Sunday, 31 January 2010

Sister story to miss january nineteenth - Part I

What can I tell you about this fascinating one? I could say chosen one but for not wanting to mislead. I can tell you for one that I learned to love her. I learned to care about her, respect her, feel for her, feel with her, connect on non-verbal levels, collaborate on astral planes and together jump trains with white crossed hobos from Kerouacs time, the beat signature line. Ooh la la. If someone needed to be chosen over a hundred stallion. She’s good for gettin out of a tight spot. She can rise to an occasion. Shes a fascination alright. When she walks the street these days, its an Occasion.

She was in her twenties, when she surfaced from the midsection of an iceberg, the frozen contents of some formerly fluid collective subconscious experience. In the middle of nowhere mind you. A slow drip of unhappening. Congealed into living memories (consistency of molasses).

So she thawed from her heart out, and the ice around her began to soften in her light and heat, and collect supine at her feet. Aqua devotion. Hands... in prayer beneath her dry eyes. So rare did this sorta manifestation occur. The glaciers melt in their natural way and they take their damn time - aint that right? Macro evolved from micro wave could save us hella time. but first the firewall of pride must go down in flames somehow. Inevitable, anyhow. Sad to inform you if you wish to go deeper, to know more about her, u must relay your genotype. Sorry to break this this way now. Is your personal individualized global warming set to delicates?... on a slow defrost over time? This wont do. Permanent Press is the least we require. Should keep your hair from turnin midtone gray on ya. well, you your gratitude in the end should margin quite profitably for your system to be fulfilled. Im not in sales, but i can imagine you'll be thrilled.

You don’t hurry a glacier, no. You age them like wine. Or you wait for them to melt and reference empirical evidence of global warming. Turns slightly yellow from blue over time. The byproduct green is most divine. Consistency soft, malleable, like room temperature butter. Almost vulnerable, fallible – almost human. This is what became of her, from prebirth to birth. She escaped any concept of measurable worth. In round one on earth...TKO.

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

story in two lives of the little sister, continuation

the little sister...well, this is no character assassination, hey, just sincerity like you like...she was maddening. not deliberately. not retaliatory, no. stubborn little thang. she just impacted the general population this way over time. She often told the likes of you and me to kick rocks. she had the kind of empowered aura about her, not red tones but more like sunshine yellow and sky blue just reminding anyone and everyone she was fly, she was true. she never needed to act on much, cause when she said kick rocks, you kicked rocks, not in a way of flight always (though this may have been a motive for some, letting fear overcome their knowing mind that running was futile, all were connected and she was a touchstone to the universal not a divider)...

to say that not kicking rox in flight but rather in an honorable way of offering up some space between you and her because she asked for it really, in a blunt manner she made herself very clear in a way that your average could not come acrossand if you didn't go ahead and do so, she would have you know without a single word spoken but simply through nonverbal nondramatic means,coming at you like some vibrant fresh tag come up on the scene at sunrise after the nights worn disguise, with the sun shining awareness of our insides out, exposed truth painfully, but without lies. in this manner....trustful...rare. start kicking rocks and you was feeling the stinging like fire ants sneaking up your ankles, if you was one of the fear based. poor you. get out of that, will you? come to, come to! not for me, no, for you. your suffering excessively, you think your thinking progressively. crazy. backseated by fear. still in first gear. oh my, dear dear dear. for you my heart i tear. throw you a piece of love lesser know (and lesser still when torn and thrown). but i feel like bodhissatva when i see you, want to give you all i know, all i knew. want to get closer to you cause this distance so pains me, makes me wonder if we may be truly separate like our bodies lead us to believe. another reason why at death we mainly grieve, less full of dialectic, the celebration of freedom from body and spirit now released. witnessing the undeniable unarrested steady mobbing of yourself,throbbing of your very being, through the gateway of your heart are you seeing. like the royalty could only have felt under siege in the French Revolution. like the reversal of what was assumed to be irreversible, the defuse of some fusion. like a betrayal. or some mysterious collusion of the life bearing elements sun and moon into antithesis: destructive like monsoon.

