Sunday 30 May 2010


this is not the end, my friend, this is only you

staring up against yourself in the non reflection of light, screened, edited, popcorn scattered everywhere...empty chair working on the empty chair. and in the hall no more echos, in the theatre only one more hall, you know where this is going, so do i, just admit it. its eco-container afterlives we fear and avoid, and saved by the same is what we will be. like water pulling back at the tree

how we carry it sometimes, the fear, the embedded original wide eye not seeing... act more like the coon the hunter thinks he's  treeing. Trapped? nowhere to go? when all we do every do is continue to move change resist til we gotta surrender. only the deepest roots pulled will they render

the darkest secret? anti oxidant of anti oxidant, the real solution of solvent? solve the mystery you made up, with collective madness of arching, back slacking of the rope when youre tired, when youre complacent, when your next child B nascent?

the plume of creative thought has risen over the factory laden london, of deep dreamy milky scenery, of your mind from your novels from your newsprint, from what they told you on a rainy day, from what you chose to learn and what you chose not to discern... far from the gutteral knowing of the yearning of the stern parent portending the future, pretending to suture up the hole in your whole time space continuum

pretentious fabricating of letters like scarlet, you turned her out the notorious harlot...

she wanted to turn swan to swan dive just to survive, cause her pure as white hit the ground cold with ice and the two had to unite. what a sight. cold and hot. beggars got. the meal, the match, the key to unlatch ties to nobility, then onward cultural senility and silence, anything preferential to moribund violence...

lets not mention the beauty of tension. lets tame it with tea, or some allegory. about the tree of knowledge. what grand foliage! how pretty. the words bouncing because we're so witty. here kitty here kitty! she calls so bizarrely, she who walks her big dogs and walks right around me. because she thinks she knows, and what she thinks is enough i guess. less to hold the line, no confrontation, no stress. just the invalidation that seeps across the nation, turning colors to sepia tones and interlacing all the button hole eyes with cotton plastic twist to cries...

so? will it take less time to lace up to your thighs? what once was irreverent, now steamrolled as lies. god must be a man, aint that right boys?  guys? to a room full of women steady eating his steam:  "no way motherfucker! go screw with your team. we got our periods out there. strict boundary waters, dont cross now. your whole planned agenda is like offal and tossed. your teeth we have traced them back to the gumline, we know you just said you would, and never really flossed. the world gets a root canal to dig any deeper. we're sending back the cell phones, man."

just give them their beepers. and ferme la bouche, is what you will promise when you go down to caves  douched with green tea. whats a paradigm shift so pleasant to us...

to you?
au revoir

Wednesday 19 May 2010

erotica: in response to an admirer

she fronts real hard, tough, aggressive, but her smile gives away the suburban kinda field hockey tight kinda upbringing behind the shade of the shallow skirts they wore then... a distant memory now she rocks the metro urban kinda look, sportin fun tights with leopard print capri length, and down her ivory calf where she felt his pinky finger draw a heart or something which touched her, of course, shes moody, not always smiling anymore cause shes gotta be real as she can be... still, life is fun, life is a blast.... depending on the diverse cast and unxpected... like the finger sent chills, and she could not wait til it rose up and under hipster type style panties, no cellulite and no fantasy, young and chi chi with the energy sensitive, mystic, and perenially she wore tennies, no socks, and submissively curved her spine on top to drop on hard cock herself -- sans panties.

Tuesday 18 May 2010

snake venom - ex - pink giftwrap heart

we gotta start somewhere... so commence here... with the feeling, the feeling  in her (and all about, so strong a penetration both within and without),  the feeling turned on and lit up  -*- sparkle clean -*- like the 20watt transparency of light with fangs sautered on, to metal posts conduct the host,  sunk in tight...half full...tilt of cup

All for the juicy metallic taste you dont wanna miss... (unless you would shy from deliciousness itself) of a ripe half-century old american standard wall outlet... those old general electric televisions with matching postbellum deux de monde..... hair curlers all neatly up in a row like bombs awaiting their drop from a generic saab diesel powered alphabet city B one two three and you can choose destruction? or a fall from a height so high you feel in your stomach the sudden drop?

well so can we. whistle in your pipe, concussion force. is the real deal, aint no hype, no adware spyware, dont nobody care for us in the marketing industry, selling stepford pussy? -*- meow! lets get busy! jet from the maniac spinning out in his cadillac, yes sir, swerve to the left he almost hit it i swear!

to be continued...stop and stare .... -*- 

Monday 10 May 2010

home became homeless part deux

continued..... out of the country vineyard wealth many were cast...those who had not yet graduated from Napa State  got put on long buses heading south to urban life, San Francisco...some came to rest in Tenderloin houses halfway meeting their needs...addictions rolled out red carpets, self-medicating feeds.

california she did her best to care for them all. gave them a place in a city where they could coexist. sealed with a golden gate kiss.

for this we thank her, california the sweet. with hands grasping out from 3 point restraints, and kicking of feet. her economies had no scale, always delivered fresh, never stale, consider silicon valley hitting quality of life, direct to your doorstep like the mail.

