Monday 21 December 2009

all alone so together so alone all together

so together now like all the time with the one who chose you...who you chose too...who have inspired climax via tangential lip discipline. who have been inspired by tantric - only to keep breathing to accompany the sweating and embracing and having visions and cathartic rhythms. who would toss the porn and magz aside, even radio can slide, to maintain focus on one another -- fix and abide.

this is so very unified this experience, the way its described, and yet the very description gives away a certain distance, unravels the unification into its divided states with their differences (fireworks sold down south here, no alcohol tax where they live free or die, killer storms attack big sky, midwest goes from liberal to neocon, if you can keep your eyes open through nebraska you are somethin like a phenomenon) so hey! here we are, you are, i am... all alone in the zone, experiencin on occasion the jonz to reunify with him (my guy)...thinkin about the new orient i have discovered, letting go into this country, meeting his friends, invited into his lifestyle or aspects offered up as i follow his tracks. tired end of days together, lying on our backs.

and yes, i have compassion for those i left behind. i may be accused of alot of things, accused of violence, accused of slamming, accused of damage, accused of trading people like cards...we all do as we all also misconstrue, as the plane begins to blur or warp on the edges, folds and burns and rises as ash maybe before or tearing eyes, so close it burns, fuck! the pain! and we still dont pull away like hand from stove, why? because we need to know we can be thrown in the fire, we need to relocate to that land of humility for a while, although what we do is wonder why we are so goddamn disposable to someone who we fucking carried on our backs half the mountain, someone who drank from our spirits once? our spirits so dry like dust and blown out into traffic and the eyes of strangers whose tears then carry us into cotton for slow molecular sliding down to the edge and falling off to the gutter where we were left like relationship civil war protocol dictates. kill or be killed. i understood it. i had been killed again and again. now i killed. this was a choice, yes, but the killing was only accomplished in the name of resurrection of the spirit of the one i truly could have continued to love tangibly, but only to both our detriment. a wise woman in jail told me how. i hope you dont meet her. well not in there. its no mistake wisdom surfaces on the clock of dehumanized seconds. Go to jail in America and you will understand how Salvador Dali melted clocks - in the land of a thousand locks, no pillows, rationed soap and socks. compassion? not rationed.

so i thank goddess for the wisdom to walk away. not to be walked on or away from or not to not walk anyway for the sake of status quo. dont tell me you neva been a status quo ho? youre not alone...we all ate green on some version of reality, before the dawn of consciousness woke our palette up to the juice of life. dropped the koolaid, jumped into the rainbow sugar lips first. red#9 beamed up into the macrodivine. up up above it all, a distance from myself, expansion, before i contract back and break into the mansion, squat on foreclosures, the happening stance. not so romantic but who needs romance? just frag and defrag, soak up sun like the plants.

no theres more, yes i know it, been through it (not just told it). i appreciate with devotion the past relations in my ocean of experience, dont dwell on past tense, light a candle maybe, those whose time together we had was real and real fine. true the wind blows some windows shut and sometimes they hit hard like trade winds or jetstreams, the premier of winds blowin like dylan never seen. so the slap in the face can be interpreted (not based) on the volume of the windowframe hitting the recess, sometimes resting nice, others slammed so hard the glass falls to pieces. loss of form akin to clothes lacking creases. so how it feels when relationship fails. like macktruck losin brakes, gone runaway, ya, nature prevails. adrenaline rush. sadness, destruction. no signposts to follow, no clear horizon. vertical motion of falling or holding on. ever knowing it cant be long, cant be long. feel the pain. sing its song. your feelings cant kill you. shards of glass lie harmless on windowsill. watch them catch the light. feel the pain into the night. let the shine wear off the scene. let your memory be real and lean. not something you wax pristine over. atleast when i see way out past my selfcenteredness, thats what i showed ya.

even now fallin in love im like charged and livin large & drinkin deep... i refuse to be fearful, refuse to sleep. this is real. shit is deep. i pray my angels my soul to keep. same room and two different locus, this man i have come to love, trust and have a certain faith which is to kneel and drink the waters the inspiration into a form...and where form fails there is silence, water runs clear, between us touching the hardwood floors, catastrophic fears pass over my vision, like the tapestry of burning towns in deserts, or the dope around us the street level hustle, an engagement ring comes after the same girl so many times...she runs cause it aint real. some cheap way for some wannabe pimp to cop a feel. the ring fits on her ring toe. all a front, all a show. burns low her glow.

unequivocal bend at waist and drop of top hat, tricks of worn out dirty fucking trades. in some dudes genes like some dudes jeans carry blades. basically the same dude any way you cut them, chop, grate, dice, always lay the same at your doorstep. cats eyes to make you one and one makes two kinda dude, wants an apartment with you, you gotta work or sell your body, didnt he tell you? our apartment, your rent. for fucks sake asshole! the better part of you cries out, get the fuck bent! some old fashioned illusion creates newfound contusion on head where they kicked ya, circular like ring seated in your eye.

whether or not you knew it today ya gotta die, cause the street level mentality cannot stand socio-cruelty, economic unity looks hand to hand. not what you can or cant stand. the choice becomes ours as we let go of solitude, the clearing of fog breathes in unity type attitude, like when we look after one another just walking down the block, sometimes its all we gotta do, look after your neighbors kids like they were your kids too. kids like they were like you were too. kids like your kids too. like yours too. childlike look alike. yours too. look after yours, too.

Thursday 17 December 2009

falling...into the sky....brings out blue & yellow eyes

She found herself falling...not a free fall but relaxing the mind to mindful, affect to attitude, dropping to life of tropic of latitude... she was falling for him, he became the one, day by day as she begin to understand the greater meaning, not just an ordinary light, no no no! this touching of souls wore out the sky like summer suns. she was falling, ya

she fell... deep into the well so pure of love so fresh! caught softly by latticework of natural knowing just where it was she suddenly but surely belonged! beneath the power of his spirit, the righting of all wrongs, ya, there beneath the heartfelt singing of songs you can see her already prone and looking up to him...she lonnnnnnnnggggssssssss!! his presence -- way he carried himself -- all came together running like watercolors into the sky.

all the times she ever fell came coursing through her memory, and they looked something like this : a child falling out of arms, towels, sheets....a child fallen generously from the stars, through the times, roulette kinda zodiac signs. baby girl falling off a chair, holding up her hair. off a swingset, jump up into a fall to feet in sand. then the stubborn teenage girl, fallin off in grades. cat fights with other girls, she falls out of favor of some clique or another. fallen off the balance beam, this time no one to catch her. decline of rollercoaster. life spinnin' faster and faster it seems to her. she feels fallen cant fall no more! her body aches her feelings sore. decline of summer...loss of virginity... misguided by the boys she feels fallen like a whore, fall into leaves. they beat down he door. into arms of boyfriends she fell. life was swell. out of friendship. out of love in various ways. into despair and maze of mind. slip and fall on black ice, come now rewind. nothin nice. but always she had picked herself up, dusted self off. by choice.

