story in two lives of the little sister, continuation

the little sister...well, this is no character assassination, hey, just sincerity like you like...she was maddening. not deliberately. not retaliatory, no. stubborn little thang. she just impacted the general population this way over time. She often told the likes of you and me to kick rocks. she had the kind of empowered aura about her, not red tones but more like sunshine yellow and sky blue just reminding anyone and everyone she was fly, she was true. she never needed to act on much, cause when she said kick rocks, you kicked rocks, not in a way of flight always (though this may have been a motive for some, letting fear overcome their knowing mind that running was futile, all were connected and she was a touchstone to the universal not a divider)...

to say that not kicking rox in flight but rather in an honorable way of offering up some space between you and her because she asked for it really, in a blunt manner she made herself very clear in a way that your average could not come acrossand if you didn't go ahead and do so, she would have you know without a single word spoken but simply through nonverbal nondramatic means,coming at you like some vibrant fresh tag come up on the scene at sunrise after the nights worn disguise, with the sun shining awareness of our insides out, exposed truth painfully, but without lies. in this manner....trustful...rare. start kicking rocks and you was feeling the stinging like fire ants sneaking up your ankles, if you was one of the fear based. poor you. get out of that, will you? come to, come to! not for me, no, for you. your suffering excessively, you think your thinking progressively. crazy. backseated by fear. still in first gear. oh my, dear dear dear. for you my heart i tear. throw you a piece of love lesser know (and lesser still when torn and thrown). but i feel like bodhissatva when i see you, want to give you all i know, all i knew. want to get closer to you cause this distance so pains me, makes me wonder if we may be truly separate like our bodies lead us to believe. another reason why at death we mainly grieve, less full of dialectic, the celebration of freedom from body and spirit now released. witnessing the undeniable unarrested steady mobbing of yourself,throbbing of your very being, through the gateway of your heart are you seeing. like the royalty could only have felt under siege in the French Revolution. like the reversal of what was assumed to be irreversible, the defuse of some fusion. like a betrayal. or some mysterious collusion of the life bearing elements sun and moon into antithesis: destructive like monsoon.

Yet you came back for more. Gravitated to her, this little sister who was bigger than all the world and who when spotlit or focused on, simply fed you into her expansiveness without no knowing, you just wandered thought to thought into more expansive macrovisions, neither really willing or able to come back down or around to the details they say mean so much. like the instance of human touch on your sweet spot. wow, your boyfriend whispers so turned on, your heavy breathing suddenly heavier, in your eyes a song, a passion play. like Toni Braxton meets Sade. Well, okay, the details are telling. but in little sisters presence they become, well, irrelevant!

Her suffering escalated past all moments of safety, our little sister. she was twisted and we missed her old blunt sanity. once she got so mad like bull, and ran at me! i showed her the red of my old medallion. she dimmed her energy but it was hard for her i could tell. she had lost controls of the sun inside. she might burn out if she tried. She would not even respond when her boyfriend now kissed her. The catatonia was clear. unremarkably, she could not be stirred into feeling. before it was all roof, and no fucking ceiling! my poor little sister, our poor little one, who made us aware of all else in the world we could do, have, fight for, lose. all we could lose, yes, by not always being ourselves, trapped in eddies of intellect and dissect of feeling, analysis of the past, and wasting our moment to moment sometimes future-dealing in our gambling, our plans, hoping for some safe landing that never shall we see. in the world of fire, earth, air, water, we too are simply daughters of natural suffering and rising, flying and falling, calling and calling to reach out of our solitude. offsetting imbalance with contemplative gratitude.

She wasnt even spooked by the typical Western trip the doctors laid, that medical empiricism that suggested she was quite mad for a deadwoman, and quite full of life for a madwoman. either sensation could head off the other, but none could quite catch her on a diagnostic plane. Only she could level with them. Which she did with the least feeling she could summon, which was easily laughter. She found more to laugh about with the MDs than she ever could with the shaman. shaman were pretty serious in their ritual-focus. These ones, these western ones with their setup of the common American scene devoid of most things sacred, full of artificial light of television and track fluourescents, and plants she could not connect with (cause they were plastic) even got off a few desperate smiles in seeing her blood on their sleeves.

so perfectly clean and neat, she had thought earlier in a semi-conscious pharmaceutically enhanced state, my blood shall find its way to their labcoats and bedsheets all bkeached. You just watch! then i will bring to you my word, my manifesto: nice fade out and in, no. she lost it. her manifesto. fuck! dying really does suck. you try and plan ahead for some really memorable, notable kinda quotable to part your dying lips, as they say in the novels. or, for women, of course the heaving of the tits. hmmmm...? these were near her final closing remarks to herself which only made her more interested in everything going on. she said a couple times 'so long' but nothing happened, she just lay there. it was boring as hell. boredom was all that was clear. ennui. static. for her as one might imagine, such state of mind and being was most horribly traumatic. the violence of it, the injustice of not being yourself after all your life becoming who you are. and leaving behind this river of tears of all who lost her too. missed her truth.

