Journal # 03.28.15

My desires do not much understand or care for what I need. I watch my desires float around and I keep them on a kite string. One of them wants me to find a partner. To get into relationship and sex. That one is way up there where the wind never dies. Tugs at me. Usually when I see the magic that happens between couples. I mean, the way they look after one another. It's not very often I see this, but when I do it makes me smile. It makes me happy. I don't need anything from it. Nothing. I don't need nothin' from it.  I'm gonna express how I feel. And no one can do nothin' about it. I don't live in Putin's Russia. Whose gonna forgive all the dictators of the world who ever silenced free expression? Not me. I cannot forgive them. Forgiveness... that's another one I flew out on a string. It's just nosedived into another tree. Yesterday it nosedived into someone's dachsund, and the bloody metal point came like a dagger back into the sky. The dog, unresponsive on the pavement. The urge to kill somebody. To kill a murderous genocidal dictator. Up on a string. A dagger in the air. My desires do not much understand or care for what I need. I let them out into the sky, up on many a string. There was once one that got away from me. That one was the desire to manufacture my mood. It came up and out of nowhere, and gave me the power to control how I felt. I never wanted to feel blue. So I didn't for a long time. This one we call addiction. It got away from me, and sucked all the blue out of the sky. The sky was surreal and white. And bright. So bright I could not see. I could not see my desire anymore, camouflaged as it was to the sun. All I knew was I held the paper tube with the string hanging torn to the ground, and knew something was wrong. Then the white kite came charging like an off-white knight and the blade cut me down right in the street. Lying dead like the dog on the pavement. Bleeding from my head. All my other desires got away from me for a while. Nobody came for a while. I was surprised. Nobody retrieved my kites. Nobody wanted anything to do with me. They walked past and pretended not to look. Or they stared from afar. The other ones whose desires got away from the before, came to pick me up and dust me off and bandage my head. But the bandage was no good. Because the sky turned the deepest blue. You could not tell it from the sea. And the sky and the sea became one. Under a heated, urban sun. And I walked blindly along, bumping into street signs and lamps, feeling my way along the mortar between bricks to the edge of any building. Praying to god I would make it on the inbetween. And the sea was there taking me underwater and I was drowning. Only once I learned to use my primordial gills, to breathe underwater, could I accentuate my pain and really grope my way back to the truth. My desires do not care much understand. Only I can care for myself in the end. Then people see that. They come back around, when you start asking for help. When you start forgiving, and start forgiving yourself, too.

identity theft

Home. eleven hundred hours
symphonic birds.
eleven thousand drops of local rain.
my blood stains the inside of my skin.

my fingerprint I print it.
i scan it into my computer.
i post it, like a fool.
it got reshares. links.
i get plussed i get
non-plussed.

cross my heart i
hope to live. 

Someone stole my identity. how could they?
Someone stole my identity. who am I?
My fingerprint pressed into glass. my labyrinth
I cannot translate myself to me. must learn braille.

I get down on my knees
and pray but who am I
praying I know who I am
praying to and toward 
dear God!

Someone stole my identity.
They will get caught and go to jail.
With my identity.
That's me! In jail? Oh no!
I am innocent!
I swear!


The kindred spirits call.
Jim Morrison walks on down
the hall. He sees me at the end, or
I see him but who am I?
some consumer of the doors
my ego falls four floors.


Work.
I work it, girl.
I go, girl, go girl. who am i?

am i worth my weight in
gold I feel so
old I know I am too
young to feel so old.

Kurt Cobain has a shotgun in his mouth.
toe searches for the trigger.
a hooded bone, numb and blunted, searching for a way out.

Don't do it!
Here we are now.
Entertain us.

Courtney Hole fell in one.

Pablo Escobar went down fighting.
They named a chocolate bar after him.
Called it esss-co-bar.
It was made from 50% cacao.
50% co-cai-een.

Without yourself, you can do anything with
you. You can shoot speedballs in your arms and legs,
and between your toes.
Hooded bones. Groping for a trigger.
Blind in the alleyways of life.
Searching for a way out.
Going down fighting.

Fallen into holes.
Dancing poles.
Gone down.
Fighting.
Toes.

Someone stole my identity.
It took five years to get it back.
Many letters to the bank.
Trying to restore my credit.
Actor out on loan.
To the head. Cellular phone.
Lick the bone.
Clean.

Fingerprinted.
Clean.

Ready to work. again.
eleven hundred hours
symphonic birds. blood stains.
it was me. again.
someone stole my identity.
eleven thousand drops of local rain
someone stole my identity...

it was me