she spun herself round thrice with the energy she received from source secondary to prayer and gratitude. her truth premiered uncut & nude - original. vulnerable. her sincerity unlocked her, heated the colder unfeeling parts within, defrosted ice. As chain reactions connect and react, so happened she dissociated fear. critical to mission. critical to transformation of me to us. had to be peeled away, spun apart (the fear, the lust) the only natural commensurate start. outcasted for good, out of her aura! (they say fear walked away on some bitch named Laura, whose karma was foul & now became later, who ran a redlight, shrieks of terror, shaking heads locked in sight of her tragedy, folks with firewalls around avatars, who at home seek comfort by waging wars (our girl shook fear off so decidedly, fear was clocking hundreds per hour and very near missed them!

hell, breathe! now she could breathe. now she felt relieved. in and out of the city streets did she weave herself, feeling gradual improvement in health. CNS was no longer braced, flight or fight mode had been set aside, cold cased. not a phone call left untraced. she had followed her line all the way back as blood trails, generations upon generations of highs & lows. she picked out the most hardworn souls in her unknown memory and chose the ones like her, quite an array of personality. borderline, bipolar, extreme rapid river of feeling was the usual. The dress and attitude: casual. Those who know they know nothing, who can call out when youre bluffing. Smart to the backalleyway rules of the street. Able to withstand miles walking through november sleet. And breathe! breathe out mist. Gloves from the knuckles worn up to the wrist, made of wool. Working class types who work under the knife, the gun, or the cock...the kind who might know well the sound of turning a lock. You see survival in their eyes. They keep their cash in their sock.

These were the ones she came from, she smiled to herself. She had love her spirit always did rise secondary to her efforts to arise. they say this brought out the blue and yellow of her was said about her fall into the sky....pronounced (the sky) the ocean of eyes. lightened (the sun) the yolk of eyes. this kinda action came not easy, but of many tries, many tries. manny manny, manny manny tries.

so what of this so called sky? was their rain? i mean, did it cry? well yes. no lie. tears can be as much for joy as for pain, like criminals and innocents find themselves both in chains. the so called healing of the nation, yet obvious to everyone its a true fucking damnation. Eagle infused with quality of vulture. one of the things she fell out of love with, her culture. Day by day, hour by hour. Stress -- time for another hot shower. wish she had a bath. Desperate to keep the meaning meaningful... what had been beauty, beautiful. Sometimes hoped to fail to understand reality. 'how unreal' she might say. Reality could be so dehumanizing, as its arising. escaping reality often became her (and millions) preference. not surprising.

the sky was full with juicy pearls of water (they call rain) and emotional content, yes, the sky she fell into was the open eternity of new love. manifested suddenly, mysteriously, with great and undeniable patterns of synchronicity criscrossing in waves and tides. the outcome: in him, she confides. in her, he confides. mi casa su casa brought them home to where they currently reside. they addressed one another with great feeling like that contained in the pearls that burst upon the sunlit sky of newfound sacred scary full of fucking wonder immersion down under the weight of passion and unknowing, leading, learning, teaching, towing....the seeds of some big harvest for two lives to thrive in, had undeniably been sown! the sky could hold them. the sun could soften. almost every day they touched...well, quite often.

so this was the rush of it, neurotransmitters in transit....falling right into it with her. this big adventure. no expectations or agendas, really, quite pure. neither of them had been looking for anyone, and he had gone so far as to say the girl would have to really juice him, crush him, peel him out, the girl who would be chosen. when he saw her the first time, all was sudden and frozen. times he looked at her within the two hours of first contact, well, possibly a dozen.

she herself, she was often found contemplating the recent death of her cousin. sandy blonde named sandy. not long of the earth, late thirties laid to rest. she prayed for some movement of spirit, like migration to west. her cousin was from the east. she was clearly west. although the ways of being may have been opposite, she leaned clearly east. though nothing did not matter, in double negative speak, not one but both had seen part of them deceased. the way she knew her, and got known back, the love they shared, so worn and cracked.

so she did not notice, the first few times they met. she would arrive and stand or sit or lie. he was drumming with some friend, some guy. she was usually tired from travel. had her energy released, unraveled. he saw her vulnerable there in one room. he wanted to talk to her, hoped it would be soon. she knew him only by his music, the drumming, well, his soul infused it. it carried into her and grounded her well. she no longer feared getting carried away, the groundswell. his smile she found hella kind, compassionate and giving. A West Indian with dreads, she found this riveting. But unknown to her as he was, he felt her eyes penetrated deep. he felt she knew him or he knew her somehow? someway? past life? quantum leap. into eachothers consciousness they began to seep.

she got distracted almost every time, people talking to no end. around her space was confined and small. she generally waited on her friend, a man. This dread, he saw she was hella tall. and gravitated to her being so easy, like his music had her heart synch up. they were in for a colllision! or unification! some amazing new relation creation! they might just light up the supermarket mags, this sublimated couple a global sensation!

the sky they fell in opened to all possibility. the chakras were tuned for the vibration of chi. iani became entangled with jah on mount zion. allah and buddha exchanged smiles in the hot sun. looking up to the sky was yeshua, age: real young. the stars had aligned, all this must have happened. no other explanation! tea leaves and i ching followed suit, if you trace them. the old sufi wisdom went west without explanation.

the two lovers they stayed up all day and all night. taking in all, not taking nothing but light. it was clear as day their shared intuition. they followed this far past the five senses, way beyond individual volition. they spoke to one another in different ways, various tenses. no words made silence unapprehensive... or just fine. in one another they saw the divine. the world became afixed in rose colored lenses. the embrace full, it need no verbal. the charge? shotgun! amplified! ya, accelerated to light speed via turbo.