the doctors they had nothing to make of her, no more life, no more death, just a visitation it seemed. they looked in her eyes and she theirs, and together she brought them all into held hands, bowed heads...meditative prayers. It was a sacred time in room #54A. she was mutually aligned with what was coming, she understood the way. so no need to fight and cry and curse, no need for lamentations nor dramaticizations. she layed back in the adjustable bed like another vacation. when she shuddered, well....so did the whole nation. and the eastern world? touched, too.

no one could understand but all could feel the wave of her, that carried them into such a calm, at such a time; no peace mainly war, ravages of poverty, rivers of neglect. starvation. apocalyptic mass suicides, sect by sect. human weapons. families wrecked. the thickness of the air did dissipate a moment. the light pressure of her expanding out a felt sense snowballing into a unitive experience.

she just was. her energy radiating in waves and visions for some. like the blur of the desert horizon in this urban western product of science and industry. an unholy host of profit but not yet fully symptomatic of its own clear disorder. not consciously set out to throw lives in delibate disarray...yet could become conscious within the span of moments in a day. one individual at a time. breaking down. changing careers. practicing Zen. anything to calm the mind so suddenly conscious now and never too late. but still haunted by the residual of affiliate.

the premonition of the many, not the few, never came true. no, it never came true. more often the many had their understanding turned over, and then they overlooked it...tossed it over their shoulder. they flash on themselves, so to remain clean and fried. its the easier way, for comfort they strived. hey! dont get this twisted, though. gratitude was in the flow, you know you know you know and...you know something about her? she could not be forgotten so easily. a part of them had died, all of them, inside. culture had a certain stinging crush on her, for so many years denied...those fruitless years they tried to keep hold of her, before she died.

so many years of letting her life be more than just what she wanted or thought or expected it to be... so many tears letting go of whom she thought she was and others...so many fears she had to fight off her aura to break through, her spirit...how had her courage and heartfelt way of being become less than okay? even rejected? she had lots of time to ask these questions somewhere now embodied in Tanzania. fermentation of tea preoccupied her. felt good in her system all day and night. her spirit did not forget it all, not quite. she could tell sometimes she had been through a lot somehow before all of this. her life now was plain and simple. but her thoughts and feelings were far from that. but at morning, midday, and evening mantras, she often had felt sense of healing...smoothing and cooling some heart or soul friction...and her breath filled her up before entering the empty spaces now silent. she had these moments of relief from some perpetrated violence upon her, unknown? who she was, she knew, need no explanation. her people embraced her. such was the fashion.

breathe deeply into the the silence before continuation...

what i got is all i got, you can have it, 2

What i got this blessed morning is only a little laserlight of my truth, early, cold, dark, windy and wet. pretty soon i gotta jet to work, one way or the other. another day like before...i stay open. open to my core. cause thats how i keep from goin 2 hard in this hard world. moods so down sometime i dont know what im looking for. scared what i might find. already come across so much pain and heartache. sound a little like ya heard this before? im sure. truth is repeated, like a ritual, like your chores.

today i make the bed in which i lay. my boyfriend RIco steady by my side all last night. kept me warm. held me tight. atleast i got this prince lookin out for me, but we both strugglin with heavy burdens, too. the pressure can be overwhelming. Like tryin to pay the things need payin for, and jus tryin to stay out the eye of the law. once you in the system they wanna keep score, its sad. i wanna escape. amnesty must be a dirty word to the law, like rape. well thats just what they might do if they hang another charge on you, forget your license to do what you do. they will make sure the world knows of your crimes, boo. in the world you may have struggled years to earn your keep. one moment with the law, one moment asleep? u cant afford it, the trauma, the dehumanization. cause to the system what you value is of no concern. or so i learn now, day to day. over the nightmares. but get stressed real bad anway. panic attax. fresh talkin to my people around the way. oakland, my home, where i wanna stay. but the system is a force, it wont back off. you dont wanna cycle through. you betta watch yourself (they tell me), where you go- with whom you do consort. im just realizing. never been in trouble. charges got dropped. the first time they really touched me. governments and justice systems, they cold! it aint pretty. you better keep on moving through the city, the urban element you call home, the landscapes anything but monotone.

