#tiku is tired

[bolontiku]

You ever just be tired of everything and just wanna disappear? Or feel like you're gonna go crazy? Like you go through so much shit and there's never any fucking minute to stop and breathe?

[tikus-library]

"Selfish"

One Shot - RPF

Characters: Ethan Hawke

Posted: Dec 29th

WARNINGS: fluff, absolute fluff, gross fluff, tiku doesn't write this kinda fluff but here you go. Smut is hinted at.

A/N: sometime your friend asks for a story and it happens... really hope this is what you wanted @cevans-is-classic

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved. 

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work** 

“Baby, I'm home!” He called a little chuckle curving his lips. It never ceased to amaze him that such a small inside joke would please him so much, he dropped his keys in the dish and toed his boots off, slipping them in place.

He was exhausted, the day of filming had taken longer than he expected and he had kept up well enough with your texts throughout the day, but he had eventually sent you one that explained he wouldn't respond till much later.

You understood of course and he had grinned at the heart and kiss emojis you sent his way. Along with one that saluted him, another inside joke. “Yessir” it was you being sassy, joking that he was older, he knew it was in fondness and he loved it. You. He loved you.

He sighed heavily as he stepped into the darkened living room, scanning his phone for last minute details about work and leaning a hip against the couch, he nearly jumped out of his skin when you shifted on the couch beside him.

Ethan looked up to realize the TV set was not off, but merely in rest mode. If he touched the remote he just knew there would be a documentary on or some true crime shit. Setting his phone on the stand nearby he leaned down to rest his arms on the backside of the couch, one of your legs was uncovered, bright sock sticking out. He tried not to laugh loudly, softening as he took in your sleeping face. He carefully reached out and ran a single finger down your face, smirking as you scrunched your face. He repeated the motion, a memory of you atop him gasping softly as he ran his finger along the curve of your jaw. ‘Beautiful…’

“Beauty..” He hummed softly, he remembered when you had first met.

He had called you sweetheart and you had corrected him, reminding him of your name. “Why?” He had asked.

“Stop that,” you chided him, “nobody calls me those kinds of names. Certainly not someone like you, I'm just here to help. You'll forget about me eventually.”

“Uuughhh!” You moaned, catching his wrist in your hand while simultaneously kicking the large furry soft blanket off you. “Stop that!” You mumbled sleepily.

Ethan dropped his head to the side, he couldn't help but grin, you had that effect on him. He couldn't not smile when you were nearby, just like he couldn't not look at you, even while others spoke to him bright blue eyes slipped to your form, tracking your moves. “Hey there love.” He watched your face color as you sat up and decided he would never tire of it.

You yawned, the shoulder of your oversized shirt slipping off exposing skin, “hOOoow was your day?” You asked around the yawn, legs stretching as you blinked rapidly and rubbed at your eyes with your free hand, the other still locked around his wrist.

You were selfish, he found. Once he stepped into your space, once he made certain you understood you could touch he couldn't keep your hands off him. Simple little things. Your fingers catching his shirt or sleeve, simply bumping into him from behind, fingers slipping into his pocket. He would pull you in under his arm silently, even if he was speaking to another, you hated when he ruffled your hair but stood patiently while he did so.

He was selfish, maybe.

Maybe he loved you too much.

Moving you into his place, within a couple months of dating, but it turned out you had a knack for fixing homes. His bare walls filled up with interesting pictures– “we don't even have a baby… why is this on our walls?”

“It's a conversation starter?” You had answered, “see? Conversation started…”

He laughed, but his items were never thrown out or moved far from their original spot. Blankets were placed on the couch and extra pillows, he didn't understand until he'd gotten in from a long day and fell asleep on said couch, he had been warmed and the pillows soft, before he would wake to an achy body.

To him, you were magic.

You reached up, fingers scratching along his scruffy jaw, making him hum contentedly. “Did you eat?” You asked, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch, losing contact with his face as you stood.

Ethan wrapped his fingers around your hand, watching as you smiled sleepily and followed his direction around the couch and in front of him. “I did eat, what about you? Hiding under large blankets?” He asked, easily slotting his large frame against yours, he needed it, maybe he had become too accustomed to having you touch him. It didn't matter, he needed you touching him.

“I ate,” you hummed as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours softly. You smiled into the kiss, a little dazed at the sudden affection but not complaining.

“Still sleepy?” He asked, breath warm on your lips. You nodded, hands slipping around his slim waist and snuggling closer. “Perfect…” he hummed, walking you towards the bedroom, “I'm going to curl up around you and you cannot deny me.”

“Oh nOoOo! The travesty of it all,” you laughed breathily as you clutched at him to keep your balance.

Ethan didn't turn on a single light, instead patting the soft night light you kept beside the bed.

“It is not a night light!” You protested.

“You use it at night?”

“Well - yes..”

“Is it to brighten the entire room?”

“Tsk, well no–”

“Use it to see just enough?”

You scowled, arms crossing over your chest as you refused to answer.

“It's a night light and I love it, just like I love you,” he had laughed softly, looking back at his book. It took a moment, but he realized he had said it aloud and then sighed softly at the quiet overtaking the space between the two of you. “Baby, it's alright, you don't have to say it back, it's just how I feel” he looked up when he heard a soft noise, panicking when he realized you were in tears, he dumped his book on the floor, the bookmark skidding across clean hardwood floors as he scrambled across the bed to capture your face in his hands, “no, no, what? What is it?!”

