LUKAYO.COM

Category: Video

  • Troubleshoot Tuesday: The Place of Rage Pt 3

    Image Description: The background is hot pink. There is a gradient pink and yellow circle with a giant yellow “angry” emoji/emoticon in it. The title text is yellow and reads “The Place of Rage Part 3”. The links in black are “lukayo.com” and “patreon.com/lukayo“. The other title pages are yellow circles or gradient yellow-pink circles on a hot pink background with a yellow border. 

    Content warning: trauma, police, prisons.

    Transcript:

    Mabuhay! If you haven’t already checked out part one and two, I suggest you listen to them first. The links are in the video transcript, along with links to writers that informed this series.

    This week we’re focusing on the question of “what happens when expressions of anger have harmed someone in a space?” Especially if it’s a space that you’re facilitating or leading for skill-sharing and educational purposes? My approach tries to take into consideration two core concepts: trauma and ethics.

    Before we get into it, I just want to put a content warning up, since we’ll be talking about trauma, prison, and police systems.

    So why are we talking about trauma? First of all, my understanding of trauma was covered in a previous Troubleshoot Tuesday article, which I’ve also linked in the transcript. To sum it up in a really basic way, trauma is a reaction to being or witnessing wounding and harm, and it messes up your threat response. The idea is that we have the capacity to choose our threat response when we are threatened or harmed (like fight, flight, freeze, appease/fawn, etc.) but when we are traumatized, a threat response gets “stuck” and starts automatically before we can even think about it. This is what being “triggered” means in trauma theory. So for me it’s important to introduce concepts like triggers and trauma into my workshop early on, like in the Community Agreements, and discuss how to hold space for those stuck threat responses. That way when anyone does get triggered, whether they know if they have trauma or not, other people in the workshop are prepared and there’s some guidelines in place on how to support everyone.

    But how about when folks can choose their behaviour when they feel threatened or when they witness or experience harm? That’s ethics. There’s so many concepts out there about what folks think are moral, i.e. “good and bad”, so I’m just gonna cover some of my own ethics and how that’s informed my responses in my workshops. I’m hoping that this sharing will help you figure out or rethink your own courses of action in your teaching spaces.

    In my previous video on The Place of Rage, I talked about considering power dynamics in the space, which I think is foundational to intersectional anti-oppressive ethics. My ethics is also relationship-based, and is part of a decolonial and disability justice framework. Lastly, I believe in transformative justice (TJ), and I think that TJ makes sense as a form of ethics that also comes out of, if not the same as, intersectional anti-oppression, decolonization, and disability justice.

    My understanding of TJ is informed by workshops run by the Just Practice Collaborative in Chicago, writings by the Bay Area Transformative Justice Collective in Oakland, California, and the zine and book The Revolution Starts At Home (all of these linked in the video transcript below). As well, transformative and restorative practices are deeply embedded in the practices of many Indigenous peoples to Turtle Island, and their teachings in informal and formal gatherings, in social media and over messenger, and the hard and necessary work that is done alongside the settler colonial Canadian prison industrial complex with Gladue sentencing, also has informed my understanding, and I owe a debt to them as do many settlers and non-Indigenous to Turtle Island folks when trying to practice transformative justice. Though I will not cover it in this series, my understanding of transformative justice is deeply informed by ceremony with my own people and indigenous peoples in Turtle Island and in the Philippines.

    The first thing I try to do when responding to harm in a workshop space I am facilitating, a harm traced directly from someone’s expression of anger, is that I try to slow down or redirect any responses I have that come from my own trauma, and focus on consequences and the impact of the harm on everyone involved, and perhaps communities that aren’t even in the space right now but are connected in some way.

    Thinking and feeling about consequences is important, and I try to go there instead of immediately wanting to punish, exile, and control. My understanding of the settler colonial and racist prison and police systems that I’ve grown up in is that they operate on systems to control that are enforced through punishment and exile– “I’m going to make this person hurt, I’m going to make this person lose, I’m going to make this person feel worthless and take away as much of their humanity as possible because they are bad and wrong”. These systems got into my head, mixed up with my trauma, when I was growing up, and it takes a lot of practice and conscious effort every day not to fall back on them. I don’t want to make people disposable because this is against my values of intersectional and decolonial anti-oppression and disability justice. I don’t want the prison and police in my head to win, because I believe there is another way to go about things.