Yet you came back for more. Gravitated to her, this little sister who was bigger than all the world and who when spotlit or focused on, simply fed you into her expansiveness without no knowing, you just wandered thought to thought into more expansive macrovisions, neither really willing or able to come back down or around to the details they say mean so much. like the instance of human touch on your sweet spot. wow, your boyfriend whispers so turned on, your heavy breathing suddenly heavier, in your eyes a song, a passion play. like Toni Braxton meets Sade. Well, okay, the details are telling. but in little sisters presence they become, well, irrelevant!

Her suffering escalated past all moments of safety, our little sister. she was twisted and we missed her old blunt sanity. once she got so mad like bull, and ran at me! i showed her the red of my old medallion. she dimmed her energy but it was hard for her i could tell. she had lost controls of the sun inside. she might burn out if she tried. She would not even respond when her boyfriend now kissed her. The catatonia was clear. unremarkably, she could not be stirred into feeling. before it was all roof, and no fucking ceiling! my poor little sister, our poor little one, who made us aware of all else in the world we could do, have, fight for, lose. all we could lose, yes, by not always being ourselves, trapped in eddies of intellect and dissect of feeling, analysis of the past, and wasting our moment to moment sometimes future-dealing in our gambling, our plans, hoping for some safe landing that never shall we see. in the world of fire, earth, air, water, we too are simply daughters of natural suffering and rising, flying and falling, calling and calling to reach out of our solitude. offsetting imbalance with contemplative gratitude.

She wasnt even spooked by the typical Western trip the doctors laid, that medical empiricism that suggested she was quite mad for a deadwoman, and quite full of life for a madwoman. either sensation could head off the other, but none could quite catch her on a diagnostic plane. Only she could level with them. Which she did with the least feeling she could summon, which was easily laughter. She found more to laugh about with the MDs than she ever could with the shaman. shaman were pretty serious in their ritual-focus. These ones, these western ones with their setup of the common American scene devoid of most things sacred, full of artificial light of television and track fluourescents, and plants she could not connect with (cause they were plastic) even got off a few desperate smiles in seeing her blood on their sleeves.

so perfectly clean and neat, she had thought earlier in a semi-conscious pharmaceutically enhanced state, my blood shall find its way to their labcoats and bedsheets all bkeached. You just watch! then i will bring to you my word, my manifesto: nice fade out and in, no. she lost it. her manifesto. fuck! dying really does suck. you try and plan ahead for some really memorable, notable kinda quotable to part your dying lips, as they say in the novels. or, for women, of course the heaving of the tits. hmmmm...? these were near her final closing remarks to herself which only made her more interested in everything going on. she said a couple times 'so long' but nothing happened, she just lay there. it was boring as hell. boredom was all that was clear. ennui. static. for her as one might imagine, such state of mind and being was most horribly traumatic. the violence of it, the injustice of not being yourself after all your life becoming who you are. and leaving behind this river of tears of all who lost her too. missed her truth.

the doctors they had nothing to make of her, no more life, no more death, just a visitation it seemed. they looked in her eyes and she theirs, and together she brought them all into held hands, bowed heads...meditative prayers. It was a sacred time in room #54A. she was mutually aligned with what was coming, she understood the way. so no need to fight and cry and curse, no need for lamentations nor dramaticizations. she layed back in the adjustable bed like another vacation. when she shuddered, did the whole nation. and the eastern world? touched, too.

no one could understand but all could feel the wave of her, that carried them into such a calm, at such a time; no peace mainly war, ravages of poverty, rivers of neglect. starvation. apocalyptic mass suicides, sect by sect. human weapons. families wrecked. the thickness of the air did dissipate a moment. the light pressure of her expanding out a felt sense snowballing into a unitive experience.

she just was. her energy radiating in waves and visions for some. like the blur of the desert horizon in this urban western product of science and industry. an unholy host of profit but not yet fully symptomatic of its own clear disorder. not consciously set out to throw lives in delibate disarray...yet could become conscious within the span of moments in a day. one individual at a time. breaking down. changing careers. practicing Zen. anything to calm the mind so suddenly conscious now and never too late. but still haunted by the residual of affiliate.