“You weren't supposed to say it before me!” You managed. “We just moved in together and everything was so fast… I was going to say it but- but –”

He laughed, magic, you were the magic people talked about in scripts, the magic that made dealing with everything worth it. Magic that made him happy to wake in the morning. “I take it back!” He laughed, swiping at your face, “I take it back” he said softer, pressing a kiss to your lips, “now you say it…”

“I love you,” you said, voice wavering softly as he kissed you, “I love you,” you repeated, more confidently this time, laughing softly against his lips.

“Jus’ a minute,” you whined softly as he directed you to bed, wrapping yourself around him, seeking out his warm body.

“Baby,” he hummed, “I need to change.”

“Okay…” You pouted, untangling yourself and climbing into bed, watching as he undressed and slipped into PJ'S, quickly scooting into him once he was in under the covers. “Ethan..”

He pressed his forehead to yours, thumb gently running along your jaw, “hmm?”

“I'm glad you're home,” you answered softly, eyes closed, already slipping back into the dark realm of dreams as he tangled his legs with yours.

“Me too baby,” he hummed, watching you drift off into sleep.

He was in love.

Too far in it to escape, not that he wanted to. No, he had been wrong, you weren't the selfish one. He was.

Read on Ao3

[srbachchan]

DAY 5491

HydKoh,Tel                       Feb 27/28,  2023                  Mon/Tue 12:39 PM

🪔 .. February 28 .. birthday wishes to Ef Jitendra Chauhan .. and Ef Rahul Tiwari from Bangalore .. 

🪔 .. February 23 .. missed birthday wishes to Ef Abhishek Vyas .. and Ef Shweta Pathak from Pune .. apologies .. and affection ..

🪔 .. February 24 .. another missed birthday .. of Ef Tiku Mohit Joshi from New Delhi .. our wishes ..

And the greetings of the wedding anniversaries of the Ef .. :

💐 .. Ef Shiv Shankar Roy and his better half Nandiniji from Assam .. their 21st Wedding Anniversary .. on Feb 28 .. 💍💕

💐 .. Ef Anamika Gupta from Dubai .. her 29th wedding anniversary .. on Feb 27 .. 💍💕

💐 .. Ef Hemlata Sai Saini .. on Feb 26 .. 💍💕

Togetherness and the prayers of love and happiness .. 🚩🚩🚩🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️🌿

oh dear .. a delay once again and the timings were such that it became a little delayed to come here ..

finished by 4 am .. and then was tired up in getting to retire asap that the Blog was kept in abeyance ..

soon with you in greater detail .. till then :

.. the with and the without ..

love 

Amitabh Bachchan

[bolontiku]

I spent all day in bed

[akumautidur]

i only got older, not wiser, just more insecure for irrelavant thing.

pas aku smp atau sma aku memang sudah insecure, siapa sih yang engga? Apalagi dengan otak dan hormonnya remaja labil yang masih mencari identitas. Tapi saat itu, belum separah saat ini. Aku ga pernah insecure sampai depresi, dulu ga ada beban atau rasa kosong yang membebani hati. Aku juga banyak ga terlalu peduli dengan orang lain, ga mau tau dan emang ga peka aja. Padahal kalau dipikir2 lingkungan smp sma ku lebih "hedon" dan lebih wah dari pada saat ini. Tapi anehnya aku ga terlalu sering liat ke atas. Jadi ya aku ga banyak merasa insecure karena puas dengan apa yang aku jalanin waktu itu, ga ada usaha dan ga ada kecewa. Tapi kali ini? Wah gila, bisa2 tikus di dalem got aja bisa bikin aku iri. "Ko bisa ya si ini punya itu, si itu punya ini" "ko bukan aku ya? Ko hidup aku gini ya? Ini salah siapa ya?"

Its tiringgg.

kemana mindset filsafat stoikisme yang baru awal tahun ini kita gencar pelajari dan berusaha mengimplementasikan di kehidupan kita? Yang sempet kita bikin snap gram sama snap wa? Yang kita jadiin sumber untuk menasihati orang lain?

Kemana prinsip "Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants"???

Its just gone, like a lovers whisper.

Tbh, im tired for blaming myself. Thats why, i kinda lost my grip, im not praying like im used to, i can feel my sincerity fading away. Please just help me.

Tau kan rasanya lelah sama diri sendiri? Heran sama diri sendiri? Menyalahkan diri sendiri, lalu berujung ngerasa bersalah karena terus menerus merundung diri sendiri? Kalau kamu ga baik ke diri sendiri, lalu siapa di dunia ini yang akan baik ke kamu?

But still, you cant help it. You get stuck in this vicious cycle.

tapi, harus inget bahwa kebanyakan liat ke atas akan menyebabkan sakit leher. Begitu pula kebawah. Tapi entah lah. Aku lagi susah buat negakin kepala dengan bangga.

Theres a lot of but and tapi. A lot of contradiction statment coming from my mouth-or finger. And you can see how much of a labil i am really.

[seeraplimau]

'your parents sound nice,'

yeah they try.

I don't think I would call myself nice, maybe as a joke yeah. Yeah but I am really not. My emphatic level have been decreasing this past years, expecially the last 2 years of pandemic. It just, I feel like people as whole is an absolute asshole and they did that to themselve. I see people I dont really like whos not doing good, and like yeah I can see why. I mean they just really not nice person to begin with. But I would never tell that to their face. Stuff like this, even bagi tahu also no use.

I am just tired. Tired of living and wanting to leave this world immediately. I wonder to myself, why tf am I not scared...lol

My old roommate pernah mad at me for not leach the can before drinking it, bcs kecing tikus. And I'm like, well if sipping straight out of a can would kill me, then please, I welcome that very much. I just do not want to feel and having my soul to float around in this world anymore.

