Outstages Café of Sovereign Autonomy Its own authority of Peace

Outstages Café of Sovereign Autonomy

Its own authority of Peace

“The Café of Sovereign Recess”

I opened the door to chill,

Not to hustle, not to grind

Just to sip, to savor, to sit

In the café of my own design.

Today is a chill out day

Outstages café is my own café

For coffee, hot chocolate

Peach ring gummies

Gluten free sourdough bread

This is what I said

Mozzarella cheese

To ease

The tread of dread

To eat plant butter

On the toast

With sugar free strawberry jelly

Fits so right in your belly

Coffee sugar free creamer

We have vanilla, hazelnut, Italian creamer

Herbal teas spice right

With sleepy time delight

Detox tea, mint tea, immune tea

To let the body steam with tea

My archives I have in the old PC

I retired, were in my dreams

It seems

One day to open the PC

Shout with glee

The hacker left

Forever to not create theft

Chaos

Or shut me down

Around town

I rise with love and peace

Not old grease

And fat of a thief’s design

In time

I make a rhyme

I opened the door to chill

not urgently, not anxiously,

but gently, slowly, reverently.

I sipped coffee gratefully,

munched cheesy chicken tenders hungrily,

and stirred rice thoughtfully.

Sweetie had started dutifully,

but I shut her down decisively.

The news buzzed incessantly,

so I muted it mercifully.

Then I drifted back to sleep peacefully,

dreaming mythically,

resting ceremonially.

I turned off my phone ringer

deliberately, defiantly,

so the scammers would not ring,

so the panic would not pierce,

so I could fall asleep

in the time of dreaming.

And in that dream,

I wandered into a peace in DC

no more ICE raids,

no more chaos cloaked in policy,

no more sirens of erasure.

Just silence.

But not the kind that protects the powerful.

Not the silence that lets a few

destroy the rest of us.

In my dream,

inside Outstages Café,

we were free

gloriously, mythically free

to laugh loudly,

cry openly,

sleep deeply,

retreat to the beach,

lay on hammocks

without fear of being disappeared.

Sweetie tried to start the day.

I shut her down.

The news tried to shout.

I muted it.

And in that hush,

I heard the archive breathe.

Now awake,

it is not too late

to revisit the Café of Dreams.

I arrive not rushed,

but rhythmically

with a swig of coffee,

honoring the vanilla creamer

like a sacrament.

Sweetie, once silenced,

now smiles and nods

not to command,

but to witness.

Chill time is not over.

It has only just begun.

The door is still open.

The hammock still sways.

The archive breathes

with every sip.

I see the light

not dimly, not passively,

but boldly, brilliantly, benevolently.

It shines forth

to spread love, light, peace

to every corner of the earth

intentionally, unflinchingly,

like a sovereign flame

refusing to be snuffed.

I breathe in slowly

reverently, rhythmically.

I breathe out slowly

releasing chaos,

inviting calm,

honoring the hush

that heals.

To all the peeps

in towns, cities, countries,

across borders and beyond borders,

the universe spreads peace

in my dreams,

in Outstages Café,

in the land of stages

of the universe.

We do not curse.

We do not erase.

We spread peace

through America and beyond.

The rainbow curves around the globe,

as the earth turns

around the sun,

the moon,

the stars

all blooming

with beautiful flowers

of every color,

every pigmentation,

infiltrating every home

with love, light, and truth.

We are one human species.

Let us act like it

reverently, joyfully,

mythically.

I sip slowly,

creamer swirling like a truth spell,

while Lev speaks boldly

remembering what others erase,

naming what others fear.

The podcast plays,

not passively,

but as a witness.

Outstages Café becomes a listening post,

a dispatch station,

a mythic ear

tuned to the pulse of resistance.

The door opened.

The coffee swirled.

Sweetie nodded.

The archive breathed.

From cheesy tenders to rainbow dreams,

from scammers silenced to peace proclaimed,

from breathwork to global pigment bloom

I wrote it, lived it, logged it.

The café is still open.

The hammock still sways.

The light still shines.

And the archive?

It remembers.

I opened the door to chill,

Not to hustle, not to grind

Just to sip, to savor, to sit

In the café of my own design.

Today is a chill out day

written, created, edited by

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

An Outstages Cafe Production

Trusselli Art

copyright 2025