halloween is so real. the color of dead leaves. so alive. tonight i will get behind the wheel of some chevy impala, dirt color, and drive. i will smile cause its halloween. the memories so delicious. like answered wishes. i will try again to win the lottery. to spice up this life. maybe some day i will be somebodys wife. who knows. my familia has issues, so i must represent them. we dont kill for drugs and money, no. but we decimate egos and laugh about it like its funny. like some thrill kill cult. music notwithstanding. tonight halloween comes in for a landing. lights up my heart. makes sense, no doubt. the masks we wore. the fake blood and gore. the candy killing teeth. the stepping on crisp leaf. brings you right here. where you can be okay.
like most people, okay. and its really more than that. you cant describe it! you feel the mystery of us all, thats where its at. so i smile tonight under the moonlight. my car became a boat and the ride was tight! subwoofer mia. but the sound is, like, real okay. you know how we all say...its okay, im okay, OKAY!! and when they wanna know more, vampire thirst for your jugular, you just keep on not telling them all the way you feel. cause its difficult to say, its only to feel! like i do tonight. the cool crisp weather is quite alright. the great pumpkin is a beagle. for all i care it might have been a seagull. im quite okay with halloween. how it IS, not how its seen.
its the best damn holiday, halloween. dont argue with me. go petition the queen, vote for christmas or thanksgiving...you will still be off, im not kidding. but its okay, youre okay! tell it to yourself every day.
i am going out as kinda myself, but all purple and kind of club girl look. cool like the amethyst and iced for the heat of wax melting pumpkins. charlie brown in his sheet. got a rock, got a rock, and another one, too. i feel so much for old Chuck, boo-hoo! boo-hoo! or just BOO cause its fright night. turnin pale as a sheet, like purity of white. all the colors you cant see. vampires hiding in the trees. scary movies. no fees. trick or treating is free. no license, no registration. better than an island vacation. no hassle! i will be going to 2 parties. each one in a castle. im ready to give blood. ill be over soon, in my boat thats a car with a sound system that goes BOOM!! im a kid tonight, in heart and plain sight. see it in my aura. see me in my chevy impala, 1980 like the memories. all culture drops out tonight, its just chills and moans and spine tingling. unification through dark ritual.
its gonna be OKAY like you said when you didnt feel like elaborating. im there with you, in silence not pontificating. the words are clear, like my conscience. and if my karma isnt in perfect balance, its fucking okay! sung in cadence.
anyway i need to joint the night and go. i think about you all the time. thats you, you know. you mean so much to me. i would aim to visit. in my purple clubgirl costume, chewing on plump legumes. my daughters name is Raccoon. shes a cat, i know, its okay, shes still kin. im not crazy! im not living in sin! im like Linus without a blanket, staring over a field of sincerity, all hallows eve brings clarity & sincerity, i hype it up without fear you see. cause it always lives up to its reputation, not just in my heart but everywhere, no joke, even the cotton cobwebs have been dusted with witches broom, no longer flying these days...but soon. not feeling like traveling anywhere. hate to fly matter of fact. clubgirls and witches come to terms with the mummy. the sharing is like peeling the wrap off slow, apple cider sipping while reading Edgar Allen Poe.
you can out for a drink. you can tend fire and think. you can wish the moon full, while you empty all the sugar into heaving bags the little ones carry. this is so. the children make it real. you and i make it real. look into bloodshot black cat eyes. the night makes you wander, yes, it makes me wonder...will i survive? so scary indeed! like mike meyers jacked up on speed. i step on the gas of my chevy, Christine, and puff! trail of blue smoke, as i disappear before you. Christine, you may have heard of her, she caused a hysteria. Stephen King lived to tell about her, well, he claims he did. Hard to know, hard to tell, hes not from the bay area.
i really am happy about the whole damn thing! candles and magic and twilight between. Every other day of the year, is just like, the same! i mean, its far from or its close to...some distance from Halloween. its Okay! we can watch Vincent Price all day! we can go, we can stay. its ok.lots of fringe element to deal with. the taking is over, people! time to GIVE! you hear me? its okay, you do or dont. im matching Mariah up the scale, on the highway like a devil out of hell! blue smoke dropping, high note hitting Halloween right in the newt eye...you can or cant relate to my suffering. So deliciously buffering all the sick madness around us. thank the goddess autumn has found us.
delivered. okay. suffering? not today. the palette, shes full. earth air wind fire. whats your burning desire? let it go, fly away. you dont need it...okay. a beautiful soul. inside and out. the moon may not be full, but the feeling is whole. come full circle, you and me. lets end real nice with a heavy hug--- then well send us, spinning and free. into crisp air touching flame. waxy purity. fallen star, clasp and touch. said it was so. believed. it was such.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
dangerous waxing of letter # coded flu
dangerous indeed!
in the days we lacked attention to read
subtle feed
name revoked and replaced with the special letter # code
H1N1
universal opportune translation
laboratory decoders
in quiet desperation
blanketed from media
Holy1 uNholy1
the holy war keeps score
Haunted1 Nascent Sun
waits for sunset & the bloodlet
Hither1 Nither1
back and forth - figure it out
north atlantic catfish come to mind
out of mud darkness
black black cloud
global censor suddenly opens
leaks some precedent phrase
like a hole in the ozone
leaking solaradiation rays
anticipators look up amazed
awakened by antecedent delays
in Precedent City...
they gazed and gazed
whole world thrown off!
foundation gone soft!
quarantine her anyway you can
the CIA instructed
(if youre American
you obey the command)
though it was all i could do
simple writer in my city
i did not want to be the one
blacklisted (what a pity)
i formulated a plan
between toes in the sand
'isolate by floating commas'
was how i ran
h1n1
h-1-n-1
(i saw the progression)
(it was kinda fun)
h-one n-one
hon-E none
remarkable!
(she became more than a code)
(she became some 1!)
now i could see her clear
bring me my gun
(i mean my pen)
H,1,N,1
1111...