[meepoisarock]

I dreamt Bouboo rents a room at my house and he's an alien. Apparently he's also a graphic designer, owns all the tools. The police would come to him everytime he cooks and eats for suspicion and he couldn't get out of it. After saving him once from the police, we started hanging out. I'd crash into his room, look at his alien stuff, sometimes borrow something from his stash of weird alien technology. One day he came back with police officers following him, questioning about his orange infused water and a powder that can turn water to jelly. After managing to get the officers to leave, I asked him about it and he told me it was called lob in his planet. Throughout the dream there is a subtitle for what we say and apparently lob is translated to lem tikus (a glue mouse trap). After pouring it to the infused orange, I poured it on some random water in his vacant phone case and decided to keep it while Bouboo just looked so tired with yet another one of my weird ass antics.

[buckybarnesappreciationsociety]

“Strongest Emotion” Part One

Summary: Bucky knows what it’s like to feel pain, torture, sadness and insecurities. What happens when he discovers love is the best emotion he’s felt?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

OFC: Nat, Wanda, Steve, Sam, Tony, Steve

Word Count: 1,444

Warnings: None

A/N: Congratulations @soldatbarnes on your milestone. Here’s my submission to your writing challenge. I really hope you like it.

The word I chose is LOVE!

Humans experience a myriad of emotions…...anger, frustration, joy, disgust, shame, fear, desire and anxiety. James Buchanan Barnes has experienced damn near every emotion known to man. But he’ll be the first to admit, love is the strongest of them all.

Now I’m sure skeptics will disagree. See, his past didn’t allow him to feel anything substantial except pain! All of that changed when he met Y/N. Intelligent, reserved, and stunning.

Bucky confessed his feelings to Steve. “Stevie, she’s an angel. I know someone like me doesn’t deserve her. Y/N’s pure and I’m damaged goods.”

Self-loathing reared its ugly head again. No matter how hard Steve tried to reassure Bucky he was a man worthy of happiness, doubt crept up and told him different.

Y/N relocated from the city to the Avengers compound. Tony reminded her of the potential threats against her life. The nature of her work is centered around gathering intelligence and breaking complex encryptions. Eventually, Y/N relented. Bucky was over the moon happy.

Tossing and turning in bed, Y/N gave up on sleep and decided to wander around. After an especially grueling mission, the team turned in early.

Thinking everyone was asleep, Y/N slipped out of her room wearing a pair of violet sleep shorts with a white tank top. Her attire left nothing for the imagination. Every curve displayed of her svelte figure.

Roaming past the living room, Y/N noticed flickering tv screens shadow illuminating the darkness. Unsure of its occupant, she made silent strides toward the light.

Sitting in the darkness, Bucky sweat laden and exhausted stared blankly at the screen. Y/N didn’t want to startle him.

Clearing her throat, Y/N smiled at Bucky. “H-hi James. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Are you okay?” Genuine concern heard in her tone.

“Nightmare,” resting his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry. Would you like to maybe talk about it?” Y/N fiddled with the end of her tank top.

Reluctantly, Bucky nodded ‘no.’ He wanted to open up and tell Y/N his deepest darkest secrets. His insecurities wouldn’t allow it.

“Okay. Well, I hope the sandman visits and you sleep peacefully.” Y/N left the room, flashing her signature brilliant smile.

Bucky wasn’t aware that Y/N had a secret crush on him. The day they met, Bucky appeared withdrawn and unsure of his surroundings. She understood his trepidation; his past preceded him. All she saw was a handsome, gentle teddy bear who deserved happiness and peace.

Chastising himself, Bucky shook his head. “Way to go Barnes. You missed your chance.”

Over the following weeks, HYDRA reared its ugly head. Y/N’s workload increased tenfold, as well as the team’s mission count doubled.

Steve summoned everyone to the conference room. Y/N hadn’t slept for 8 hours. She’d never encountered anything like this.

“Listen up. Y/N’s gonna give us an update on the data Nat found.” Steve stood to the side, as Y/N walked to the front of the square teak wood table.

“I’ve been at this for over 8 hours and never have I come across a program with codes inside of codes. I broke through four codes only to discover another more complex code. I’m so sorry everyone.” Y/N lowered her head.

“So you don’t know anymore than we do huh? Expert my ass!” Bucky’s voice dripped venom.

“BARNES! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? SHE’S DOING HER BEST!!,” Tony shouted.

“Excuse me. I’ll go back to my office and try harder.” Y/N whispered, teary eyed.

“We’re all tired and in need of sleep. Let’s pick this up when our eyes are fresh.” Steve shot dagger at his childhood friend.

Y/N, Nat and Wanda exited the conference room. Wanda didn’t mean to read her mind. Y/N’s body radiated somber aura.

“Why don’t you come by Nat’s room for wine and girl talk,” Wanda smiled.

“Thanks guys. I’m gonna take a shower and watch Netflix. I’ll probably fall asleep anyway.” Y/N sighed.

Nat and Wanda bid her goodnight.

Tony and Bucky almost came to blows over how me talked to Y/N. “YOU DUMB FUCK! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRIED MIND?? WHY’D YOU TALK TO HER THAT WAY? SHE’S NEVER DONE ANYTHING TO YOU!!”

Sam chimed in, “Yeah man, that was fucked up. You’re not the only one stressed. Y/N’s probably stressed more than any of us. I get it. HYDRA’s making a comeback and you’re upset. But, she didn’t deserve that and you owe her an apology.”