and heres how i feel, how i handle what i know. still gettin off on life good, the spice of city life for me, the various many peoples who touch me in my hood. and im fallin in love cause i let myself. its scary real scary but i wont turn away from it. the connection is deep & i have waited and waited for it. i dont want to put a wall between myself and so-called criminals, when forgiveness runs deep in me, love swells. i try and reach out and touch and be there, for you for him for self and such. this is how i manage to live, keep learning, smile and find a way to turn it all around. cause no ones playing with a full deck. some power trippin and cant even keep themselves in check. but awareness knows and our eyes can tell, so we dont need to get hopeless, belle. stay beautiful and let your smile light up the sky. i will feel the warmth and let it through me, channel it to you whether you knew me, or not, cause i feel for a stranger, will do my best to bring to them some kind of hope for keepin on, some kind of radiating light or just a poem or a song. cause when you know whats really going on, thats tight. no more strugglin shock or surprise. no more terrified cries, no more buying into their lies. empower yourself and check your judgements, follow the karma and arise...as you realize, this earth for you and us together. dont run inside scared of the weather. embrace it all and it will you, let nature be and you be true. i will be here for you now, i hope be there for you, too. just like i represent for self, nobody can ruin my day. i will pray for those who try, all the way at my best, or struggling when im filled with anger. my own family left me alone. and i survive. i lift my head and speak my truth. i will bring you tears, i will offer rain, aquarian spirit at best is fluid. the healing of the ocean is the channel of my undying devotion to those who suffer through each day. not knowing will they make it. to you i say; i been there, too, i made it through. be yourself fierce, dont let them get into you and turn you down or back or over. know your truth and dont get over. just get in there and have courage now, let passion flow through you. study the Tao. know your friends or find someone. you need someone to rely on. conscious contact is the key. with self and spirit and your divinity. be tough and vulnerable, walk with grace. you have every right to take your place in the natural way of ecosystem, multicultures and paradigms moving, keep on breathing, keep on choosing, and fall on your face a hundred thousand times, thats where you may just find divine. where you stretch! dont look for it, keep faith, she finds you. miss divine so fine. be open, receptive and vulnerable. honor yourself and no one knows...you may just lift right off your toes. the light surrounds you. live the life, now, go! live the life, the life you chose.

pray until rolled up tight end to end oozing air behind prayer

Sometimes when we are bored, well run dry, jaw floored variety of bored. Like some post-dose methadone-nod on a klono-pin-wheel-spin, like 72rpms or 72 hours half-life....like revolutions back to back to back, or half your klono-life and forgotten. How morbid a commencement, like might as well place commencement at the very end of some ego-trip-sleepwalk-to-degree-of-destination. The kind of place you reach with your body, and realize somewhere back there your spine fell out....uh-oh. Time to drink wine, pass out, flop around. omega-threesome? On the rocks so obviously like a caterpillar motionless. Then backward with regret for the next ten years carried forward, and where was you again? Check gps tracker for self locus. Diligently. Accept all substitutes, imposters, and splenda. Anyone really, just don’t go long selfless. Bad for the health. ego panic attack can arise. Loosening of ties. Who says the corporate suit cant add addiction to crack? Find me the chore, boy, lets get the train back on track. Fetch me the hos and my freefly suspension ordered cadillac! These were your words. So trite and tru-ismic. here and now we conjure you, all suspended in splenda (no longer visible moment to moment)...again... You wasn’t.

Like card is bored, cardboard. No flavor, boo! Solid tangible statuesque ennui. And why? Too far removed from the sentient stuff pass for food. Hmm. Embodied & dropped like fashion with gala, spirit forgone, uninvited. Life will be as 5 senses rewrite it. Begotten children descend, thus planted according to trend. Direct confrontation with lightbox, yes, facing new vision with binary ocular precision. ‘Made’ was the decision. anything to ground ya, surfing flora, fauna, and temporary files of treble. Delete, defrag, oh shit, youre in trouble. Another balloon of expansive grandiosity... lets tribute the green dotcom bubble.

Now you, Back to humble. Complete the cycle. Put what you got in the paper bag. Never remove the factory tag... Such was maybe the trouble of the times slipping away like saliva. Trying to eat bacteria to survive, ya. Projections of long lost heartfelt high-5ing. Celebrating the nonsense, your thought that youre thriving. Living off lip service to wealth echelons making hay. They promise they will play you out, your tommorrow, today. Robbed of your nutrients you forgot what they are. You think exercise occurs between any edifice and your car.

Free time shows her busy-as-usualness the door. dis-com-fort is what she has in store. Leading a protest against ones-with-fortitude. Appealing to those who wanna check out after a while. Guess what you wont find them en masse at the protest; you would have to extract them in advanced searches with keywords to out them. They link up like sausages, always single file.

Too much space wil get you thinking existentially. You might be in trouble if she rises exponentionally. The diva of emptiness, space & what yer missing. Maybe in need of ssris or de- phishing. No geeks will survive when extracted from lightboxes. Sniffed out by the terriers of free space, like foxes. But the source of pain is nothing physical sometimes. nothing personal, nothing lyrical, thats right....no rhymes! The writer wrote out like an inkblot on paper. Played out in prose nation, depersonalized, overflowed. As superfluous as toad to a frog-loving fanatic. Walked by and unwanted like radio airwaves are to static.

Free time fucked shit up. Like ssi, ga, foodstamps, and fluff. The original PB&J getting snuffed. Marshmellow holds like hairspray, makes Jello look sorry, like Coleco once did Atari. In the slaughterhouse of capitalism, shit grinds on, no one says sorry. In cultures so related, Apartments get neglected. Relationships faded. We cannot synch our clocks. No more watches. No more clubs. No more dinners. No more drugs. Then what we do to survive...sit yer ass down and hit keys. Self-pity? Please! We need motion not cold freeze. Express that shit needs expressing. Releasing. Catharsis? Just a Tease?