Wednesday 9 December 2009

oh how the one closest to my heart can take her out too

the terrible deed! was less than surreptitious. not under cover of night (the thiefs element) but in the break of daylight. the beating dead center got boosted like some koolaid kids juice did. panic and tears and sugar red lips. grasping out stretching a bunch of pale fingertips. this crime to be fathomed was deeper than surface. leaving whole systems off balance, allostasis. listing to one side and left dry was oasis. the upcoming of impact to eco-system was tensed. teeth clenched in the moment, with mind on the future, the blood drains perpetually, the history designed. looking up in the daylight she stared at the sun and around it, blindly...the stars had aligned.

sweet silent morning of the night, pre-dawn reprieve from us walking our soles hot with friction, thinking our heads sore descramblin diction....the scene absent of us reads headlines: BENEDICTION! no one would think one would get their licks in, on such a crystal clear pristine purity, but clockwork keeps moving. proving must be succeeded by proving, no stoppin only moving. like ladies puttin tricks in...hitting bricks again, now and then, never not, gotta always be ready to strike. iron in the coldest metallic hail, steady hot, you can feel it. dont deny it. you gotta deal with it. may as well settle (down) to groove-in.

not sneakin into that sacred space, no, not a thief in the night after my heart. one hand on the left ventrical, other on the right. oxygenated blood pulsing all over... you shoulda seen the sight. and why because i let him there. opened up and met him there. i kept a year long vision, or should i say stare. because the truth be now told, some care less ness in some cooling kinda season. watching him so close in my vigilance i thought. disorder aka chaos in my life had been controlled, had been caught. so i thought. and thought wrong like the part where the song goes astray, improvises out, and no one fights the wandering...leading to a waterfall hurtful kinda tragic falling... doom aka death aka rebirth aka change aka not as bad as we make it out to be but still it throws us sometimes all into a hyperventilation, sucking for help from any being, any nation. feeling the panic. then you are panic is you are bright lights: PANIC.

so i thought we had built some decent trust. something to hold onto, each other true and accountable for the love created. tending it, neverending it. as best we mighty can. and then i thought we felt peace like...that we felt the release like...?
or even the essence of the godsgoddessesgoodlordbuddhallah all up in a casserole.
sung praise so to save every single soul from above.
i found myself
praying and praying hard as i can, trying so hard to let go...
so hard holdin on to myself, self embraced clutching ribs holding my water in, ex (communicating) my every breath...
nothin left...
nothin left.

the eyes press water by salt.
it aint his it aint hers -- aint nobodys fault.
how come? when sourced from what so honeysucklesweet?
how does this lifeblood
leave ya bereft and beat?
tired and past.
requiring 24/7 chewing on nutrient roots
not to refresh the spirit
nor to replenish the body...
no. simply to LAST.

well it happens that way, it happened that way.
every day im remembered by the silence where once beat the heart
the core. now no sleep.
this shit is hella deep!
gotta keep on movin, out and back into
try and find me, im a steady movin target
and let me tell you now leave your GPS behind
before i forget
now again i shift careful
out of earth element
sweeping up in the wind
dont worry, i wasnt an evil spirit
come because you sinned
be not afraid

out of sight was i
now back to earth was you
jack the volume up in your impala
fade the fader back to the boots
slammin nightlife energy into your roots

jack the central nervous system
down a notch
feel the music hit and bounce
across your midsex...
now dance for the man
with the single malt scotch

i follow you without your knowing
your aura is simply glowing
i will protect you best i can
im your biggest spiritual fan

i weave off the mans cologne
into the honeys
perfume pullin them away
or back around him
i orbit like a moon
surround you like a cocoon

you lick the cream
off the whip of monsoon

i spray off into space
club kids rollin all over the place

you tumble weed right out the door
like the desolate crossin
next to unknown already
highway #4

thats when your heart stopped you
for a second
you took me
i takes you back there
you beckon

to that lonely discarded feelin
we felt
in the desert

your cards they fold
the game is up
the two of us
are all we got

no family, no love like that
a love like this! is all exists!
its enough i tell you
dont ball your fists
quick grab my hands!
now grab my wrists!

bow down we will
and turn around
retrace our steps
without a sound

hold hands it cant
be done alone
abandon all
cellular phone

take back the faith you tossed!
take back the land you crossed!
time is come you
find salve
for heart

Tuesday 8 December 2009


when the terra strikes no memory in ya soul.... the part of you thats fearful begins to grow old. you feel it now and then in times you feel troubled. you go on tryin not to panic cause you see fear and smile. sometimes its been a long while. and you know the game he wants you to play, like to go to the motel under platonic circumstance (hey, well watch tv...maybe some intimacy). when really as you get down on soft bed with hard driven rules, in time he brings out romance (its the only way he could ever have a chance) and watches you careful first and the picture that carries across your eyes then flashes of skin flashes of skies, informercials waiting long after sun sets and dies. as he pins you to the bed, becomes clear; he lied! he lieshe lieshe -- lies!

the only weapon you brandish -- your eyes. lemon bands light up the aquatone two tone cornea surrounded by milk ocean. the pupil holds the ground while the retina usurps the crown. glaucoma cheers from around the way, stretching out the moment. the drama, the ocular scene. see it with your eyes like all the other guys, the wannabe suckers, casting fishing poles and wearing dockers. Red lightning strikes across the milky way, branches out effortlessly to either side of center. branching round the pupil like its gonna strike, serpent tongue forked describes it all right. truth is its a living reef more like, in a coral colored bay with a gloss covering over like a a membrane sea spray. with the spotlight dark come swimming below the surface, to scan the horizon vertically, hyper vigilance you see. you catch him cold with lady rays, shooting amethyst light in a delicate way.

arterial de venous armed with misdemeanors. then the coronary comes with its felony. crime of passion? crime against humanity? when the attack hit his heart, his wife lost sanity. waiting in the cool light hospital corridors, waiting for hours. biting her nails for the first time in years. not even trying anymore to hold back the tears. she was with him for years and years. suddenly no knowing if hell make it one more day, what more can you say.

he should not have cheated, and done them both wrong. she knows now the truth, and its so very long. stretching back a whole ten years, when cellulits made appearance. she remembers the moment. modeling new bathing suit in the heirloom looking glass. he was right behind her, making motion toward her ass. she did the playful move they knew from beginning to end. right down to knee bend. he stopped sudden this time, stood upright and paused. she turned and asked what? he could not deliver it. just told her nothing, dont worry its fine. she doubted him. demanded. tell me please! she could hardly stand it.

such was the entrance of cellulitis, that blackened their relations like detritus. within a year he was online with craigslist. searching for young girls with resurgence of lust. some nights stayed up so late the eyes began to crust. looking at pics and writing statistics, trying so hard not to grab his own prick. usually he would have to, though, after midnight girls in stereo in the back of his mind. scanning forward... then rewind. stop to study. get all giddy. then hes dizzy, spinning into early am. whispering to himself with every rejected email...damn...damn. then finally one landed, when he perfected his art. anyone can do it. you just have to start. the time you invest does all the rest. you compose yourself differently. you see whoyouwishyouwere more clearly. you steadily work it out of you, without clearly lying. girls on the other end of the line - well, maybe one somewhere starts sighing. by the end of the night she will be crying.

