods love of music. Music? The constant heart beat echo resembled a warpath as much as it did a death song. No variations, no changes, no creativity. The gods were boring. Or were the people who proposed the gods wanted tradition over change the boring ones. Maybe they were afraid of their gods as much as they worshipped them?
Questions. The boy questioned asking the elders. The boy answered his own questions with realism and solid pain. The boy changed the beat of the drum to his own liking. The boy dismissed his traditions. The boy grew into a man and sought to see past his village boundaries. The man gatherered his belongings and decided to leave his native home. No, he did not run away in doubt or fear when no was looking. Instead, he announced his departure days in advance.
The village gathered to see him leave the day of, placing holy flowers before him to aid him in his condemned journey of uncertainty. Villagers poured out of windows, alerted by the new beat of the drum, a change so subtle, but attractive. A new wind of hope blew through the streets causing adrenaline to redline, a feeling strange and new to the family of followers. Many longed to join the well known drummer for an instant, but quickly changed their minds and dismissed the urge. For at the edge of the village, a group of elders waited for the drummer to advance upon their formation.
The drummer neared followed by his beat, smiling uncontrollably in his excitement. He stopped directly in front of the elders and spoke his intentions, drum still beating, always at his side. The elders demanded he stop this new noise, unfamiliar and unholy to the gods ears. The beat wore on. The elders asked the drummer why it was that he was choosing to disband and ditch his fellow friends and family behind on such a selfish quest. The boy simply replied with "Do not question the gods." And with that said he pushed his way past the elders, cow skin pounding, and left his shadow behind in a cloud of dust along with all his friends and familiy and their traditions. Looking over his shoulder for one last time, the drummer says just loud enough for the elders to hear, "And as for the story with the moral, I will tell it in full when I return..."
by jorge rameriz
Afraid of the unknown
Crazies that prowl with guns that unload
Crazies that prowl with guns that unload
Metal nuggets flying aerodynamically forged
Piercing armored vehicles, clothing, then pores
A twitch of the finger sprays the car crimson red
Inside lie three comrades, one breathing two dead
And so went the night 24 hours before this
A drive-by ends two lives, two homies, dissed
Excelsior and Athens marks the ignorant stain
Empty souless shells is all that remain
Tonight I come to find out that two old buddies I met during highschool and their friend got sprayed up by some random killer last night. Two got hit. One died instantly and another was rushed to the hospital but didn't make it. Motives for the shooter are unknown, a random assault as far as anyone can see. Excelsior and Athens in the City, very close to home. Its scary to think that any random fool has the power to inflict deadly pain at any point in time. People are crazy, intentions sometimes hard to read in their eyes. I'm not writing this for sympathy or to scare anyone into staying home, but only to remind us all that you just never know. We are human animals with a need to survive, some more compassionate than others. For someone to pick up a gun, aim it, and shoot it while knowing the consequences of incarceration, reprise, and the stain of guilty fingers-is beyond me. I don't understand it. Cold blooded violence this day in age is ridiculously ignorant. Who are our role models now adays? Where are the brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers when the young and dumb are pubertizing through their rebellious teens, trying to fit in with the coolness of guns, violence, women, fast cars, gangs, pimping, drugs, etc.,etc...Where? It just might be that they ARE the wicked influence, the asshole role models that breed selfishness and the need for power and money. Its obviously present, this being a reality check, a boot to the head reminder (atleast for me). Somethings gotta change, starting with yourself and those that hang around you. Preaching to choir I'm sure, but this is where it begins.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
OVM's Mission Statement
"Once upon a time the world was in desperate need of change. The Big Business machine had its evil grasp on society, crumbling communities,
O V M is here!"
Our Voices Matter! (OVM) is an alternative media collective composed of artists, activists, writers, filmmakers, musicians, and like-minded visionaries. The purpose of OVM is to collectively develop an online video magazine that engages, educates, entertains, and empowers local and global communities who share a vibrant vision and commitment to grass roots organizing and cultural, economic, and environmental sustainability. Through the use of a multimedia online video magazine, OVM promotes multimedia communication as a catalyst for personal, professional, and institutional transformation.
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