the premonition of the many, not the few, never came true. no, it never came true. more often the many had their understanding turned over, and then they overlooked it...tossed it over their shoulder. they flash on themselves, so to remain clean and fried. its the easier way, for comfort they strived. hey! dont get this twisted, though. gratitude was in the flow, you know you know you know know something about her? she could not be forgotten so easily. a part of them had died, all of them, inside. culture had a certain stinging crush on her, for so many years denied...those fruitless years they tried to keep hold of her, before she died.

so many years of letting her life be more than just what she wanted or thought or expected it to be... so many tears letting go of whom she thought she was and many fears she had to fight off her aura to break through, her had her courage and heartfelt way of being become less than okay? even rejected? she had lots of time to ask these questions somewhere now embodied in Tanzania. fermentation of tea preoccupied her. felt good in her system all day and night. her spirit did not forget it all, not quite. she could tell sometimes she had been through a lot somehow before all of this. her life now was plain and simple. but her thoughts and feelings were far from that. but at morning, midday, and evening mantras, she often had felt sense of healing...smoothing and cooling some heart or soul friction...and her breath filled her up before entering the empty spaces now silent. she had these moments of relief from some perpetrated violence upon her, unknown? who she was, she knew, need no explanation. her people embraced her. such was the fashion.

breathe deeply into the the silence before continuation...

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

what i got is all i got, you can have it, 2

What i got this blessed morning is only a little laserlight of my truth, early, cold, dark, windy and wet. pretty soon i gotta jet to work, one way or the other. another day like before...i stay open. open to my core. cause thats how i keep from goin 2 hard in this hard world. moods so down sometime i dont know what im looking for. scared what i might find. already come across so much pain and heartache. sound a little like ya heard this before? im sure. truth is repeated, like a ritual, like your chores.

today i make the bed in which i lay. my boyfriend RIco steady by my side all last night. kept me warm. held me tight. atleast i got this prince lookin out for me, but we both strugglin with heavy burdens, too. the pressure can be overwhelming. Like tryin to pay the things need payin for, and jus tryin to stay out the eye of the law. once you in the system they wanna keep score, its sad. i wanna escape. amnesty must be a dirty word to the law, like rape. well thats just what they might do if they hang another charge on you, forget your license to do what you do. they will make sure the world knows of your crimes, boo. in the world you may have struggled years to earn your keep. one moment with the law, one moment asleep? u cant afford it, the trauma, the dehumanization. cause to the system what you value is of no concern. or so i learn now, day to day. over the nightmares. but get stressed real bad anway. panic attax. fresh talkin to my people around the way. oakland, my home, where i wanna stay. but the system is a force, it wont back off. you dont wanna cycle through. you betta watch yourself (they tell me), where you go- with whom you do consort. im just realizing. never been in trouble. charges got dropped. the first time they really touched me. governments and justice systems, they cold! it aint pretty. you better keep on moving through the city, the urban element you call home, the landscapes anything but monotone.

and heres how i feel, how i handle what i know. still gettin off on life good, the spice of city life for me, the various many peoples who touch me in my hood. and im fallin in love cause i let myself. its scary real scary but i wont turn away from it. the connection is deep & i have waited and waited for it. i dont want to put a wall between myself and so-called criminals, when forgiveness runs deep in me, love swells. i try and reach out and touch and be there, for you for him for self and such. this is how i manage to live, keep learning, smile and find a way to turn it all around. cause no ones playing with a full deck. some power trippin and cant even keep themselves in check. but awareness knows and our eyes can tell, so we dont need to get hopeless, belle. stay beautiful and let your smile light up the sky. i will feel the warmth and let it through me, channel it to you whether you knew me, or not, cause i feel for a stranger, will do my best to bring to them some kind of hope for keepin on, some kind of radiating light or just a poem or a song. cause when you know whats really going on, thats tight. no more strugglin shock or surprise. no more terrified cries, no more buying into their lies. empower yourself and check your judgements, follow the karma and you realize, this earth for you and us together. dont run inside scared of the weather. embrace it all and it will you, let nature be and you be true. i will be here for you now, i hope be there for you, too. just like i represent for self, nobody can ruin my day. i will pray for those who try, all the way at my best, or struggling when im filled with anger. my own family left me alone. and i survive. i lift my head and speak my truth. i will bring you tears, i will offer rain, aquarian spirit at best is fluid. the healing of the ocean is the channel of my undying devotion to those who suffer through each day. not knowing will they make it. to you i say; i been there, too, i made it through. be yourself fierce, dont let them get into you and turn you down or back or over. know your truth and dont get over. just get in there and have courage now, let passion flow through you. study the Tao. know your friends or find someone. you need someone to rely on. conscious contact is the key. with self and spirit and your divinity. be tough and vulnerable, walk with grace. you have every right to take your place in the natural way of ecosystem, multicultures and paradigms moving, keep on breathing, keep on choosing, and fall on your face a hundred thousand times, thats where you may just find divine. where you stretch! dont look for it, keep faith, she finds you. miss divine so fine. be open, receptive and vulnerable. honor yourself and no one may just lift right off your toes. the light surrounds you. live the life, now, go! live the life, the life you chose.

