"Autism, you are not my diagnosis.
You are the garbage bag I got thrown into
When even ADHD didn’t want me anymore.
You are judgmental psychiatrist viewing
Microscope slide me with scalpel eyes
And dissecting with, ‘You are not normal.
Take pills to change who you are.’"
Tonight’s Cantab feature is local favorite Matthew Richards! If you’re in town on this fine Thanksgiving Eve, come to the Cantab for a mix of powerful words and pop culture elegies
. These are the opening lines of his poem “Misdiagnosis,” published in Tiferet Journal.
Ps, Matthew Richards is awesome if none of you know.
I want a lover who will build me a Taj Mahal in their heart.
(that way we can avoid the whole trampling on others by enslaving them to construct a monument to love)
Known as a “tear drop on the cheek of time” this glorious monument was built in the 17th century to memorialize the death of emperor Shah Jahan’s wife Mumtaz Mahal. Their relationship was “unusual” because it was more the Western ideal of romantic, personal love.
Court records describe that “the mutual affection and harmony between the two had reached a degree never before seen between husband and wife among the class of rulers or among the other people… The intimacy, deep affection, attention and favor which the majesty had for the chosen one of the palace exceeded by a thousand times that he had for any other.”
Its architecture is “a testament to eternal love”. Built on the edge of a river, many deep wells were dug and filled with stone, creating a solid foundation that would not wash away. The towers around it actually lean outwards. This counters the natural illusion of towers leaning inwards and also, in the event of an earthquake, would cause the pillars to fall away from the central building.
This “eternal love poem in stone” was designed to stay in the minds of visitors. As one approaches thru a gatehouse the building appears to become smaller, as more of it comes into view. As one leaves it looks larger and it is said that you take the Taj Mahal with you when you leave.
(info via Smithsonian tv special)
"For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives."
"And I keep thinking that there have been men who died for something or thought they did
there’s this sense of waste
just dying for yourself with
-charles bukowski “…American Express, Athens, Greece”