Looks like Vin Diesel’s gone down the food chain.*
Well, he had a horrible name for a movie star.
It’s like Rocky 17 now.
I liked him, I always did now.
O! Look at that! The eyes moved!
And there are four Ronald Reagan masks!
*And I didn’t mean nothin by that, jes talkin tricks for kids. Don’t take me outta context.
THE PENTAGON SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE DEPARTMENT
It recently occurred to me that yr probably blogging as her – and then I thought I wanted to visit regularly & put it on my list inside for later as ifn for some tasty cake
It’s a scary world for a detective, especially for a girl who forgets her punctuation. Like were I to tell you what color the sky was I probably can’t remember but I’ll find yr contrails, see wonderwoman there in her invisible jet–go WOW–note there’s something to be said, a recursive maturity in the wait. & how pretentious the language’s observations as tho I’m a teacher on the take. It makes you want to slash your eyes and crash tits and go all lower case. As though eye could dare to grade and there are some easy answers here’s some kudos and a note of mention.
meanwhile the universe colludes for my private signal entertainment:
Here’s a grape o news. Found this article right under something called The Greatest Failure of Thought in Human History, a false headline. This universe can twist yr shit and I think that it’s aware & I don’t mean to look like I put you down because I respect your thinking. it seems like reality feeds us equal doses of comedy & tragedy & we’re each our own foil, but that’s a story for another time fer the blightedly frightened & aware tarots of leaning pizzas:
“Meanwhile, the Department of Defense reported it could control the movements of a rat’s brain using a laptop computer. Researchers will turn their attention to rats, birds, and insects for performing interests of the DOD. They’re talking about militarily enhancing the most violent of apes, Man. They’re also working on a way to keep people awake for seven daze straight. They taught a monkey to move a computer mouse and a telerobotic arm simply by thinking about it. In fact, the monkeys can move an arm 600 miles away.”
It’s disgusting quirk o coincidence delivered in the morning news. & that’s the troof. Remind me to tell you about Masumi Hayashi’s dream, sidewalks, and flowers still standing in the peace of pillows.
*I say that them calling it commondreams is like a hopeful glass of happy horse shit
- – -
THIS IS THE ONE THAT GOT ME
DEAR OCCUPANTS, ACCIDENTS & OCCIDENTALS
Just yesterday it was yesterday
Now it’s already today
Confuse not mercy with weakness
Confuse weakness not with an upset liver
And confuse not an upset liver with love
It is the shape of the silence
Which defines the sound
Like winter rubbing against summer
Each refines the other
Only certain curtains can be drawn
The rest must be endured
The souring sermons
The centered self serving
The lion den Christians in Coliseum stands
Twixt ape and angel wandering
Torn between the knowledge
And the need
Do I worship the moon or sun
Or yet the blooded one?
I bloat and smell
Decay in age
The focus runs
The Greatest Failure of Thought in Human History: To solve climate change, we must overcome “systems blindness.” (about global warming: http://www.commondreams.org/archive/2008/08/27-16)
- – -
TO MAKE GOOD CAKE YOU GOTTA SAVE YR SHIT
Global warming is the single biggest human failure.
That reminds me, Smokey, of yr expression, to make good cake your gotta save your shit.
If you think about it, Iraq & Iran used to be jungle, until we ate it.
O Smokey, you wax depressing. What happened in those woods? They say writers ate the trees.
Got another wise crack loaded Polly?
You know I gots ya, babe, in the crosshair of my faith on the dance floor of life…
to be continued
- – -
The who in whoville calleth.. Yoo hoo! Yoda lay he hooooooo!
I’m not gonna say what I’m thinkin, Polly.
I’ll be your deep green keen whale pan pipe song.
So what is this story that yr writing?
I’m chasing the tail of the mystery!
I don’t think poetry books mysteries. And careful you don’t step on tails.
Yr not done yet are you? You got another three weeks of ten page stacks!
You cruisin for a bruisin? & they say there are more than fifty ways to whack a catcall. Thanks fur yer sense of humor. I see there’s something you can help me figure out because I some of friends to talk me through it. I thought I was the helper but I’m haunted and vice versa in reverse as is ever the case for this odd thotter.
I should explain what I’m saying here in pure language. Now I read my stacks of lines again I tap another tincture. I thought this was deflated but there’s another case I need for me. I want to write every word that I’ve learned to caress let rest and what I write is a mystery for me and not for you so ease your art and we can talk about it and I need your help. This is not a love story for a lover but a set of stories for some friends in delaced poisons. & I have a hunch it’s a case of catching abandonment and confusion lest I air some awful false auras. Let’s continue to build reality in our tracks of lines, gently, slowlike beautiful snowflakes that don’t cause abortions.
