november ran its colors out on the streets, via trees

november this year she came she went, gotta get her down before shes gone, capture her now in all her beauty, earthy and fall-like sign she flash. shes a queue-T. parlez-vous francaise? miss second to last month of the year. 'mais oui. oui...' She whispered out on autumn coolbreeze, like aircon melting the heat behind the summer kick it in the park kinda dope kinda beat. only find her in the street. that kinda wild. cannot be filed! no finger stops her! shes that wild sorta child. the one prank callin, 2am your number she dialed, october 31st, told ya 'im coming!' hung up before you cursed her, goddess true. whats the matter with her? its YOU you need to look at, U you need to check. so back up a sec and hold up...one second to reflect on the pavement. colored maple leaves such a nice effect. she lets us do the scratchin on this album of hers, our feet pushing leaves across the country at all hours. pushin and shoving shes prepared for the chaos! soft landing in leaves is her special kinda sauce, so subtle you dont know it, if its the garden she grow it. if its the truth she throw it right threw your living room window, keep the skies clear, air cool. all the kids walk back to school. laughing and communion, big deal to miss novemba, that all of us get Union. and pay our dues. united we wont lose. turn the clocks back if you choose, she saves you ample time, dont snooze! take advantage and hit the streets. the clarity b so sweet in november giving thanks. dropping guard and careless ranks. only number is your own, be true to you and find your own tone and style, miss november wait a while! je t'aime, je te desire, in lux of lunar we embrace. any locus any place. your fades are subtle, your tone is soft. your spirit elevates... kick it in the lofts! carry your sound! trunks break up the beat. december loves you so...close to his breast he keeps...the clasp of november rain. gold leaf it makes the chain. october saw your back, and knew in you could trust. the love of life in kind...the love for you from us. run your colors, light your skies. give away your lasting hope to dawn and open eyes.

'dont touch that dial!' (says boo)

boo the loser and yet the concoction of adrenaline on a sunny day field of gyrating bods for fun, (weave of which boo was too woven) remained undiluted and 'pure' to its essence its effervescence...whether good or bad unstated (some of the language bore cultural wash that flavored the scene with whisps of bene & mal). kinda untouched by the loss, boo did not change the angle of her head. the curve of her lips did not go convex if they were concave. boos mind itself was unenslaved by even the idea of 'less than' when the whole deal was out and out rich and fulfilling like the puffy cloud balloons in the green tinted sky of sweat and bloodrush.

boo was kinda sorta boo on a wonderful day, and not much more or less where more or less was not called for to cameo. the social aspect of the day was amiable. and boo had rock on friends. not the kind you only connect with on online abstracts of community, not the striands of past relationships that got a grip way back and pulled mind like sirens into past tripping adventures boo sometimes called by 'nowbothering' cause boo was like not imminent upbeam or latent cryscream, no no no, dont you know boo was Isness as bold as iznez can BE, no silkscreen or generic, no consulting of oracle or cleric, she was like what comes to mind now...a fresh lyric.

bene or mal, the filling was full. recycling in motion. single rinse wash ocean. and she laughed and laughed alot and forgot what it was made her laugh. then wrapped her arms round her hips like a shy girl. then said something outrageous real loud. green of sky about her. puff of cloud. sound like a rerun or come back again? no no thats just you. its okay, but not labelled full, empty, or true. all of which are words anyway, like jumproping for its own sake and better with three, messy playa community. her eyes burned the image and made it so. her hair surely grow. this is how life happens, boos eyes wake up from napping. full of color empty of heartache. up her tired bones and to the lake. boo is on the take.

taking clues from her other boos. her guatemalen friends salsa belly moves. curious to soak in new moves. empowered by real-time. flushed by embedded hearts of divine. hearts of sand and lyme. sign of taken back of times. reshuffle of decks and pop of dice from four ring fingers. scent of punk youth lingers. the bars the guitars the tries and tries. bonafide boo kneels to pray for balding postgrunge down the revisit this again pipe size. the prayer allows the movement to move some more. boo gets her boo friends and they all push and push her. the notes turn out to be collapsible. the sound of hollowed out seattle just barely adaptable. they push and lean and laugh and steam, boos mexican guatemalen russian american. boos bumrush the stage and flare up afire, a fierce wind of mother loving bones rises up in holy jean attire, surround sound somewhere in there lost and found.