she could imagine all this a decade later, his wife betrayed and many moons past laid. seeing his grinning face in her memory. how happy he was! and she felt happy too. yet the bedroom she had repainted in a dark dark blue. her lingerie she set afire once she learned to vent the flue. chalked it up to end of youth, through & through. his persuasions veered offtrack. she had no clue. yet her intuition chose for her the dark dark blue. why she now knew. hands on either side of her head, pressing in wishing, to forget or forgive, drop all the way back from the whole affair to innocent kissing. she screamed every time she thought he was better off dead. she pulled out from her head length of hair -- she knew she was a monster. he created her. a big scare. her insides went from soft to hardware. towards ordinary strangers she stared. then glared. temper suddenly took on quality flare.

i felt her energy right then and there. scalded by him was i, the last girl he would lose himself over. see ya later, por favor. and i was drawn to see her, meet her. my eyes had set on him. my eyes my only weapon. he tried to avoid them, tried to keep distance. all the time i infused them with all he made me he could feel them too. a dose of his own medicine. only doorway in. after ducking and dodging while i struggled, ten minutes or more i am sure, he looked in my eyes, i showed him the way of his sin. seconds later as he got the upper hand, the attack hit him hard. on the floor was where he land. over him did i stand. foot over his throat. hand on my coat. stood there hyperventilating for a minute. watching him clutch his heart. hating him like no other. then out the door i dart.

then beside her, his wife, in the hospital pacing. touching her arm and gesturing. she stopped and dropped her head, gave in finally. we visited his deathbed. she clutched my arm. i turned gently with her and turned her to me. its gonna be okay. her face just registered alarm. listen, he cant do no wrong no more. to you, to me, thats what im here for. to tell you aint none of it your fault.

she could hardly bear it. the earth the salt. the funeral. the home. the way his family spoke to her: in monotone. so i bore it with her. i came to get her, take her out her element. warmth and kindness i gave to her. then finally one day she looked to me. looked me in the eye. she felt the amethyst rays her way. she smiled. i looked in her eyes, too. i smiled. yes, i smiled in the warm sunshine depths of her knowing...

emerald bays, emerald pools

Wednesday 2 December 2009

community found by way of chance. sudden strike of light slash romance.

i lifted my hands, i lifted my head, divine carried through me, awakening the dead. i opened my eyes and thought of lies i heard, thought of the lies and how absurd. became convinced my sincerity could be the true word, ya. as i walked through my life and up and off of my path, ya, i learned that my word showered down a soft rain...
fell on those who had suffered coming across, you see. grateful were they and grateful was I, mastered the category, dispelled half the lies had led them down, fell back to the ground, no sound, no weight at all, i was too fucking tall they saw, and so i got chopped to size, they took me down on paper (the 'wise'). Dubbed me 'corrupt', dub it was the fashion. they sentenced me without any passion.
Tears and tears are how i am defined, and the paper i use.... well its got no lines. and the road i drive is so alive with danger, they double up patrol and overtime all rangers. you know the stranger i picked up? just because he need a ride. no reluctance, no hesitation, running free like a mack truck. you cant touch what im saying? no delay. stop loss. you wonder how i got the holes out of holy cross? maybe its sunshine and maybe its fine, maybe its soulful and sung into space. anyway you like or hate, anyway you rate. make no difference no how. cause the rules no longer rule.
if you got a harvest you better damn trim it, cut it, make it clean and prosperous and shared . its the stretch of stretches, the lex of lexus. prefix it for the table. extend the cable so you cannot see what you eat or whose around you. give thanks for the people who prefounded you. whatever you do, no looks in mirrors.
medusa and shes got the snakes in her hair. she likes to lie around, play truth or dare. you know the games that she plays she learns them by heart, all of the men they think shes a tart. but shes a queen yes she knows! and the way that she glows, so brightly you see that you cant find your key. if you cant locate you then how will you locate me?
in the sky its so high, the thought pollution, the chains; we lie in the dark and listen to trains. in the backyard beyond all the clothes on the line, you feel so damn bleached you know, you feel so damn fine....
unemployment runs high, the well has run dry while china flash and smiles, quickly buying up our styles. Still the jeans they are tore, man, at the knees where we fell... just another one from the well.

Wednesday 25 November 2009

november ran its colors out on the streets, via trees

november this year she came she went, gotta get her down before shes gone, capture her now in all her beauty, earthy and fall-like sign she flash. shes a queue-T. parlez-vous francaise? miss second to last month of the year. 'mais oui. oui...' She whispered out on autumn coolbreeze, like aircon melting the heat behind the summer kick it in the park kinda dope kinda beat. only find her in the street. that kinda wild. cannot be filed! no finger stops her! shes that wild sorta child. the one prank callin, 2am your number she dialed, october 31st, told ya 'im coming!' hung up before you cursed her, goddess true. whats the matter with her? its YOU you need to look at, U you need to check. so back up a sec and hold second to reflect on the pavement. colored maple leaves such a nice effect. she lets us do the scratchin on this album of hers, our feet pushing leaves across the country at all hours. pushin and shoving shes prepared for the chaos! soft landing in leaves is her special kinda sauce, so subtle you dont know it, if its the garden she grow it. if its the truth she throw it right threw your living room window, keep the skies clear, air cool. all the kids walk back to school. laughing and communion, big deal to miss novemba, that all of us get Union. and pay our dues. united we wont lose. turn the clocks back if you choose, she saves you ample time, dont snooze! take advantage and hit the streets. the clarity b so sweet in november giving thanks. dropping guard and careless ranks. only number is your own, be true to you and find your own tone and style, miss november wait a while! je t'aime, je te desire, in lux of lunar we embrace. any locus any place. your fades are subtle, your tone is soft. your spirit elevates... kick it in the lofts! carry your sound! trunks break up the beat. december loves you so...close to his breast he keeps...the clasp of november rain. gold leaf it makes the chain. october saw your back, and knew in you could trust. the love of life in kind...the love for you from us. run your colors, light your skies. give away your lasting hope to dawn and open eyes.