Sounds like someone’s been smoking in front of the altar.
Timeless medicine to discern the variants in perception. <– w.c. field voice, that’d be like him.
“Maybe yr psycho.”
I have to believe everybody has these little acid voices in their heads.
“Not me. I have little lambs.”
You know, maybe you do, Smokey, and you got a find mine. You certainly are my friend, good to talk less caustic – I can see I used your voice to explore my story cuz you’re so good at it – and I’m sorry I hurt you in the meanwhiles…
It reminds me of an allegory from Babylon Towers in Shake a Little Salt Over th Shoulder City Don’t Throw Yr Craps Off the Street, but we’re tired of this pathway and we think this a little mean.
- – -
A wish for a rest and amends and a halt to explanations, a garden for our faith, and thank you for helping me to see myself in the ever compounding prison of my shame.
‘A wish?’ Smith says. ‘You don’t need this here. You don’t need to have any shame.’
I do love him so.
- – -
“Did you like that movie? Get Shorty?”
Two hours ago I did, but now it seems like nausea.
My head hurts. I have horrifying flights of ego & creativity alternated with buckets of shameful vomit.
“Well, I’d go with the ego and creativity were I you.”
_ _ _
The temple of our love is strong, Smokey. Your words sustain an easy dreaming. You are the best friend I never had, the ache for explanation, an exploring flame, a curiosity for thought, a superman I thought to use like a mattress. Is to explain to hurt? You refuse to abuse, use yesterday and hold hand lesson to today. You say no shame. & I how you are great, and how I’m angry. Not at you, but yes, at you, because I am jealous and obsessed and mean and scared. & how I thought I heard my echo how my mind wasn’t special, the concept of clichÃ© but there’s hope for connection, how you trump my truth, how I want to steal your art, how I want to be you, what I want to write, the rage of the real. & how you are so kind to me & how I thot you’d leave – the allegory story of movies and a bowl of berries on the sofa, pomegranite plate that you threw in the toilet, ice cream in the freezer, brown rice for breakfast, a care for health.
Why are words fools? Why am I stifled? I would say woman but I’ll have to tell you me. I thought to inhabit but ain’t no gloves for what I am. Ain’t melodrama real and other caustic thots. The livewire voices I thot to hold like crickets in my fingers like chipper smiles never say you’re scared.
Shame ever wants to explain & drain.
“I’m sorry yr feeling nausea. You know what? Hatter sez he doesn’t like to owe people. I offered to give him some for the next shipment & he said no, let’s see if it comes first.”
“I like Hatter. I don’t like the cafe across the street no more.”
I don’t think the Mexicans are comfortable with us sitting in their comida. We’re too unusual.
“Well, you shoulda seen the way that little girl was staring at us.”
- – -
A little grape joke from the universe. My screen sez something when wrong when retrieving my id.
- – -
O how I’ll never leave you, how I don’t leave friends and if you want a rope that’s fine, and if you want to throw rocks, well, that’s fine too.
- – -
THE GARDEN ON THE ALTAR
Tell me your grape joke, Smokey…
“What’s purple, really angry, and you better stay out of it’s way?”
“The grape of wrath.”
I think that one was pretty good.
“My joke and Steinbeck’s novel, sort of.”
I like this little garden you made on our altar, Smokey.
Wait a minute â€“ I like the shapes of plants there. That’s what having plants all about. I like the flying saucers there, too. You know what? I could probably put our pieces there! (It’s an altar of Art.)
So, you know what yr calling yr book yet?
Well, I’m thinking THE CHURCH OF NOT QUITE SO MUCH PAIN AND SUFFERING, but it could be called THE BIG FAT BOOK OF NO ANSWERS. Both sound pretentious, but I’m trying to talk with friends in a neutered language. I got a lot to learn.
I notice some of my phrases pop up in your work again. Like, “Let my ego go” and other stuff.
Yep. If you meet your Buddha on the street, you better have a conversation, and other things they told you not to talk about down town, like the urge to pull wings off of flies and other ways they shame smart people in the institutions to keep them locked down tight and steal their religion.
Sounds like a stacked trap of flaming shaming shit, don’t throw away your dreams.
Did I ever tell you how you can put anything in a tamale, as long as it has cornmeal in it? & when you run out of corn, you can dry and grind banana. & if your soil only grows yams, well, that’ll work too…
Thank you and Good Night.