Maybe. Reason to exist? Certainly. Always. No Question. No fear. Laugh. Shed tears. Shout it out to anyone near. This is the truth. Accept no substitute. Tastes best with itself. Truth with truth. A wholesome meal. More than a steal. Always relative, sometimes changing, hard to define, exacerbating cultures, dis of the ease, trace z back to a, trace back to bronchii the economic deflation...dubbed like she sound...the wheeze. Serves her right, culture! Always tryin to come off as ‘fine’. Fucked up, insane, numb, emotionless. Probably headed to the liquor store for more scratchers. If theres none under the mattress, well, its time.

So what you oversaw trash removal. Think that sanctions your approval? Distasteful class warfare. Outzoned the other side of the tracks, logically concluded separation. Disassociation after your sugar crash. Insensitively calculated in your ledger = a wash. These sentients opposite you on the tracks. Where the realest of the real suffer hard facts. No ledgers or growth hormone growing. Planting seeds in asphalt cracks. Streets you cannot walk, hardly even drive. Sense of reality somewhere back in ‘85. One would statistically be wondering how you’re even alive!
Check your pulse. Nothing there! Your world? an unlucky few who drink mountain dew day and night just to keep up with you. Moving so fast you forgot your ID. Blurring around the edges....nothing there! command post = ergonomic chair.

Still we sentients here & now pray for you. we who are real and feel. We feel your pain is true. as anyones pain. Honored by us, this feeling you refracted, in your lightspeed leftover in dust...in search of that paper wherein written in someone we trust. In the end not the means. An army of legal easers keep your nose clean. by your smile you tell us your pain you have not claimed. We see it in your eyes. We hear it in your lies. We have compassion for you, sympathy extended, your posturing so defensive. Back to your grandios plan of internal audit: those parts of yourself you disown and then sue. The board will applaud it! For sure. Well, wait, the board is you.

Your egos on a holiday shopping spree. And you call your world free. Locked in your self-worth, with room service & amenities. And Lots of media distraction (keep at bay unconscious reaction). You got your poor self immobile, in traction. We pray for you, our prayer is powerful. If you believed in prayer, you would buy it by the So we pray for you to get well or get conscious. Not another infraction for shooting your mouth! The imprint you leave... egregious. your plan to extend nafta further south. Like to yucatan peninsula. Somewhere most Americans cannot locate on a map. So the media will take a nap, stopped by gps blockers. Beta swallowed by alpha, exits forever. Ecosystem will fail. Overcrowded will the jails. corporate rule of one-star countries. Demand Zagat new rating. Comp the countries like comping motels. So offensive and intended, cause lord knows the shit sells. ‘Controversy creation’ now a tangible occupation. The placating drone you replaced? It can be located in some den of iniquity, down the street, getting wired. Lets pray another drone is not sired. This model got old, ought to be retired. Controversy prevention, single minded. hard-wired. When you finally come to ground? Note to self: you are fired.

To be continued....

beatup lysdexic liadecticals

they beat ya up, they did and the do. you gotta brace yourself cause ya know anything might be possible, like they might even try and off your ass, great you you you, if you let your ego light up they probably aint gonna see you. cause then you blend right in, this city landscape of sin sin sin. hearts not made of love. hearts made of unmistakable second hand tin, rusty when cried on. bloody when bled on. the bleeding hearts is what they call some, and others they wont call, they just come right up, all twenty feet tall tall tall.

so what do ya do, little heart blue in the big urban mix? you gonna act like they wanna and take your lix? or you gonna run to the alley where the little ones get they fix? you gonna clean up your act for them? or just pretend? wear that silly bowtie you dumpster dived with the frayed ends? to appease the plastic gods of your newfound manufactured friends? so ya sold out, atleast now you got ends? is that what you thinking?

well look up now at the twenty foot tall, fly off the wall comin at ya with they swagger... take a closer look at the John Wayne replica stance. come on, now , show your courage, take you a chance. fuck the shower, save the water and try e baby powder for a change. activism to N N n n NTH degree brings you out the seams, no longer fit in those label jeans they wear, them machines. mach #1 in their automated limousines. fuck!

cant you see? see you can? you can see, cant you? see the machinery? beneath the silk chemise color of american cheese. orange yellow flexi-square they eat and then listen to the wheeze. the whir. where where they when you needed em, sir? madame? i hate to push your buttons but i already am. damn! you lost ya head? you wanna get dead? keep looking up at whats below. measure a robot by height of its nineteen foot afro. call a complete stranger your bro. call a complete girlfriend a ho. trick another trick at the show. when all the bs stops, your forward momentum still goes, fall on your ass so we know dont we know no we dont wanna no cause we knew you we once knew ya, loved ya. you changed.

