P.S. that was poetry, not a poem (A letter form Cubs)
Wolf, as your friend and understander of the moves you are making I’m honored to be a part of the first issue. It’s amazing how things fall into place and words make sentences of ‘meaning’. As a poet, I’ve come across plenty of expressions and suggested intentions of what it means to speak. Some people speak in the grammar of business, some sexuality, class, others art, some life, but me (personally) I am here to speak from the soul of the everyday. We are all relatives and yet! we fail! to speak a general depth, to the individually minded. I have an allergic reaction to people when they choose to call me names or labels or identify me through superficial terms. It changes everyday! One day I’m a poet, the next day I’m a black man, then a father, a bi-racial lover, the modern-day hipster...no one knows and therefore we enable fear to define our interactions. Not me, Wolf. I move to be loved, not feared. I have time on my side, that’s my privilege, time to understand, time to engage. I am not here to prove or even push points across the table. I am here out of thankfulness, thankful that my spirit has attracted yours and vice versa. we move in packs hunting the ones who fear the feeling of being themselves. We smell the adaption, we smell the pretenders. Not us, Wolves. We wander, we expand culture just by being. It’s amazing, the collective conscious of creatives, our language is love and our words, our words are symbols of freedom.
From the depths of every day,
Cubs The Poet
P.s. that was poetry, not a poem.