Thursday 28 July 2011

old one dreadlocked unfinished

Love. What was this word love and her many repetitions, her various meanings to diverse peoples. Her attachment to some individuals, while others she out right eluded for always. Never could be bought yet always on the auction block in the world. A craigslist listing would offer her for four twenty? A toss-up for maryjane? A friendly exchange of goods for goods, goods for greats, goods for goddesses, cheap plastic sacks of chemical crapwrap - passion plays minutes or hours only long...

 Short the patience required for the real. u like it? u dont? 
 shit, your aura is looking droopy. i see a kinda pale dripping teal. 
 Didya get downsized? from the belly of the whale to an elephant seal         sunning for your comfort all day at the wharf. barkin to keep the oxygen circulating through your scrawny sidesteppin grille....  nah! 

Step to the truth of this kind of sadness...manifest in cities and suburbs and rural surrealities, all across your gentrified former farms and unharnessed lands, no one can remember anymore. Step to the sad truth of this soon forgotten game catch of love within the more controllable context of lust and self-marketing fueled by loneliness and greed, fear and need. Fear and need. Loneliness. Greed -- step out. 

Witness the watchers (who witness too) cold in the eyes unable to blink. Refused to look away from tragedy. Greco-roman perfectionism-ready.
Now they never will and where love resides so also reside the watchers for eternity and possibly past times running downtown, too. Even the thought of such visions in hell took the thinkers of the thoughts to emotional lows rarely recovered. 

In rare cases (usually antisocial or sociopathically labelled) such emotional descent might be succeeded by rising titrated blood tides. For whom love may as well suffer only the hour the sunset tapers... to the moment of cold dawn frozen in the face of a dying star - - -
mad & red
this - - -
         mad red sunrise

Monday 11 July 2011

so sepia-toned

Sometimes i just am doing my thing and im feeling alright, ya know, alright about life and what its all about, ya know, all the drama that continues to come up on us, all the patriarchy and patriotism, all the capital pursued by the capitalisms, all the hate pervaded by the heterosexisms and the racisms... all hat shit that forms the context of our lives, yet not the foundation of our beings. always i come back upon the sugar melody sweet and simple. safe. needing not. like the man who picks guitar on a train, on the spot.
photo/edit by Katya 

sometimes that scum just floats up above and though it fogs my vision of the sky above, at least i can swim in pure waters deep below, the waters of my deep meditative yearnings, far from any fears of homelessness secondary to flat zero no earnings...more like looking at the smooth side of the spoon, gaze up at the fullness of the moon on my empty sorta stomach, god i wish sometimes i had him back, i wish sometimes i did not need to keep those photos i edited made and treasured that show up sometimes on a sky drive slide show or in the mix when im trying simply to raise a beat or catch a flow...

cause my feelings are so fuckin intense they become dangerous. i can get so heated i am losing my voice trying to tell you what i mean cause you dont seem to understand me, and then its like on and on and im trying to convince myself that i know who i am, when the truth is more complicated and flux...the past and the present and future, the darkness getting lighter, like lux.

redux. back to simplicity. back to the beginning, please, or that moment when i really knew or really thought i knew what was up with this world these people the merchants the soldiers, the widows, the yearning earners, the five-- ohhhh! what i must look like to the law? twice arrested, twice confessed it, lost my drivers license the first time for a second, back in florida twelve or so years dont wanna really know!

but this time, this last time, the second time, jail house named after a Saint? dragging my finger across the chipped paint? Cell walls, remembering by force how it feels to be free of cellular phones and receiving half the time dealers half the time collectors calls. dead air in there. silence at night and pretty gospel voices raising the sunless space, comin out harmless like a song but really truly full of fight....against the brokers of insensitivity and protocols lacking all creativity. the measured drip of impersonal uncaring powers that be? powers that see to it that if you dont know youre nothing, well then now you know.

Of course i fought it too in my own way, facing some heavy feeling depressed cornered suffocated and scared tired yet holding myself up with whatever attention i got left to let the others know im not shy, no -- im forward. 4 ward i was , with the powers and the powerless in there, the binary quite pronounced, so i ducked down when i could, lying on my top bunk white sheet, one pillow, one beat, mystery meat, the girl who got two pillows has skin the color of wheat. shes pretty. some chick on  a bottom bunk not far away is eyeing me. while im eyeing this natural wheat colored chick.  i like her too.

the doors opened for me. they do again and again. they will 4 you.  i got accustomed to what was a pattern but not irreversible not etched into some semipermanence. this luck i had as my birth right, right? Well, no one in the saints house over here cares what rights you might claim by birth, nah, they will stop you so you better shift your weight and realign your height as you bow. Bow to those who never had nothing really, or did and saw it gone in october, and part of them died and fell off like the leaves in the fall...

 doors opening, and i can see in my own knowing that the doors may be closing more and more like they have and must, and i need only open my eyes to the loves of my life and embrace them and have prayer and faith for the coming of the lux the light. in presence of my continued ongoing inexorable fight. in the presence of my continued seeing something thats truly out of sight. i can open the blinds in this moss avenue apartment and look past the compound the medical kaiser is constructing, look past whose right and whose wrong, look past the past and my love unrequited. look forward to more of this freedom i have to be alone or get it together, to go out and earn it or stay home and do my makeup...

a shade darker. a shade heavier. more green. less blue. more brown. getting it. a clue. this is time and time has not hold but yes the form we take, the styles we make, the way we show up --- lets hope its not apocryphal, not a front, not a cardboard cutout. not fake. you remember? when you were so sepia-toned
photo/edit by Katya
like the time when... the time when..... when you did what you did not want to do when the double negatives got ya. that would also be the time B4...the time B4..... B4 lux. b4 light showered upon you and yours, us and ours, theirs and theirs, mine and my world, yours and your world, their world the third world? its all one world and fresh world, new world without order but earth everywhere. sky everywhere. water is rising. so rise up! rise up! in your fortune, your misfortune, and do what needs be done. okay? never let the double negatives double up on you like they did me for so long.

stay true. stay clear. my dear! stay strong.
this is dedicated to Desiree. i love you.