pray until rolled up tight end to end oozing air behind prayer

Sometimes when we are bored, well run dry, jaw floored variety of bored. Like some post-dose methadone-nod on a klono-pin-wheel-spin, like 72rpms or 72 hours revolutions back to back to back, or half your klono-life and forgotten. How morbid a commencement, like might as well place commencement at the very end of some ego-trip-sleepwalk-to-degree-of-destination. The kind of place you reach with your body, and realize somewhere back there your spine fell out....uh-oh. Time to drink wine, pass out, flop around. omega-threesome? On the rocks so obviously like a caterpillar motionless. Then backward with regret for the next ten years carried forward, and where was you again? Check gps tracker for self locus. Diligently. Accept all substitutes, imposters, and splenda. Anyone really, just don’t go long selfless. Bad for the health. ego panic attack can arise. Loosening of ties. Who says the corporate suit cant add addiction to crack? Find me the chore, boy, lets get the train back on track. Fetch me the hos and my freefly suspension ordered cadillac! These were your words. So trite and tru-ismic. here and now we conjure you, all suspended in splenda (no longer visible moment to moment)...again... You wasn’t.

Like card is bored, cardboard. No flavor, boo! Solid tangible statuesque ennui. And why? Too far removed from the sentient stuff pass for food. Hmm. Embodied & dropped like fashion with gala, spirit forgone, uninvited. Life will be as 5 senses rewrite it. Begotten children descend, thus planted according to trend. Direct confrontation with lightbox, yes, facing new vision with binary ocular precision. ‘Made’ was the decision. anything to ground ya, surfing flora, fauna, and temporary files of treble. Delete, defrag, oh shit, youre in trouble. Another balloon of expansive grandiosity... lets tribute the green dotcom bubble.

Now you, Back to humble. Complete the cycle. Put what you got in the paper bag. Never remove the factory tag... Such was maybe the trouble of the times slipping away like saliva. Trying to eat bacteria to survive, ya. Projections of long lost heartfelt high-5ing. Celebrating the nonsense, your thought that youre thriving. Living off lip service to wealth echelons making hay. They promise they will play you out, your tommorrow, today. Robbed of your nutrients you forgot what they are. You think exercise occurs between any edifice and your car.

Free time shows her busy-as-usualness the door. dis-com-fort is what she has in store. Leading a protest against ones-with-fortitude. Appealing to those who wanna check out after a while. Guess what you wont find them en masse at the protest; you would have to extract them in advanced searches with keywords to out them. They link up like sausages, always single file.

Too much space wil get you thinking existentially. You might be in trouble if she rises exponentionally. The diva of emptiness, space & what yer missing. Maybe in need of ssris or de- phishing. No geeks will survive when extracted from lightboxes. Sniffed out by the terriers of free space, like foxes. But the source of pain is nothing physical sometimes. nothing personal, nothing lyrical, thats rhymes! The writer wrote out like an inkblot on paper. Played out in prose nation, depersonalized, overflowed. As superfluous as toad to a frog-loving fanatic. Walked by and unwanted like radio airwaves are to static.

