Bøger af Steven Storm

These collected works are the alchemical poetics of a former childhood believer; remedied by the endeavors of thinking and evolving. These lyrics offer a spyglass view of the internal and external turbulence of the institutions of religion, imperial colonialism, and cultural coercion, bestowed upon the individual, thus at an early age, intoxicating the human capacity for kinship through erroneously multiplied self-deceptions - post indoctrination - and the lingering of unrealized wounds that coil emotions, unleashing fight and flight responses. Artistically, this work embodies the writing of a fictional character, Saint Iscariot (as a contemporary impersonation of Judas Iscariot - widely believed to have betrayed Jesus Christ for 30 pieces of silver). This book, sub-titled 'The Redemption of Betrayal', is presented as an uncanonized esoteric mix of recovered penmanship. Inspired by the poetics, parables, riddles, philosophy, theology, and apocalyptic tones of ancient narratives, juxtaposed with contemporary poetic marksmanship. With that said, the work of Saint Iscariot is not an exercise for empowering the negative. There are questions, answers, and solutions interwoven throughout the campaign of these pages. The sub-title alludes to the context, and how even the act of betrayal is redeemable if the betrayed cause is evidenced inhumane, and the case laid bare. Beyond this page you will experience the why of how the Betrayer became a Saint for the Redemption of Betrayal.

I held her hand from a distance that was as close in time as the heart to the beat The raw beauty of her intentions caused silence to blossom as a field of flowers I saw the purity between her eyes vexed by the path of transient lovers And I wanted more than anything to bandage her scars as she had for me So I told her, "I'll meet you where the trees whisper with the breeze And cure you, in the darkest places the world has made you bleed." Her eyes illuminated like midnights twinkling stars As she smiled and softly whispered, "Tell me more". So I composed a poem entitled Love: Love Is timeless Like eternity A moment Worth Remembering A chance To take Your breath away You are worthy. . . To be Loved In this moment silence replaced all need of words Their eyes met, hearts beating as one, and their souls kissed And by the chisel of creation's scribe imprinted upon them They knew they had met before In the vastness of eternity's timeless past He loved her so electrically. He would play with her, saying, "I know we were pulled apart at the source, when darkness was penetrated by light; only to strive towards one another afresh, with each revival of mortal bones." But in his heart, he embraced the truth, that whatever truth may truly decipher, it would leave him in ceaseless, ever evolving, expressions of exaltation. It was her. Everything was her. The Universe. Her. His very spirit seemed as though driven, as if pulling him even, always towards her.

I'm a doer - not a debater. An artist - not a personal tutor. An educator yes, but I owe no one my time for the subjective discourse stemming from an ill-conceived consumption of the erroneous effervescent knowledge base of past or present life. If you are here, the information highway is but a wifi clickety-click away. You are free to traverse beyond the limits of limit and stimulate the mental. Otherwise, to me, opinions are like a breeze that withers as it goes right on by. I have not the desire, nor the time. Moreover, vitriol induced pride pierced charges of hypocrisy or sellout towards people? Please...mere Tweety bird, Spacebook, living within a black and white TV radicals. We all pledge varying levels of allegiance by the tally of our dollars set aflame to keep the hell of consumption burning hot upon the people who are closest to the resource and production lines. See, I no longer entertain gibberish by the mouths of those who still fashion themselves in threads reaped by violence. I refrain from entertaining gibberish from the fingers of those who can type as fast as they can consume petroleum and thereby benefit and lend credence to the corporate scarification upon this ONE Earth. We're all the exploited as well as exploiters under this system. The understanding of this is not condemnation, but humility. By the infection of my youth, it took a bit to grasp this truth. But ever true nonetheless, and so, I set boundaries with people. I fully embrace the diversity of tactics. But such an embrace does not concede to entertaining or fulfilling anyones desire to speak without listening. Nobody has to give to those who don't get it. What is here today, will be here tomorrow. Humanity is engaged in a time slaying process to rid the inner-self of fools gold dreams and white teeth nightmares. No matter the numbers, humanity is in the process, and this process will take time. What I've learned by the betrayal, the pulling of victim cards for emotionally geared manipulation, the pride of entitlement by those who feign modesty, the vacancy of the external show, and just life in sincerity forsaken general - set boundaries. Life is too damn short! The activist environment is no steady dose of peace, love, and tranquility. Activism is an expressive course born out of the imperfection of life. Just as the contradiction of these unfolding words. Yes, I'm open to embracing the moment and witnessing the beauty of life unfold in its raw and rich form. But that doesn't mean I don't set boundaries with people. Real connections are real connections. Half- hearted connections betray the depth of tangible. So the bottom line, I am an individual of the whole, and I do as I fuckin do. No approval is required. Your approval is not desired. Rebel on. Shut it down. Smash the status quo love affair with state sponsored violence. Bread and Roses, Steven Storm