amnesty. this is for lunch. just gotta digest it. change took us out there....change will bring it all back together. maybe what was torn apart or asunder, will reconnect sounding thunder. only hope only pray, that day that day that day! then we will have the rain wash away...all the dirty wiring they looped, that circuit city and gasket soup. we gonna repo your soul, with a lil co-op (eration) we gonna recoup whatevers left of ya. they gonna burn. burn sideways and long. maybe all night with their headlamps on, searching for ya as they made ya, in sade-istic fashion. body parts with autoparts they done mash together. til you was so gone. could not find ya. left us alone, over and left was it all, the worst of times and the best, we had together in our black leather beauty, brunette cutie. tryin tryin try. flyin crashin die. burn rubber and plastecene for fun. settin fires like a setting sun.

settin fires like a sun. like a settin sun. remember when you was one? they already had you. you was cold like tha winta moon, yo, so frigid you scared off dear Brigid. we told ya, i know, we told ya a lie! that Brigid had to go cause of her not cause of you. a simple little trick that so hella fooled you. sorry to admit it, we did it, ya did it. not proud of it. lyin aint nothing, aint shit. you dont deserve it, i mean it, mean it! we gotta give you amnesty. otherwise we aint shit, we aint free. how we wanna believe and always say we is, live free or die, New Hampshire true.

if we cant give to you, how can we expect amnesty too> we cant. this is true. so let our allowance be your path. let our compassion douse your wrath. let us draw you the finest most wonderful springwater bath. the bleach will be a sidenote. the longjohns keep ya warm. after said and done. after all. of that. can u make it then? four oclock sunday morning. before the world got us dawn, and yawning. awaken the heart and heed the ritual. can you. will you? feel it? feel?

the feelings came. not the same, not quite as before. the forgiveness steeped for a while, colored rapport. then eyes could look for long without pullin down. least that was what i knew while i was around. got out of myself, stopped worryin so. knew that what happens must happen for reasons i may never know. then when our fists hit air in the mouth. here was the truth! been gone the doubt! for awhile now since that day. 'i missed you mothers!' i heard him say. he was our brother, done gone away. taken, forsaken, treated unfair. only now could we face him and handle what we done. come to terms. made us feel young like when we last saw us. droppin right out - the hardness, the callous.

amnesty the robots they could not program, with or out, without a compatible alphanumeric wavelength, coded in like wormwood, for toxic intention, no good, no good. the corporate capital corridor caved. the immigrants side by side with the natives slaved. to make the land a land to live. to love the land. to love and give. the tweak and shock of electromagnetic digiform clocked about turtle on the real ones radar, when it came to meeting halfway they was on the bottom stair. fell right through the rotwood to air. into space that we left em, to bury themselves. reconstituted mangled coppertone stealth. we took them up carefully and took them apart, separated wires and used the pliers. we melted tin hearts in hearth of fires. the children played and danced before us. when the flames jumped you could hear em shout and cuss. damn you robots! poppin like corn. now you know how it feels to have your innards all torn up by the cookie cutter spatula mentality? of masquerading imposed harsh reality?

we was proud of our kids, no, really, we is. back to the moving of metals and elements, silver platinum imprints, etc. along to the underground rail down by station, the new rebellion gatherin up to save our sweet nation. lay down our lives if we must. to defeat the imperial nuclear family of faith, devoted to turning some more into copies of carbon, influenced by sayings and fear based jargon, codes red to spicy to fire, beware!...

(the natives with hearts they stand over there! with their feelings, intuition compassion, blank stares. so stupid and foreign, it make us all shiver. the patriarch feels nothing. just stands to deliver. the truth? dont be worried. we create it, its glory! we just go back and rewrite the whole story. the past is gone and not to be honored. the moment is now, to be enforced and monitored!)

well this is how i reckon they talk to themselves. i dont really know. or care to, its true. i just wanna do something reckless. or foolish. who knew? because then i remember im making mistakes. and learning from them. thats how to live, for chrissakes.

im sorry for cussing and gettin all worked up.
here, take a sip, i offer my cup.
fin

**image used with permissions...see link

not taste, sound, sight, or smell...and hopefully its touching

The continuum of this life was remarkable when the tape was cut out to rep this moment in time. If we dive into this into the marrow of this life we can see out from it as a hologram, expansive for us to take in the whole life in a moment. Of course this must be impossible! And how American in its very impossibility. So here it is, and understand that the vision comes gray not black and white. You are the one allowed full freedom to choose how you interpret it. Just be aware that your feeling is yours and yours alone. Unique. Possessed. Owned. Created. Produced. Directed. Edited. Faded...still untouched, still virgin. wild but far from pure. not dirty but spontaneous and so impulsive and reactive. a chemical experiment highly volatile and quite a rush! deep searching of eyes. attune to energy. letting go, to embrace. dawn and lace. up all night touching base.

Falling asleep at seven am after a night of making love. All night making love. Really rising, their spirits. but falling was manifest too. like a breathe. Falling in love. Scary at times cause you lose control. And the relationship is powerful and you feel it so many ways. the light, wow, so many rays. Rising and rising. find the ground again before taking off again.