    Want to listen to/read the rest of the video? Please subscribe for $10 per month to gain access to weekly interactive posts where you can ask questions about the creative process and troubleshoot your anti-oppressive workshops. Supporters will also receive a mailed package with print-outs of anti-oppression activities and posters. All funds raised go to healing work among my communities. 

    Links:

  • Workshop Wednesday: So It Begins!

    [Image Description: A black and white photo with a light bulb, two pencils, and an eraser on top of a blank piece of paper. The photo is part of a cover page that is in turquoise, light grey, and dark grey. There are also pyramid shapes in monochrome. The title is “So It Begins!” and the URLs are lukayo.com and patreon.com/lukayo.]
     
    Transcript:
     
    Mabuhay to Lukayo’s Workshop Wednesday Video Series! For our first episode, I’m going to offer some suggestions about how to begin your workshop, specifically a workshop grounded in anti-oppression.
     
    We’re going to look at the following 5 different parts: introducing yourself, land accountability and gratitude, community agreements, checking in with the participants, and icebreakers.
     
    Introducing Yourself
     
    Basic components involve your name and your pronouns. You can even talk a little bit about yourself, like if you represent an organization, or come from a certain school, or why you wanted to do this workshop.
     
    I like to introduce myself in my native language. “Mabuhay! Lukayo ako. Taga-saan Bikol ako.” Welcome, my name is Lukayo, and I am of the Bikol people. My pronouns are “they/them/their”.
     
    This is important to me because I want to honour my ancestors and people, as well as show that I don’t completely follow the Westernized way of sharing knowledge.
     
    Sometimes, if I know the language of the land, I may say hello in that language to honour the people of that land. For example, if I’m in Anishinaabe territory, I may say hello in Anishinaabemowin.
     
    Land Accountability & Gratitude
     
    At this point, I like to give thanks in gratitude to the people of the land, and also mention the treaties that that specific area is under. If possible, if I’m presenting on land that I’m not indigenous to, I also try to explain what happened to the treaties and what the responsibilities are that settlers have to indigenous folks. I consider that my responsibility as a settler, especially one sharing knowledge in a gathering.
     
    So how do I find out about all of this info? I attend indigenous education trainings from the people of the land I’m currently residing on, put together by Native Friendship Centres or grassroots indigenous collectives. I also check out websites like DecolonialAtlas.wordpress.com and Native-Land.ca.
     
    Lastly, I talk about how settler responsibilities have expanded beyond just respecting treaties, especially in areas where the treaties have been broken, or land was outright stolen and no treaties were made. I talk about reparations as a form of accountability, and current ways I am offering reparations in accordance with what has been asked by local Indigenous collectives and grassroots organizations, as well as further ideas for reparations for anyone attending, such as supporting local Indigenous grassroots initiatives in regards to reclaiming sacred areas and land, justice for missing and murdered Indigenous Two spirit peoples, women, and men, and healing initiatives led by Indigenous peoples for Indigenous peoples.
    Want to listen to/read the rest of the video? Please subscribe to my Patreon for $5 per month to gain access to anti-oppression workshop tutorials and videos. All funds raised go to healing work among my communities. Original article here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/26879671
    Links:

  • Troubleshoot Tuesday: The Place of Rage Pt 2

    Image Description: A cellphone with a giant angry emoji/emoticon on the screen, lying on top of a wooden surface.

    Transcript:

    Mabuhay! If you haven’t already checked out part one, I suggest you give that a listen first, before jumping in. I’m going to build on what I talked about last week, which was in favour of emotions and anger, by discussing this idea of “too much”, which leads into concepts of conflict, abuse, bullying, and oppression (so content warning for all those things).

    Here’s the core question for me: When is the expression of emotions and anger considered “too much” in a given context, especially a workshop setting, without perpetuating oppression by policing, silencing, and invalidating people’s trauma and pain? How do we figure that line out? And, if we have that line figured out, what do we do when it’s crossed?

