Friday, 18 March 2011
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
my nails painted blue
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| Katya 2011 |
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| Katya 2011 |
LOVE was all the RAGE and you know the images of love? So very embraced here where i live, planet earth i mean, images watched without censor, images of love! the smiles, the gestures of invitation, the hugging and kissing the loving oh my god! oh my god! - timeout! adrenaline RUSH! Oxytocin tsunami and believe me some welcoming party, a nation of hundreds of thousands of Arabs, Indians, Islanders, Egyptians, Greek, English, Spanish, and Croatian.
All of them excepting a few of them, most of them addicted to images like us, images of love, enough said! the SPACES in between more noticeable more glaring more frightening more indicative of ABSENCE, sister of SOLITUDE, daughters of MISERY, related however intrinsically to the good-natured cousin EMPTINESS -- the smiling buddha of spaces, the proclaimer of all things inverted. In discordance from the 5 or more senses the sentients carried and utilized on a continuum directly mathematically correlated to their ability to see what was really going on here. Para dice had been rolled. Para dime took his place. But of course their was a SHIFT. Energy to the left. Consciousness to the right. Revolution across the Arabian sea of peoples in cities with fervor fighting the once accepted now scorned leaders cemented for 3 to 4 decades in place. Intractable. Embedded. Atom Feed = FED. On Planet EARTH again, the masses were FED up. Pretty cool, awfully tasty, is it not? Antigravity chambermaid serving astronaut ice cream to the men and women needing no sustenance, other than the passion described by their countenance.
STILL -- all that changed so, also remained unchanged. The smiling buddha offering up emptiness continued to be frowned upon, not even half-smiles could be drawn out of them! Meanwhile back in the places inbetween... scattered showers. (at best). getting bad forecasts by the meteorologists. here. On planet Earth. How we digest these, the images of love! getting wet, better yet, soaked, deluged, goodbye they waved to the empty rural devalued stains that separated these ones, these ones addicted to the images of love...always seeking, always stubborn, always taking, excepting a few.
Most TAKING, some GIVING, some small percentage would not catch attention of those paying most attention to the good/bad better/worse, petty kinda necessary kinda labeling as librarians label books-- that is, with the best of INTENTION and certainly not to disown any novel of its SELF, just to find a place for it to sit somewhere in the grand halls of the reading rooms of New York City Public Library, the Harold Washington in Chicago, through the many colors of Stained Glass in Ivy League and Big Ten Reading Rooms, Masonic lodge lounging, Alumnus arrives by bus...Okay. All of this measures up -- to the thrill of us.
All this steering around navigating sentient life, like a ride through virgin snow over familiar territory now mad crackling black ice. Unknown! untravelled! and witnessed by fresh eyes diving to sudden flashes of well worn land, to shelter or cushion imevitable crashes. Leaning one way, leaning the other. Looking for balance. Brother, brother! where have you gone? I meant to see you so long ago so long, it has me weary all this time between us. All the ashes, all the dust, tell me do you know? What line was drawn so heavily permanent? Marked so decisively in the middle of CONFUSION, the heart of CHOICE? the son of FREEDOM.
What will they say when they map out our history? All of this PAIN all of this LOSS for you for me, for us, I see. I feel it deep down in my bones. The pain now inked across my arm. I moan at night in half conscious memories, how we got along then you, and me. The reality has now become dream. The dream, reality. Is this what we fought for? what we learned? how we survive today? Do we really source from what they call LOVE once we see it? Or do we turn away to be truly marked and known by the source of all great and relative SADNESS? The broth the reservoir they all call SOLACE? Daughter of REGRET?
FAITH is all i have, better yet -- after all i have my heart now falling out like the rest of everything i ever knew, well worn! FORLORN. I got to fake the faith I confess! I feature her prominently like a heroine. But here. on this nonpaper. I also turn. On planet earth. With the revolutions of her. Feet in the earth, in the garden, you know the one. And inspired by the Palestinians, the Egyptians, The Libyans, the Somalis, the peoples of Yemen, the Iranians, inspired so so so so....
I can LESS the bullshit, ya know. Minus it. Balance out and outbalance the deficits, the liabilities of life here. On planet earth. Feet in the soil. All i once learned on the recoil. Feeling it now? MORE wondering why and living the wonderful tragedy OUT.... to the shook OUT of the unbuttoned cuffs, OUT the arteries blue like my nails but less prominently so. OUT to branching out of fingers five on either side, and disciplined focus dispels the energy , the love thats all the rage, the rage that rages on! OUT the echoing off the lips of the song. My nails painted blue painted blue, my nails true. True BLUE. Blue i notice and must study in the cafes and bookstores, the reading rooms, libraries, cathedrals! OUT looking down as though reading words, yet, studying the karmic law i know is true, true as the sky, true as my nails...
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