Hhhhh
nNnNnnnn..11
(she started to break apart)
(her dissolution)
(my beating heart!)
now if only i can
sink her in sub-parantheses
wont have to drown all farm animals
in all global lakes
there would be consequences
for these sequences
all sentient beings
scratching sentient heads
H1N1 the Heartless Nascent singular (1)
comes one with three Heads 1
or ghost like
makes None 1
The Hexagram1 Neopagan 1
come from outer space!
beware beware!
the whole of human race
her blessings will infect your cellular
all ove the place
Heater1 Neutralized 1
will heat up your temperature
youre lucky to be neutralized
vaccination that got sent to ya
Injection
intranasal
whatever
it meant to ya
Helium 1 uplifts Nebula 1
close proximity to the sun
Hollow 1 point
projects to Nearest 1
such is the spread
of flu contagion
Honey 1 gets Nepollinated
by singular 1 bees
Call it neopolliten
call it beesknees
Takes out Halloween with 1
proceeded day of dead,
i mean November 1.
day of the dead
How appropriate 1
Now 1 will know the signs
and symptoms
Hallmark 1:
of the Nomer 1
Head 1 of the Nation
1 must know
1 Harvest shall be
what Next
1 reaped from the sow
Hat 1 wears atop his head
B Not 1 difference in preventing said
H1Ni new calamity:
couldnt get the shot?
shout profanity!
poor impoverished poor
again barred at the door
children fell & hit the floor
fever would not break
away
Hot 1
cold sun...
Never 1
more
in the days we lacked attention to read
subtle feed
name revoked and replaced with the special letter # code
H1N1
universal opportune translation
laboratory decoders
in quiet desperation
blanketed from media
Holy1 uNholy1
the holy war keeps score
Haunted1 Nascent Sun
waits for sunset & the bloodlet
Hither1 Nither1
back and forth - figure it out
north atlantic catfish come to mind
out of mud darkness
black black cloud
global censor suddenly opens
leaks some precedent phrase
like a hole in the ozone
leaking solaradiation rays
anticipators look up amazed
awakened by antecedent delays
in Precedent City...
they gazed and gazed
whole world thrown off!
foundation gone soft!
quarantine her anyway you can
the CIA instructed
(if youre American
you obey the command)
though it was all i could do
simple writer in my city
i did not want to be the one
blacklisted (what a pity)
i formulated a plan
between toes in the sand
'isolate by floating commas'
was how i ran
h1n1
h-1-n-1
(i saw the progression)
(it was kinda fun)
h-one n-one
hon-E none
remarkable!
(she became more than a code)
(she became some 1!)
now i could see her clear
bring me my gun
(i mean my pen)
H,1,N,1
1111...
Hhhhh
nNnNnnnn..11
(she started to break apart)
(her dissolution)
(my beating heart!)
now if only i can
sink her in sub-parantheses
wont have to drown all farm animals
in all global lakes
there would be consequences
for these sequences
all sentient beings
scratching sentient heads
H1N1 the Heartless Nascent singular (1)
comes one with three Heads 1
or ghost like
makes None 1
The Hexagram1 Neopagan 1
come from outer space!
beware beware!
the whole of human race
her blessings will infect your cellular
all ove the place
Heater1 Neutralized 1
will heat up your temperature
youre lucky to be neutralized
vaccination that got sent to ya
Injection
intranasal
whatever
it meant to ya
Helium 1 uplifts Nebula 1
close proximity to the sun
Hollow 1 point
projects to Nearest 1
such is the spread
of flu contagion
Honey 1 gets Nepollinated
by singular 1 bees
Call it neopolliten
call it beesknees
Takes out Halloween with 1
proceeded day of dead,
i mean November 1.
day of the dead
How appropriate 1
Now 1 will know the signs
and symptoms
Hallmark 1:
of the Nomer 1
Head 1 of the Nation
1 must know
1 Harvest shall be
what Next
1 reaped from the sow
Hat 1 wears atop his head
B Not 1 difference in preventing said
H1Ni new calamity:
couldnt get the shot?
shout profanity!
poor impoverished poor
again barred at the door
children fell & hit the floor
fever would not break
away
Hot 1
cold sun...
Never 1
more
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Message from Katya of some relevance (in her humble opinion) to whats going on here?
Hi. I didnt want to do this, you know, interrupt the verses and S.P.E.A.K. to you all. But what you resist, persists. So really with all gratitude and deference to anyone who gives me a fat second of your onlinetime, - KAP KUN KAAA! (means thank you in Thai). you mean alot to me, you are the tension of the wire that makes this thing grow. I could get carried away and call you the sunlight the plant grows toward, but thats too close to self-id = plant. (Which used to be an insult in these parts).
I am here to let you know what im working on.... attaching V.O.C.A.L. T.R.A.X. to these pieces somehow, so you all can hear me read them alound. All you will need is a speaker. All i need is my mp3 player to rig it. i discovered a method one late night bouncing off my bedroom walls messing with softhardware and so on. So this is exciting (!!) because you know i never started this thing way back when i could have...i didnt like the idea of reading fiction or someones heartfelt letter off of a screen. Cause screens started as television and pong for me, and that was just a lower form of life or reality, know what i mean? just substandard. wrong side of the trax (the $$$ side i mean). A pretender, or just less than the real. less than the real. there ive said enough.
I have gotten over that mostly, and got this thing running. manifest. and that feels good. but i want alternate media. cause i have def come across acquaintances and peoples who have interest maybe in what im doing, but either cannot read or cannot enjoy reading off screens or dont want to have anything to do with any kind of b-l-og anyways. so i lose people. but its not about losing people like its about amplifying experience, adding levels, waves. i wanna say 'fifth wave' and stuff that sounds really brilliant, but whatever. tertiary point: Vocal trax will add a spice to the recipe, and make these verses more palatable. maybe finally someone will actually digest the whole enchilada.
