lost of lost weekends

my friends my close friends my less than close friends my new friends and old ones, the loved ones, the difficult friendships, the tests we endure, the balance of days coming together and moving apart between embrace and another thread goes to lace, searching the photos for those times you together captured, did they vanish, no trace? and then the sun rises again and you find one another and stand by and cry and try to find the heart and it comes so natural like a Lexus start, clean and quiet, eyes meet eyes in subtle surprise, the things unsaid, the weight like lead....falling off your shoulders and now your older and see it to contextually in the texture of the connection see? and the sublimation occurs, two hearts collide, energy synch dream! friends seldom seen and then its like a dream again, seen again. but why so far apart? you fight it, stomping your feet til the dust comes up. the trust come up and recede again, like the lost of lost weekends -- a painful trend left you wishing and crying for more, feeling the living and dying, feeling right down to your core....it hurts but it means something, too. so live! so true! so be there in spirit, you say it, you mean it, i am there in spirit, damn it, i mean it! i can lose the colloquilism, touch the vernacular, turn it inside out and make it spectacular. this will work at any distance, like quantum physics like a system. the charges we send us like photons the light moves. the energy hits airwaves you catch on your itunes. the paradigm keeps shifting its tectonic plates. the dishes they fall on the floor we explore, find out what we are made of, the texture, the real thing, we thirst and manifest and burst on the scene. listen and you may hear it. the tear, the salt the water so simple, like tide rush cool over your feet in sand, the way we understand one another, like a sister, call you my brother. this is a rush cause its true, your family is those who mean something so real to you.

so dont beat yourself up

sometimes you get so lonely... you just need to be alone
so dont beat yourself up!
thats one thing i am learning

well two...
i beat myself up like second nature and
sometimes i need to be alone
three...
being alone is okay
four...
even if you are lonely
five...
we are full of contradictions
six...
and thats okay too
seven...
sometime i make sense like now
eight...
other times i am loco
nine...
no motive
ten...
saying less
saying more
boom!
ten nine ocho seven sixx
count it down
cinqo
quatre
tres
dos
calm down
uno
loco-no-motive
gracias
libre
kap kun ka
(hands in prayer)
(head bowed)

gotta start somewhere out of nowhere, like a flash flood of snake venom out of pink heart painted giftwrap, part I

She had Jupiter in her chart, for luck which had been for so long sorely lacking, and all the planets were moving direct. Retro was out of fashion. Grade was shadow, grade was shade. January waters were calm. You could mistake your elements in this easy recline of the world.  The water, the shimmering clearings,  taken for extensions of sky. Not just reflections, no. There would be no looking back! This was paramount and widespread. The need to look away, let go, move on.

This attitude or philosophy she embraced in its simplicity. Nothing complex could have substituted well. Simple meant clear meant brought through a conduit, received all at once like a spell. Rituals already broken off, easily fell. The novelty, the change, the forward-minded feelings she took to heart. She had to surrender!

She necessarily diminished the magnitude of recent natural disasters felt and known and not easily diminished.  Why not settled the questions left hanging last year, left unfinished. Why not? answered the volley of questions come from losses, sprouted from whole, organic, cry of cries with the wind gasping out of them: why not was the exact and purposeful reduction she reduced from why? The stories behind the tales mostly tragic? Need not be retold but archived. In this lay the magic, fresh like a rose full with water, stem to the petal, catching early sun. Rising fierce and bright, and flexed like hot metal.

This month she would no longer suffer those headaches left untempered by aspirin. No more reverberations bouncing around her head without end without end without end without end. No more endlessly seeking searches for vicopercodan oxyconcodones. No more rise in the chart of pain reliever tolerance. No more need for her to nurse an addiction. She could rely on nothing, she now knew, so nothing would she need rely on. The logic was mirrored like the elements aforementioned. The water she drank, an extension of sky. She felt light again, like a child. Naturally high.

thank god i am an atheist

'thank god im an atheist -- for today' he said. no sooner had the words left his lips and the modern day USA missionaries (with the frightening neo-con cross to bear) drew away from him. their scentless literature and lint free linens plain hovering without touching neither skin nor bone in the low summer humidity noon heat. a dry heat. an unencumbered moment. he enjoyed watching them drift away like drift wood he freed from under the dock and sent on its way. drift away, old driftwood, i wont miss you. drifting was a cool thang. drifting was righteous. keep on drifting, drifter.