Free time fucked shit up. Like ssi, ga, foodstamps, and fluff. The original PB&J getting snuffed. Marshmellow holds like hairspray, makes Jello look sorry, like Coleco once did Atari. In the slaughterhouse of capitalism, shit grinds on, no one says sorry. In cultures so related, Apartments get neglected. Relationships faded. We cannot synch our clocks. No more watches. No more clubs. No more dinners. No more drugs. Then what we do to survive...sit yer ass down and hit keys. Self-pity? Please! We need motion not cold freeze. Express that shit needs expressing. Releasing. Catharsis? Just a Tease?

Maybe. Reason to exist? Certainly. Always. No Question. No fear. Laugh. Shed tears. Shout it out to anyone near. This is the truth. Accept no substitute. Tastes best with itself. Truth with truth. A wholesome meal. More than a steal. Always relative, sometimes changing, hard to define, exacerbating cultures, dis of the ease, trace z back to a, trace back to bronchii the economic deflation...dubbed like she sound...the wheeze. Serves her right, culture! Always tryin to come off as ‘fine’. Fucked up, insane, numb, emotionless. Probably headed to the liquor store for more scratchers. If theres none under the mattress, well, its time.

So what you oversaw trash removal. Think that sanctions your approval? Distasteful class warfare. Outzoned the other side of the tracks, logically concluded separation. Disassociation after your sugar crash. Insensitively calculated in your ledger = a wash. These sentients opposite you on the tracks. Where the realest of the real suffer hard facts. No ledgers or growth hormone growing. Planting seeds in asphalt cracks. Streets you cannot walk, hardly even drive. Sense of reality somewhere back in ‘85. One would statistically be wondering how you’re even alive!
Check your pulse. Nothing there! Your world? an unlucky few who drink mountain dew day and night just to keep up with you. Moving so fast you forgot your ID. Blurring around the edges....nothing there! command post = ergonomic chair.

Still we sentients here & now pray for you. we who are real and feel. We feel your pain is true. as anyones pain. Honored by us, this feeling you refracted, in your lightspeed leftover in search of that paper wherein written in someone we trust. In the end not the means. An army of legal easers keep your nose clean. by your smile you tell us your pain you have not claimed. We see it in your eyes. We hear it in your lies. We have compassion for you, sympathy extended, your posturing so defensive. Back to your grandios plan of internal audit: those parts of yourself you disown and then sue. The board will applaud it! For sure. Well, wait, the board is you.

Your egos on a holiday shopping spree. And you call your world free. Locked in your self-worth, with room service & amenities. And Lots of media distraction (keep at bay unconscious reaction). You got your poor self immobile, in traction. We pray for you, our prayer is powerful. If you believed in prayer, you would buy it by the So we pray for you to get well or get conscious. Not another infraction for shooting your mouth! The imprint you leave... egregious. your plan to extend nafta further south. Like to yucatan peninsula. Somewhere most Americans cannot locate on a map. So the media will take a nap, stopped by gps blockers. Beta swallowed by alpha, exits forever. Ecosystem will fail. Overcrowded will the jails. corporate rule of one-star countries. Demand Zagat new rating. Comp the countries like comping motels. So offensive and intended, cause lord knows the shit sells. ‘Controversy creation’ now a tangible occupation. The placating drone you replaced? It can be located in some den of iniquity, down the street, getting wired. Lets pray another drone is not sired. This model got old, ought to be retired. Controversy prevention, single minded. hard-wired. When you finally come to ground? Note to self: you are fired.

To be continued....

Friday, 8 January 2010

beatup lysdexic liadecticals

they beat ya up, they did and the do. you gotta brace yourself cause ya know anything might be possible, like they might even try and off your ass, great you you you, if you let your ego light up they probably aint gonna see you. cause then you blend right in, this city landscape of sin sin sin. hearts not made of love. hearts made of unmistakable second hand tin, rusty when cried on. bloody when bled on. the bleeding hearts is what they call some, and others they wont call, they just come right up, all twenty feet tall tall tall.

so what do ya do, little heart blue in the big urban mix? you gonna act like they wanna and take your lix? or you gonna run to the alley where the little ones get they fix? you gonna clean up your act for them? or just pretend? wear that silly bowtie you dumpster dived with the frayed ends? to appease the plastic gods of your newfound manufactured friends? so ya sold out, atleast now you got ends? is that what you thinking?