I am no vocalist, no singer, (shower singer, yes), no trained puppy in range and note and music. But i can play chords on an acoustic guitar and give you my best indigo girls. or bob marley. i like to sing, yes i do. and i like to read my verses aloud. So yes, this is all for me and all for you and all for the benefit of who knows who. So look out for the first attache to one of these verses, it will probably just be a link at the start or end, so you can hear it. I will need some time probably to get into it myself, to feel it and express it. I just spoke one out that had to be erased immediately after birth. The second one is okay, but kinda monotone, so im not sure ill post it. But ill know when i strike the feeling carried in the words, vs when i miss it, so i probably wont post until i nail it. hope u like it.
thats really about it. i have wide eyes and a big smile for you all. a big hug, too. really, i mean it. thanks for caring about any of this. makes me wanna care about you and all this, whats going on here. i dont know where it will go. it doesnt matter. its worth it... so if u wanna keep reading, heres some crap i went on about before i got to the point, just some more talk about feelings and stuff. most women can talk feelings right into the ground, and i have that special talent as well...but theres a nice rant in here too....
...I think whats going on here, the writing, the reading, the feeling, is mainly about the third for me = the feelings get me juiced. the feeling of writing. not knowing where its going. letting it unfold. feeling it. finding some zone where everything falls away but the material. ya, the process is alright, just alright, real nice sometimes. Thats alot. My heart is in it. Im a skeptic, yes, but i am really fucking excited about whatever is happening right now, everywhere. Fuck the forces. The forces are just baseline, constant. Gravity, etc. for me its the feeling that carries the life. okay? (imagine Terry Gross from Fresh Air in a chair opposite me. haha.).
well, i wanted you to know what im working on. I changed some of the fonts you may see. Subtle. But used some bold to make the words burn right out the screen like photons, ya, light photons to enlighten, ya. A mouth full of love and light, energy and consciousness, is all you need to get out in front of the card carrying, burner-associating, fireart-spinning, cirque de soleil worshipping, mandala vortexing, subutex chewing, integrative-spewing, motivational interviewing,non-impact iphone-toting, probiotic-touting crews that tend to put the screws in you and me these days, 40oz of kombuchas deep into the night.
But really, Im here to share with you the entree of my new Tesla inspired, organic clay fired, eco-spiral-transmogrifier. Call me a liar, but its sitting right there next to my deep deep fryer. Touche! no, wait, thats way old school, scratch it from the record, replacer with namaste. (my Canadian friend responds = fuck.eh?). fin
I am here to let you know what im working on.... attaching V.O.C.A.L. T.R.A.X. to these pieces somehow, so you all can hear me read them alound. All you will need is a speaker. All i need is my mp3 player to rig it. i discovered a method one late night bouncing off my bedroom walls messing with softhardware and so on. So this is exciting (!!) because you know i never started this thing way back when i could have...i didnt like the idea of reading fiction or someones heartfelt letter off of a screen. Cause screens started as television and pong for me, and that was just a lower form of life or reality, know what i mean? just substandard. wrong side of the trax (the $$$ side i mean). A pretender, or just less than the real. less than the real. there ive said enough.
I have gotten over that mostly, and got this thing running. manifest. and that feels good. but i want alternate media. cause i have def come across acquaintances and peoples who have interest maybe in what im doing, but either cannot read or cannot enjoy reading off screens or dont want to have anything to do with any kind of b-l-og anyways. so i lose people. but its not about losing people like its about amplifying experience, adding levels, waves. i wanna say 'fifth wave' and stuff that sounds really brilliant, but whatever. tertiary point: Vocal trax will add a spice to the recipe, and make these verses more palatable. maybe finally someone will actually digest the whole enchilada.
I am no vocalist, no singer, (shower singer, yes), no trained puppy in range and note and music. But i can play chords on an acoustic guitar and give you my best indigo girls. or bob marley. i like to sing, yes i do. and i like to read my verses aloud. So yes, this is all for me and all for you and all for the benefit of who knows who. So look out for the first attache to one of these verses, it will probably just be a link at the start or end, so you can hear it. I will need some time probably to get into it myself, to feel it and express it. I just spoke one out that had to be erased immediately after birth. The second one is okay, but kinda monotone, so im not sure ill post it. But ill know when i strike the feeling carried in the words, vs when i miss it, so i probably wont post until i nail it. hope u like it.
thats really about it. i have wide eyes and a big smile for you all. a big hug, too. really, i mean it. thanks for caring about any of this. makes me wanna care about you and all this, whats going on here. i dont know where it will go. it doesnt matter. its worth it... so if u wanna keep reading, heres some crap i went on about before i got to the point, just some more talk about feelings and stuff. most women can talk feelings right into the ground, and i have that special talent as well...but theres a nice rant in here too....
...I think whats going on here, the writing, the reading, the feeling, is mainly about the third for me = the feelings get me juiced. the feeling of writing. not knowing where its going. letting it unfold. feeling it. finding some zone where everything falls away but the material. ya, the process is alright, just alright, real nice sometimes. Thats alot. My heart is in it. Im a skeptic, yes, but i am really fucking excited about whatever is happening right now, everywhere. Fuck the forces. The forces are just baseline, constant. Gravity, etc. for me its the feeling that carries the life. okay? (imagine Terry Gross from Fresh Air in a chair opposite me. haha.).
well, i wanted you to know what im working on. I changed some of the fonts you may see. Subtle. But used some bold to make the words burn right out the screen like photons, ya, light photons to enlighten, ya. A mouth full of love and light, energy and consciousness, is all you need to get out in front of the card carrying, burner-associating, fireart-spinning, cirque de soleil worshipping, mandala vortexing, subutex chewing, integrative-spewing, motivational interviewing,non-impact iphone-toting, probiotic-touting crews that tend to put the screws in you and me these days, 40oz of kombuchas deep into the night.