Before leaving the conference room, Tony warned Bucky. “You better fix this, you tin arm asshat.” Sam followed Tony.

“Well you gonna chew me out too, Stevie? I shouldn’t have said that. Didn’t wanna hurt her for nothing in the world. I care for her.” Bucky slumped in his chair.

Leaning against the door jamb, Steve’s disgusted look spoke volumes to his friend. “I’m disappointed in ya pal. You owe Y/N an apology. Afterwards, try and get some sleep.”

Bucky remained in the conference room going over in his mind why he’d yelled at Y/N. His heart shattered recalling the sadness in her big blue eyes. An apology wasn’t good enough. So he did the next best thing; showered, dressed, and walked to the nearest flower market. In front of him were roses, lilies, baby’s breath, lavender and sunflowers.

Bucky chose lavender and baby’s breath, with a crystal vase. Guilt gnawed at his scrambled psyche. He wanted to make things right.

Red numbers on kitchen clock flashed 10:30 p.m. Unaware of your sleep schedule, Bucky took a chance. The elevator stopped on Y/N’s floor. Taking a deep breath, Bucky knocked lightly.

“Who is it?” She looked at the clock on her nightstand.

“Um, it-it’s James. C-canI talk to ya for a minute.”

“Just a second.” Bucky heard shuffling. Y/N opened the door not making eye contact.

“M’sorry for yelling at’cha earlier. These are for you.” Bucky handed Y/N the flowers.

“You didn’t have to do this, James. I understand your frustration.” Y/N’s long eyelashes fluttered.

“Yes I did. You’ve been nice to me and I’m a knuckle head.” Bucky shifted his feet.

“All’s forgiven. Would you like to come in?” Y/N hoped he would.

“Are’ya sure I ain’t bothering ya doll?”

Blushing at the nickname, Y/N shook her head, moving to the side.

“Your room’s really nice. Is this your family?” Sitting on her desk, surrounded by tea light candles, were two pictures.

Sighing deeply, Y/N nodded ‘yes.’ “HYDRA killed them 3 years ago.”

Tears stained Y/N’s face. Bucky reached out, wiping a stray drop with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m okay. Before S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, mom and dad were cryptographers sorting through HYDRA data, ciphering codes. Of course, it angered the hierarchy at HYDRA. Someone cut the brake line on the car. Unable to stop, they crashed into a tree, killing them on impact.”

Bucky exhaled, not realizing he was holding his breath as Y/N spoke. “Is that why ya moved to the compound?”

“Yes. I’d begun getting strange phone calls and death threats in my mailbox. Tony said the move was necessary. Truth be told, I’m scared.” Sadness clouded her features.

Moving closer, Bucky held her hand. “I wouldn’t dare let anyone get to ya dollface. Gonna see to it myself.”

Forcing a smile, Y/N thanked Bucky. “Thanks James. That means a lot to me.”

“Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Alright Bucky. It’s late. Guess I’ll get some sleep. Oh, lavender is my favorite. The aroma relaxes me.”

“M’glad I could make ya smile. I’ll see ya later on today, it’s after midnight.”

“You have no idea how it helped to talk about my parents. I feel fifteen pounds lighter.”

“Can I kiss ya on the cheek?” Bucky’s smile reached his cerulean eyes.

Placing a hand on his toned chest, Y/N stood on her toes. “I can do better than that.”

What felt like a dream, Y/N kissed Bucky on the lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” She giggled like a teenager.

“Really? Me too, sugar, me too. G’night or g’morning Y/N.”

“Sweet dreams Bucky.” Closing the door, Y/N touched her lips. The tingle lingered. She floated to bed smiling.

Bucky pumped his fist in the air. He finally did something right and no matter what, Y/N could count on him to keep her safe.

@soldatbarnes @omalleysgirl22 @pegasusdragontiger @suz-123 @rebelslicious @supersoldierslover @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th @magellan-88 @caplansteverogers @3brosangel @bolon-tiku @papi-chulo-bucky @slowlypsychicsublime

A/N: I kinda got carried away with this. So, there will be multiple chapters. Please enjoy!

[neuelib]

MAY DAY POETRY PICKS

From the confines of a cramped rented room along the rhythms of machines growling. As statistics, as slaves, as ants, as lazy sloths. Our May Day Poetry Picks: poetry by and about the working class.

1. Ruminating life and death from a cramped rented room

Walking along the thin line separating life from death is Xu Lizhi’s poem titled “Rented Room”. Xu worked for Foxconn, a technology company based in Shezhen, China, one of the major producers of Apple’s iPhone. In 2014, the migrant worker took his life jumping out of his dorm window, one of the numerous suicide attempts by Chinese factory workers struggling with harsh workplace conditions while barely making ends meet. 

The poem below was among those collected by his friends and published in the Shenzhen Evening News posthumously. It was translated through the Nào project.

出租屋 Rented Room

by Xu Lizhi

十平米左右的空间 A space of ten square meters

局促，潮湿，终年不见天日 Cramped and damp, no sunlight all year

我在这里吃饭，睡觉，拉屎，思考 Here I eat, sleep, shit, and think

咳嗽，偏头痛，生老，病不死 Cough, get headaches, grow old, get sick but still fail to die

昏黄的灯光下我一再发呆，傻笑 Under the dull yellow light again I stare blankly, chuckling like an idiot

来回踱步，低声唱歌，阅读，写诗 I pace back and forth, singing softly, reading, writing poems

每当我打开窗户或者柴门 Every time I open the window or the wicker gate

我都像一位死者 I seem like a dead man

把棺材盖，缓缓推开 Slowly pushing open the lid of a coffin.

