Cer. From Burma to Syria.

Agnes Scott fo’ Free. Smart WinZ. #bartonspringz2049

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To know Her, she who came off an airplane from Burma. Her name is Cer, worked her way through Thailand in restaurants from the age of twelve. She’s lived two, perhaps three lives. Her sister passed away this month, much like mine trying to live in the shadow of an Energizer bunny. I could see the tears in her eyes. I wanted to hug her, but this was the first time I saw Her as a woman and not the refugee in my class. I want Her to know I will always remember her prayers with me in the chapel of Agnes Scott. When she said, “I pray for you” I know she meant it. As I for her, something vital in the life of Cer that speaks beyond words in the space of that lunch in Larwenceville. It’s common for refugees who arrive in Clarkston to work their way out to the suburbs or rural areas of Georgia. A green space is infinitely more kind to a brain that has seen war. I wrote a poem about my own inner war. It goes like this:

Ghost in the Shell

Mobile armored riot police,

Who are you, white man,

White woman, who wears,

A clean shirt and slacks,

Drives a nice car,

Lives in a nice house,

Somewhere in 30345,

Do you own a house,

Have kids to wipe the snot,

Off as they cry, over spilled,

White milk, white milk,

Spoiled and old, curdled,

Pasteurized, safe, fenced,

Clean, no germs, store,

Bought with green,

Green is the color,

Of my pain, my heart,

Bleeds green, red blood,

Damascus, my love,

You gave me something,

That day, 9/9/2009,

The memories of graphs,

On my door, weight loss,

Anorexia, bulimia, vomit,

I have to be the best,

I have to make it to MIT,

Son, you are a machine,

Son of mountains, poem,

You are a chemist, art,

Is worthless, chase money,

White milk, white milk,

It is good for you, clean,

Safe, those folks on,

Tha otha side, in that,

Otha side, that dark side,

That black side, that,

Place where Briarcliff,

Flows into that Moreland,

That place where the music,

Is loud and real, where,

The pain is real, and,

Tha problems are big,

Bullets fly fast, and life,

Is short, that trap, trap,

White milk is safe,

Drink it son and you,

Will be okay, white,

As snow, on the bluff,

Until Bernie Madoff,

Does his shit and inverts,

Tha dollar sign,

Upside down cash money,

That day is the day,

White milk turns black,

Up becomes down,

Left becomes right,

Violence of silence,

Becomes more painful,

Than a bullet in the brain,

Or a knife up the wrist,

Cut up right, cut up left,

Slit your jugular left and right,

And let that blood flow,

Let the river flow,

Turn the white milk,

Black obsidian, dark,

As the Kaaba is hard,

Rock, Kaya, who is,

The meaning of that?

Who am I?

Why does this sign,

Turn upside down,

Polarity reversal,

Singularity, hard,

And fast, future,

Trap lords, white,

Trap lords, black,

Green money,

Night vision green,

The color of money,

The color of my blood,

No more red,

Colors bleed,

As an artist is,

Grows from,

The ashes,

of those,

Cold,

Atoms.

I read that poem to Rebecca at the Magestic Diner.

She got it, and gave me the same smile that Cer does. An empathetic kiss with a softness that is earned from homelessness and pain. The same tears that I shed with Dixie, and the story goes on. I could count the number of women I’ve tried to reach to on my hands, but Cer is the one who gets it. She’s going into the Middle East to teach kids from camps. I know I have touched her. She’s going to solve the war wounds before it starts. She knows what I know. It’s another poem that captures this situation:

The Descent of Man

And then there was Light, E = mc^2 was revealed by the Sun,

M = E/c^2 was employed by man to wage war after Trinity,

Albert Einstein must have been of black and white human natures,

It is harder to crack a prejudice than an atom,

Mountains do not do politics,

Today, we are creating deserts,

Tomorrow, we will build the mountains peacefully,

I do not know how the Third World War will be fought,

But I can tell you what they will use in the Fourth – rocks!

The rock of Abraham, Kaaba (inorganic matter – black stone),

Will out live all Life, organic matter, on earth,

The Sun will enter a state of decline, a nova,

And all matter in the Solar System will be reunited as One,

Time will pass, and the finite creation will return to the

Infinite Absolute Void of God,

Thus completing the cycle of creation.

What I now know is that Cer completes the poem. It’s now The Descent of Man, and the Rise of Woman. Her smile and wink in saying she’s going to Syria, but I can’t say how. We smile and part ways, knowing we are on a front of something divine.

When I was down, she prayed with me to Jesus. #bartonspringz2049

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About kayaerbil

I am a Berkeley educated chemistry Ph.D. who is moving into the area of working on developing appropriate technology for communities that are subjected to socio-economic oppression. The goal is to use simple and effective designs to empower people to live better lives. Currently, I am working with Native Americans on Pine Ridge, the Lakota reservation in South Dakota. I am working with a Native owned and run solar energy company. We are currently working on building a compressed earth block (CEB) house that showcases many of the technologies that the company has developed. The CEB house is made of locally derived resources, earth from the reservation. The blocks are naturally thermally insulating, keeping the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Eventually, a solar air heater and photovoltaic panels will be installed into the house to power the home and keep it warm, while preserving the house off the grid. A side project while in Pine Ridge is a solar computer. I hope to learn about blockchain encryption software for building microgrids. In addition, it is an immediate interest of mine to involve local youth in technology education.
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