    I wonder if this is more a question of ethics than it is anti-oppression– but to me anti-oppression and decolonial thinking is a form of ethics. I just find the ways that this ethics is interpreted or practiced on the daily is so different from one person to the next, from one social group to the next. This gets into complicated territory of “are we gaslighting survivors?” and “are we believing survivors?”, as well as “are we apologizing for abusers?” and “are we scapegoating other survivors as abusers when we don’t ask for evidence or their side of the story?”

    Now, before I get deeper into how I would attempt to figure this line out, let me state briefly that, speaking for myself –while encouraging other people, groups, and collectives too– the attempt must be made, because the consequences are dire. I have witnessed harm occur when anger is expressed violently and abusively, and I have witnessed harm occur when anger is expressed and it was arguably not violent or abusive but the backlash towards the expression was violent and abusive. I have witnessed harm occur when people have done nothing and when people have intervened. The stakes are high, and I want to grow and move forward– I want our movements and our campaigns to grow and move forward too.

    Want to listen to/read the rest of the video? Please subscribe to my Patreon for $10 per month to gain access to weekly interactive posts where you can ask questions about the creative process and troubleshoot your anti-oppressive workshops. Supporters will also receive a mailed package with print-outs of anti-oppression activities and posters. All funds raised go to healing work among my communities. Original article here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/26851147

    Links:

  • Troubleshoot Tuesday: The Place of Rage

    Image Description: A cellphone with a giant angry emoji/emoticon on the screen, lying on top of a wooden surface.

    Transcript: 

    Mabuhay! This Troubleshoot Tuesday, I’m going to briefly talk about what Katherine Cross writes as “call-out culture, purity politics, and the veneration of rage in activist circles” (the link to her article in Feministing is in the transcript to this video). This is a multi-part series because of how huge this topic is.

    I am not going to talk about social media scapegoating because these tutorial videos are about supporting folks facilitating workshops and running programming in their schools, communities, and workplaces. I think that the dynamic and nuanced discussion on social media scapegoating and shunning culture is super important, and I’ve offered links below to folks who have a lot to say about it.

    In the next few videos I’m going to talk about different strategies to handle rage in participants (and yourself) during a workshop. In this particular video I want to argue in favour of emotions, and in favour of anger, and how to make space for it.

    I’ve noticed historically and currently how “being emotional” is equated with “being less than” in regards to feminized people and racialized people, and that anger is only permitted for the masculinized– and white. It’s a tactic of silencing, where a person or people’s pain is minimized or erased by the underlying message that they have no right to be angry at all. Giving space for emotions and anger in our workshops for folks who have been told they are “too angry” and “too emotional” is about validating the pain and trauma that folks have endured under oppressive circumstances.

    So how do we make space for these feelings? You can say it openly, right at the beginning of the workshop or discussion. That it’s okay to cry, to get angry, to need to walk out, to ask for space, or a hug, or to shake with fear and anxiety. Talk about your own feelings, how they affect you, how they may express themselves during the workshop. I talk about how sometimes I sing when I’m nervous, and I cry suddenly, and that’s okay to let me cry. That when I get angry, I clench my fists, and I scream into pillows but my voice doesn’t rise.

    I think it’s also important to bring this up during the Community Agreements part of your workshop (a video on that coming up soon). I don’t think it’s responsible to hold space for emotions without checking in with everyone about any trauma they’re willing to disclose regarding triggers, as well as agreements made on how to manage conflict and feedback between participants, and if there are support people to check in on folks who step out in the midst of great distress.

    Anyway, that’s it for today! Don’t forget to comment on this post with your own concerns and questions, and I’ll be happy to answer and troubleshoot with you any situations that have come up for you in your own work and discussions. Tune in next week for more on The Place of Rage!

    Links:

    If you liked this video, please become a patron, where all funds raised goes directly to healing work in my communities. Link to original article here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/26681270

     

  • Throwback Thursday: Face It (2011)

    Image Description: On a pink wall there is a mirror with a pink frame. In the mirror there are partial reflections of a door way, green plants, and their shadows. The text on top of the image reads: “face it” and “lukayo.com” and “www.patreon.com/lukayo”.

