Moving a Mountain of Platinum


A cosmic shooting gallery

Have you ever tried to rip space apart
using the scientific method;

It is like ripping metal with your bare hands.

(This is the future my friends)

Like keeping rhythm with a hypothesis
And understanding that which is all math–

Math that exists outside of time
And time is infinity minus one;

That the diversity that leads to unity
cannot merely exist in just the number one
of the Arabic code:

Like an electric eel in a fishbowl
that gets moved
from one end of the galaxy to
the synapses of laminin
in our bodies;

Because life, breath and truth–
(even though we can imagine)

All these in the fullness of magnificence!
simply cannot be contained
by our minds;

Yet we blink. (and absolutisms
are absolved like
equations of peace
upon us)

Right now a rock bigger than the earth
hurtles toward us
and is caught in the asteroid belt;

It is subdued while we drink our coffee
and contemplate
divorce or suicide;
forgiveness, evolution, or altruism.

© Alicia Khoo

In memory of Jason Molina, December 16, 1973–March 16, 2013
(RIP Jason Molina, you live on in the music you gave to us)

Capitalism is an Interesting Creature

Iraq-Babylon-Ancient-2In my armchair sits Philosophy
Regal in rags
Holding a cup of poison
Next to a perpetual fireplace

As the great thinkers of mankind
line the halls
Frantically writing shelves of books,
Arguing about whether God is dead,
Impotent! (a collective gasp!)
A figment of the imagination?
A moral judge who decrees that men and
children die for Him;
Or a moral judge who died for all?

Wisdom says I have to make my choice,
And if I choose to make no choice,
That is a choice in itself.

We discuss the pursuits of utopia,
How we threw Communism away,
(so many people trying to change the world):

States of Monarchy, Anarchy and Apathy;
the nature of humanity–
inherently good, or completely fallen,
Heading to maximum entropy
Or eternal paradise!

Are the wages a tool for freedom,
Protection and a common good,
Or are we just prostitutes to gold
And dust?

Traitor of my soul,
You traded me for thirty silver coins,
my brother.
Cut me out of the inheritance;
If I am to guard a den of robbers,
if truth be told, I am to inherit destruction;
You can have it all.

I throw my willpower in the fireplace.
I drink the cup of poison.
I fall asleep weeping, wailing and
mourning in a garden but don’t die.

© Alicia Khoo

NaPoWriMo Day 28

Exit Crimée and walk along Avenue de Flandre


Image © Alicia Khoo

Coffee, cigarettes and croissants, Parisian petit-dejeuner. Pickpockets not
optional but complimentary. You won’t see them coming until you get home

and realize your underwear is missing. I meet a curator from a museum in
Venezuela, she is here for a world conference on what to do with the

evolution and possible demise of a certain art form. I meet a young Dutch
girl and we spend many nights sipping licorice tea all
bundled up in H&M sweaters ranting about politics, sparkling by sunsets in

Chinese traiteurs moaning and grieving about lost love and how much we
adore an English chef who keeps serving us dessert and croutons he made

from pain tradition on top of Caesar salads drowned in melted grilled goat’s cheese;
a boy from Brazil who came here for two days from Barcelona and ended up

staying for three years sitting with me at night in front of the Eiffel Tower watching
it glitter and talking about the sand of São Paulo, and then we go off to Oberkampf

and meet an Australian boy who almost died of cancer five times and now just loves
to dance and be generally irreverent. We migrate in flocks to this city to find something

new or old to get addicted to and abandon, get so angry and feel so alive, cuss and say how
much we hate Paris and it smells like pee but we always come back to the métro

graffiti, racial wars, poetic violence, all trying to secretly overcome the grave by
becoming personal moveable feasts and inimitable livers. If you ever recognize me

again, I’ll meet you at Jacques Bonsergent where we pissed our skirts laughing
and whistling that bitter winter night, so many possibilities ago, before we both broke and

died and died and left hope and ideals laying in ashtrays, cafés and boulangeries where people
spit out coffee and exclaim how burnt and sour it is and it is not Sarkozy’s fault

this time but our own damn fault.