boos ears trained. boo comes at ya pound for pound. latin love of equatorial breadth, nordic grade of redbird featherweight. dont matter come crooked, dont matter come weight. stop for the sunrise. stop but dont wait. interrupt with speeches and strange shifts of energy. honor it all by giving bloodlet old fashioned style-- yes, leeches. boo dont need to rhyme to have rhythm, got it. boo is purposeful with unknown nextness. lax of politicorrectness. hybrid the word, it dont deserve the space we gave. 'Inflect this!' boo shouts at the poetry slam. she ran into one, not part of plan.

but there in front of her and confront it? yes sir. facts only, no emotion...poetry reads often lose all meaning, drained of devotion. like kneeling to the television every morning to pray. boo found it stale, the trained voices on mic parade. like trying to breakdance on sandpaper. or titrating when you were supposed to taper. boo had her likes and dislikes and moved quickly on to paleteria. no sense hanging on with litterati ennui. gotta have ice cream! do or die! got her guatemalen boo a banana-chocolate popsicle. her czech boo got nondescript ice colored blue. mexican boo, well, horchata had to be the taste. make that two! screamed boo, and brought her confexions back to restore color to her crew. this was the life, the good life, she knew it all the while. despite half the suffering, her stance: 'dont touch the dial!'

"Weak moves on hot and spicy midnight" was written in June . I did a final edit & posted her below . check it out.

weak moves, on a hot and spicy midnight

i was a death dealer to Noise in my atmosphere. Was midnight. I was runnin hot like mojave. spicy like indian. short fused like Acme animation. The road runner must have passed my way ten times over. i pounced on my phone to prove i could pounce. i had the agility to capture a rock. you know it. I checked out the digits on the digital. nobody i knew, number was local. i answered it. typically your digits gotta be in my cell. but i was trying to catch my shadow i guess, so capturing a random phone call seemed like rehearsal.

there was a perpetrator talkin to me now. some dude within the past 48 hours got the nerve up to call me. he must not have seen the reluctance in giving my digits. i was too focused on avocados and all the variety of apples to think clear. i just did what he asked, then almost changed the 2nd to last digit to something different. a dishonest move i could not make. close! the # was reversible, 9. so to offer up 6 could have excused me from my guilt with a claim of dyslexia. sometimes it happens when i stay in the sun too long. anyway, my integrity paid me back with this awkward moment on my hot and spicy midnight.

I had to recall how we met eyes over the strawberries in the foodmarket spectacular in my neighborhood. you might call it 'juicy' (from his perspective). his wings fluttered and retracted to the eyewatering browns trying to enter my 7th chamber. i blocked him at the aura level. my auranti-virus is tight. immediate split second blocks on (basis of) gut feeling. the feedback on this one was 'perp', across the 4th food group. organic. all of the latest trends represented. flagship quality. the food does not reflect the consumer. i didnt see any organic folks up in here. some were raw. some were processed, some homogenized. but no flash pasteurized peoples. everyone around me seemed conservative & preservative. reserved. almost impossible to interact with in a healthy kinda way. holding back all sincerity 20+ hours of the day. i marked them. they were the ones looked at you like you B just gettininmyway!

I was wild caught alaskan and a fish out of water sometimes. such was life in the food spectacular. give me my chicken caesar pizza and im ok. get me out of here, synergy snatched up for all i could hold. to rejuventate from the toxicity that passed through my aura like spyware.

The memory i clearly cherished. i had it in the temporary trashfiles of my cluttered multitasked out mental, ready for abort(ion). this call i haphazardly chanced, well, my word for it would be more like 'convenient' or 'tragic'. convenient would better describe the seven eleven. tragic works. like putting on all your makeup and doing your nails and everything, and slipping into your sweet dress...and the occasion never manifests. broken down car...agitated child...sudden uncontrollable fits of sleep (your date told you with all apologies burning down mascara forest). the same kind of reasons you once pulled on someone else, probabl. tragic like karma come back. why tragic? im sure youre on the edge of your seat, waiting for the magic. i can get us out of this! i promise! (once i locate an analgesic).

anyway, the point almost escaped me then (like it escapes you now). in the sedated hour past midnight when atoms dont hug so tight, electrons turn positive, i mean optimistic, and spirits mess with those who do not believe in spirits. easy to derail in this kind of tension free atmosphere. well, this young man boldly called at the terrible hour to call, and proceeded to try and talk me into meeting him this very night. very bold, very ignorant. say it again -- TRAGIC. because i was one nerve from unnerved, before he called. my entire latest system was heavily firewalled. i was twice removed from my own truth. i had burned through my midnight snack: baby ruth. i was pickled and jarred, talking to me must have been so hard.

