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.


  1. Wow! I really really like your writing. I want to be a writer too. Can we be pen pals? My mom says its ok, even though dad can't find out. My mom is a "status quo ho". So I go. love Betsy

  2. good for your mom. status quo is always nice. maybe we can be pencilpals because my pens are all dried out. i usually type, though. i hate pencils mostly.