Journal # 03.31.15

I am happy to see some of the houses in my neighborhood are derelict. They have not been razed. They are accepted. If a community has no neglected homes, you can only imagine what it does to its people. My load of laundry is large and soft. It breaks against my hip. The strap is tight against my shoulder. The birds are rather excited about the Spring. The mercury climbs and the heat is so unlike the winter weather I have been accustomed to. The wooden planks that make the stairwell to my home are cranky. Shifty. They throw off their paint and nails. I look around me for signs of someone I do not need to see. They are nowhere to be seen. Not for some hours. I do not like having satellites. I prefer to be a singular planet, sometimes. Maybe with a dissolving ring. Or a solid one of ice that slices through space. But it seems I have no choice. Some will gravitate toward me. Will they wanna hurt me? Break through my atmosphere? I must not let paranoia rule the day. I wanna believe I attract things that wanna be near to me, maybe dear to me. But not offensive or harmful. Fact: I do not control the universe.

VLOG - (something different)

I have been experimenting with VLOG (video blog)
because it's spontaneous and it's the real ME versus
the typical pre-composed works of fiction and poetry
which come your way. Although you can find all my
videos (music, spoken word, and vlog) on my youtube
channel, occasionally i like to post a video here where
I have a much larger following. If you like it and want
more, be sure to subscribe to my youtube channel.
Thanks and especially to those who have been so
encouraging to me in the different ways I try and express
myself! -K

Journal # 03.29.15

Do not give up! Do not even think about it! In this world this madness, fast changing, leaving us with only memories and sadness, aging like we are, wondering who will be there to care anymore or remember our struggle and our little miraculous survival? Wondering what the great god has for us next.

Do not give up! Please!
No matter how tore up you are. The world needs you. We need you.
Precisely because you have been up against those odds, we need you to get even.
Come back to us. Talk to us. Help us go on another day!

Love always
Vitamin K

Journal # 03.28.15

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

Journal. mood manufacturing

Notes from the mood manufacturing plant...

It is Friday here at the mood manufacturing plant, and all whistles are singing your praises in an emotive appeal. The ventilators are venting all moods colored red. The transducers moving them straight from the head. Come see our blue room for a good cry. An assembly line of grief counselors reconstructing the tears. We fill up the clouds and send them up and away. To irrigate your dried out and rational demeanor. If we mix the reds and the blues, for a slightly larger sum, we can brew up a real nasty storm - and then some. Manufacture some drama, it  certainly won't be the norm. What would you like? Some celebrated success? A moulten euphoria? Your pride, undressed? A smoking hot aura? See here! We canned vulnerability in brine. The saline of premium salts off the vine. Wholesale we offer three episodic moments to the penny. All those memories could be refreshed, like old songs in your ears. It costs almost nothing, come now,  reduce yourself to tears.

Journal. Something about writing.

I think I am a mood perfectionist, when it comes to writing. Yes, I am learning to just sit down and write and not worry about setting the mood just so. I have to if I wanna be prolific, if I hope to publish many books. The process is in motion. It starts with noticing how I interact with my environment.

Now I have written in the blood-soaked rooms of a boarding house full of junkies, on a laptop so beat up I had to tie the screen back with zipties and twists, with a keyboard whose keys I had to superglue back on. With a boyfriend and junkie whose paranoia could turn on me in a second. With a habit of my own, boy and girl, serious enough it would undoubtedly kill me if it entered my bloodstream now. Clean as I finally am. Now I have written despite real and imagined voices on the other side of the walls. Now I have written under threat of being momentarily evicted. Now I have written with the sun in my face and heavy metal in my ears. Now I have written in a bar. In a car, in the cloud of someone's cigar. Now I have written for my life. Now I have written to death. I have written out the curses from under my goddamn breath.

But being sunshiney clean, I have to deal with myself and my moods. I can no longer control them, manipulate them, force them into submission. But the cool thing about living without all those old toxins pulsing through my blood, yes, the cool thing about it is there is no artifice. No manufactured moods.

The uncool thing is, I have to be a badass bitch with myself and keep myself doing something creative and not just talking about doing something. Use it or lose it. The mood perfectionism sometimes arrests me. I have my cup of coffee and my attitude to match. I have the light just write, coming through fabric cross the window. I have my Pandora One. Or silence. Ceiling fan on low. Doors locked. Phone muted. I sit down behind my desk, in a corner of my room. I open the chromebook and take a deep breath.

Then, well, it's a bit of a turkey shoot with my mind. I either get to writing, one word at a time. Or the tornado of my mood dislodges me from my setup, for any one of a million possible reasons, and I fight and fight and forget to write. I gotta let go, to go on.

Journal. 'Planted'

Yes. Something is stirring! What? Do I too bud and blossom like the spring? Can this be? I went to shake a man's hand and left him holding flower petals. I left my home and a vine traced my path all the way to the store. I was hoping to buy a quart of milk, stick of butter, and something I forgot? Heavens! I walked out of there with only a twenty pound sack of planting soil and plant food. My vine got chopped off by the electric doors, and it HURT! My fingernail beds were turning green. When I reached the train tracks, still two blocks from home, I stopped dead in my tracks. OH THE SUN! Suddenly filling me with such passion I cannot describe! I turned my head and heart up to face it, and I swear my spine arched like a bow, against the pull! I became lighter. My eyes went blind in the looking! My pores opened and my skin turned to oil. My feet became locked to the earth to keep me from floating away. I could no longer see or hear. I could no longer move! I did not care. I stood there and the sack of soil rolled off my back and broke open at my roots, I mean feet? The plant food I had already digested walking home, I could not wait. Something was rising up my esophagus now, I know not what? I can feel what feels like leaves and things scratching and bending up through the passage. I try to speak but no words come out! Oh my god! What is happening? My thoughts are upon the feeling, only the feeling of warmth of the sun and a wish for rain. Please rain. Please rain. Please rain. OH THE SUN! Oh my god! I am breathing out but it's like the deepest inhalation. How, how, how? I inhaled the toxic shock of your world. It grumbles in my tummy. I give you a purer stream, OH! Is it me? Is it really me? I see you walking by, my friend, but you cannot see me. I try and wave but only rustle in your breeze. PLEASE! See me? I love you. I will always love you. You kick on by, all careless like, and I just watch but not with eyes... and wait, is there? Is there really? The way I know you now, verily so, my love, the way you know me so, my sweet, is by the shade I cast upon to cool your skin... the fresh delightful taste unseen...you drink my blood in air... my heart in misty kelly green i share... inhale me, love, and stay a while... you need not go so soon! Come rest by me, your giving tree, on this the day so fair, breeze lifting through your lightest hair. How wondrous! Shall I never leave this resting place... my home.