But really, Im here to share with you the entree of my new Tesla inspired, organic clay fired, eco-spiral-transmogrifier. Call me a liar, but its sitting right there next to my deep deep fryer. Touche! no, wait, thats way old school, scratch it from the record, replacer with namaste. (my Canadian friend responds = fuck.eh?). fin
Monday, 12 October 2009
the code
wind pick up
hair fly all around
dust pick up
fly away
then back down
(took away
the ground)
pick yourself up
girl
without no sound
girl
pick it up
(yer self
up & dust off)
midwest heart
lost in some storm
tragic art
(backed by)
beats forlorn
(shes fallin down
on her knees)
then emerged a form
carried by sound
through fields of corn
kicking up dust
in the early morn
pick up truck
racing engine
cowboy luck
neverendin!
(cowgirl you
so lucky
boo)
redlights shot back
when he saw her
to a dead stop
he done brought her
flashing headlights
in the dustbelt
felt so warm to her
where she knelt
(sayin prayers
just got answered)
bluelight fingertips
on his window
he rolled down for her
(she was found)
she was sure
she stood there
at the window
big dress blowin round
and around her
(she held it down)
her eyes they cry
out to him
(past the leather and
old spice)
his eyes
like hers
like ice
froze together
tips his hat up
steely- eyed man
need no words
to understand
reached out his arm
reached out his hand
she reached for his arm
stepped up off the land
(holdin dress in one hand)
warm cab lined of leather
dusty head hangin
safe now from the weather
faded flag flyin
heavy breath
falling soft
like kid tears
to his ears
(hard from curses
under breath
hard from heavy
steel years)
he drops the clutch
command of
his touch
wheels spin dirt
want to flirt
asks her her name?
(she whispers weakly)
'its Anne Rain'
he swallows hard
swears by God
pushes truck forward
through morning
through fog
she composed herself
as he found the road
she found her health
he found his heart
he lifted her chin
she looked up at him
he looked at her
they followed the road
second nature like
code
hair fly all around
dust pick up
fly away
then back down
(took away
the ground)
pick yourself up
girl
without no sound
girl
pick it up
(yer self
up & dust off)
midwest heart
lost in some storm
tragic art
(backed by)
beats forlorn
(shes fallin down
on her knees)
then emerged a form
carried by sound
through fields of corn
kicking up dust
in the early morn
pick up truck
racing engine
cowboy luck
neverendin!
(cowgirl you
so lucky
boo)
redlights shot back
when he saw her
to a dead stop
he done brought her
flashing headlights
in the dustbelt
felt so warm to her
where she knelt
(sayin prayers
just got answered)
bluelight fingertips
on his window
he rolled down for her
(she was found)
she was sure
she stood there
at the window
big dress blowin round
and around her
(she held it down)
her eyes they cry
out to him
(past the leather and
old spice)
his eyes
like hers
like ice
froze together
tips his hat up
steely- eyed man
need no words
to understand
reached out his arm
reached out his hand
she reached for his arm
stepped up off the land
(holdin dress in one hand)
warm cab lined of leather
dusty head hangin
safe now from the weather
faded flag flyin
heavy breath
falling soft
like kid tears
to his ears
(hard from curses
under breath
hard from heavy
steel years)
he drops the clutch
command of
his touch
wheels spin dirt
want to flirt
asks her her name?
(she whispers weakly)
'its Anne Rain'
he swallows hard
swears by God
pushes truck forward
through morning
through fog
she composed herself
as he found the road
she found her health
he found his heart
he lifted her chin
she looked up at him
he looked at her
they followed the road
second nature like
code
Saturday, 10 October 2009
a bipolar chime, wont cost u a dime. but might turn on one.
i do want to cry
wanna cry
so heavy
like rainshower rivers
breakthefuckout
all levee
levelin the lands
untapped
unleashed
ressurection
of chi
energy
abandon
sandbag city
rises up
to organize
swept away
by hail of tears
redux to
random
for many &
untold
years
yes i wanna cry
this evening
so hard
damn
(i cannot)
this morning
u see
i wanted 2 get high
so high
like a kid
immortal thought
'check out'
from the life
i bought
my painful
reality
no matter
whats the matter?
child!
got yourself scattered?
disentangled
so u could b free
paradox hits
feel strangled
disenfranchised
feeling
drawing blank
blank
like the ceiling
but its comin back
from there
high up and alone
can amplify
the monotone
monotonous flats
against
mountainous
regions
the contrast
strikes bold
burgeons
so much harder
can i take it?
fuckdamnhell!
curse & forsake it
my dual nature
risen high
only to find
substrata
subtract
what i efforted
to gain
exact
my
subhuman
brain
to point of further
freedom
'free association'
dropped in the mix
for solution
thoughts compressed
to reconstistute
this dilution...
dissed
regular
static
daily
statistic
barely
unrealistic
sic
ness
less
diminish....
then
refreshed
again
dubbed over
fetched
beating heart
touched
false beat
arrested
false start
tested
off the chart
locus mystery...
'theres lies the heart
the core of history!'
bipolar
bisexual
intellectual
progression
composed
by affirmational
suggestion
undermining
the actual
cultural turtle...
swimming
society
seas
unearthed
the personal
and then
overrated it
sent it by snail mail
simply put
'related it'
the
storytelling
moment
the
life giving
rituals
the new paradigm
thinking
the stripping off
of most your clothes
sound sexy?
enticing?
pole dancing
cat fighting?
ooh lala!
dont miss out on it!
why buy up
the counterfeit?