Making love was a side effect on the DL. no one complained. the doctors were clueless. remarked upon coloring and affect brightness in their notes. Real feelings. so overwhelming, but powerful if you let them flow through you, all this exchange of energy and words between sharing of silence. Boundaries were set and pushed around, then placed carefully where both could see them. So much effort to get across the distance between bodies. So much ease holding one another. Hoping to listen but so easily distracted by music and rhythm of twenty ten America. Urban recipe. Too many choices all the fucking time. Long ago walked off the straight line they chalked out for you to walk out and into space. No. you chose to get lost, and the fog is your companion. Hydrates you at times, hides you from yourself in painful times. You share the general story, outside the specifics. You share the valuing the story over the specifics. Red flags fall to ground. Green flags rise up. Caution is not thrown to the wind. Caution is carried like essential water.

Strange shit went down in this self-defining mad moment! Waking up at noon in your bed in your room and lost global memory subsequently affiliated with sex. This is what is referred to in medical circles as 'transient global amnesia'. Caused by high blood pressure which often results from sex. medical circle sanctioned. which may or may not lend it credibility. which may or may not matter. which therefore will probably be worked over a great deal to pass the free unstructured time that we all consciously pursue & subconsciously dread.

This was the first time you ever remembered having amnesia. Very scary. (would you remember your amnesia?) You could not remember where you worked, who you lived with, what you were supposed to do on this unknown day of the week...this left you so vulnerable feeling you failed to speak just tried to catch your breath. was it running away? within five minutes orientation x4 had come to roost. place, time, thing, situation all became known or remembered. breathe easy. He had gone from attunement to separate selves so to come in and help you from the outside. He accomplished this with compassion unlimited.

Wonderful gentle and comforting words and touch from the one whose looking after you, someone you love and who loves you. more and more this seems through and through. there is a greater force at work behind it, you both know. still the choice is often easy to be so close and put aside reservations and the many important if not critical matters of life that cannot possibly reach the island of full devoted attention that love in its infancy both represents and requires. The energies aligned and the touch was divine. nothing was really fine. most of it was extremity and creation... being intimate, letting go, contracting, expanding, exploding, suntanning in the sacred space filled with light and waves. They are non finite like this, so they carry you away now...(continuation is inevitable)

all alone so together so alone all together

so together now like all the time with the one who chose you...who you chose too...who have inspired climax via tangential lip discipline. who have been inspired by tantric - only to keep breathing to accompany the sweating and embracing and having visions and cathartic rhythms. who would toss the porn and magz aside, even radio can slide, to maintain focus on one another -- fix and abide.

this is so very unified this experience, the way its described, and yet the very description gives away a certain distance, unravels the unification into its divided states with their differences (fireworks sold down south here, no alcohol tax where they live free or die, killer storms attack big sky, midwest goes from liberal to neocon, if you can keep your eyes open through nebraska you are somethin like a phenomenon) so hey! here we are, you are, i am... all alone in the zone, experiencin on occasion the jonz to reunify with him (my guy)...thinkin about the new orient i have discovered, letting go into this country, meeting his friends, invited into his lifestyle or aspects offered up as i follow his tracks. tired end of days together, lying on our backs.

and yes, i have compassion for those i left behind. i may be accused of alot of things, accused of violence, accused of slamming, accused of damage, accused of trading people like cards...we all do as we all also misconstrue, as the plane begins to blur or warp on the edges, folds and burns and rises as ash maybe before or tearing eyes, so close it burns, fuck! the pain! and we still dont pull away like hand from stove, why? because we need to know we can be thrown in the fire, we need to relocate to that land of humility for a while, although what we do is wonder why we are so goddamn disposable to someone who we fucking carried on our backs half the mountain, someone who drank from our spirits once? our spirits so dry like dust and blown out into traffic and the eyes of strangers whose tears then carry us into cotton for slow molecular sliding down to the edge and falling off to the gutter where we were left like relationship civil war protocol dictates. kill or be killed. i understood it. i had been killed again and again. now i killed. this was a choice, yes, but the killing was only accomplished in the name of resurrection of the spirit of the one i truly could have continued to love tangibly, but only to both our detriment. a wise woman in jail told me how. i hope you dont meet her. well not in there. its no mistake wisdom surfaces on the clock of dehumanized seconds. Go to jail in America and you will understand how Salvador Dali melted clocks - in the land of a thousand locks, no pillows, rationed soap and socks. compassion? not rationed.

so i thank goddess for the wisdom to walk away. not to be walked on or away from or not to not walk anyway for the sake of status quo. dont tell me you neva been a status quo ho? youre not alone...we all ate green on some version of reality, before the dawn of consciousness woke our palette up to the juice of life. dropped the koolaid, jumped into the rainbow sugar lips first. red#9 beamed up into the macrodivine. up up above it all, a distance from myself, expansion, before i contract back and break into the mansion, squat on foreclosures, the happening stance. not so romantic but who needs romance? just frag and defrag, soak up sun like the plants.