as the distance grew, he noticed in the dry heat a miraculous sort of hovering. the kind of bait potential converts might take, he knew. these people, they were not of their clothes, the image suggested. he thought he needed to get his eyes checked. cause they were glowing, or their linens were glowing around them. like those luminescent bugs he once came across in Alaska. now you see them, now you don't. whatever it was, it was not invited into his reality test drive. and god forbid its a miracle, he thought again. using the word god for him was the purest rebellion. because it could not be unclean, the word, no matter how irreverent he used it, because it had no meaning to him to begin with. or so he thought on the sidebar. the main event was the glowing missionaries becoming somehow more dangerous. calculating. the simple minded folk might be suckered. this tiny out of the ordinary aspect of light on linen could pull them in, he worried. the big things always in the little things.

But to hell with it all! He thought or said aloud, before pulling and releasing behind him the coil-secured aluminum door that he divined might divide him miraculously from all the cares these damn missionaries seemed to stir up in him and leave him with to contend. The rising tide of unessential cares were exactly what bothered him severely about the missionaries. God forbid one got suckered! then entered into contract or handshake out a gentlemans contract, to sign on for the painstaking BEING.

In his mind he saw it play out, and thats the only place it could get in! his mind. Converter on convert. converter seeing converts in visual hallucinations. Converts that do not exist outside some preaching. The saddest of the sad, he imagined. To BECOME, to MANIFEST the very one (potential energy) they needed you to be to certify the existence of those who walk door to door and sell you your suspicious so-played up freedom to yourself. aka nothing anyone would wish on anyone.

to distinguish and clarify, but hovering like fruit flies or hungry). the literature they held out judiciously like it might burn their skin. the linens stood creased before the ankles, surrounding but not touching. a warm glow of light filtered through the material and into that sacred space no one could see but everyone respected somehow. you must be an obsessive-compulsive or in the military or just have enough free time on your hands to work the cling out of that suit, thought the atheist.

the atheist was full of thought. full full full like no room at the Inn, so go on now! thought piled upon thought and went through the elaborate filter / recycle thought compound (composed by thoughts coming up with fanciful ideas like cosmopolitan cocktails wagging from fashionistas quarter width wrists. compost of thoughts! a good idea and maybe attach selling points to the marketing campaign, he thought, and then crushed that idea into the previous thought, oblivious to the rising of thought dust just up and surrounding (but not touching) his thoughtful large godless head).

no time for religion in the thinking mans head, he thought, that would be like renting space to the new 2009 jobless IOU card carrying wonder fresh out of unemployment living conditions and into smaller quarters perhaps the head of an atheist? should be reasonable affordable accomodations and maybe an idea could be picked up via OSMOSIS that would lead to an outcome other than the catatstrophic one that was playing out uncomfortably close to the catastrophe catastrophizers often feared but never came true...

no sooner had this hope been born, and the freethinker thoughts pressed down upon it and crushed it with the nervous silence they have in the presence of vampire missionaries: the Word must not be lost in static cling! he thought, making light of his situation.

A Witness picked up the trail of this irreverent gadabout, and threw back into the silence of muddy discomfort like church sidling up to state in the gay bar on country road south, itself no longer current, paved over for urban militias to march: Nor wasted on these freethinkers on the many interlocking highways to hell. the infrastructure here has expired and shall lie... like rotting eggs discarded.

installation zero on intraplanetary dirt

Whomever they was, they inspired slang tense... if they crossed her one way once and a similar way twice, she might really notice. or have noticed, if they slanged her timespace continuum, the dirty devils. and the rule she have with herself and their crossing her and dysregulating her timespace in such a fucked up fashion (only family would go so far, or went)... the only rule (which she hated having, let along holding, let alone having to create and enforce like she hated about all rules or most) was that she will hold out respect (towards the momentary object of judgment, animate or inanimate or somewhere in between for those fluids along the continuum) until she had a real reason to lose it (respect), which can be as simple as a certain way they look at her (ie, laughing because shes royally confused and tensed up, slanged precariously like they slung her.

yet they had nothing on her. nothing! she could melt the timespace by speaking (which she did): 'say like, if you look at me with unedited disgust and i cannot dismiss it as... some kind of projection problem you are having (internal to yourself) or your eyes were really focused on some porn on your wall behind me (no, not some kind of 'direction of gaze' mistake). well, say then, like i say, and in so saying feel the relief of the here and now, pow! if i cannot dismiss it, and i find that you cast me in some kind of unfair light of judgment, shake, roll of die, whatever...then you have crossed me in this nonempathic intragalactic vacuum-of-heart kind of way. thats when i follow my rule and take necessary response." she felt so clear in speaking. this bought her time to take critical action like she had learned from all her critical courses in critical action taught her. she was a student of her world, and little was lost in translation. Her words were lazy and vernacular, her action precisely as follows (from her spoken thought of heartspace).

