the child

O wide awake in America, big sky highway hollowing out the ears predawn, cut me like a cookie and may i taste good too, share myself with you and you and you, sweet sugar has me processed in dreams and tumbled out a foamy bed into my own personal despair, sliding down the inner sanctuary of a question mark to collect and drop whole you made of me, sweet sugary period, plastic in my blood, pharmaceuticals in my water, disaster strikes and i lick my lips like you and smile, but no one smiles like we do, upside down or kinda flat, tethered to the mobile phones we kill by our deep sleep, counting ringtones like sheep, shearing and swiping the hell out of an alphabet, on a jazz or classical base as the temperature begins to rise with the sun, another day washing dishes and dusting and cutting boxes the perfect size to ship my ass away to some infernal packaging depot to be fitted with my personal bar code, my very own, which is linear and bold, impervious to black mould, scanned or so I'm told, taped then situated in some draughty unremarkable corner in the cellar of a warehouse to grow old. All i know is no one can erase me even if they try, I am forever etched into your hard drive, America, no matter how the cleaners cleanse, efforts to coat me over bleach me out only leave my prominent lines bubbling up from the cracks and surfacing again with all the gasses, grilling the faces of the masses ordering me around, yet still i stay aloft in my dissociated safe place way up high, finding me in a cut up creatively commoned place looking down, streaming on your horizon, only the light protects us now in our projections. Back out where I belong, some ionic bond, trashing your paint job with my spraypainted flare, exposing your destination to the going nowhere, breaking out the bars when i decode the code, fingering you with my fingerprint, America, until you see your own stars and go black and white again, from Birmingham to Ferguson, up the checker board and Martin Luther King you at the end, redoubled on a chance, green felt absorbs your glance in a healthy tribal casino where all the bad blood is blue, you see, the karmic knot we work it out, massage it real well, strike it with needles until you finally falter, sweet vulnerable America shedding your suit, crying and opening like that before the seamstress. And my lines are out of order, spinning into circular pools fallen stars, and the many shades of blue wash over me and you, when the world forgives and finds a place in the heart for a renewable source, because somehow you were always meant to be pleasant on the eyes, America, and generous though talkative and combative perhaps, you wear out your welcome in a superfluous way, and everyone has a good laugh and pats you on the head, for you are the child and loved just the same. Back to bed now with prayers, and we will see you in the morning, the rubbing of eyes, tumbling down stairs in your nightgown, little one, big sky highway musculature, heavy with some imagined purpose, dreams of carbon and oxygen and coffee churning blue to black in post industrial aftermath, shining oily head to toe, shedding another skin, inspiring us with your renewals. I will be there, my love, somewhere in the corners of your eyes, sucking on Maybelline, about to exit the glistening curve and drop unseen into your wilderness... where i have always belonged.

The lost of lost weekends (revisited)

Lost of Lost Weekends

My friends, my close friends, my less than close friends, my new friends and old ones, the loved ones, the tough ones, the tests we endure, the balance of days coming together.  Then the sun rises, again, and you find one another, and stand by and cry and try to find the heart, and it comes so natural like a Lexus start, clean and quiet, eyes meet eyes in subtle surprise; the things unsaid, the weight like lead... falling off your shoulders. And now your older, and see it to contextually, in the texture of the connection, see? And the sublimation occurs, two hearts collide, energy synch dream! Friends seldom seen and then it's like a dream again. Seen again. But why so far apart? You fight it, stomping your feet til the dust comes up. The trust come up and recede again, like the lost of lost weekends -- a painful trend

left you wishing and crying for more, feeling the living and dying, feeling right down to your core. It hurts but it means something, too. So be there in spirit, you say it, you mean it! I can lose the colloquilism, touch the vernacular, turn it inside out and make it spectacular. This will work at any distance, like quantum physics, like a system. The charges we send us, like photons the light moves. The energy hits airwaves you catch on your itunes. The paradigm keeps shifting its tectonic plates. The dishes they fall on the floor we explore, find out what we are made of. The texture, the real thing, we thirst and manifest and burst on the scene. Listen and you may hear it. The tear. The salt. The water. So simple, like tide rush cool over your feet in the sand! The way we understand one another, like a sister, like a brother. This is a rush cause its true: your family is those who mean something to you.

flipping electrons

Get your red hots!
here
red hots!
here

we are serving 
them up!

unilaterally
premier quality
serving them
up!

flour and butter
bubbling 
up!

from the pan
from the soul
it's out of control!

on a red hot 
platter
of global 
flambeau!

the ground 
quaking
the consciousness
waking

red hots! 
come and get 'em
they're good 
they are
whole

a paradigm
a dozen!
get one 4 your
cousin!

flipping electrons
from minus to 
plus

from nyc
to cali
across all seven
seas. by bus!

someone come
some one
come

rescue
us

please

if they knew her, they might kill her

if they knew her, they might kill her. a truth was spoken, and framed on either end by profound silence. then the outpouring of recoil, reaction of the heart.