[fake money, television,
well,
it aint worth shit!
you know it
so do i
stop acting, just quit
they invade from within!
recalibrate your mentality
change your vision
to some materialist
(dare i say corporate?)
nonreality
the sinners who act like
they dont even sin?
the winners
who forgot
we arent here to win?
the fear lovers
who have the daily
new thing to fear
they twist truth up tightly
and need u to hear
preach of dangerous levels
of diversity
among us
the scary foreign element
might come up behind us
and...
well...
enlighten us?
some followed blindly
some maybe hated
all the rest...
sleepy elated
what of soul?
anymore
surpassed our
bidentity?
arrested
sublimated
undermined
grandiosity?
past and future
is some comfort
as time passes by
craving warmth
of divine
in the sky
Get over it, get better
for me it was the goddess
she came on a letter
i had simply to receive
let go and surrender
post was like parchment
old world kinda style
i liked it alot
it really made me smile
she came from ---
odessa
(odyssey)
or
russia
she came to enlighten
she came to
caressa
in dreams
i had seen her
her in myself
past life
conscious lacking
forgetting
refracting
hard to cognize
hard to digest
out the door (i would go)
on the run again
ritual madness!
led to up to no good
concluded with...
staircase (walked) sadness
stare
in mirror
case
yourself
criticize
analyze
terminalize
yourself
with a torturing mind
free associated
madness
everyday
from catharsis
plaque build up
to numb
easy
gladness
I kept on the journey
this was what saved me
train ridden
heart beat
thrown in mix
freely given
number seven
dedicated
committed
make a soul collage
of my self sabotage
personal expressions
occasional regressions
mandala daydreams
lalalala
into the night
never gon fight
presentation:
'out of sight'
best i can do
thrill you
feel me?
i strike true
strike to the heart
honestly?
most wisdom is found
right there
on the B.A.R.T.
let it slide right
over the limit
turnin them off
no point of contact
they turn away
they give up
resign her
shes faded gray
call it how u wanna!
how u gonna call it?
spirited - B
any age can you -C
abandoned building?
abandoned missions?
abandoned self?
its just all needing
FILL
but i cant
i cannot! get out of this so easy
pretending im some bodhissatva
its cheesy.
i know nothing more than anybody
and less than you know.
my unknowing pattern
has selected to grow.
i have to be truthful
so thats where i go...
i am insecure
i am without sleep
i am vulnerable
i am blocked
the tears!
they melt control
they trigger discomfort
they dont care
if they fall on tissues
the tears!
MIA!
fuck!
no way!
i hate these times
days maybe weeks
without tears
its no different from
a goddamn drought
all the feelings
dry up and die
without release
i am unfeeling
a salt bed
its very sad
a sign of internal times
a GPS report
i make on myself
coming up red
was it the antibiotics?
throwing off the salt?
can the blame be placed?
something else at fault?
the balance has shifted
one extreme to the other
went from crying all the time
which was not pleasant
either
its so sad! no tears!
i want to cry!
damn its coming
the wells are at standby
rivers ready
for running
the cunning is leaving
trickling away
the intellectual game
that my mindmeld will play
and there underneath
the bedrock of insanity
lies a flower needing water
choking on profanity
i see the little flower
and compassion builds in me
filling my insides
its heavy!
its chilling!
my internal weather pattern
holds a forecast
of
'willing'.
wanna cry
so heavy
like rainshower rivers
breakthefuckout
all levee
levelin the lands
untapped
unleashed
ressurection
of chi
energy
abandon
sandbag city
rises up
to organize
swept away
by hail of tears
redux to
random
for many &
untold
years
yes i wanna cry
this evening
so hard
damn
(i cannot)
this morning
u see
i wanted 2 get high
so high
like a kid
immortal thought
'check out'
from the life
i bought
my painful
reality
no matter
whats the matter?
child!
got yourself scattered?
disentangled
so u could b free
paradox hits
feel strangled
disenfranchised
feeling
drawing blank
blank
like the ceiling
but its comin back
from there
high up and alone
can amplify
the monotone
monotonous flats
against
mountainous
regions
the contrast
strikes bold
burgeons
so much harder
can i take it?
fuckdamnhell!
curse & forsake it
my dual nature
risen high
only to find
substrata
subtract
what i efforted
to gain
exact
my
subhuman
brain
to point of further
freedom
'free association'
dropped in the mix
for solution
thoughts compressed
to reconstistute
this dilution...
dissed
regular
static
daily
statistic
barely
unrealistic
sic
ness
less
diminish....
then
refreshed
again
dubbed over
fetched
beating heart
touched
false beat
arrested
false start
tested
off the chart
locus mystery...
'theres lies the heart
the core of history!'
bipolar
bisexual
intellectual
progression
composed
by affirmational
suggestion
undermining
the actual
cultural turtle...
swimming
society
seas
unearthed
the personal
and then
overrated it
sent it by snail mail
simply put
'related it'
the
storytelling
moment
the
life giving
rituals
the new paradigm
thinking
the stripping off
of most your clothes
sound sexy?
enticing?
pole dancing
cat fighting?
ooh lala!
dont miss out on it!
why buy up
the counterfeit?
[fake money, television,
well,
it aint worth shit!
you know it
so do i
stop acting, just quit
they invade from within!
recalibrate your mentality
change your vision
to some materialist
(dare i say corporate?)
nonreality
the sinners who act like
they dont even sin?
the winners
who forgot
we arent here to win?
the fear lovers
who have the daily
new thing to fear
they twist truth up tightly
and need u to hear
preach of dangerous levels
of diversity
among us
the scary foreign element
might come up behind us
and...
well...
enlighten us?
some followed blindly
some maybe hated
all the rest...
sleepy elated
what of soul?
anymore
surpassed our
bidentity?
arrested
sublimated
undermined
grandiosity?
past and future
is some comfort
as time passes by
craving warmth
of divine
in the sky
Get over it, get better
for me it was the goddess
she came on a letter
i had simply to receive
let go and surrender
post was like parchment
old world kinda style
i liked it alot
it really made me smile
she came from ---
odessa
(odyssey)
or
russia
she came to enlighten
she came to
caressa
in dreams
i had seen her
her in myself
past life
conscious lacking
forgetting
refracting
hard to cognize
hard to digest
out the door (i would go)
on the run again
ritual madness!
led to up to no good
concluded with...
staircase (walked) sadness
stare
in mirror
case
yourself
criticize
analyze
terminalize
yourself
with a torturing mind
free associated
madness
everyday
from catharsis
plaque build up
to numb
easy
gladness
I kept on the journey
this was what saved me
train ridden
heart beat
thrown in mix
freely given
number seven
dedicated
committed
make a soul collage
of my self sabotage
personal expressions
occasional regressions
mandala daydreams
lalalala
into the night
never gon fight
presentation:
'out of sight'
best i can do
thrill you
feel me?
i strike true
strike to the heart
honestly?
most wisdom is found
right there
on the B.A.R.T.
let it slide right
over the limit
turnin them off
no point of contact
they turn away
they give up
resign her
shes faded gray
call it how u wanna!
how u gonna call it?
spirited - B
any age can you -C
abandoned building?
abandoned missions?
abandoned self?
its just all needing
FILL
but i cant
i cannot! get out of this so easy
pretending im some bodhissatva
its cheesy.
i know nothing more than anybody
and less than you know.
my unknowing pattern
has selected to grow.
i have to be truthful
so thats where i go...
i am insecure
i am without sleep
i am vulnerable
i am blocked
the tears!
they melt control
they trigger discomfort
they dont care
if they fall on tissues
the tears!