So when she found that she was homeless, her vineyards she did seek, got drunk off her own land, solar winds left her weak in her dustbowl.  Her fog become smog, no grass without rain, the seals out at seal rock just bitch and complain.
Gave too much of herself, dear miss california. tossed from like to dislikes, or no one could afford her...she was destined to wash up on shore hypothermic. Wasted of energy and dried by the sun, she crawled through the valley, holding out her dry tongue. Nevada then took her clothes and her jewels off her skin, through bright Vegas lights saw wealth from within.
No matter how its told, or in what light its remembered, the truth will be told come every December. This beauty toward which dreams were aimed, she then made. Offered up from stark midday hot landscapes some shade. Farewell to her native sons she gracefully bade. They had the biggest part of her, her heart she confided.  The dreams that once sifted at sunset through toes in salt water, she buried them deep in the Donner pass snows.

For those who made landscaped of tenement type brothels, she let loose the spirits from her land something nasty.  Her timing was immaculate, just after dinner unwinding... when auras are susceptible, even more so with moonshine. The native ancestry came into their eyes, and the Europeans paced off and turned, aimed and fired. This is what happens when honor is not shown, when purveyors set on profit built bars over bones.

She thought they had learned, having traversed all dangerous territory and lived on to tell it. Nor did she deprive them of anything;  gave them all of it. She even unclasped her blouse to stranger, and hung tit. Not a thought preceded it. And her tragedy played out like her life, very simple. She who was home to so many, so freely....She who once gave shade and water, to point of no ending? for pack animals and coyotes from hills down descending. Her hands always outstretched, her neck always bending?

she, the maternal source divine, powerful and clean as the source of river....
she who the traveler of any place and any time,
exclaimed in various tongues 'so blessed to find'....
and to think, matters not, no thought can explain,
how this one so selfless could suffer the same?

She the source, she the home...

she died in despair,
without home

Sunday 2 May 2010

the very home became homeless, i swear

i wished her a great day.... i wished all her anxiety fall away.... there she was quite firmly floating, anchored by her depression in monterey bay.... california herself (not the girl representing the state, mind you, but the state herself) (and in what a state she was!), smoking on a Jay, not ten minutes prior to fresh press suggesting she legalize the hay.

poor california, i heard she gone bankrupt.... last year heard tell she was burned real bad down south, the fires licked her sides. poor california, she holds so much , she cares for so many, she forgets herself. everyone gravitates to her, asking, begging, pleading for her help, her support, or just a look their way to know that someone cares. the downcast from cities that dont care so much as her, often make that desperate move west to come within her dominion. she listened patiently to all the same stories, crying off the same onion passed around to the next waiting in line. or else the tears came as a fronted jag half past a magnum of wine.

They all kissed her ass then, as i would now. No wonder she was down, everything she predicted came to bear, the state had become so small like a desert town. Dear dear miss fair, miss golden hair and bear. will you ever find time to hibernate again? maybe in the empty paper strewn classrooms where you tried to teach so many packed in with the afternoon sunlight, in the evenings. maybe in the vacant former forests now charred & open fields. what you give so precious. even more so now, what with reduced crop yields.

what ever happened to your gold that we panned? gone west to find fortune, just as we planned? your infrastructure failing and falling down when the earth quakes, the nights unpredictable chills cause your natives shakes.

can sacramento save you, sweet boo? what about the dry skin drought you went through? carrying your water all the way from the sierras up north of saint francis down to sea level, drained by LA and dripping slowly into the mouths of the san diegans (mostly adopted sons and daughters of the Reagans).
Well that was it, that got a rise out of her, for sure, for sure. She knew it would, and so did I, its the package deal of politics, the always keeping score. She lifted her head right off wyoming, and bumped right into Oregon.  She touched her tongue to air, and tasted lick of Portland. The taste was not good, not good at all. If California tasted so, that would signify great decline. The rain they got up north up there, Ken Keseys acid and still not fine.

She went into her diatribe, her monologue, her lost girl vibe. Dare to say 'no fair!' when salt is all remains to give? (her words disjointed like the spot around Big Sur where she twists but not alot. Then beeline to LA for lids, from early aging pharmaceutical kids. Avocado lotteries excluding food stamped bids. while all the hours that can make up thirty or more years, all the grief all the tears (she continued), drowned out below the cheers you gave our photogenic future president from the past? cowboy savior in the shadow of the duke? and typecast? better think harder, better think fast. Say no to drugs, it wont be your last. Easily said between healthy red cheeks and handkerchief wrapped around his neck. Say no to drugs and watch out everybody! Red Dawn is rising! now when i say Boo! just hit the deck. Give me money, let fear write the check.

She was clearly obsessed with Reagan, years after Reagans gone. This is where her illness became more than just a phenomenon. Dare we say an earthquake hit her? Would this be her swan song? Oh California, please dont leave me! where will i stay when you split in two and float out in the sea? Alas, i knew what to do to protect sanity, and boiled myself one more cup: green tea. this aint Arabian nights, but if you want part 2, youre gonna have to wait and see.       To B Continued...