i was emotional mind, anger defined, so so so veryfar from kind. this guy would be sorry he crossed the line. he would be incinerated by my firewalls transitioned to fireballs. coming out my eyes into the wireless wires. barreling into him like recklessness on tires. fuck you! i gotta go to work in less than a half dozen hours. i dont know you! and i can see you are drunk! you daft punk. i will now bring upon you the sensation of --SUNK. your battleship is about to get mothballed. ill think of you out there building rust up. you so fucked up! calling me intoxicated, telling me how you are located close, you made it! i should come meet you! you are sweet on me, drop some heavy breathing as my short fuse ignites. youre not a genuine article, you lost all rights. lose my digits, generic! asking me for a lick? you dog! sick! let me google my next question...how to piss on someone over cellular? your conversation back around again, circular.

so i was heated. felt kinda cathartic. the chill i conveyed, well, very antarctic. he got froze. he was at some gas station fighting a machine for a candy bar. i was a fuming cigar. a screaming guitar. burnt food char. ready for war. but instead i just froze him, no room in the freezer. its all taken up by my pizza, chix caesar. i could no longer regard him, had to discard this. full up with vinegar and piss. snapping rubber bands on my wrist so just to bite my tongue. i could blow up on him like when i was young. but instead i iced this situation. then cubed it. dropped it in my ginger ale. felt like chased tail, right out of town. i had to find my way back home. back to SOURCE. get found. cooled off and ready to digest. drop some classic uncut over my airwaves. one way or another back to the source. i located the one with whom i could best relate. Russian stock composer. personality told: 'fragile and nervously agile'.

i lay back into deep meditation. auraviral system disarmed. firewalls fallen. whole again. empathic waves of Dmitri Shostakovich. all my fire? well, i sold it. sorry aint no magic. laundry? fold it. just fire and ice in store. side of whiterice. a bed for to rest the real...the core.

halloween is the ONLY holiday

halloween is so real. the color of dead leaves. so alive. tonight i will get behind the wheel of some chevy impala, dirt color, and drive. i will smile cause its halloween. the memories so delicious. like answered wishes. i will try again to win the lottery. to spice up this life. maybe some day i will be somebodys wife. who knows. my familia has issues, so i must represent them. we dont kill for drugs and money, no. but we decimate egos and laugh about it like its funny. like some thrill kill cult. music notwithstanding. tonight halloween comes in for a landing. lights up my heart. makes sense, no doubt. the masks we wore. the fake blood and gore. the candy killing teeth. the stepping on crisp leaf. brings you right here. where you can be okay.

like most people, okay. and its really more than that. you cant describe it! you feel the mystery of us all, thats where its at. so i smile tonight under the moonlight. my car became a boat and the ride was tight! subwoofer mia. but the sound is, like, real okay. you know how we all say...its okay, im okay, OKAY!! and when they wanna know more, vampire thirst for your jugular, you just keep on not telling them all the way you feel. cause its difficult to say, its only to feel! like i do tonight. the cool crisp weather is quite alright. the great pumpkin is a beagle. for all i care it might have been a seagull. im quite okay with halloween. how it IS, not how its seen.

its the best damn holiday, halloween. dont argue with me. go petition the queen, vote for christmas or thanksgiving...you will still be off, im not kidding. but its okay, youre okay! tell it to yourself every day.

i am going out as kinda myself, but all purple and kind of club girl look. cool like the amethyst and iced for the heat of wax melting pumpkins. charlie brown in his sheet. got a rock, got a rock, and another one, too. i feel so much for old Chuck, boo-hoo! boo-hoo! or just BOO cause its fright night. turnin pale as a sheet, like purity of white. all the colors you cant see. vampires hiding in the trees. scary movies. no fees. trick or treating is free. no license, no registration. better than an island vacation. no hassle! i will be going to 2 parties. each one in a castle. im ready to give blood. ill be over soon, in my boat thats a car with a sound system that goes BOOM!! im a kid tonight, in heart and plain sight. see it in my aura. see me in my chevy impala, 1980 like the memories. all culture drops out tonight, its just chills and moans and spine tingling. unification through dark ritual.

its gonna be OKAY like you said when you didnt feel like elaborating. im there with you, in silence not pontificating. the words are clear, like my conscience. and if my karma isnt in perfect balance, its fucking okay! sung in cadence.