    Content Warning: abuse, substance abuse, self-harm

    it
    is like
    trying to construct my future
    out of the photos of someone else’s past
    fooling me into thinking the pieces fit
    just because they’re in rectangular blocks
    as if I can really build something here
    outside of the playground of
    rusty abandoned expectations
    and the raw failings of the strangers who raised me
    as long as none of the pictures carry
    my
    own
    face

    it
    is like
    staring into a mirror engraved with the lines
    of his left eye, my features distorted by
    the shape of his pupil
    sclera background and iris-bright
    believing that there’s a ghost of me
    living in his head for keepsake
    cuddling his corpus callosum
    and tickling his medulla oblangata
    till all his thoughts are watermarked with
    my
    own
    face

    it
    is like
    screaming
    in an abandoned park mountaintop at midnight
    face-in-pillow empty nest heartbreak
    1st therapy session
    1st rock concert
    1st triple orgasm
    while phantom ex-lovers demand Scott-Pilgrim-like duels
    and current lovers become disruptor shields
    and a makeshift secret treehouse
    build around the weathered bark of
    my
    own
    face

    it
    is like
    her kisses know all the passwords
    her ears trace confessions in my throat-pulsing moans
    her fingers caressing these weary cheekbones
    and button up nose and whip eye lashes
    and cracked slam-spitting lips
    till I grasp after her touch
    by getting reacquainted with
    my
    own
    face

    it
    is like
    the persistent penny in my pocket
    reminding me to save
    my
    own
    face

    it
    is like
    breathing through the
    bruises of disrespect and the
    hollows of self-neglect
    trying to recognize
    my
    own
    face

    it
    is like
    finally feeling safe enough
    to peel off the designer brand new skin,
    armoured make-up, too cool for you look
    and reveal dreams that live on
    my
    own
    face

    it
    on
    my
    own

    face it

    …

    darling

    I am so sorry
    that I left you behind
    that I gave you away
    that I told you to trust them
    and believe them and obey

    I am so sorry
    that I told you love was sacrifice and pain
    that you were worthless if you
    couldn’t make them stay

    I am so sorry
    I starved you of touch, food, and rest
    because I thought you weren’t good enough yet

    I am so sorry
    that when you were crying
    I drowned you with beer and
    other people’s fists to keep you quiet

    I am so sorry
    I only wrote you lines fit
    for a bit part tragic villain

    I am so sorry
    I told you no one would ever be willing
    to love
    that
    kind of
    face

    it was wrong

    face it

    I was wrong

    I couldn’t see what was right in front of
    my
    own
    face

    it

    is the promise

    that from now on

    no more shaming
    no more denying
    no more punishing
    no more lying
    no more running
    from this reflection that cannot be erased

    this is the promise

    to love on my own

    this is the promise

    to love face-to-face

    Wanna hear the rest of the poem? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem for you? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/throwback-face-23322261

  • Throwback Thursday: Sticks & Stones

    Image Description: A black-and-white ink drawing of two dark-skinned hands holding each other. The hands are framed in a diamond/square, where each side of the diamond/square is made of different things. On the bottom, the left side is made of a long stick and the right side is made out of stones, rocks, and pebbles. On the top, the left side is made out of a sword (specifically a tabak/machete from Bicol, Luzon, Philippines), and the right side is made out of a robotic arm. The font has the title “STICKS & STONES” twice, following the borders of the diamond/square. Lukayo’s signature in English and basahan/baybayin is inside the frame, near the side made out of stones.

    Content Warning: sui* ideation, bullying, violence

    Sticks & Stones (Original 2008, Updated 2018)

    [sung in the original “sticks and stones” rhyme]
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    And words can cut and hurt me
    But if I know I’m not alone
    Then my strength won’t desert me
    [/end song]

    She is sitting in a bathroom stall, holding her insides in
    Cradling her guts in her arms, waiting for the slaughter to begin
    She knows it’s too late
    They’ve got her surrounded
    There’s nothing left to do
    But let the crowd in
    And take her
    Down

    He’s standing by the door, getting ready to gear up
    He puts each armor plate in place, helmet down, fear tucked
    Deep inside metal and machine
    They can’t touch him here
    Covered up, unseen
    To face them
    Down

    How did she get to this place? She wonders.
    It began with a swarm, of dead flesh and stark hunger
    Ambushed, slammed, pushed—she started fighting
    Drew her sword, steel flashing bright lightning
    Cut them to pieces but still they kept coming
    And now she’s grown tired, tired of running