MIA!
fuck!
no way!
i hate these times
days maybe weeks
without tears
its no different from
a goddamn drought
all the feelings
dry up and die
without release
i am unfeeling
a salt bed
its very sad
a sign of internal times
a GPS report
i make on myself
coming up red
was it the antibiotics?
throwing off the salt?
can the blame be placed?
something else at fault?
the balance has shifted
one extreme to the other
went from crying all the time
which was not pleasant
either
its so sad! no tears!
i want to cry!
damn its coming
the wells are at standby
rivers ready
for running
the cunning is leaving
trickling away
the intellectual game
that my mindmeld will play
and there underneath
the bedrock of insanity
lies a flower needing water
choking on profanity
i see the little flower
and compassion builds in me
filling my insides
its heavy!
its chilling!
my internal weather pattern
holds a forecast
of
'willing'.
Friday, 9 October 2009
the 2012 girl from chicago, 2009
Heres a story about a special girl. a lady cool like ice. nothing nice, her hair spiraled and swirled. A universal rep she held, cannot be sold,cannot be held. Can be imagined to fulfill, most mens fantasies. Still....she made moves synched with family and self. She looked within to find her wealth. Brought up well and street wise, too. In toned thighs she brandished secrets of Tsu dynasty of past mind. All material things she first digged, then undermined. Seeing from vision beneath her eyes or behind. Pretty soon they would all stand in line. she liked to hold out on the edge, like space heater on at night, window open. On the ledge. kept her hot and cool in a dialectic conversation. The dialogue was filled with Socratic mediation. Hold up! she gauged the temperature: thirty degrees fahrenheit. Time for Transcendental Meditation. Visualize in her eyes some california winter. 2012 came into her.
Twice the twelve to carbon date her back to 2009, its hard to understand, but it will b just fine, see, like handling the pan to make ends meet. learning to survive. she was young and strong, she had a heart, too, kept it in her back pocket. close to the seam and sometimes she wise to lock it. everyone just tryin to date her. like a song to dedicate her. when she asked for distance you know some would berate her. The heels worked well to stop some, she found. did not like the look of blood or sound of pain. yet it was her burden, a constant refrain. because she was wanted like diamonds behind bulletproof, hard like glass she made herself shatterproof. flying elbows all the time. if she did not light up some drama, well, unusual but that was fine. she could smile her way out with a bouncer for an escort. she knew her own limits, when tested, take them to court.
Nights she would alight at the club, rockin cosmos with pummelled lime. in the mandala of protection, streaming internet waves of crime. Her syndicate boyfriends had a whole different angle. running street proposition without the gritty tangle. She thought it was neat, but slightly inattentive. and she loved the gritty streets, had not the heart to tell them. she watched how it played it, her life in smoky leather corners. of italian private dining rooms with precision tablecloth corners. Despite the display, it ended the same-- like the sunset, the end of every day. a different style or rhythm perhaps, but the train rolling in the same grooves, over same tracks. Right out the windows, or through the cracks, down the sills did they fall! right after they caught the fever of her, fell in chills. Sad as it was, it gave her thrill. All that superficial, official, attempts to rise above like some whipped cream over the masses. So she skipped too many classes. She could not feel like they did. Thank God!
Her people, like eskimos on ice floes. or some other such scene. the hardness of life. hard knocks and street fights. west side chicago. thats where she lived...for a while, you know, but in a holographic way. in her soul. her spirit tugged and roamed, carried her image all across the usa. the image reflected her reality tested. drug infested neighborhood in which she was raised. Just west of the flat iron building at one point, the wicker park bling bling circa 1998, when the projects made the under-rate seedy scene they knew as Lake street. barely tied and locked down by the urban centrality. the loop was a lasso to settle street mentality. this was way back, maybe retro, like Kanye West without GPS rollin round in the metro, probably pimpin ho or pickin toe back then you know, or maybe just dreaming of his overdue sensation. she loved Kanyes music. despite a rough delivery, he struck right through shit. she predated his escalade up the chart, giving anyone who listens just a sample of his heart. Tossin round his tracks, cooked up on amateur tape decks. Common Sense (as they knew him) probably threw them out the window of his Lex about that time, when she was droppin the lime in her cosmo, 24 years old, settled in her own groove. alone but not cold. her boyfriend dropping dime to keep her entertained. even drove the fast lane. illegally. she got him doing things he never did. got his boil raised all the way up- to level eyelid. high like her heels. spinning like his wheels. you know how it feels? like fallin in love - again the corresponding dialectic -- falling and rising. the love just had them lifted. above the dim reality of life in west side chicago,nothing nice. falling rocks and burning cars, latin kings displaying scars. self-inflicted addictions, but
She shielded you from the truth of it. this was her gift. if you went with it, her natural, down the river side by side. togetherness, compassion, the sound of old record between plays. her beauty held forth so you could travel lightly north with her. take a timeout. tongue kiss. caress and redress. dress down. turn your frown upside down. back up to the thigh, honey, but not so high. we barely even know eachother, look in my eyes, just try. she meditated softly through gentle tones of love making. for those who showed integrity and lack of artifice or faking. the front it was okay, expected anyway. she gave a lot and took a little. down blankets wrapped in warmth of words. smiles light the aisles of Music Box Theatre. or whatsoever you want to make of it. anything to slow the time. this is what they say in presence of divine.