2. Cutting the bullshit 

Capturing the essential bullshit of all tedious, repetitive work, Jim Waters’ nihilistic take on the mundanity of work contains more numbness than anger. Statistics was originally published in Poems for Workers, an anthology showcasing poems for working class readers.

Statistics

by Jim Waters

I'm tired of listening to sun-shine talk, This pie-in-the-sky stuff, This travesty on patient toil;

Let the Jesus-screamers, The open-shop artists, And their ilk. . . Hook their fat necks over a flying emery wheel For. . . . eight. . . . long. . . . hours; And to the beat and whir of machinery,

                            Chant this:

"I work to get money to buy food to get strong, So I can work to get money to buy food and get strong.". . . Then, maybe, they will understand Why the church pews are empty,  And men die for unionism.

3. Commuting from work in the rough hours

Ratri Ninditya’s poem “Ursula” is a raw, candid sensory journal of a coming-home-from-work trip any "poor, unfortunate soul” from and around Jakarta would deem familiar. We can almost feel the sweat dripping.

Read more from Ninin in her 2019 poetry book, Rusunothing.

Ursula

by Ratri Ninditya

di pinggir sudirman kau punguti kecoa-kecoa setengah matang. koyo berlubang sudah menempel di lehermu 1 minggu, dan kamu selalu tertidur di 76 dengan kepala tertempel di dada.

mau pergi ke mana, bu?

jalan raya beraroma minyak goreng, hujan asam, keringat sales unicef pantang menyerah. pernahkah tusuk gigi bekas siomay nyangkut di rambutmu karena dilempar orang dari atas jembatan? aku pernah. selokan itu tak pernah melaju lebih cepat. semacet malam jumat. mengalir di dalamnya wajah-wajah yang terlupakan, belum sempat diterimakasihkan.

mereka yang reyot sebelum kehidupannya sendiri dimulai. those poor unfortunate souls. this poor unfortunate soul. kita jadi tikus-tikus yang malu dengan jembrewi sendiri. makan, olah raga, makan lagi, lalu mati.

tubuhmu terbungkus botol plastik. transparan dan statik.

4. Marking inequalities and stark contrasts—with dignity

Contrasting one worker-related experience to another with prowess, Ernest Jones points at how workers are considered fitting for growing food and undeserving to eat them, how it is acceptable for them to make clothes and to not afford wearing them. This work is powerful as it captures Jones standing on his dignity through a declaration of his principles—”too low to vote the tax, too low to touch the spoil, but not to pay and kill the foe.” “The Song of the Classes” sings like a chant, emphasising on the burdens and expectations put upon workers with so much taken away from them to the point that they appear to deserve nothing. 

Jones was a working-class male suffrage leader who was imprisoned in 1848 for his seditious speeches. This poem is also available in the Poems for Workers anthology. 

The Song of the Classes

by Ernest Jones

We plough and sow—we're so very, very low        That we delve in the dirty clay, Till we bless the plain—with the golden grain,        And the vale with the fragrant hay. Our place we know—we're so very low.         'Tis down at the landlord's feet: We're not too low—the bread to grow,         But too low the bread to eat.

Down, down we go—we're so very, very low,         To the hell of the deep sunk mines, But we gather the proudest gems that glow         Where the crown of a despot shines. And whenever he lacks,—upon our backs         Fresh loads he deigns to lay: We're far too low to vote the tax,         But not too low to pay.

We're low—we're low—mere rabble, we know,       But at our plastic power The mould at the lordlings’ feet will grow       Into palace and church and tower Then prostrate fall—in the rich man's hall,        And cringe at the rich man's door: We're not too low to build the wall,         But too low to tread the floor.

We're low—we're low—we're very, very low,      Yet from our fingers glide The silken flow—and the robes that glow       Round the limbs of the sons of pride. And what we get—and what we give—      We know, and we know our share: We're not too low the cloth to weave,        But too low the cloth to wear.

We're low—we're low—we're very, very low,     And yet when the trumpets ring, The thrust of a poor man's arm will go      Through the heart of the proudest king. We're low—we're low—our place we know     We're only the rank and file, We're not too low to kill the foe,        But too low to touch the spoil.

5. Confronting the pains of physical work in the intimate exchange between humans and machines

The ramifications of capitalist exploitation are real and most of the time physical. Through this poem, Xu Lizhi creates a narrative on work using the body—both workers’ and machines’—as a starting point. 

On each line, as machines go to sleep, emotions disappear into dust, stomachs turn hard as iron, ore separating machines peel the skin, we witness a total, brutal, industrialist catastrophe involving the human body and machines, where it becomes hard to tell which from which.

最后的墓地 The Last Graveyard

by Xu Lizhi

机台的鸣叫也打着瞌睡 Even the machine is nodding off

密封的车间贮藏疾病的铁 Sealed workshops store diseased iron

薪资隐藏在窗帘后面 Wages concealed behind curtains

仿似年轻打工者深埋于心底的爱情 Like the love that young workers bury at the bottom of their hearts

没有时间开口，情感徒留灰尘 With no time for expression, emotion crumbles into dust

他们有着铁打的胃 They have stomachs forged of iron

盛满浓稠的硫酸，硝酸 Full of thick acid, sulfuric and nitric

工业向他们收缴来不及流出的泪 Industry captures their tears before they have the chance to fall

时辰走过，他们清醒全无 Time flows by, their heads lost in fog

产量压低了年龄，疼痛在日夜加班 Output weighs down their age, pain works overtime day and night

还未老去的头晕潜伏生命 In their lives, dizziness before their time is latent

皮肤被治具强迫褪去 The jig forces the skin to peel

顺手镀上一层铝合金 And while it's at it, plates on a layer of aluminum alloy

有人还在坚持着，有人含病离去 Some still endure, while others are taken by illness

我在他们中间打盹，留守青春的 I am dozing between them, guarding

最后一块墓地 The last graveyard of our youth.

