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...

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