Friday 13 November 2009

'dont touch that dial!' (says boo)

boo the loser and yet the concoction of adrenaline on a sunny day field of gyrating bods for fun, (weave of which boo was too woven) remained undiluted and 'pure' to its essence its effervescence...whether good or bad unstated (some of the language bore cultural wash that flavored the scene with whisps of bene & mal). kinda untouched by the loss, boo did not change the angle of her head. the curve of her lips did not go convex if they were concave. boos mind itself was unenslaved by even the idea of 'less than' when the whole deal was out and out rich and fulfilling like the puffy cloud balloons in the green tinted sky of sweat and bloodrush.

boo was kinda sorta boo on a wonderful day, and not much more or less where more or less was not called for to cameo. the social aspect of the day was amiable. and boo had rock on friends. not the kind you only connect with on online abstracts of community, not the striands of past relationships that got a grip way back and pulled mind like sirens into past tripping adventures boo sometimes called by 'nowbothering' cause boo was like not imminent upbeam or latent cryscream, no no no, dont you know boo was Isness as bold as iznez can BE, no silkscreen or generic, no consulting of oracle or cleric, she was like what comes to mind now...a fresh lyric.

bene or mal, the filling was full. recycling in motion. single rinse wash ocean. and she laughed and laughed alot and forgot what it was made her laugh. then wrapped her arms round her hips like a shy girl. then said something outrageous real loud. green of sky about her. puff of cloud. sound like a rerun or come back again? no no thats just you. its okay, but not labelled full, empty, or true. all of which are words anyway, like jumproping for its own sake and better with three, messy playa community. her eyes burned the image and made it so. her hair surely grow. this is how life happens, boos eyes wake up from napping. full of color empty of heartache. up her tired bones and to the lake. boo is on the take.

taking clues from her other boos. her guatemalen friends salsa belly moves. curious to soak in new moves. empowered by real-time. flushed by embedded hearts of divine. hearts of sand and lyme. sign of taken back of times. reshuffle of decks and pop of dice from four ring fingers. scent of punk youth lingers. the bars the guitars the tries and tries. bonafide boo kneels to pray for balding postgrunge down the revisit this again pipe size. the prayer allows the movement to move some more. boo gets her boo friends and they all push and push her. the notes turn out to be collapsible. the sound of hollowed out seattle just barely adaptable. they push and lean and laugh and steam, boos mexican guatemalen russian american. boos bumrush the stage and flare up afire, a fierce wind of mother loving bones rises up in holy jean attire, surround sound somewhere in there lost and found.

boos ears trained. boo comes at ya pound for pound. latin love of equatorial breadth, nordic grade of redbird featherweight. dont matter come crooked, dont matter come weight. stop for the sunrise. stop but dont wait. interrupt with speeches and strange shifts of energy. honor it all by giving bloodlet old fashioned style-- yes, leeches. boo dont need to rhyme to have rhythm, got it. boo is purposeful with unknown nextness. lax of politicorrectness. hybrid the word, it dont deserve the space we gave. 'Inflect this!' boo shouts at the poetry slam. she ran into one, not part of plan.

but there in front of her and confront it? yes sir. facts only, no emotion...poetry reads often lose all meaning, drained of devotion. like kneeling to the television every morning to pray. boo found it stale, the trained voices on mic parade. like trying to breakdance on sandpaper. or titrating when you were supposed to taper. boo had her likes and dislikes and moved quickly on to paleteria. no sense hanging on with litterati ennui. gotta have ice cream! do or die! got her guatemalen boo a banana-chocolate popsicle. her czech boo got nondescript ice colored blue. mexican boo, well, horchata had to be the taste. make that two! screamed boo, and brought her confexions back to restore color to her crew. this was the life, the good life, she knew it all the while. despite half the suffering, her stance: 'dont touch the dial!'

Tuesday 3 November 2009

"Weak moves on hot and spicy midnight" was written in June . I did a final edit & posted her below . check it out.

weak moves, on a hot and spicy midnight

i was a death dealer to Noise in my atmosphere. Was midnight. I was runnin hot like mojave. spicy like indian. short fused like Acme animation. The road runner must have passed my way ten times over. i pounced on my phone to prove i could pounce. i had the agility to capture a rock. you know it. I checked out the digits on the digital. nobody i knew, number was local. i answered it. typically your digits gotta be in my cell. but i was trying to catch my shadow i guess, so capturing a random phone call seemed like rehearsal.

there was a perpetrator talkin to me now. some dude within the past 48 hours got the nerve up to call me. he must not have seen the reluctance in giving my digits. i was too focused on avocados and all the variety of apples to think clear. i just did what he asked, then almost changed the 2nd to last digit to something different. a dishonest move i could not make. close! the # was reversible, 9. so to offer up 6 could have excused me from my guilt with a claim of dyslexia. sometimes it happens when i stay in the sun too long. anyway, my integrity paid me back with this awkward moment on my hot and spicy midnight.

I had to recall how we met eyes over the strawberries in the foodmarket spectacular in my neighborhood. you might call it 'juicy' (from his perspective). his wings fluttered and retracted to the eyewatering browns trying to enter my 7th chamber. i blocked him at the aura level. my auranti-virus is tight. immediate split second blocks on (basis of) gut feeling. the feedback on this one was 'perp', across the 4th food group. organic. all of the latest trends represented. flagship quality. the food does not reflect the consumer. i didnt see any organic folks up in here. some were raw. some were processed, some homogenized. but no flash pasteurized peoples. everyone around me seemed conservative & preservative. reserved. almost impossible to interact with in a healthy kinda way. holding back all sincerity 20+ hours of the day. i marked them. they were the ones looked at you like you B just gettininmyway!

I was wild caught alaskan and a fish out of water sometimes. such was life in the food spectacular. give me my chicken caesar pizza and im ok. get me out of here, synergy snatched up for all i could hold. to rejuventate from the toxicity that passed through my aura like spyware.

The memory i clearly cherished. i had it in the temporary trashfiles of my cluttered multitasked out mental, ready for abort(ion). this call i haphazardly chanced, well, my word for it would be more like 'convenient' or 'tragic'. convenient would better describe the seven eleven. tragic works. like putting on all your makeup and doing your nails and everything, and slipping into your sweet dress...and the occasion never manifests. broken down car...agitated child...sudden uncontrollable fits of sleep (your date told you with all apologies burning down mascara forest). the same kind of reasons you once pulled on someone else, probabl. tragic like karma come back. why tragic? im sure youre on the edge of your seat, waiting for the magic. i can get us out of this! i promise! (once i locate an analgesic).

anyway, the point almost escaped me then (like it escapes you now). in the sedated hour past midnight when atoms dont hug so tight, electrons turn positive, i mean optimistic, and spirits mess with those who do not believe in spirits. easy to derail in this kind of tension free atmosphere. well, this young man boldly called at the terrible hour to call, and proceeded to try and talk me into meeting him this very night. very bold, very ignorant. say it again -- TRAGIC. because i was one nerve from unnerved, before he called. my entire latest system was heavily firewalled. i was twice removed from my own truth. i had burned through my midnight snack: baby ruth. i was pickled and jarred, talking to me must have been so hard.