So as keeps getting repeated, life was hard in hard Chicago. la la la and hip hooray. hard like south side is today. or eggs turned over and pressed down upon. every other block feels not so okay. sunny side broken glass lights the way. see this was something of which she knew. grew up in the fifties - south side. thats where she grew. a flower from concrete. where she grew tired, she rested her feet. aspirations kept on her breath, down low like ego , to keep at bay jealousies and threats of death. paranoia kept her love locked down. love for self. love for health. love for future wealth. present love for knowledge of future self.
She managed to forgive her father through it all, dumb as rocks, six feet tall. mom kicked him out and changed the locks. he caught the night train, and rarely saw the break of day. but broke half his bones when he walked in front of that taxi from Bombay. a sad sad thing, no bones about it. mom took the kids to near south side. where the mexicans made their stand. twenty years later they would rule this land. chinese restaurants kept latin kitchens. burrito places on every corner. paleterias everywhere, carnicerias too. had to know some spanish to get by in chitown 92. So boo grew up and made the most of it, what she had of bread, well she toasted it, hitting marshall fields to get the highest fashions. the water tower close by to put out the burn and crashing of her early young love relationships, when she was just a shorty.
half the men had fallen out over her catching them with forties. St Ides could play on video, but did not translate over. This girl would stare right back at him, keep him looking over shoulder. Because she did not fuck around. She dropped an ex-priest (whose exness she may have inspired) when she related him to R Kelly fires. he had went along with the thing to do in south side ministries at the time. reports of underage meddling brought judgment to a climax. 'to save young virgin girls' was how they tried to grind ax. Tool and die was cast in different light, affirming Rkellys right. Maybe it was the parties he threw with generous weight of R&B proportion, like he took Motown for extortion. Maybe it was his good looks. Lets face it, he was king of bump and grind, and sold out shows. He kept the trunks rocking, and the party knocking. and chicagos hard knock streets got a soft spot for him. His music flooded every players den; sexual healing all over again. The priests they tried to run fear up. burned the music like bookburners of yore. judged him to the core.
This was where her core resided. with the people, in the music. mostly with authority she and her people collided. she saw it all and knew. she saw it coming too. this priest had seemed her future, to be with him seemed best. But then she knew, beginning to end, and then she knew the rest: Her priest was guilty by association. So she did what she naturally had to do. gracefully detached and flowed back to center. like lake michigan after a storm. she calmed and smoothed her dress around the edges. she cried and swore and left her emotions in the gutter. Then shot him down, his proposition. Wait! Hold up! he said, Listen! Im doing this for underage girls! Like yourself, you remember, when you wore curls? Poor thing, still caught up on justifying some detail he kept denying. Trying and trying.
She was already a block away. Rememberin what her mama say;' if they cant relate to where youve been, then they aint fit to be kin. ' Pour out some liquor and move on, she decided, let it die dont hold it or hide it. no more biblical explanations of right and wrong. the streets tell a more exact truth. she carved him out and moved on. her life got bigger. his got biggie smalls. he died without ever taking a wife. the ex could be extracted from the priest condition, neatly judged and labeled in holy partition. she prayed for him still, but not every night. she had R&B house parties calling....she reminisced about her falling....(for someone back then).
Time went on, yet timeless she seemed. her image cut sharp against the shadows, glistening yet malleable soft, like some rare silver butter knife. like her moms silver had been stolen out from under them. Her selfsame manner spread wide round chicago and emanated out the city limits. she was embraced. looped in and out and laced. tight like new kicks. jumping rope, taking licks. fending for herself. loving the larger family, her community. feeling oh so feeling the unity against it all. spring winter summer and fall. this was how she worked, like sky, no limits could contain her. morality could not touch her. society could not blame her. she was toned, def and street wise, she looked hard but came off with priceless ease -- surprise! she continued to rise. this was the girl of 2012, in 2009 she was 2012. because she is was and will be made of future mind times, when streets sweep apart and clasp together again, like vines. life of urban element. whispering water in her veins. whispering country winds and city trains. ahead of her it all unfolded like opening lanes, tracks, veins, you name it, whatever to be opened like flowers at dawn that remains. opening to the firmament. for she who ruled all element, she was surely 'heaven sent'.
Twice the twelve to carbon date her back to 2009, its hard to understand, but it will b just fine, see, like handling the pan to make ends meet. learning to survive. she was young and strong, she had a heart, too, kept it in her back pocket. close to the seam and sometimes she wise to lock it. everyone just tryin to date her. like a song to dedicate her. when she asked for distance you know some would berate her. The heels worked well to stop some, she found. did not like the look of blood or sound of pain. yet it was her burden, a constant refrain. because she was wanted like diamonds behind bulletproof, hard like glass she made herself shatterproof. flying elbows all the time. if she did not light up some drama, well, unusual but that was fine. she could smile her way out with a bouncer for an escort. she knew her own limits, when tested, take them to court.
Nights she would alight at the club, rockin cosmos with pummelled lime. in the mandala of protection, streaming internet waves of crime. Her syndicate boyfriends had a whole different angle. running street proposition without the gritty tangle. She thought it was neat, but slightly inattentive. and she loved the gritty streets, had not the heart to tell them. she watched how it played it, her life in smoky leather corners. of italian private dining rooms with precision tablecloth corners. Despite the display, it ended the same-- like the sunset, the end of every day. a different style or rhythm perhaps, but the train rolling in the same grooves, over same tracks. Right out the windows, or through the cracks, down the sills did they fall! right after they caught the fever of her, fell in chills. Sad as it was, it gave her thrill. All that superficial, official, attempts to rise above like some whipped cream over the masses. So she skipped too many classes. She could not feel like they did. Thank God!