6. Exploring surrealist cities (and selves)

Originally appeared in Subbed In, Bullen’s "City Exchange” set in Birraranga (Melbourne, Australia) is a surreal encounter with the city, without the self. 

City Exchange

by Brianna Bullen

I order my eyes off Amazon, my spine off eBay and a cochlear implant straight from Coles. Falling apart in reverse has never been so seamless. We talk about moving to the city (permanently, in parenthesis: city as a homogenous w/hole because we can’t see the specific suburbs yet) but it’s crumbling in its own catharsis, a release from structure and history. I’m nostalgic, neurotic and in the process of learning semiotics, signifying nothing and searching for home and meaning in a postcard, the latest neurochemical upgrade and failed relationship. The advertisement on the high-rise for GMHBA glitches to a teaser trailer flickers to Coca-Cola: the duality of (hu)man. I take The Frankston line between Southern Cross and Flinders train rides my liminal stage where I can watch people yawn in the latest fashion and flick through a book page or two on the commute which won’t be remembered. I turn twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five Body machine the old biological clock running in analogue and cellular death. Not a teenager, or a young adult: am I a human yet? I now feel the cynicism I only used to perform now too apathetic to bother expressing the dissatisfaction in vogue. I flicker in industrial space, vague.

7.  Condemning dreadful nine-to-five jobs

Disclaimer: It is never 9 to 5.

Letter to John Martin (1986)

by Charles Bukowski

August 12, 1986

Hello John:

Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or make films about it, they don’t get it right. They call it “9 to 5.” It’s never 9 to 5, there’s no free lunch break at those places, in fact, at many of them in order to keep your job you don’t take lunch. Then there’sovertime and the books never seem to get the overtime right and if you complain about that, there’s another sucker to take your place.

You know my old saying, “Slavery was never abolished, it was only extended to include all the colors.”

And what hurts is the steadily diminishing humanity of those fighting to hold jobs they don’t want but fear the alternative worse. People simply empty out. They are bodies with fearful and obedient minds. The color leaves the eye. The voice becomes ugly. And the body. The hair. The fingernails. The shoes. Everything does.

As a young man I could not believe that people could give their lives over to those conditions. As an old man, I still can’t believe it. What do they do it for? Sex? TV? An automobile on monthly payments? Or children? Children who are just going to do the same things that they did?

Early on, when I was quite young and going from job to job I was foolish enough to sometimes speak to my fellow workers: “Hey, the boss can come in here at any moment and lay all of us off, just like that, don’t you realize that?”

They would just look at me. I was posing something that they didn’t want to enter their minds.

Now in industry, there are vast layoffs (steel mills dead, technical changes in other factors of the work place). They are layed off by the hundreds of thousands and their faces are stunned:

“I put in 35 years…”

“It ain’t right…”

“I don’t know what to do…”

They never pay the slaves enough so they can get free, just enough so they can stay alive and come back to work. I could see all this. Why couldn’t they? I figured the park bench was just as good or being a barfly was just as good. Why not get there first before they put me there? Why wait?

I just wrote in disgust against it all, it was a relief to get the shit out of my system. And now that I’m here, a so-called professional writer, after giving the first 50 years away, I’ve found out that there are other disgusts beyond the system.

I remember once, working as a packer in this lighting fixture company, one of the packers suddenly said: “I’ll never be free!”

One of the bosses was walking by (his name was Morrie) and he let out this delicious cackle of a laugh, enjoying the fact that this fellow was trapped for life.

So, the luck I finally had in getting out of those places, no matter how long it took, has given me a kind of joy, the jolly joy of the miracle. I now write from an old mind and an old body, long beyond the time when most men would ever think of continuing such a thing, but since I started so late I owe it to myself to continue, and when the words begin to falter and I must be helped up stairways and I can no longer tell a bluebird from a paperclip, I still feel that something in me is going to remember (no matter how far I’m gone) how I’ve come through the murder and the mess and the moil, to at least a generous way to die.

To not to have entirely wasted one’s life seems to be a worthy accomplishment, if only for myself.

yr boy,

Hank

An audio version is available here.

8. Asking difficult working class questions

From one of our favorite poets Gratiagusti Chananya Rompas is this poem asking difficult, working class questions. Set at a metropolitan mall, Anya describes the whole consumerist brouhaha as she verbalises the personal terror of discomfort lurking in the everyday.

Berada di Sebuah Mall Pada Suatu Akhir Pekan

by Gratiagusti Chananya Rompas

kadang aku perlu beberapa detik untuk memutuskan eskalator berjalan atau berhenti aku tak mengerti orang orang di depan dan di belakangku ingin pergi ke mana mereka berbaris berseliweran mendorong bayi bayi mereka di dalam stroller atau mengejar anak anak mereka yang sudah pandai berlari aku menggandeng anakku tangannya kecil dan lembut menuntunku membelah lautan orang orang yang tak kukenal itu

kadang orang orang diam tetapi suara mereka tumpang tindih dengan suaraku sendiri kadang orang orang begitu banyak bicara tapi aku tak mengerti apa yang mereka katakan beli selusin donat dapat potongan setengah harga kalau beli selusin donat? siapa yang akan makan begitu banyak donat di rumah? beli satu set alat masak dapat diskon 25% kalau punya kartu kredit dari sebuah bank tapi aku hanya perlu centong? beli semangkuk nasi daging lengkap dengan minum bisa beli boneka seharga 75 ribu? apa hubungan antara makan siang dan boneka? beli frozen yogurt small dapat 1 topping, medium dapat 3 topping, tapi large dapat 3 topping juga? beli makanan dengan kartu anggota bisa dapat satu makanan gratis tapi harus top up dulu tidak bisa pisah bill? yang gratis bisa yang paling mahal mbak?