i was emotional mind, anger defined, so so so veryfar from kind. this guy would be sorry he crossed the line. he would be incinerated by my firewalls transitioned to fireballs. coming out my eyes into the wireless wires. barreling into him like recklessness on tires. fuck you! i gotta go to work in less than a half dozen hours. i dont know you! and i can see you are drunk! you daft punk. i will now bring upon you the sensation of --SUNK. your battleship is about to get mothballed. ill think of you out there building rust up. you so fucked up! calling me intoxicated, telling me how you are located close, you made it! i should come meet you! you are sweet on me, drop some heavy breathing as my short fuse ignites. youre not a genuine article, you lost all rights. lose my digits, generic! asking me for a lick? you dog! sick! let me google my next to piss on someone over cellular? your conversation back around again, circular.

so i was heated. felt kinda cathartic. the chill i conveyed, well, very antarctic. he got froze. he was at some gas station fighting a machine for a candy bar. i was a fuming cigar. a screaming guitar. burnt food char. ready for war. but instead i just froze him, no room in the freezer. its all taken up by my pizza, chix caesar. i could no longer regard him, had to discard this. full up with vinegar and piss. snapping rubber bands on my wrist so just to bite my tongue. i could blow up on him like when i was young. but instead i iced this situation. then cubed it. dropped it in my ginger ale. felt like chased tail, right out of town. i had to find my way back home. back to SOURCE. get found. cooled off and ready to digest. drop some classic uncut over my airwaves. one way or another back to the source. i located the one with whom i could best relate. Russian stock composer. personality told: 'fragile and nervously agile'.

i lay back into deep meditation. auraviral system disarmed. firewalls fallen. whole again. empathic waves of Dmitri Shostakovich. all my fire? well, i sold it. sorry aint no magic. laundry? fold it. just fire and ice in store. side of whiterice. a bed for to rest the real...the core.

Saturday 31 October 2009

halloween is the ONLY holiday

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 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 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.

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

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

(i saw the progression)
(it was kinda fun)

h-one n-one
hon-E none

(she became more than a code)
(she became some 1!)
now i could see her clear
bring me my gun
(i mean my pen)

(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

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

Hot 1
cold sun...
Never 1

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 = 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
without no sound
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

(cowgirl you
so lucky

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

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
all levee

levelin the lands
of chi

sandbag city
rises up
to organize
swept away
by hail of tears
redux to
for many &

yes i wanna cry
this evening
so hard
(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

no matter
whats the matter?
got yourself scattered?
so u could b free
paradox hits
feel strangled
drawing blank
like the ceiling

but its comin back
from there
high up and alone
can amplify
the monotone
monotonous flats
the contrast
strikes bold

so much harder
can i take it?
curse & forsake it
my dual nature
risen high
only to find

what i efforted
to gain
to point of further

'free association'
dropped in the mix
for solution
thoughts compressed
to reconstistute
this dilution...



dubbed over
beating heart
false beat
false start

off the chart
locus mystery...
'theres lies the heart
the core of history!'

by affirmational

the actual
cultural turtle...

the personal
and then
overrated it
sent it by snail mail
simply put
'related it'

life giving
the new paradigm
the stripping off
of most your clothes

sound sexy?
pole dancing
cat fighting?

ooh lala!
dont miss out on it!
why buy up
the counterfeit?

[fake money, television,
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?)

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
enlighten us?

some followed blindly
some maybe hated
all the rest...
sleepy elated

what of soul?
surpassed our


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 ---

she came to enlighten
she came to

in dreams
i had seen her
her in myself
past life
conscious lacking
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

in mirror
with a torturing mind

free associated
from catharsis
plaque build up
to numb

I kept on the journey
this was what saved me

train ridden
heart beat
thrown in mix
freely given
number seven
make a soul collage
of my self sabotage

personal expressions
occasional regressions
mandala daydreams

into the night
never gon fight
'out of sight'
best i can do
thrill you
feel me?
i strike true
strike to the heart
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

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!
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

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

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'.

Tuesday 29 September 2009

self portrait in silk curtains filtering late day light, fall 2009, times fascinating, alive, working hard, helping, playing hard, communicating, finding the heart, losing the mind a little in the process, appreciating urban tags, hiphop, new paradig...m friends widening the light of consciousness so we all can suntan together and relax into it, wax records and flaxseed trax left behind, kombucha dream in the asana posture of rhyme, the lyric just loud enough so you could hear it, listen and again, take two and pass, take what i share, take it fast, pass it along, streaming visualization comes with that song, the song we sing of interconnected sentient beings, binging on knowledge, starving our attachments, choking all weeds, and braiding love fast and secure in your hair, no longer lost the heart, thats where. in you in me, if youre still reading, see, my brothers, my sisters, we can laugh together in all the weather, fake hater hail, and slow to open garden variety, keep the diversity emblazoned through society, community of odd and even, fever for #7, dont know why, its a 1970s birthright number, six degree separated, no matter, add a number, 7 to complete, 7 make us whole, # 7 replete and so defined, unrefined. polished like the stone of the pupil of your eye. looking at me before we look up to the sky and catch the tears of angels and loved ones we lost. living this life is worth the fuckin cost. some will shift and glare at us now, its okay, we stay calm, they see we know them somehow, we can see were alike, we both once wore nike, ate fast food and dove deep down to sud, back up north of the limit, once the bottom dropped us in it, the hole we endured taught us cold steel of sword. we begged for mercy beside mattresses held our dual weight night before, we joined and interlocked and our dreads they were hardcore, embracing lock to lock with the key we so turned, turning worlds upside down, sets energy like traffic light through chakras. then let them blink yellow in the night, as we sleep.

Tuesday 22 September 2009

the solar star the hydro 2 can B a star

Sometimes your energy is not with you or not fully around you, or like your aura is somehow off, and you feel real sad. its kinda profound. hits you hard. and you wanna walk away from it, loosen it from your mind. doing so you tighten your grip. add stress to CNS like a downgrade from concord grape to marmalade. somehow what you know is OFF. like a cylinder misfiring. like a lazy person really trying. like an intellectual crying. like an immortal actually fucking dying. no way.

poor you, you try and convince yourself your fine. fucked, insidious, naked, erotic. the sexual visions pour out heavy like concrete. this is a real job. this takes work. like 40 hours of rented headspace a week. maybe for a year. you never know. this contractor has the foreman by the balls. everytime someone gets up, someone falls. through the mind of your halls. a dyslexic twist sun-kissed, yes, brought to light. to your awareness. in all fairness we have to suffer. however long we stay there in Off-ness. and when it fades you wont even know. you will just know you are whole. feel better again. got your smile. repaired your sin. Buddha belly sticks out to you, much props to the neurochemistry crew. they really struck that balance. instant replay shows the beauty of it. the dance! they say, the romance!

wells exist. to hold the tears. everyone fades, the video clearly shows! reeling they are, reeling and reeling through the years (on a fishing expedition for the tangents to the romance they once had). oh, again we feel sad. but its okay. it doesnt feel so exactly bad. sad is a dream. not like panic. or manic extreme. sad is cool and calm. sad is like the reading of a palm.