no theres more, yes i know it, been through it (not just told it). i appreciate with devotion the past relations in my ocean of experience, dont dwell on past tense, light a candle maybe, those whose time together we had was real and real fine. true the wind blows some windows shut and sometimes they hit hard like trade winds or jetstreams, the premier of winds blowin like dylan never seen. so the slap in the face can be interpreted (not based) on the volume of the windowframe hitting the recess, sometimes resting nice, others slammed so hard the glass falls to pieces. loss of form akin to clothes lacking creases. so how it feels when relationship fails. like macktruck losin brakes, gone runaway, ya, nature prevails. adrenaline rush. sadness, destruction. no signposts to follow, no clear horizon. vertical motion of falling or holding on. ever knowing it cant be long, cant be long. feel the pain. sing its song. your feelings cant kill you. shards of glass lie harmless on windowsill. watch them catch the light. feel the pain into the night. let the shine wear off the scene. let your memory be real and lean. not something you wax pristine over. atleast when i see way out past my selfcenteredness, thats what i showed ya.

even now fallin in love im like charged and livin large & drinkin deep... i refuse to be fearful, refuse to sleep. this is real. shit is deep. i pray my angels my soul to keep. same room and two different locus, this man i have come to love, trust and have a certain faith which is to kneel and drink the waters the inspiration into a form...and where form fails there is silence, water runs clear, between us touching the hardwood floors, catastrophic fears pass over my vision, like the tapestry of burning towns in deserts, or the dope around us the street level hustle, an engagement ring comes after the same girl so many times...she runs cause it aint real. some cheap way for some wannabe pimp to cop a feel. the ring fits on her ring toe. all a front, all a show. burns low her glow.

unequivocal bend at waist and drop of top hat, tricks of worn out dirty fucking trades. in some dudes genes like some dudes jeans carry blades. basically the same dude any way you cut them, chop, grate, dice, always lay the same at your doorstep. cats eyes to make you one and one makes two kinda dude, wants an apartment with you, you gotta work or sell your body, didnt he tell you? our apartment, your rent. for fucks sake asshole! the better part of you cries out, get the fuck bent! some old fashioned illusion creates newfound contusion on head where they kicked ya, circular like ring seated in your eye.

whether or not you knew it today ya gotta die, cause the street level mentality cannot stand socio-cruelty, economic unity looks hand to hand. not what you can or cant stand. the choice becomes ours as we let go of solitude, the clearing of fog breathes in unity type attitude, like when we look after one another just walking down the block, sometimes its all we gotta do, look after your neighbors kids like they were your kids too. kids like they were like you were too. kids like your kids too. like yours too. childlike look alike. yours too. look after yours, too.

falling...into the sky....brings out blue & yellow eyes

She found herself falling...not a free fall but relaxing the mind to mindful, affect to attitude, dropping to life of tropic of latitude... she was falling for him, he became the one, day by day as she begin to understand the greater meaning, not just an ordinary light, no no no! this touching of souls wore out the sky like summer suns. she was falling, ya

she fell... deep into the well so pure of love so fresh! caught softly by latticework of natural knowing just where it was she suddenly but surely belonged! beneath the power of his spirit, the righting of all wrongs, ya, there beneath the heartfelt singing of songs you can see her already prone and looking up to him...she lonnnnnnnnggggssssssss!! his presence -- way he carried himself -- all came together running like watercolors into the sky.

all the times she ever fell came coursing through her memory, and they looked something like this : a child falling out of arms, towels, sheets....a child fallen generously from the stars, through the times, roulette kinda zodiac signs. baby girl falling off a chair, holding up her hair. off a swingset, jump up into a fall to feet in sand. then the stubborn teenage girl, fallin off in grades. cat fights with other girls, she falls out of favor of some clique or another. fallen off the balance beam, this time no one to catch her. decline of rollercoaster. life spinnin' faster and faster it seems to her. she feels fallen cant fall no more! her body aches her feelings sore. decline of summer...loss of virginity... misguided by the boys she feels fallen like a whore, fall into leaves. they beat down he door. into arms of boyfriends she fell. life was swell. out of friendship. out of love in various ways. into despair and maze of mind. slip and fall on black ice, come now rewind. nothin nice. but always she had picked herself up, dusted self off. by choice.

she spun herself round thrice with the energy she received from source secondary to prayer and gratitude. her truth premiered uncut & nude - original. vulnerable. her sincerity unlocked her, heated the colder unfeeling parts within, defrosted ice. As chain reactions connect and react, so happened she dissociated fear. critical to mission. critical to transformation of me to us. had to be peeled away, spun apart (the fear, the lust) the only natural commensurate start. outcasted for good, out of her aura! (they say fear walked away on some bitch named Laura, whose karma was foul & now became later, who ran a redlight, shrieks of terror, shaking heads locked in sight of her tragedy, folks with firewalls around avatars, who at home seek comfort by waging wars (our girl shook fear off so decidedly, fear was clocking hundreds per hour and very near missed them!

