cold war on ice

Hi, i am the States, your distant cousin. remember me? you used to like me for my blue jeans and my cowboys and maybe even my coca-cola, and my Hollywood stills, and my D-to-the-V-Day march as your Ally. You weren't so fond of my fast food and how i was secretly recording you, or my global subliminal influence, or my secret missions to throw money and guns at some fine one with more my interest at heart than yours. Once you seat him in office, watch him kiss my beloved ass. i am the States and i'm still All Wall Street and a walking contradiction. Catch me beaming over Putin's recent remarks, you know how he called me the only superpower. Sure, he's about as appealing as a nuclear warhead with nowhere to go, but it's nice to know i haven't been throwing my weight around the pond for nothing since we put the cold war on ice. LOL. Speaking of ice - does everyone in Europe still drink our diet cokes at room temperature? So bizarre! But so long as you buy. Hello high fructose corn syrup! Who else can boast a cash crop made of air and bubbles and caramel color, with the preservative fortitude to withstand the end of the world? A real punch to the kidney, eh? you know you can't get enough of me. if i hadn't created the internet, we wouldn't be face-timing and you'd be feeling lonely like Queen Cameron, Brexit the stage, just in time for Wimbledon and her lovely lazy summer days dressed in white and all polite, left to graze the green grass while the markets recover and come to your mother, ya me, over here, with a ring in your ear and a sleeve up your sleeve, superpowering the jetstream to blow you away.

LOVE POTION #K

love potion no. K

I was in the laboratory, minding my own business and yours, when all of a sudden that eureka moment came hurtling from space to earth, half-burning up in its double wide flavor, five-lane atmosphere pressure pull. I pounced immediately upon it, before it could scurry away into the recesses of some famous French cave, whose drawings of stick figure animals shall be preserved to the end of human time only. I cupped my mind around it like a cat claw trap upon a squeakmouse.

A large question mark took form in a gasping vexation of breath out my pores. My entire organism shook. This created just enough room for the object, not yet become subject (or subjected to my personal universe of great darkness and fragmented light), to slide into a crack, in the unwaxed and unpolished (and rather rough from wear) mahogany floor, which had suffered the weight of me for one too many months in this place, my self-described laboratory. All I felt (other than insatiably unanswered in pursuit of my less than scientific inquiry) was an increase in space beneath my mental tendrils, which were left groping about like a suddenly blind sea anemona in atrophic waters, abandoned for good by an ungrateful school of single file clown fish with genetically mutated pioneering tendencies.

My object, my dear sweet eureka, escaped my grasp! No! I cried, reducing my own equation to expletive tears.I dropped to my knees, then fell to the floor and my whole body collapsed like a dying star.

Then, after a few horrendous moments of breathless wonder, something magnificent happened! That which I had been pulling and pushing and groping and gnashing my teeth to capture and consume, with the bully gravitas of a desperate Putin in Ukraine, suddenly unfolded itself to my surrendered spirit, like the most beautiful of flowers set free in the sun! Love potion no. two thousand, seven hundred, sixty two (dot) infinity.

some freedom for sale. a limited edition

Static. to think
with the heart in
the stillness

on the axial
tilt of the earth

some freedom
appears there
an inkblot montage

static. revelations
appear

it's a real
          tangible
           responsibility
 our freedom

i found
  the founding
               fathers

static.
automatically
engaged with it

it's a limited edition
decidedly precious stone
rare bling

i'm American
it's all i have left in
         control of
      my mind...
maybe

motion. awash in
permalink
          heartbeat
rhythms

star thistle
cat whistle
metro the metric
electric

foster freeze
the heart sees
Ukraine...
awash in tumultuous seas

static. the
commotion.
electric black sea meets the
ocean

static. the heart sees
Korean seas. black
listed
to the lees

awash away
- sanction squeeze -
a few hundred
obedient
kids

walking on walls
saying goodbyes
laughing at gravity

south of no northern
selfie mentality

orders
and lies

pro-Russian forces
Putin divorces
too far away
is the world

the audio feed
ambrosia the mead
incongruence grows like a weed

'remain in your seats'
it's nothing at all
just put your head
over your feet

orders
and lies
there's no surprise
someone is saving an ass

enough tears
to fill the place

labor day marches
communist flags
any creed
any race
any face
just no fags


red square
nowhere
pink triangle
tilt

pussy riot
flowers won't wilt
all thanks to Georgia
O'Keefe

under oppressive weight
gravity wins
      captain sins
             natural forces
                the world spins

in a Winslowesque
 Homer

Geneva accordian
waiting
   watching
        reporting
            witnessing
                 pressured
                       media
                          outlets

discordant
      anonymous
              militant
                     downrisen
                           up trodden
chess
become checkers
violence
                  home wreckers

capture the flag
deny that you did it
rewrite history
deny that you did it

union
    confusion
         reunion the
              Jungian-Freudian
split

reign of oncoming
terror. trafficking of insidious
homeland insecurities and
lies