well look up now at the twenty foot tall, fly off the wall comin at ya with they swagger... take a closer look at the John Wayne replica stance. come on, now , show your courage, take you a chance. fuck the shower, save the water and try e baby powder for a change. activism to N N n n NTH degree brings you out the seams, no longer fit in those label jeans they wear, them machines. mach #1 in their automated limousines. fuck!

cant you see? see you can? you can see, cant you? see the machinery? beneath the silk chemise color of american cheese. orange yellow flexi-square they eat and then listen to the wheeze. the whir. where where they when you needed em, sir? madame? i hate to push your buttons but i already am. damn! you lost ya head? you wanna get dead? keep looking up at whats below. measure a robot by height of its nineteen foot afro. call a complete stranger your bro. call a complete girlfriend a ho. trick another trick at the show. when all the bs stops, your forward momentum still goes, fall on your ass so we know dont we know no we dont wanna no cause we knew you we once knew ya, loved ya. you changed.

amnesty. this is for lunch. just gotta digest it. change took us out there....change will bring it all back together. maybe what was torn apart or asunder, will reconnect sounding thunder. only hope only pray, that day that day that day! then we will have the rain wash away...all the dirty wiring they looped, that circuit city and gasket soup. we gonna repo your soul, with a lil co-op (eration) we gonna recoup whatevers left of ya. they gonna burn. burn sideways and long. maybe all night with their headlamps on, searching for ya as they made ya, in sade-istic fashion. body parts with autoparts they done mash together. til you was so gone. could not find ya. left us alone, over and left was it all, the worst of times and the best, we had together in our black leather beauty, brunette cutie. tryin tryin try. flyin crashin die. burn rubber and plastecene for fun. settin fires like a setting sun.

settin fires like a sun. like a settin sun. remember when you was one? they already had you. you was cold like tha winta moon, yo, so frigid you scared off dear Brigid. we told ya, i know, we told ya a lie! that Brigid had to go cause of her not cause of you. a simple little trick that so hella fooled you. sorry to admit it, we did it, ya did it. not proud of it. lyin aint nothing, aint shit. you dont deserve it, i mean it, mean it! we gotta give you amnesty. otherwise we aint shit, we aint free. how we wanna believe and always say we is, live free or die, New Hampshire true.

if we cant give to you, how can we expect amnesty too> we cant. this is true. so let our allowance be your path. let our compassion douse your wrath. let us draw you the finest most wonderful springwater bath. the bleach will be a sidenote. the longjohns keep ya warm. after said and done. after all. of that. can u make it then? four oclock sunday morning. before the world got us dawn, and yawning. awaken the heart and heed the ritual. can you. will you? feel it? feel?

the feelings came. not the same, not quite as before. the forgiveness steeped for a while, colored rapport. then eyes could look for long without pullin down. least that was what i knew while i was around. got out of myself, stopped worryin so. knew that what happens must happen for reasons i may never know. then when our fists hit air in the mouth. here was the truth! been gone the doubt! for awhile now since that day. 'i missed you mothers!' i heard him say. he was our brother, done gone away. taken, forsaken, treated unfair. only now could we face him and handle what we done. come to terms. made us feel young like when we last saw us. droppin right out - the hardness, the callous.

amnesty the robots they could not program, with or out, without a compatible alphanumeric wavelength, coded in like wormwood, for toxic intention, no good, no good. the corporate capital corridor caved. the immigrants side by side with the natives slaved. to make the land a land to live. to love the land. to love and give. the tweak and shock of electromagnetic digiform clocked about turtle on the real ones radar, when it came to meeting halfway they was on the bottom stair. fell right through the rotwood to air. into space that we left em, to bury themselves. reconstituted mangled coppertone stealth. we took them up carefully and took them apart, separated wires and used the pliers. we melted tin hearts in hearth of fires. the children played and danced before us. when the flames jumped you could hear em shout and cuss. damn you robots! poppin like corn. now you know how it feels to have your innards all torn up by the cookie cutter spatula mentality? of masquerading imposed harsh reality?

we was proud of our kids, no, really, we is. back to the moving of metals and elements, silver platinum imprints, etc. along to the underground rail down by station, the new rebellion gatherin up to save our sweet nation. lay down our lives if we must. to defeat the imperial nuclear family of faith, devoted to turning some more into copies of carbon, influenced by sayings and fear based jargon, codes red to spicy to fire, beware!...