hell, breathe! now she could breathe. now she felt relieved. in and out of the city streets did she weave herself, feeling gradual improvement in health. CNS was no longer braced, flight or fight mode had been set aside, cold cased. not a phone call left untraced. she had followed her line all the way back as blood trails, generations upon generations of highs & lows. she picked out the most hardworn souls in her unknown memory and chose the ones like her, quite an array of personality. borderline, bipolar, extreme rapid river of feeling was the usual. The dress and attitude: casual. Those who know they know nothing, who can call out when youre bluffing. Smart to the backalleyway rules of the street. Able to withstand miles walking through november sleet. And breathe! breathe out mist. Gloves from the knuckles worn up to the wrist, made of wool. Working class types who work under the knife, the gun, or the cock...the kind who might know well the sound of turning a lock. You see survival in their eyes. They keep their cash in their sock.

These were the ones she came from, she smiled to herself. She had love her spirit always did rise secondary to her efforts to arise. they say this brought out the blue and yellow of her eyes....so was said about her fall into the sky....pronounced (the sky) the ocean of eyes. lightened (the sun) the yolk of eyes. this kinda action came not easy, but of many tries, many tries. manny manny, manny manny tries.

so what of this so called sky? was their rain? i mean, did it cry? well yes. no lie. tears can be as much for joy as for pain, like criminals and innocents find themselves both in chains. the so called healing of the nation, yet obvious to everyone its a true fucking damnation. Eagle infused with quality of vulture. one of the things she fell out of love with, her culture. Day by day, hour by hour. Stress -- time for another hot shower. wish she had a bath. Desperate to keep the meaning meaningful... what had been beauty, beautiful. Sometimes hoped to fail to understand reality. 'how unreal' she might say. Reality could be so dehumanizing, as its arising. escaping reality often became her (and millions) preference. not surprising.

the sky was full with juicy pearls of water (they call rain) and emotional content, yes, the sky she fell into was the open eternity of new love. manifested suddenly, mysteriously, with great and undeniable patterns of synchronicity criscrossing in waves and tides. the outcome: in him, she confides. in her, he confides. mi casa su casa brought them home to where they currently reside. they addressed one another with great feeling like that contained in the pearls that burst upon the sunlit sky of newfound sacred scary full of fucking wonder immersion down under the weight of passion and unknowing, leading, learning, teaching, towing....the seeds of some big harvest for two lives to thrive in, had undeniably been sown! the sky could hold them. the sun could soften. almost every day they touched...well, quite often.

so this was the rush of it, neurotransmitters in transit....falling right into it with her. this big adventure. no expectations or agendas, really, quite pure. neither of them had been looking for anyone, and he had gone so far as to say the girl would have to really juice him, crush him, peel him out, the girl who would be chosen. when he saw her the first time, all was sudden and frozen. times he looked at her within the two hours of first contact, well, possibly a dozen.

she herself, she was often found contemplating the recent death of her cousin. sandy blonde named sandy. not long of the earth, late thirties laid to rest. she prayed for some movement of spirit, like migration to west. her cousin was from the east. she was clearly west. although the ways of being may have been opposite, she leaned clearly east. though nothing did not matter, in double negative speak, not one but both had seen part of them deceased. the way she knew her, and got known back, the love they shared, so worn and cracked.

so she did not notice, the first few times they met. she would arrive and stand or sit or lie. he was drumming with some friend, some guy. she was usually tired from travel. had her energy released, unraveled. he saw her vulnerable there in one room. he wanted to talk to her, hoped it would be soon. she knew him only by his music, the drumming, well, his soul infused it. it carried into her and grounded her well. she no longer feared getting carried away, the groundswell. his smile she found hella kind, compassionate and giving. A West Indian with dreads, she found this riveting. But unknown to her as he was, he felt her eyes penetrated deep. he felt she knew him or he knew her somehow? someway? past life? quantum leap. into eachothers consciousness they began to seep.

she got distracted almost every time, people talking to no end. around her space was confined and small. she generally waited on her friend, a man. This dread, he saw she was hella tall. and gravitated to her being so easy, like his music had her heart synch up. they were in for a colllision! or unification! some amazing new relation creation! they might just light up the supermarket mags, this sublimated couple a global sensation!

the sky they fell in opened to all possibility. the chakras were tuned for the vibration of chi. iani became entangled with jah on mount zion. allah and buddha exchanged smiles in the hot sun. looking up to the sky was yeshua, age: real young. the stars had aligned, all this must have happened. no other explanation! tea leaves and i ching followed suit, if you trace them. the old sufi wisdom went west without explanation.

the two lovers they stayed up all day and all night. taking in all, not taking nothing but light. it was clear as day their shared intuition. they followed this far past the five senses, way beyond individual volition. they spoke to one another in different ways, various tenses. no words made silence unapprehensive... or just fine. in one another they saw the divine. the world became afixed in rose colored lenses. the embrace full, it need no verbal. the charge? shotgun! amplified! ya, accelerated to light speed via turbo.