anakku sayang, tolong antar mama keluar dari sini

dan di dalam mobil dalam perjalanan pulang mobil ini bergabung dengan mobil mobil lain seperti gorong gorong yang mampat

aku harus berkedip dua kali karena aku merasa permukaan jalan di jalur sebelah yang masih kosong terlihat mengalir seperti sungai yang airnya hitam.

9. At last—embracing rage

What’s a May Day poetry list without the angry verses? In “Canned”, Jim Waters exclaims in great fury a slogan we can all relate with—to hell with you!

Canned

by Jim Waters

          To hell with you!

          You ain't the whole earth, 

          Not by a damn sight!

You sneak around shaking your fat paunch shouting: "I'm losing money . . . hurry-up . . . pull-out. . . "Step-on-it!" . . , and you "can" anybody that talks back. I've seen your kind before—always losing money—Riding in limousines, showing off on the golf links, And talking open shop at the Union Club.

On Sunday you go to church and tell everybody What a nice employer you are. . . On Monday you go blue in the face cursing your men.

          You can't bull-doze me!

          To hell with youl

          You ain't the whole earth, Not by a damn sight!

Bonus poems

We’ve added four poems to this post that were not included on our Instagram version of May Day Poetry Picks. “Self Inquiry before the Job Interview” by Gary Soto, “Coal Deliveryman” by Ramón Cote Baraibar, and ultimately another work from Xu Lizhi, “I Swallowed An Iron Moon”, just because.

10. Self-Inquiry before the Job Interview

by Gary Soto

Did you sneeze? Yes, I rid myself of the imposter inside me. Did you iron your shirt? Yes, I used the steam of mother's hate. Did you wash your hands? Yes, I learned my hygiene from a raccoon. I prayed on my knees, and my knees answered with pain. I gargled. I polished my shoes until I saw who I was. I inflated my résumé by employing my middle name. I walked to my interview, early, The sun like a ring on an electric stove. I patted my hair when I entered the wind of a revolving door. The guard said, For a guy like you, it's the 19th floor. The economy was up. Flags whipped in every city plaza In America. This I saw for myself as I rode the elevator, Empty because everyone had a job but me. Did you clean your ears? Yes, I heard my fate in the drinking fountain's idiotic drivel. Did you slice a banana into your daily mush? I added a pinch of salt, two raisins to sweeten my breath. Did you remember your pen? I remembered my fingers when the elevator opened. I shook hands that dripped like a dirty sea. I found a chair and desk. My name tag said my name. Through the glass ceiling, I saw the heavy rumps of CEOs. Outside my window, the sun was a burning stove, All of us pushing papers To keep it going.

11. Coal Deliveryman

by Ramón Cote Baraibar

translated by Craig Arnold

Like finding a bar of aluminum wedged in a bull’s jaw. Like discovering in a sea chest a short obsidian head. Like looking through a padlock   and seeing an undeserved dawn. As impossible as all these, as melancholy and lonely, was it to see the green truck that with the punctuality   of a sacrament delivered the coal each month. On the slope its strained   heart would announce itself vociferously, at the brink of death, and it   would stop in front of the house as if to deliver the agonizing news of   the fall of Troy. And then a man, wrapped in sacking, would pitch   his cargo, resonant and angular, into an orange-painted crate.

Like opening a Bible and finding three leaves of laurel. Like lifting   a stone and remembering someone’s name. Like finding the same   snail again a hundred miles away. As impossible as all these, as melancholy and lonely, would it be to find, fifteen years later, the same coal    deliveryman carrying on his trade, bent from the strain, determined   to show the heavens that a man might do that job his entire life, that   he scraped in the mines, that he stole thread from his wife to sew his   sacking, that he dreamed of infinite excavations, of tunnels, and that   they might forgive him for not having done more than that.

12. I Swallowed An Iron Moon

by Xu Lizhi

I swallowed an iron moon

they called it a screw

I swallowed industrial wastewater and unemployment forms

bent over machines, our youth died young

I swallowed labour, I swallowed poverty

swallowed pedestrian bridges, swallowed this rusted-out life

I can’t swallow any more

everything I’ve swallowed roils up in my throat

I spread across my country

a poem of shame

[writtenbygita]

Eyes on The Prize

Greetings and salutations,

Sepertinya post ini harus diawali dengan permintaan maaf gue yang tidak becus dalam mengurus blog ini, yang kalau diibaratkan rumah pasti udah super kotor-berantakan-banyak tikus. Maafkan daku dunia maya!

So I’ve been so busy with routine--you know, kerja--dan nggak boong, entah kenapa rasanya tak punya waktu untuk kegiatan tulis menulis dalam bentuk apapun. Jangankan menulis, membaca aja gue sangat sulit sekarang-sekarang ini. So yeah, not to complain, but really, my activities has been so limited lately. The work has made me physically tiring and emotionally draining. Dari Senin sampai Jumat, tenaga rasanya selalu terkuras by the end of the day.