© Alicia Khoo

NaPoWriMo Day 22

Eblouie par la Nuit by ZAZ

Crimée est une station du métro de Paris sur la ligne 7, dans le 19e arrondissement de Paris.
La station est ouverte en 1910.

Cette station porte le nom de la guerre de Crimée (1855-1856), presquîle dUkraine sur la mer Noire, vit la coalition comprenant la Turquie, le Royaume-Uni, la France et le Piémont affronter la Russie qui fut vaincue, notamment avec la prise de Sébastopol. Le conflit se termina par le traité de Paris en 1856.
Bassin de la villette , Canal de l’Ourcq, Le quartier commerçant de l’avenue de Flandre ( Flandre, Monoprix, fleuriste, bars-tabac, restaurants)

Things I Need to Tell my Therapist

I'm Nuts

I think I am three or four days behind with NaPoWriMo…thanks all you lovely people for appreciating my pieces and being so encouraging. But before I catch up on poetry, I just wanted to express my outrage. I am so outraged my stomach hurts! So this should be cathartic. What am I outraged about…well….let me count the ways, in no particular order:

1) Boston;

2) Gang rapes in India;

3) The sex-grooming gang phenomenon in Europe (if the statistics show recent Pakistani immigrants, then publish those findings instead of sweeping it under the rug to be “politically correct”, FACTS ARE FACTS!! I have absolutely nothing against Pakistanis in general, but it has been observed that the educational system in Pakistan teaches and condones misogynistic behavior, and this correlates with the high percentage of sexual assault offenders in recent years having recently migrated from Pakistan!!! It is not about ethnicity, it is about the way a particular culture views human rights!!!);

4) People talking more about Psy’s Gentleman track than what is happening with our children and our environment;

5) We care more about guns and wars and finance than education or fighting sex-trafficking and domestic violence;

6) My stomach still hurts, I think it got worse.

7) We start wars over OIL???? Money?? Power??

8) Wars are profit-generating opportunities for those in the weapons industry, that’s where our TAXES are going, we work for money so that money will be used in a way that ensures our exploitation;

9) Industrialized nations trying to “civilize” the agrarian civilizations who never asked for any bloody help in the first place, what with their needles and steel and concrete, they were doing perfectly fine before imperialism/invasion!!! And if they allowed you to colonize them, be GRATEFUL instead of ENTITLED!!!

10) There’s such a thing as an “illegal” immigrant?? Then how the heck did anyone get anywhere in the first place??

11) The media fanning the whole North Korea nuclear crap when all it is doing (as the world powers know so well) is affecting the way people trade in commodities, fear is definitely a potent way of control.

And the list goes on. Thank you for listening. I shall commence writing more poetry and try to sleep tonight.

Peace and love,


NaPoWriMo Day 16

Image courtesy of

the very talented Macha spreads joy, at

(Thank you!)


One of the most famous frescoes by the Italian Renaissance artist Raphael.

The School of Athens (Scuola di Atene), Raphael, 1509-1511

Skirting the outer court,
in the heat and seeking shade
under fig trees;

we are eternal creatures
asking eternal questions;

Caesar raised his fist in the air,
but curled up to die when he saw
his best friend wielding the weapon;

Betrayal shattered his spirit,
petitioning at the institution of promises.

Within a blink do the fallen
go into oblivion?

Alas, what else would I be
but a broken promise
without a throne,
living oceans calling to blind valleys,
deep calling to deep.

© Alicia Khoo

NaPoWriMo Day 15

Inherit the Earth


We are:

specks of dust fluttering
down on green foliage;

murderers and thieves
sitting in a cell

arguing about truth, love
and restorative justice.

We are:

buckwheat in a wine press,
living stone burning.

If we were galaxies,
I want us to be glorious

in constellations,
800 billion suns and
50,000 light years across,

28 million light years ago.

© Alicia Khoo

NaPoWriMo Day 11