Her people, like eskimos on ice floes. or some other such scene. the hardness of life. hard knocks and street fights. west side chicago. thats where she lived...for a while, you know, but in a holographic way. in her soul. her spirit tugged and roamed, carried her image all across the usa. the image reflected her reality tested. drug infested neighborhood in which she was raised. Just west of the flat iron building at one point, the wicker park bling bling circa 1998, when the projects made the under-rate seedy scene they knew as Lake street. barely tied and locked down by the urban centrality. the loop was a lasso to settle street mentality. this was way back, maybe retro, like Kanye West without GPS rollin round in the metro, probably pimpin ho or pickin toe back then you know, or maybe just dreaming of his overdue sensation. she loved Kanyes music. despite a rough delivery, he struck right through shit. she predated his escalade up the chart, giving anyone who listens just a sample of his heart. Tossin round his tracks, cooked up on amateur tape decks. Common Sense (as they knew him) probably threw them out the window of his Lex about that time, when she was droppin the lime in her cosmo, 24 years old, settled in her own groove. alone but not cold. her boyfriend dropping dime to keep her entertained. even drove the fast lane. illegally. she got him doing things he never did. got his boil raised all the way up- to level eyelid. high like her heels. spinning like his wheels. you know how it feels? like fallin in love - again the corresponding dialectic -- falling and rising. the love just had them lifted. above the dim reality of life in west side chicago,nothing nice. falling rocks and burning cars, latin kings displaying scars. self-inflicted addictions, but
She shielded you from the truth of it. this was her gift. if you went with it, her natural, down the river side by side. togetherness, compassion, the sound of old record between plays. her beauty held forth so you could travel lightly north with her. take a timeout. tongue kiss. caress and redress. dress down. turn your frown upside down. back up to the thigh, honey, but not so high. we barely even know eachother, look in my eyes, just try. she meditated softly through gentle tones of love making. for those who showed integrity and lack of artifice or faking. the front it was okay, expected anyway. she gave a lot and took a little. down blankets wrapped in warmth of words. smiles light the aisles of Music Box Theatre. or whatsoever you want to make of it. anything to slow the time. this is what they say in presence of divine.
So as keeps getting repeated, life was hard in hard Chicago. la la la and hip hooray. hard like south side is today. or eggs turned over and pressed down upon. every other block feels not so okay. sunny side broken glass lights the way. see this was something of which she knew. grew up in the fifties - south side. thats where she grew. a flower from concrete. where she grew tired, she rested her feet. aspirations kept on her breath, down low like ego , to keep at bay jealousies and threats of death. paranoia kept her love locked down. love for self. love for health. love for future wealth. present love for knowledge of future self.
She managed to forgive her father through it all, dumb as rocks, six feet tall. mom kicked him out and changed the locks. he caught the night train, and rarely saw the break of day. but broke half his bones when he walked in front of that taxi from Bombay. a sad sad thing, no bones about it. mom took the kids to near south side. where the mexicans made their stand. twenty years later they would rule this land. chinese restaurants kept latin kitchens. burrito places on every corner. paleterias everywhere, carnicerias too. had to know some spanish to get by in chitown 92. So boo grew up and made the most of it, what she had of bread, well she toasted it, hitting marshall fields to get the highest fashions. the water tower close by to put out the burn and crashing of her early young love relationships, when she was just a shorty.
half the men had fallen out over her catching them with forties. St Ides could play on video, but did not translate over. This girl would stare right back at him, keep him looking over shoulder. Because she did not fuck around. She dropped an ex-priest (whose exness she may have inspired) when she related him to R Kelly fires. he had went along with the thing to do in south side ministries at the time. reports of underage meddling brought judgment to a climax. 'to save young virgin girls' was how they tried to grind ax. Tool and die was cast in different light, affirming Rkellys right. Maybe it was the parties he threw with generous weight of R&B proportion, like he took Motown for extortion. Maybe it was his good looks. Lets face it, he was king of bump and grind, and sold out shows. He kept the trunks rocking, and the party knocking. and chicagos hard knock streets got a soft spot for him. His music flooded every players den; sexual healing all over again. The priests they tried to run fear up. burned the music like bookburners of yore. judged him to the core.
This was where her core resided. with the people, in the music. mostly with authority she and her people collided. she saw it all and knew. she saw it coming too. this priest had seemed her future, to be with him seemed best. But then she knew, beginning to end, and then she knew the rest: Her priest was guilty by association. So she did what she naturally had to do. gracefully detached and flowed back to center. like lake michigan after a storm. she calmed and smoothed her dress around the edges. she cried and swore and left her emotions in the gutter. Then shot him down, his proposition. Wait! Hold up! he said, Listen! Im doing this for underage girls! Like yourself, you remember, when you wore curls? Poor thing, still caught up on justifying some detail he kept denying. Trying and trying.
She was already a block away. Rememberin what her mama say;' if they cant relate to where youve been, then they aint fit to be kin. ' Pour out some liquor and move on, she decided, let it die dont hold it or hide it. no more biblical explanations of right and wrong. the streets tell a more exact truth. she carved him out and moved on. her life got bigger. his got biggie smalls. he died without ever taking a wife. the ex could be extracted from the priest condition, neatly judged and labeled in holy partition. she prayed for him still, but not every night. she had R&B house parties calling....she reminisced about her falling....(for someone back then).
Time went on, yet timeless she seemed. her image cut sharp against the shadows, glistening yet malleable soft, like some rare silver butter knife. like her moms silver had been stolen out from under them. Her selfsame manner spread wide round chicago and emanated out the city limits. she was embraced. looped in and out and laced. tight like new kicks. jumping rope, taking licks. fending for herself. loving the larger family, her community. feeling oh so feeling the unity against it all. spring winter summer and fall. this was how she worked, like sky, no limits could contain her. morality could not touch her. society could not blame her. she was toned, def and street wise, she looked hard but came off with priceless ease -- surprise! she continued to rise. this was the girl of 2012, in 2009 she was 2012. because she is was and will be made of future mind times, when streets sweep apart and clasp together again, like vines. life of urban element. whispering water in her veins. whispering country winds and city trains. ahead of her it all unfolded like opening lanes, tracks, veins, you name it, whatever to be opened like flowers at dawn that remains. opening to the firmament. for she who ruled all element, she was surely 'heaven sent'.
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