Need to lock and load the nectar behind cornea and then rush it through the pupil, soft like mango, and out into your general space. this is how to touch the friend my enemy. Desublimate the rocky element from earth to water to air and send it out (like a fax with a heart) to the sender whose number has been filed without any effort or need for tracking. So you get that delicious mango nonverbal gift from me and translate it into your language (something perhaps senseless cold without heart, yet) then maybe something happens... like the contact influences your impenetrable eyes and then your emotions arise... like the sun or a volcano or a cumulus cloud...and you either fight back the fight i wont fight-- or you call back and hear your own echo. maybe a clear, condensed reflection of your ego.

All was truly lovely! she killed! For an impoverished child of the seventies, clashing all the time, like a walking solar eclipse in the wrong hemisphere, coming on to people with shielded eyes. She chalked it up to her beauty. They laughed but wanted to redress her. Or redress those who had dressed her. Impoverished parental figurines on thrift store binges out of limousines. Green colored lenses to trace the forensics, and palette-challenged pinwheels for eyes, suckered by seer and full of fancy complicated-like fears. The clash, they saw, pushed strangers and dangers away. Hey hey! Receive the mass condemnation in return for the protection sensation. True intentions lurk in the oil pans of cars in gas lines, devoid of evolutionary dance. In a recessionary postwar agent green (as in naive) pseudo-stance.

"Maybe you need a paleta from the paleteria to cool off." her boyfriend offered. "maybe horchata?" She had been caught up in memory, after her brilliant mango motion. She shook her head and took from purse sacred lotion. His heart was gold, she thought, for she thought well upon him and such made him her 'BF'. "Rice milk is known to deflate egoic tragedies, " he continued, "overnight, like baby powder disperses odor."
She looked him up and down and all around then in the eyes. "so now its the fresh you and the fresh me, face to face if you havent run away or dismissed me. lucky you. lucky me. because now we really see. fresh me, fresh you and fresh me. fresh you. the freshest of our knowing is yet to come. mutually fresh. to be."

the truth is like subway trains

truth
under pressure
pushed her way
through us
like subway trains
in tunnels
pushing stale air
through the hair

some turned their backs
on truth
others faced her

those who needed truth
the most
often failed to embrace
her

then out into the light
she goes
with or without you

not to be seen
to see
not to be heard
to listen
not to be noticed
to be


as the system stands frozen
in consumption
direction long ago chosen
embedded in legal ease

she dont care, truth
shes got appointments
for hair and tooth
she loves just being there

she may drop heavy
flooding your system
only to chill
in cafes and your sleep (rem)

all feels so safe
and legally sound
when all of a sudden
the switching falls down

truth got into it
your damn right she did!
her style's 'break it up'
yeah, thats what she did

hopefully you could stand her
shes not often planned for

hopefully no one got hurt
when truth came around

but many do
many do

truth
like pain
hurts

comes correct
comes real
comes true

dreams

i have a blue tattoo
i do
i have a blue tattoo
its true

means to dream
in blue pigmentation
Japanese kanji
chinese alphabet
translation

oh, i am marked
so dreams come true
oh, i am marked
and ask
are you?

do you know your dreams
sweet one?
do you bathe where
blue waters
run?

or are you tickled and turned
by fear
are you down and drowned
in tears

worn out, i know
with what you wear
worn out,
like clothes
the wear and tear

but listen to me!

i know you feel
some feeling here
stay very clear
sit up! my dear

blue jeans are blue like our dreams
we wear them both
with love
i swear!

theres nothing wrong!
i decidedly say
with wearing your dreams
every fucking hopeless

shelved
tired
beat
unfeeling
violent
cursed
beautiful
sun-scorched
lantern torched
fallen red
colored leaf
dead
precious
altered
conscious
bright
blue
yellow
blue
offered
every which way
to you
kinda
hella
long
hour
minute
second
moment
of
your
day