    How did he get to this place? He wonders.
    In a suit of mecha, marching down the street like thunder
    They launch missiles at him, but they bounce off his shields
    Damage done to the outer core, so he adjusts his data fields
    The enemy gathers their forces, amassing might and clout
    He has to come out sometime, and so they’ll wait him out

    All alone she kneels, the blade pressed to her skin
    Cuz she’d rather die with dignity than let any of them win
    She’d rather let her blood run out and cut off her own head
    Than let them make her just like them– unrelenting, cold, undead

    And the tanks, the jet fighters, the bombs and the blasts
    Hound him through city rubble, shields failing at last
    In one final attempt, he seeks refuge in the forbidden
    Hoping they won’t follow, hoping he’ll stay hidden

    And she comes out, a warrior, ready for a final sacrifice
    And he climbs out of his robot suit, confused and wide-eyed

    She says: “What the hell are you doing in the girl’s washroom?”

    He says: “Why are you standing there holding a knife to your wrist?”

    And they look at each other and see the bruises, the blisters,
    His broken glasses, the trash in his hair, the scrapes on her fists

    And they look at each other, and slowly, so tentative
    She reaches out her hand, and he looks at it, contemplative

    She whispers, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you, I know how to fight.”
    But he shakes his head while he squeezes her hand tight.

    “I know what’s outside, and what’s waiting for us
    It’s not like the movies or anime or the comic books
    Sometimes the grown-ups don’t come, sometimes we’re left on our own
    Sometimes there are too many zombies and robotic drones
    And I know we’re just kids and we’ve done nothing wrong
    We just look different and sing and dance to different songs
    But sometimes you have to stop running,
    Sometimes you have to stop fighting
    And hold your head high
    Sometimes you have to be the example,
    by ignoring their lies

    Cuz sticks and stones may break my bones
    And words can cut and hurt me
    But if I know I’m not alone
    Then my strength won’t desert me.”

    And with that, they walked hand in hand, outside.

    Wanna hear the rest of the poem or get a larger version of the art piece? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/21682579

  • Throwback Thursday: The Civilizer

    Original 2008; Revised 2018

    Hello.

    Have you ever felt that your life was savage, barbaric, less than ideal?

    Tired of living close with the earth?

    Bored of your rich, oral traditions?

    Suddenly doubting the validity of the herbal knowledge that’s served your community for hundreds of years?

    Fed up with the symbiotic relationship of humans, animals, and the land, which maintain a balanced ecosystem?

    Irritated with your animistic views and the cultural heritage that’s an intrinsic part of your self-worth?

    Ever had that deep down feeling that somehow, on some intrinsic level, you weren’t actually human?

    Well, suffer no more!

    Introducing…

    The Civilizer!

    The Civilizer comes with Freedom, Democracy, Equality, Individualism, the Pursuit of Happiness, and a Judeo-Christian set of morals and ethics—all completely free!

    Benefits include:

    A fair and democratic system that can only be used by the rich and incorporated!

    Worldwide technologically advanced media to disseminate one-sided perspectives rife with cultural stereotypes!

    An allopathic medicinal society that is mostly driven by offering cures instead of actually curing you!

    Education that privileges productivity over knowledge!

    Material success symbolized by items you don’t actually need!

    And best of all, whiteness, heterosexuality, one form of masculinity, one form of relationship arrangement, one form of body type, and one form of monotheism as the Golden Standard we should all try to achieve!

    All of this and more is scientifically proven to come from The Civilizer!

    Don’t just stare like a fence-sitting bisexual!

    If you call now, we have a very special offer where we take all of the terrible parts of you that make you inhuman, as well as your natural resources and cheap labour, and replace it with the Civilizer’s benefits—but now with 50% more democracy and 200% more freedom!

    If you call within the next ten minutes, we’ll throw in guilt and self-hatred as you strive towards Civilizer ideals but can’t quite break free from your inferior indigenous roots!

    This is a limited time offer only!

    Order the Civilizer now!

    Dominators are standing by.

    Some side effects may include slavery, misogyny, homophobia, violent revolution, patriarchy, racism, imperialism, colonialism, cultural genocide, segregation, stereotyping, diaspora, exploitation, sweatshops, free trade agreements, debt, obesity, starvation, war, and more.