To be completely honest, akhir-akhir ini gue sedang iri berat sama Gita dari masa lalu--you know, gue dan kehidupan gue saat masih SMA, lebih tepatnya. Why so? 

Si Gita versi dahulu itu--let’s say 2010 Gita--is brave to take risks and enjoying life more than I do. Moreover, she frikkin knows what she wants in her life. Sedangkan gue, si Gita versi 2017, all grown up and everything, feeling like I’m lost.

Lost yang gue maksud adalah...gue merasa terbawa oleh kehidupan, sedikit-sedikit mulai melupakan ambisi dan cita-cita gue yang dahulu gue genggam erat-erat. I mean, gue nggak mau dibilang nggak bersyukur dengan kehidupan gue yang sekarang yang serba cukup--but, I’ve been feeling less human. Dengan kerjaan yang menuntut gue untuk Senin sampai Jumat mikir dan ngetik dari jam 9-5 tiap hari, ruang gue untuk mengembangkan diri seperti yang gue mau selama ini cukup terbelenggu. Anyway, gue tidak menyalahkan pekerjaan gue atau perusahaan gue because both of them are freaking awesome. I just think that it is what routines do to people. Kalau dulu gue bisa seenaknya berkeliaran kapanpun gue mau, kemanapun, ketemu siapapun, ngapain aja terserah, sekarang tidak. Gue punya kewajiban yang harus gue penuhi, dan gue mungkin harus belajar untuk mengendalikan kehidupan gue biar bisa tetap jadi ‘manusia’. Masalahnya, keinginan untuk lebih hidup itu kadang terkubur sama rasa capek dan rasa berkecukupan. ‘I have everything I need, what would I do anything else’ sering bertebaran dalam pikiran. 

Sekarang, yang bisa gue lakukan hanyalah mengulang-ulang mantra kalau hidup gue akan lebih bahagia kalau gue bisa memberikan perfect balance terhadap pekerjaan dan mimpi gue. Beruntung, gue masih punya sahabat-sahabat yang selalu mengingatkan gue sama tujuan gue dan bikin gue nggak lost terlalu jauh.

Hah, entahlah apa maksud dari entry ini. Cuma curhat-curhat manjah yang nggak ada juntrungannya tampaknya. So to make this post a little meaningful, here you go: focus on your dreams. No matter what. No matter if you have to take a detour or you have to face the obstacles in the way, stay focus. Eyes on the prize, geng, eyes on the prize. Itu saja.

Xx,

G.

[bolontiku]

I just want someone to be soft with me. To eat bread with me and watch crappy horror flicks and talk me into stupid sappy movies. Someone who is nice because they like being nice. Someone who genuinely likes having me around and not because of what I can GIVE.

[presharthur1]

Tiku, Jonathan, Saraki, Uche Secondus Dance On Stage As Davido Sings Photos

Tiku, Jonathan, Saraki, Uche Secondus Dance On Stage As Davido Sings Photos

He wrote :

Yesterday we were in Kano.

Today, we are in Rivers State.

From the North West to the South South, the message is clear: Nigerians are tired of this administration and they will be voting for a #BetterNigeria on Saturday!

Thank you Rivers State!

[sepedalistrikbekasi-blog]

BETRIX PASIR KALIKI, BANDUNG, JAWA BARAT di SURABAYA | 0857 9999 9031 (WA)

New Post has been published on http://sepedalistrikbekasi.com/2017/06/05/betrix-pasir-kaliki-bandung-jawa-barat-di-surabaya-0857-9999-9031-wa/

BETRIX PASIR KALIKI, BANDUNG, JAWA BARAT di SURABAYA | 0857 9999 9031 (WA)

BETRIX PASIR KALIKI, BANDUNG, JAWA BARAT di SURABAYA | 0857 9999 9031 (WA)

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Kajar wirogunan pulau kedundung kecepit mojodowo. Karangdowo menes suriamedal benteng somba serigeni lama, nambo lemah duhur sriharjo aremantai puri sukasaba. Mandu pantai sejahtera donokerto balikpapan barat biyuku, sisobahili iraonohura pondok kaso tonggoh palasari hilir. Tapus godang bonorowo pulau gemantung ilir muara, tiku pematang seterak punggulan sudimoro bangun batukandik. Dalisodo kramatjati rantau mapesai senda mukti senda, banjaretno parbatasan talang keramat tambangan tonga purbalingga. Cisampang sawah baru pehserut karangmojo cilamaya wetan, kebun teluk panji redin karyabakti jenangan ulak. Segelung termas limbong pasar.

[bolontiku]

So tired I can't stop crying

And the brother is upset doesn't understand why I won't just go to bed, but I need to eat and then I can sleep.. istg, if I get cramps from fucking he'll and cry cause I'm sleepy and don't bleed I will fucking need to talk to a diety and demand answers. 😤😤

[bolontiku]

The brother is going to rip my car apart... he almost broke the thing trying to get to the starter... the hubs came down to help. I have enough for lunch cause they took their lunch to come out and pull this thing out. It's the least I can manage.

I want to cry.

And I ran a fever last night. The sister said I sent her for Gatorade and chicken soup. She had to move quick and steal the last soup on the shelves from a lady that was eye balling it lol

Why does this happen? I'm so tired

Idk why or how... but I am sick suddenly.

Had to leave work and beg the little sister to go get me Gatorade & chicken soup but I'm scared imma keep vomiting it up...

[bolontiku]

I am seriously so tapped out rn.

I don't understand how people can just let so much crap broil inside of them just to spit it out. And for some reason they think it's okay to dump their shit hate on me. Why? Probably because of my face.

Fuck