(the natives with hearts they stand over there! with their feelings, intuition compassion, blank stares. so stupid and foreign, it make us all shiver. the patriarch feels nothing. just stands to deliver. the truth? dont be worried. we create it, its glory! we just go back and rewrite the whole story. the past is gone and not to be honored. the moment is now, to be enforced and monitored!)

well this is how i reckon they talk to themselves. i dont really know. or care to, its true. i just wanna do something reckless. or foolish. who knew? because then i remember im making mistakes. and learning from them. thats how to live, for chrissakes.

im sorry for cussing and gettin all worked up.
here, take a sip, i offer my cup.

**image used with permissions...see link

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

not taste, sound, sight, or smell...and hopefully its touching

The continuum of this life was remarkable when the tape was cut out to rep this moment in time. If we dive into this into the marrow of this life we can see out from it as a hologram, expansive for us to take in the whole life in a moment. Of course this must be impossible! And how American in its very impossibility. So here it is, and understand that the vision comes gray not black and white. You are the one allowed full freedom to choose how you interpret it. Just be aware that your feeling is yours and yours alone. Unique. Possessed. Owned. Created. Produced. Directed. Edited. Faded...still untouched, still virgin. wild but far from pure. not dirty but spontaneous and so impulsive and reactive. a chemical experiment highly volatile and quite a rush! deep searching of eyes. attune to energy. letting go, to embrace. dawn and lace. up all night touching base.

Falling asleep at seven am after a night of making love. All night making love. Really rising, their spirits. but falling was manifest too. like a breathe. Falling in love. Scary at times cause you lose control. And the relationship is powerful and you feel it so many ways. the light, wow, so many rays. Rising and rising. find the ground again before taking off again.

Making love was a side effect on the DL. no one complained. the doctors were clueless. remarked upon coloring and affect brightness in their notes. Real feelings. so overwhelming, but powerful if you let them flow through you, all this exchange of energy and words between sharing of silence. Boundaries were set and pushed around, then placed carefully where both could see them. So much effort to get across the distance between bodies. So much ease holding one another. Hoping to listen but so easily distracted by music and rhythm of twenty ten America. Urban recipe. Too many choices all the fucking time. Long ago walked off the straight line they chalked out for you to walk out and into space. No. you chose to get lost, and the fog is your companion. Hydrates you at times, hides you from yourself in painful times. You share the general story, outside the specifics. You share the valuing the story over the specifics. Red flags fall to ground. Green flags rise up. Caution is not thrown to the wind. Caution is carried like essential water.

Strange shit went down in this self-defining mad moment! Waking up at noon in your bed in your room and lost global memory subsequently affiliated with sex. This is what is referred to in medical circles as 'transient global amnesia'. Caused by high blood pressure which often results from sex. medical circle sanctioned. which may or may not lend it credibility. which may or may not matter. which therefore will probably be worked over a great deal to pass the free unstructured time that we all consciously pursue & subconsciously dread.

This was the first time you ever remembered having amnesia. Very scary. (would you remember your amnesia?) You could not remember where you worked, who you lived with, what you were supposed to do on this unknown day of the week...this left you so vulnerable feeling you failed to speak just tried to catch your breath. was it running away? within five minutes orientation x4 had come to roost. place, time, thing, situation all became known or remembered. breathe easy. He had gone from attunement to separate selves so to come in and help you from the outside. He accomplished this with compassion unlimited.

Wonderful gentle and comforting words and touch from the one whose looking after you, someone you love and who loves you. more and more this seems through and through. there is a greater force at work behind it, you both know. still the choice is often easy to be so close and put aside reservations and the many important if not critical matters of life that cannot possibly reach the island of full devoted attention that love in its infancy both represents and requires. The energies aligned and the touch was divine. nothing was really fine. most of it was extremity and creation... being intimate, letting go, contracting, expanding, exploding, suntanning in the sacred space filled with light and waves. They are non finite like this, so they carry you away now...(continuation is inevitable)