but why might one be known and then killed? and one so exquisite as her. this flower, she was known and, by those so fortunate to have her within reach, celebrated! is it not the unknown that scares us so and causes violent reaction? tell us, what trespass was hers, to inspire the terrible cide of her?

wait, wait! slow down. know that she has not been killed. such is the way. arise and fall. arise, float, fall. arise, peak, celebrate and be celebrated, descend, return to essence. therefore, you see, all is well! let not the hypothetical offered cause you to suffer yourself. rather become curious and receive what is simply proferred. open hands to open minds. feel this possibility and learn from our feeling. rather than question and analysis, i ask that you feel your way through the concern. feel how such violence has been fulfilled before her, against kindred spirits of hers. and maybe yours? feel this darkness which will be fulfilled again on this earth, no doubt. in this paradigm equal parts dark and light. understand through feeling, if you can. i am saying as i am going, for neither do i know the source nor the destination. only the journey. gently travel the path if you can, or else shut down as you must and walk away. you are or are not ready. whatever is, is okay.

we may become allies of her as we are allies of the principle. defend her as she is known, as we defend the knowing of our own true spirits! we must push our efforts to great and courageous heights, if we are to realize the paradigm shift by which such atrocities may be known as issue of a darker age, years upon years from now! the shift of all things is natural, yet not without effort and courage and open hearts.

about her....mmmmm... well, words cannot describe. she was a stubborn monster at times. a straight up bitch and took it on when you called her one, head held high as she laughed... and what you gonna do about this bitch? not like she was not herself. ha! she was. she was quiet and thoughtful and sensitive to all the worlds sufferings. she was all and whole herself in the world and her spirit danced small light by which others might keep warm if they were cold or lonely. need only look in her eyes to find refuge. mmmm.

she was mainly loved by her kind, yet also by those who embraced her kind as another gift worth receiving in the world. altogether they were a sad minority of a world that made sense of life through binary systems created via rudimentary labeling. they typed and printed adhesive tape with words identifying most everything. and if it was not black it was white, not male then female, not poor than rich, not old than young, not sad then happy. everything got a label. and once labeled, could be identified in a way that pleased the lazy creators of the rudimentary system and all of its subjects.

among the masses numbered hundreds of thousands of those who could not make room for the multicultural, those who could not make room for difference, who could not abide diversity, who failed to offer amnesty, thumbed their nose at confidentiality, ran screaming from delicious silence (aka the sacred spaces between), those who learned the language of isms, suffered phobias carried close to the breast and vest, found strength through violence of speech, action, physical and emotional controlling, etcetera, etcetera. you can feel the low lying dying generic battery vibration of the lot. can you not? mmm. if it makes no sense, let it! if it does, you may feel pleasure. but pleasure is not all there is. discomfort often reaps a harvest comfort cannot. suffering is part of the living, if you want to live a full glass of water.

what with the simply conceived systems of the world, all could be generally well with some exception. the exceptional could be exactly that, and of less value, lacking critical mass. tape a label on them, these exceptionals, label them cheap goods! maybe not fair, but its a lie the system could tolerate, or so it thought. the system was unaware that, systemically thinking, one lie proliferates to a point where truth and lies dance together and cannot be surely told apart. such a desperate situation breeds confusion and distrust and manipulation, which leads toward a clinging to naive ideas of good and bad and then more inaccurate labeling, then grief and displacement, violence and death. the nature of things we all know if we search ourselves. do you feel me? am i not getting under your skin, for good or bad? ha! maybe none of the above. maybe ego gets in the way. maybe you question me and i and take what you need and leave the rest, sadly for me, my ego gets smaller in the distance. only feeling remains. single tear drop in parting becomes the ocean it falls into. about her again.

she was one of the exceptionals. also one of the exceptions, and so minoritized in the system. she would have to suffer, it was decreed by the simpletons who policed the dictates without question. so she went along fighting and showing compassion and suffering in the system yet still happy to exist on the skirts of lovely lady liberty, if not in her arms like the comfortably numbed. she found a path to her own heart, and there without did she rise out of exception. yet she remained exceptional, just those in main streams were unable to find a label for her, which made them highly uncomfortable. for what was she if not a known quantity, true or false? she was something not to be fucked with! was what she would tell them if they threw their discomfort at her feet like they did.

Fortune shined upon her! she just so happened to adapt naturally to binary expectations. or rather her location on some continuums she traveled across on a daily basis, were invisible or not seen by those who preferred not to see anything other than black and white. so she was not unknown, nor was she known, at the beginning and end of each and every moment in time. kinda like a chameleon, if a chameleon could time travel. she always smiled when she thought to herself or in circles of her kind, if they knew me, they might kill me! The smile was discongruent with the thought, which only added more fire, ice or water to her vibration in the world. such a vibration could not be measured. just felt all around the world and beyond mundanity. beyond fucking profanity. past right and wrong. just a feeling all of creation felt, and the tremor shook the everyday at the seams and sublimated the area with mass hysteria. blao! like the tao! how ya like it now?