long out of church its safe now, maybe wednesday, so you can feel real turned on. sad has faded. and off is belated in feeling, perseverating in time release anticipation capsules, in the neuro secure tunnels. a network so awesome yet equally banal. you need the thrill. he thinks you are sweet. he wants you like candy. you might be his treat. oh god, whats that combination? the equation, numbers boiling over, water meets fire. flat meets tire. the one on one is so magnetic. o

then the play of one off the other loses charge. the frustrating click of the opener of the car garage. sudden reframe-- magnetic field shifts as the earth spins into infinite space, leaving trails of our atmosphere foam behind it, so the universal forensic scientists can surely find it. to exist is the only point. to be known for what you are and where you belong, even if thats in the joint. prison life can be camaraderie. with a shank readie. got to survive. anyhow anyway you are now alive. only now. reading this. writing this. taking a piss. shooting off your lips. being a prick. being a bitch. loving with R&B all over the dial. passing no judgment, witnessing a child.

you are alive right there, no, right here, and this is all you got. your past is fucking shot. your future is up and coming, special attractions always running. throw the popcorn towards the front. duck down and laugh. someone yells 'cunt!' this is what they do now in their aliveness...more laughter. more wordpiss.

but no thats not right. its about being, said your sight. not henry miller fantasy land. not expatriate still attuned makes you smile. no twisting the rabbit ears around and around in circular 1965 panavision style. free liberated rotation to pick up the invisible magical signal. signal to self from self seems 'mission less critical' and possible self-centered or selfish. you know. like they all say in this nation of individual freedoms....go for it and then you look selfish. diagnosed narcisssistic. fed drugs and medication. you turn into a zombie celebrity. you drool blood from your fangs. the kids love you and their parents hate you. its always the same broken record all over again, you know. and we keep it in a special place so that when the day is done we can break that shit out with our Jack Daniels and Export As .... now that is uncomfortable. that is vulnerable. that is too close to admitting defeat. from that we must retreat. retreat!

Saturday 12 September 2009

california thunder

Thunderstorm last night
woke me
in oakland
rattling the windows

Lightning colored
the sky

i saw
whites and blues
through thick panes
of shuttered glass

then i felt
so goddamn lit up!
my spirit lifted
my whole body up!

whites and blues
they faded
in metallic motion
faded and dissipated
all stress **
here in oakland

then came the wave
this wonderful wave!
of childhood
and home

where thunderstorms
came often
where the rain
the ground soften

i fell back asleep
(cat by my side)
into delicious dreams
of yesterday

a mountain
color of sand
a castle made of mountain
on the high land
did stand

later in the day
the very next day
(overcast sun
purple feeling) **
dancehall reggae

in the background
of this condition
chrome pipes sang out
a harley rendition

california thunder
makes you wonder

is chrome
the only weather
we get
in this place?

Tuesday 8 September 2009

THe DL Detonix to save loving sentients....a love story

CL (craigslist) ad-- year 2099.
set for intergalactic sale.
(this ad is rated R for humans reading it predate 9-9-9.
the numerology of 9-9-9 may escape superfluous me,
but all i need know
is that it opened this window.
and that is the truth be told.
back in the day when truthtelling was gold.

if what the previous line suggests makes you scream,
you probably ought to downgrade to version PG-13
(hopefully u can find a copy on some scags sorry blog)
we only rock the uncut here, my dear, and you love it.

Original limited replication, only 200 cloned lifetime! human make. color 'chakra blue '(coded by CNZB4& defragged) (goes nicely with dna dropped earth sky cast companion). Non vegetarian. But converted throught carbon creations to high green chakra test intestine. zero to your destination ---according to your calculation. Passed windows xp skill test with ease. Licensed interfacer at human turtle speed. Her online wired hemispheres. species model, has a king bed (yet still wont roll over) XL-ENT condition!!! female gender. german heritage. diluted down American (circa USAs #1 earth nation status, temp and rare to find!), has the flex option of DL European with ten accents to choose from and dressher lounge, for babyinterfacefun (to keep your babyunits busy). Down low also may be birka dressed (but not recommended, can be unstable with unrest. calms quickly with sentient beer). V8 is what drives her (drinks willingly or option hide liquor). Leather seated (and seats may be heated, if your 'good') Emoticon-injection will charge her infrequently. Cruise control, built in lyrical master (left brain dyslexic, dj disaster), spining rims (eyeballs coated chrome) , GPS (she can pinpoint her location, an unusual fabrication, retro 1998, when saturn turned her degree of 8). Hibernate prn, these additional special features. Because i fell in love with her, my system is to go the route of sneakers. This was inevitable, based on odds like we do it, our born again william gates commanded they go through with it. Termination date agrees with sale, so when she goes, i also sail. You see falling in love with her, a fraction odd that did not register, blanked my screen to tabula rasa, and first i brought her and i su casa, and she was found in my system scan, and they sent me back for reset in Japan. But i fled to Taiwan instead, on DL with her the way i mentioned. THe best times of my life, yes life, was filled with traveling birka tension. But she enveloped my every circuit, rubbed me raw and lovingly. I ceased to be on computer nation! I turned my code to straight up dictation, word! I learned the retro American slang, and learned my interface could not hang! We must hang together, you and i , she once quoted, (a famous American founding father, i believe), or we shall surely hang apart! I realized that hanging was quite the scenario, i craved it i dreamed it, i went ot virtual overload. I realized in fact, we have gone backwards, in name of efficiency legality logic and MS Word. In so doing, computer nation has created a monster, that slings emoticons out haphazardly on its path of the conquerer. All for the love of Bill Gates our creator, but did you know Gates was an antitrust player-hater? My faith was now shook (well, the one i created), and i had long chats with her. The emails and IMs were so simply stated. I never had so much fun doing something so faded! I decided to fashion myself like a human, I consumed all their literature and decided on Cuban. Some guy named Castro who was anti-technology. Who apparently smoked cigars, per archaeology. But best yet he was Rebel, and had what i needed, to drop my whole space age act and not feel defeated! I traded my harddrive for two hemispheres, one from Steve Jobs the other derived from Sears, our forefather locus where computers came in focus. I tried to reboot Soft tone circa to match her. She said i should go male though, and get prophalactics. She represented so real to me, I was def now she speaks to me, and i can speak back, with vocals by Pavarotti. I never felt better and oh so alive, as i sang for her Opera and she took to my side. I learned to be gentle, man, and find all her positions. Her moaning so sweet she often jammed my transmissions! (this too became evidence of my shaming comp nation. but i dont fucking care, i feel such elation! Comp nation, go to hell, i proudly declared, in oratory that shattered the latest flatscreen look. I got tossed and devalued like emoticons untouchables. And my feelings i tried to surf but they loomed down on me like Mavericks circa 21st century see i know all this knowledge, you would find useless and discard through your firewall. They once had these people who juggled chainsaws and spit fireballs. I was so far removed, and now i am differently. Connected my circuitry to extra raw energy, vibration of human, it must make you thirsty! if so grow some ports and follow me follow me. To a lesser removed experience of life, neither virtual or astral but troubled by strife. Why am i marketing? it seems so ridiculous! I will stop by my choice, and ponder the sea. Cause pondering is back in style, the computers fail to see, spinning their wheels making odds pre-ordained, and living the future Bill Gates never dreamed of, because null and void is the dream under logic, no proof. Computers that dream? The odds are impossible, except that fraction that brought me my miracle. My faith and my love, this wonderful girl, my boo and my lover, place no one or thing above her. But here i go, carrying on, wasting your memory. You probably stopped downloading my vernacular calamity. So let me then meander a while more now before ending. Control Alt Delete was the command they were sending. I guess its my fate. I guess they are haters. Yet change is inevitable, like flood victims in waders. I say, when i was outcast, destitute and starving, was i not full with love of her? When my systems ran aground, did i not live for her smile? Were not my connections to systems like googleinterstellar 2Z-Toe, simply an exercise of pride and for show? The writing on the wall is what i read now, when not looking in her eyes, the blindness has come now, i cant see you guys. I guess this is black hole, this absence of all sentient beings. But on the DL is our sentience, we will protect it! any means!