anyway i need to joint the night and go. i think about you all the time. thats you, you know. you mean so much to me. i would aim to visit. in my purple clubgirl costume, chewing on plump legumes. my daughters name is Raccoon. shes a cat, i know, its okay, shes still kin. im not crazy! im not living in sin! im like Linus without a blanket, staring over a field of sincerity, all hallows eve brings clarity & sincerity, i hype it up without fear you see. cause it always lives up to its reputation, not just in my heart but everywhere, no joke, even the cotton cobwebs have been dusted with witches broom, no longer flying these days...but soon. not feeling like traveling anywhere. hate to fly matter of fact. clubgirls and witches come to terms with the mummy. the sharing is like peeling the wrap off slow, apple cider sipping while reading Edgar Allen Poe.

you can out for a drink. you can tend fire and think. you can wish the moon full, while you empty all the sugar into heaving bags the little ones carry. this is so. the children make it real. you and i make it real. look into bloodshot black cat eyes. the night makes you wander, yes, it makes me wonder...will i survive? so scary indeed! like mike meyers jacked up on speed. i step on the gas of my chevy, Christine, and puff! trail of blue smoke, as i disappear before you. Christine, you may have heard of her, she caused a hysteria. Stephen King lived to tell about her, well, he claims he did. Hard to know, hard to tell, hes not from the bay area.

i really am happy about the whole damn thing! candles and magic and twilight between. Every other day of the year, is just like, the same! i mean, its far from or its close to...some distance from Halloween. its Okay! we can watch Vincent Price all day! we can go, we can stay. its ok.lots of fringe element to deal with. the taking is over, people! time to GIVE! you hear me? its okay, you do or dont. im matching Mariah up the scale, on the highway like a devil out of hell! blue smoke dropping, high note hitting Halloween right in the newt eye...you can or cant relate to my suffering. So deliciously buffering all the sick madness around us. thank the goddess autumn has found us.

delivered. okay. suffering? not today. the palette, shes full. earth air wind fire. whats your burning desire? let it go, fly away. you dont need it...okay. a beautiful soul. inside and out. the moon may not be full, but the feeling is whole. come full circle, you and me. lets end real nice with a heavy hug--- then well send us, spinning and free. into crisp air touching flame. waxy purity. fallen star, clasp and touch. said it was so. believed. it was such.

dangerous waxing of letter # coded flu

dangerous indeed!
in the days we lacked attention to read
subtle feed
name revoked and replaced with the special letter # code
H1N1

universal opportune translation
laboratory decoders
in quiet desperation
blanketed from media

Holy1 uNholy1
the holy war keeps score

Haunted1 Nascent Sun
waits for sunset & the bloodlet

Hither1 Nither1
back and forth - figure it out

north atlantic catfish come to mind
out of mud darkness
black black cloud

global censor suddenly opens
leaks some precedent phrase
like a hole in the ozone
leaking solaradiation rays

anticipators look up amazed
awakened by antecedent delays
in Precedent City...
they gazed and gazed

whole world thrown off!
foundation gone soft!

quarantine her anyway you can
the CIA instructed
(if youre American
you obey the command)

though it was all i could do
simple writer in my city
i did not want to be the one
blacklisted (what a pity)

i formulated a plan
between toes in the sand
'isolate by floating commas'
was how i ran

h1n1
h-1-n-1
(i saw the progression)
(it was kinda fun)

h-one n-one
hon-E none
remarkable!

(she became more than a code)
(she became some 1!)
now i could see her clear
bring me my gun
(i mean my pen)

H,1,N,1
1111...
Hhhhh
nNnNnnnn..11
(she started to break apart)
(her dissolution)
(my beating heart!)

now if only i can
sink her in sub-parantheses
wont have to drown all farm animals
in all global lakes

there would be consequences
for these sequences
all sentient beings
scratching sentient heads

H1N1 the Heartless Nascent singular (1)
comes one with three Heads 1
or ghost like
makes None 1

The Hexagram1 Neopagan 1
come from outer space!
beware beware!
the whole of human race

her blessings will infect your cellular
all ove the place

Heater1 Neutralized 1
will heat up your temperature
youre lucky to be neutralized
vaccination that got sent to ya

Injection
intranasal
whatever
it meant to ya

Helium 1 uplifts Nebula 1
close proximity to the sun

Hollow 1 point
projects to Nearest 1
such is the spread
of flu contagion

Honey 1 gets Nepollinated
by singular 1 bees
Call it neopolliten
call it beesknees

Takes out Halloween with 1
proceeded day of dead,
i mean November 1.

day of the dead
How appropriate 1
Now 1 will know the signs
and symptoms

Hallmark 1:
of the Nomer 1

Head 1 of the Nation
1 must know

1 Harvest shall be
what Next
1 reaped from the sow

Hat 1 wears atop his head
B Not 1 difference in preventing said

H1Ni new calamity:
couldnt get the shot?
shout profanity!

poor impoverished poor
again barred at the door
children fell & hit the floor

fever would not break
away

Hot 1
cold sun...
Never 1
more

Message from Katya of some relevance (in her humble opinion) to whats going on here?