    The Civilizer refuses to be held responsible for any and all side effects that may ensue.

    The Civilizer! Cleaning up the world one nation at a time!

    Wanna hear the rest of the poem? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/21547819

  • Fresh Friday: A Litany of Things That Were Never Yours For The Taking

    Content Warning: Sexual assault, franchise colonialism, settler colonialism, anti-Black racism, cisgenderism/transphobia, misogyny, femmephobia

    Image description: A photograph taken by Lukayo Estrella of the Mayon Volcano, with coconut trees and lush jungle in the foreground. The text over the photograph reads: “A Litany of Things That Were Never Yours For the Taking” and “patreon.com/lukayo“.

    A Litany of Things That Were Never Yours For The Taking by Lukayo Estrella

    My lips, my ass, my chest, my genitals, my skin
    Were never yours for the taking

    My skirt, my tights, my lipstick, my eyeliner, my outfit
    Were never yours for the taking

    My community of femmes and tender-hearted skin-showers
    Were never yours for the taking

    My land of volcanos and coconuts and underground metals
    Were never yours for the taking

    This land of beaver and white pine and tobacco and underground oil
    Were never yours for the taking

    This body and spirit you called your “island princess” and your “Asian school girl” and your “Pocahontas”
    Were never yours for the taking

    This body and spirit you said should be grateful a gay man would touch to prove I was a “real boy”
    Were never yours for the taking

    This body and spirit you said didn’t matter what gender as long as you could have me underneath you
    Were never yours for the taking

    Our language, our culture, our spirituality, our tattoos and art, the things you can profit from while my people starve
    Were never yours for the taking

    The Black bodies, and culture, and spirituality and art, the things you can profit from while Black people starve
    Were never yours for the taking

    I end this litany with a prayer and a curse
    Like my great grandmother Lola Colo would have done
    Village healer who prayed to angels from Latin bibles
    And called the ancestors to our rice-laden tables
    My father says I have her face

    So here is my prayer:

    Dearest Gugurang and Bathala
    Dearest Creator
    Dearest Ancestors
    Whose presence is always at my back
    Even when the weight of oppression is unbearable
    Even when the slurs and the sneers cut my flesh
    Even when they use my skin colour as an excuse to rape me
    Even when they use my clothes as an excuse to rape me
    Even when they use my genitals as an excuse to rape me
    Even when they use my disability as an excuse to rape me
    Even when they use my sexuality as an excuse to rape me
    Even when they use their superiority as an excuse to rape us and the earth

    Give me strength

    From the hundreds of years of repelling colonization from our shores and our hearts
    That I can share with those indigenous to these lands who have been repelling
    Colonization from their shores and hearts
    That I can share with those who have been stolen and enslaved and fighting for freedom

    Give me strength

    From the many babae and bakla and tibo and asog, the feminine and nonbinary
    That runs in my bloodlines and burns in my magma-hot chest
    Whose bodies died on the front line and were fed to crocodiles
    Whose curses still linger on their lips to be heard in my ears

    Give me strength

    From every body and spirit who shared space with me
    And believed me and supported me and uplifted me
    And told me I never, ever, fucking deserved this

    Give me strength

    To keep screaming to the fucking heavens
    And curling my small brown fists
    And existing, silent, and immovable
    To prove
    That there are some things, some people, some spirits in this world
    That cannot be taken
    That will keep fighting and loving and breathing
    For a world of offerings and consent

    And here is my curse:

    To all you conquistadors
    Still out there, thinking that
    Bodies and land are just here for the taking

    Lintian!
    May your heart be struck by lightning
    So that the flames of compassion consume you
    Until your life is devoted to giving back
    Until your every word is a prayer of healing and reparations
    Until your every deed is a litany of community transformation
    Until you make sure there are no longer any other conquistadors left
    Who believe there is anything that is theirs just for the taking

    Wanna hear the whole poem and have a larger version of this photo that I took? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Check out the link below and become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me,

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/21116998

  • Throwback Thursday: Self-Portrait

    [Image Description: A black-and-white self-portrait of Lukayo wearing a baseball cap and shirt that is falling off one shoulder to reveal the strap of an under-shirt. They have long hair on one side. Half of their face has facial hair, and the other half is shaved. The drawing has the word “SELF-PORTRAIT” at the top, and their signature in English and basahan/baybayin on the bottom.]