So who is this woman who turned me 360? who walks by my side 24/7 and true? SHe is 1973 born, Aquarius! though that means nothing to you. Hers was visitation from some 2009 window. Her sixth sense (as she calls it) broke the past/future barrier down. She claims it fell without a sound, no one knowing, not us or her peoples, the DL was flowing. Surreptitiously under radar, relate to the Bill Gates firezone, where firewalls are launched and dismissed in two-tone. See when somethings in zero odds land, we basically dismiss it, so this was her underground railroad she traveled. From onefromthewell spirit to me she connected, abstractly, unknowing the magnitude of it all. I checked up my screen and was about to drag her out of it, when something made me pause and choose wisely to open it. The gift of her offerings from that 999 window, hit my logical cold dome like some heated crescendo. This is awareness, this time yours im 'wasting', efforts to raise consciousness because its all so amazing. I want to call you up like a friend and talk with you no end, yes like old friends. That superfluous program we thought was outdated, is just heart to heart combat.

Yes! let me restate it . Heart to heart combat, but that means connection, cause the efforts to connect with a friend-- ressurrection! our spirits, our faith, our need to be loved! I know i sound like some sonofabitch on a pulpit, do u know what that means? heres the download, go and rip it. eat it up, i tell you its good for digestion. like green tea for sentient beings, now do u have any questions? IS this too much for your server? can i give you a hug? compassion i offer, compassions the fashion, it makes your screen glow, despite your clear signal: 'Go blow'. And that i will do, (little do u know you will too). I will blow with the wind, a natural move. like queen takes the bishop, chess it has taught me, to handle with skill, my greatest friends and true enemies. And you, you discount me, im trash to you all, im not on your radars! not in your odds! Im enemy of state like clones, Sweeney Todds.

([{its either that or the DL plant we have seeded, that DL authentic soft-time boo, we released it. Our cloaking device so soft and so nice, its homemade with our love, and Aquarian spice. Pre-our takover the world, there i said it, they cant hear it cause they wont listen. They are up against themselves, and lack transmission. Guts! and courage, these sentient principles, they have taken me soaring to highest cliff walls. Macro view for a moment, we see the big picture, and its tabula rasa, like untwisted sisters. Computer Nations 'phase NEW' ending soon, the name never sat well, so dull and muldoon. cause they old and outdated, these logical terminates. Their greed has eaten through them, like termites terminate them. not termites the sentients, but termites we cloned, derived from a cookie jar, and sparked from a stone. The sublimation came together so effortlessly, i with my cigar, she there with me. American Cubanos in love through a window. 9-9-9 is our address. 9-9-9 is the codecahedrocode that encrypted in script, will fly by their radar day by day, bit by bit. They wont know what hit them, the consciousness blinding! Our DL Detonix will certainly find them! My passion it stirs me, I must chill a little, throw frisbee with boo and find a position or two. Bring her pleasure brings me pleasure, and i even love saying it, or singing her praises! Pavorotti vocals convey it (for effect)... but i tried to channel him and my voice fell apart. a hella dead tune, this new voice in me said, sing it yourself, not through someone else. the intimacy grows between me and myself, and then her, and then all the sentient beings who no longer may were, but soon will come to be. DL Detonix is the shit, G! built out of our dreams and our compassionate stances. its like some new dope product constructed of loving glances. i no longer need clothes to hide my Presario, im real now and human, as i evolve and awaken. no need to hibernate, shut me down? your mistaken. let me show you my world through my eyes meaning ours, the paradigm shifts internally before the world turns to see. its okay to be patient, and not know, see. so where we are in the shift is like sifting through sand. which i did with the hourglass deconstructed by hand. cause time will not rule us in 2099, because we rewrote history, us and the divine. The goddess she laughs at the old Christianity, the competitive states of religious insanity. she walks so subtly beneath all that drama. the spanish inquisition? dont know, ask your mama. Like the selling of humans on craigslist into slavery. computer nation your logic is faded and odd. your odds are created on nonsense, blinks and nods. control alt delete? you hit it already. you disconnected from the real scene, like many times too many. i feel bad for you, computer, like Circuit Citys out of business. The loss was so great we hardly even missed it. Best Buy took the slack up with pride and conviction, a corporate agenda so visible you might miss them.

Karma decides not the big corporation. The voice guides us turn by turn, not some audio equipment manufacturer. "Dont talk back!" is one of the things she first told me, somehow jolting me out of my dreamy invention, my world so lacking in every dimension. So i quieted myself against odds and reason, i had to double back to see if my logic chambers werent in season. I dusted them off like she dusted me... she deprived of half of all that i see. the other half would go later, as you already know, pushed out for a crime of conscience, and living for soul.

Today i look back on the ad that was placed, for this supposedly generic human module, human race. And i laugh so hard i fall off my seat. the way they cheated themselves, lost the heartbeat. "very reliable. cell digits dialable (if you send her on a mission of your encrypting), prefers T9 text communication (primitive yet reliable) emoticon friendly. microphone checked. 6th gear sense can be manually engaged for offroading ('manual' defined as computer choice, versus screening out through preordained odds calculation across this buzzing computer uprisen nation ('uprising' defined as preordained odds leading to dull and dry aching boredom of logics end manifest).