Hi. I didnt want to do this, you know, interrupt the verses and S.P.E.A.K. to you all. But what you resist, persists. So really with all gratitude and deference to anyone who gives me a fat second of your onlinetime, - KAP KUN KAAA! (means thank you in Thai). you mean alot to me, you are the tension of the wire that makes this thing grow. I could get carried away and call you the sunlight the plant grows toward, but thats too close to self-id = plant. (Which used to be an insult in these parts).

I am here to let you know what im working on.... attaching V.O.C.A.L. T.R.A.X. to these pieces somehow, so you all can hear me read them alound. All you will need is a speaker. All i need is my mp3 player to rig it. i discovered a method one late night bouncing off my bedroom walls messing with softhardware and so on. So this is exciting (!!) because you know i never started this thing way back when i could have...i didnt like the idea of reading fiction or someones heartfelt letter off of a screen. Cause screens started as television and pong for me, and that was just a lower form of life or reality, know what i mean? just substandard. wrong side of the trax (the $$$ side i mean). A pretender, or just less than the real. less than the real. there ive said enough.

I have gotten over that mostly, and got this thing running. manifest. and that feels good. but i want alternate media. cause i have def come across acquaintances and peoples who have interest maybe in what im doing, but either cannot read or cannot enjoy reading off screens or dont want to have anything to do with any kind of b-l-og anyways. so i lose people. but its not about losing people like its about amplifying experience, adding levels, waves. i wanna say 'fifth wave' and stuff that sounds really brilliant, but whatever. tertiary point: Vocal trax will add a spice to the recipe, and make these verses more palatable. maybe finally someone will actually digest the whole enchilada.

I am no vocalist, no singer, (shower singer, yes), no trained puppy in range and note and music. But i can play chords on an acoustic guitar and give you my best indigo girls. or bob marley. i like to sing, yes i do. and i like to read my verses aloud. So yes, this is all for me and all for you and all for the benefit of who knows who. So look out for the first attache to one of these verses, it will probably just be a link at the start or end, so you can hear it. I will need some time probably to get into it myself, to feel it and express it. I just spoke one out that had to be erased immediately after birth. The second one is okay, but kinda monotone, so im not sure ill post it. But ill know when i strike the feeling carried in the words, vs when i miss it, so i probably wont post until i nail it. hope u like it.

thats really about it. i have wide eyes and a big smile for you all. a big hug, too. really, i mean it. thanks for caring about any of this. makes me wanna care about you and all this, whats going on here. i dont know where it will go. it doesnt matter. its worth it... so if u wanna keep reading, heres some crap i went on about before i got to the point, just some more talk about feelings and stuff. most women can talk feelings right into the ground, and i have that special talent as well...but theres a nice rant in here too....

...I think whats going on here, the writing, the reading, the feeling, is mainly about the third for me = the feelings get me juiced. the feeling of writing. not knowing where its going. letting it unfold. feeling it. finding some zone where everything falls away but the material. ya, the process is alright, just alright, real nice sometimes. Thats alot. My heart is in it. Im a skeptic, yes, but i am really fucking excited about whatever is happening right now, everywhere. Fuck the forces. The forces are just baseline, constant. Gravity, etc. for me its the feeling that carries the life. okay? (imagine Terry Gross from Fresh Air in a chair opposite me. haha.).

well, i wanted you to know what im working on. I changed some of the fonts you may see. Subtle. But used some bold to make the words burn right out the screen like photons, ya, light photons to enlighten, ya. A mouth full of love and light, energy and consciousness, is all you need to get out in front of the card carrying, burner-associating, fireart-spinning, cirque de soleil worshipping, mandala vortexing, subutex chewing, integrative-spewing, motivational interviewing,non-impact iphone-toting, probiotic-touting crews that tend to put the screws in you and me these days, 40oz of kombuchas deep into the night.

But really, Im here to share with you the entree of my new Tesla inspired, organic clay fired, eco-spiral-transmogrifier. Call me a liar, but its sitting right there next to my deep deep fryer. Touche! no, wait, thats way old school, scratch it from the record, replacer with namaste. (my Canadian friend responds = fuck.eh?). fin