Siberia awaits us
all

cold
  dark
    frozen
      tundra
       
in the heart
of a leader
like Manson
like Pol Pot
drink the Kool Aid
laugh a lot
deny everything
drink the vodka
reinvent the Archipelago
call it home

jump off the George Washington
 bridge
with your mate
drowning

step off the foundation
without reservation
bid your families
farewell
    

lost
floundering. black seas
check
     please?

           checkmate

accordions
push all
             the air
        out

the hate
    it's...

too late





- K

love potion no. two thousand seven hundred sixty two dot infinity

I was in the laboratory, minding my own business and yours, when all of a sudden that eureka moment came hurtling from my mind to earth, half-burning up in its double wide flavor, five-lane atmosphere pressure pull. I pounced immediately upon it, before it could scurry away into the recesses of some famous French cave whose drawings of stick figure animals shall be preserved to the end of human time only. I cupped my mind around it like a cat claw trap upon a squeakmouse.

At this point in time, the object which I was efforting to make subject and otherwise swallow whole into my personal shadow and light universe, made itself partially known to me. Thinking (yes, with a mind of its own) I might actually set it free by so doing. Clearly its thinker was broken! All the better for my predatory success.

In my mind's ledger, I jotted down the new revelation, and got this far.... love potion no. two thousand something....damn! Je ne sais quoi (I know not what).

A large question mark took form in a gasping vexation of breath out my pores. My entire organism shook. This created just enough room for the object, not yet become subject or subjected to my personal universe of great darkness and fragmented light, to slide into a crack in the unwaxed and unpolished (and rather rough from wear) mahogany floors which had suffered the weight of me for one too many months in this place, my self-described laboratory. All I felt (other than insatiably unanswered in pursuit of my less than scientific inquiry) was an increase in space beneath my mental tendrils, which were left groping about like a suddenly blind sea anemona in atrophic waters, abandoned for good by an ungrateful school of single file clown fish with genetically mutated pioneering tendencies.

My object, my dear sweet eureka, escaped my grasp!
Fuck no! I cried, reducing my own equation to expletive tears.
I dropped to my knees, then fell to the floor and my whole body just collapsed like a dying star right there in my personal petrie dish microcosm.

Then, after a few horrendous moments of breathless wonder...something magnificent happened! That which I had been pulling and pushing and groping and gnashing my teeth to capture and consume with the bully gravitas of a desperate Putin in Ukraine... suddenly unfolded itself to my surrendered spirit, like the most beautiful of flowers set free in the sun!

Love potion no. two thousand
seven hundred
sixty two
(dot)
infinity

Profile: filter systemics, 2013 -iv)

We are searching for something, you and me.

Could be found in the brief archive of human forgiveness within the heart of a democratic republic made to look slightly impotent for a couple of seconds of precious global socioeconomic relations in the seventies splash colorscheme of an cold war era soviet international airport metropolis. Could be bled out of some lock and jaw campaign. Remain silent as long and far as possible, except when filling out asylum request cover letters which require embellishment in a video age for the global youtube market consumers to know you, by seeing.

Searching makes us feel alive. Still breathing.

Gives us a place to hang our hopes, our judgments on. Popcorn strands of accusations upon. Unrealistic unfulfilled praises on. Allows for our glorious monetary pools of purchased media frenzy. Intellectual circlejerks of spy vs spy classifications. Debunking and declassifying, when classifying fails to reach the widest audience. Taking some heat off Israel and Syria. Taking the edge off of Putin's own curious enterprise. Room to breathe for Kim Jong Il, Jr and Dennis Rodman. And Iran. And Saudi Princes and Princesses who knock down iconography of first world countries and/or hold their maids hostage within the recreation of antiquated slave trade triangulation.

And room to breathe for you. And me.