    Self-Portrait (Original 2006; Revised 2018)

    Ako si Lukayo

    And I am searching for the equation in the centre of the dream
    I am unraveling the thread of modern mythological seams

    Sino yan?
    An anti-hero unsung
    Sino yan?
    A faith healer just begun
    Sino yan?

    An ideological disaster blasting capitalism faster
    Than ricocheting bullets from a verbal Gatling gun

    Ako si Lukayo

    I am a construct of your bias, experience, and dreams
    I am a congruence of light and sound that insists I’m heard and seen

    Sino yan?
    Known by many names
    Sino yan?
    Burned by social flames
    Sino yan?

    Your entertainment one-stop, on a soap box with a joke dropped
    Between phrases carved from fire that heal as much as maim

    Ako si Lukayo

    And I am making poetry my temple so that I can be redeemed
    I am a voice, a vision, or an SJW laser beam

    Sino yan?
    An artist just for fun
    Sino yan?
    A trickster on the run
    Sino yan?

    A 33-year old catastrophe, no apathy or atrophy
    But tired of this poem so this intro’s finally done.

    Wanna hear the rest of the poem and get a larger version of the new artwork I drew? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/21101395

  • Fresh Friday: Niyog

    Image Description: A black-and-white ink drawing of a coconut tree. The roots of the tree are entwined with a giant humanoid skull and a skeleton of a serpentine creature with wings. The word NIYOG is off-centre, with the “I” being represented by the trunk of the coconut tree. At the top left corner is Lukayo’s signature in English and in basahan/baybayin.

    Niyog

    There was no grave for me to weep over.

    His ashes were ensconced in the home of
    a woman who I had once asked “Who are you?”
    in the waiting room.

    She had said “His mother” but
    his photos and stories told me otherwise.

    I held my tongue,
    the feel of his dying body still imprinted
    in my arms as she took
    his remains away from me

    But what really remains?

    Did Bathala ever ask this,
    weeping over the grave of
    Galang Kaluluwa?

    What is my grief compared
    to a god’s infinite loneliness,
    knowing that the only being
    ze ever loved lies buried
    beside zir enemy?

    I’ve buried no enemies–
    unless you count the faces
    I’ve seen in my mirror,
    past, messy, dangerous selves
    laid to rest
    in the soil of my memories:
    my brutal behaviours
    intertwined with our first date,
    my tantrums and his kisses,
    my terrors and his perseverance;
    from this, our love grew.

    They say Bathala knew immediately
    when, upwards, out of both graves,
    with the winged and serpentine body of zir adversary
    and the round, brown head of zir beloved,
    that a new being had been born
    meant to care for and challenge
    the humans Bathala would create
    to populate the empty Earth
    the same way Galang Kaluluwa
    had cared for Bathala when ze was alive,
    the same way Ulilang Kaluluwa
    had challenged Bathala when ze was alive.

    Sometimes I tell my life’s story
    like a ledger of losses,
    more challenge than care:
    broken childhoods, dysphoric genders,
    stolen tongues, dead lovers…

    I shy away from sympathetic gazes
    — not out of pride, but confusion.

    Can’t they see that it’s the losses which forged me?

    Each a transformation unveiling a new connection.

    My Ancestors’ blood pulsing within.
    Their hands.
    My hands.
    Weaving new legacies.

    The Dead fuel the Living.

    I remember this, always
    when I search for what remains
    of Ulilang Kaluluwa
    and Galang Kaluluwa:
    oil on my tongue,
    incense in my hair,
    wood in my grip.

    Together, their bodies, and
    Bathala’s tears
    created the first
    coconut tree
    to shelter us and feed us
    to remind us in their silence
    that even from the deepest grief,
    even from the starkest death,
    grows life,
    grows the sacred.

    Wanna hear the whole poem and have a larger version of this new artwork that I drew? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Check out the link below and become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/20946725

The site will be down Friday, June 12th from 8pm until Midnight EST for webhost transfer and maintenance.

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