Jeepney (@JeepneyNYC): The homies @rhysrama @chefleahcohen @DaleTalde #taste4thephilippines #A2P2B pic.twitter.com/ldRayxPMMy
Diasporic Joy
Response: ||To save our humanity, certain things that we may want to see must remain off-stage|| (Teju Cole).
I have an identity that nobody knows - 7,108 hyphenated Nams the length and width av Destiny’s Children. We trace figure eights upon resurrected calligraphy ~ the letter av Manny waters. Heaven isn’t just a country. They’re havens for German-Hudyo Refugees, Gay resorts, volcanic spas for ESPionage retirees, Labhan Labyrinths the tribes feared at the foot of Hardy Har Har Sinai; mi “aloof” countrymen are Eskrima Pirates smuggled onto Galleon shipwrecks, Racecar Drivers, Riotous Comedians, Culinary Chefs {expert at Adobe Adobo, Bakla Hospitality, besides conjuring Beef Stew for Orange Guests}, Edenic Fans, Gossipy Winter Wet Nurses, your starry-eyed Bubbes transmitting Eval Curses or conditional blessings, as well as our razor-eyed Lolas’ Chatty Caregivers [Old Age Homs are shameful where they come from], Southern Beauty Queens of Jezebel or Isabella, Sheba, Hadassah or Esther, Cryptic Scorpions and Web-Savvy Spiders from the ends of the earth. They insist that you remove Flip-flops, leave umbrellas outside, and eat to your hearts content first. Then, they shall, for Ever, envision Neighbors as Kuyas at Ates, FIT for “Upright Kneeling, Silent Screaming, and Motionless Dance” as per Guro Menachem. They migrate to remind you of your Origins Visà-vis karaoke whistles and disorienting lightning strikes upon tinroof shrapnel, accompanied by Cherubim fingering Jew’s Haarpsichords:
You speak their jellyfish tongs, but don’t know E.T. yet ~(=
