Earth Punk

Richard Loranger

Call me Earth Punk and fuck you if you don稚. I知 not here for the fashion. I知 not here for the hair. I知 not here for the scene or the being seen. I知 here for the passion. I知 here for the song. I知 here for the truth and noise and anger and politics. I知 here for the dirt. For digging in dirt. For the politics of dirt. Digging the loam, the must, the marrow, digging the mirror of the mind, the unkempt world, digging the space between molecules, the space between us, the lines and lack of lines, the borderless, the endless flow and interchange, the pulsing skinless fallacy of I. I知 here for the digging. I知 here for the roots and air, the striving outward, the grappling. I知 here for the suck of wind, the information of sun, for the finding of the dew. I知 here for the rain. For the sheer cleansing drench of rain. For the pounding soaking rain that drums away difference, that drains away spite. That deionizes the sky and land. That deionizes us, turns friction into grass, melts conflict into luscious soil, feeds life. I知 here for the taste of it, the taste of earth in my cells, the scent of lightning, the hair-raising audacity of trees. The resoluteness of trees. Got conflict? Got oppression? Got strife? Yes! Lie face down between old roots and take a deep draught. Then decide a course of action. The politics of earth are no different than the human melee. Yes, we love each other, and yes, we fuck each other up, always have and always will just like moon ocean rock ice leaf flame rain dust. But unlike our muddled monkey-sight, the ideology of soil is relatively pure live and rot, become, transmit, transform. Sure, you can rape life, sell the air, pretend to own the sun, rip and tear and die writhing in inexorable need, or you can be the vine that twines and stays. Eat dirt, sisterbrothers. Drink sky, my friends. Wrap yourselves in lakes and stone. Those are not commands. You know me. I don稚 command. I don稚 even ask. Those are what you do every day. Those are what you are. Dig?

Richard Loranger is a writer, performer, visual artist, and all around squeaky wheel, currently residing in Oakland, CA. He is the founder of Poetea, a monthly literary conversation group. His recent book of flash prose, Sudden Windows (Zeitgeist Press, 2016), has been warmly received. He is also the author of the Poems for Teeth, The Orange Book, and nine chapbooks. Other recent work can be found in Oakland Review #4, Full of Crow (Winter 2017 Fiction Issue), and the online anthology HIV Here and Now. You can find more about his work and scandals

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