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| four stones and two stringspig latin:
there’s a headlight on the hi-way
and the trees let me know
some while before the Chinook
and the car
get it out and just spit it
teeth and blood all over the new tile!
“can we go to the pool-hall?”
“no”
“why?”
“because it’s time to wake up now,
wake up.”
“wake up.”
left arm slams time
the body leaves the mind in bed
people are pouring through the doors
eight years ago is someone else’s now
and she tells me “soon.”
we may still smoke
maybe in hammocks...
843:
the morning went sideways
and, all the lights are out in the daylight.
the moon was late getting out
and the sun is late coming in
so let’s embrace and warm
the cold, unsure planet
and, let’s dance
while the sun is not here yet
and the moon is late getting out
where in-between exists
and, in-between gets us pears;
and, mid-way means we’ll sleep this off,
and wake up well rested.
to fall back asleep well aware
of the people on the street saying
talk to folks with families.
and, families tell you confide in friends
who tell you that the most important
thing is to decide on whether or not
this whole thing
is worth our time
the wires and screens seem to insist upon themselves
we’re backlogged with avoidable illness
the map is evolving again and
there are fresh reasons
and improved tactics
from friends who now seem competitor
family says the guy on the street
saying it’s time to decide on whether or not
this whole damn thing
is worth any time at all
and, let’s dance
and forget we stiffed brothers in arms
in a staring, silent apathy.
join your arms and sing
for those who are not here tonight
for there are many who could not make it here
and, let's dance
and pretend there is a beautiful world
worth saving
let’s dance
and stare and mutely
bring to the front our physical breakdown of mental constructs.
raise them up.
beat them through.
lay them on the now feeling ground.
and pull old strings.
The effect is new:
the process, unbearable;
the product, i guess, is self-esteem,
or some kind of general awareness to the idea that we
may all just be important beings in another
important being’s life.
and people dance
to put exploration of the sick at it’s proper priority
to mend the universe first.
and with slings and splints and all the bandages in the world,
i cry to myself in self-defeat and
re-define this globe
pay attention
i start a fire and go elsewhere expecting
it to be taken care of.
pay attention.
and families tell you confide in friends
who tell you that the most important
thing is to decide on whether or not
this whole thing
is worth our time
this whole thing
is worth our time
and everything
everything is going to be alright
Ode!:
Oh you marvelous madam marmalade, mm. your glowing head and golden hair with orbish satellites all ‘round you, gold too. Orbs and small stick-things, like digital blurred small trapezoids and shapeizoids all in orbit ‘round that golden crown - and moving on - the words and noise, the sheer amount of noise, it’s like you’re constantly going on and on and on from those eyes, I can’t hear when you look at me and all I can read is that mouth, madam marmalade, boats tied to grassy riversides and hills and skies and trains rolling down rails in the air between us with your words that are like rails running ‘round me and the train and steam puffs running circles ‘bout my arms and legs and your words as marmalade shapes, madam, tickle my armpits every time you say a thing you say. They move down your shape too, ma-dame, your figure figures right - it knows innately like I do that you’re shaped like mercury always sliding between the oxygen like perfectly lubricated appendages slipping decidedly between other lubricated folds of flesh – like marmalade so like molasses and firm sometimes too you mercury-molasses, well the way you move is really just quite fluid and in opposition to the blocky way so many as myself move through tangible, you’re flexible, you’re marvelous in the way you move misses marmalade and my god what a sticky mess we could make.
and... Blue Stars!:
Cu-cu-cu-cu-ph-ph-far from it!
Never been stronger with shoes on the
street - walk past each spot and laugh
about something abject you were told
and not ‘cause of the time she smiled when
you laughed and kept laughing ‘til she
laughed too – no, she’s gone.
You unsure lion cage in electric light with
no cat inside you look big also – you sit on hay
and if the hay burns you will still stand there
still cat-less and therefore still so completely
useless - yeah, she’s gone.
You go along writing you go along writing and
making up ambiguous figurative language, making up
things like making up words with valleys and peaks -
you cannot go about riding your boat down summer
mountains without so many mouths mouthing
disappointment like you are reading me write.
She’s gone…
Blue stars on everything completely-everything
black, just blue stars on black, more stars and then out
and more blue stars on black – white stars, so blue to white,
blue-white stars on pitch-blue-blazes black, shadow in the sink,
just blue stars, blue stars, blue stars on black,
she’s gone...
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| journalism"The business of the journalist is to destroy the truth; to lie outright; to pervert; to vilify; to fawn at the feet of Mammon, and to sell the country for his daily bread. You know it and I know it and what folly is this toasting an independent press. We are the tools and vassals of the rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping jacks, they pull the strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes." —John Swinton, the former Chief of Staff at the New York Times | | |
| a concessionsociety mimics the system which governs it
all governing states apply force to crimes
which exist as the state does
criminally
without law there can be no crime
without divinity there is no sin
there are no secrets in the ranks of the elite
their indiscretions are evident on our streets
their insensitivity is seen in the media that
so many of us make our own without all that has happened
there would be no point in you or I
ever being liberated
not liberated of governance
not liberated spiritually
not liberated from the sounds as words as ideas
no
liberated from a mind that would've
ever felt the need for liberation we lock and chain ourselves here
and it's alright, shh
every perceived concept of any ridiculous measure
is so inarguably necessary right now
simply because it's still happening right now
let's be honest
there's fascism in me
there's rape and murder in me
there's domination and molestation in me
there's a childish way in which we want
to fuck in blood and subvert everything
in all of us let's be honest
it works
for now, it works
and we love it
for now, let's accept it and
in the same way you stay a hand from thrashing
the simple one who will never understand
that it's impolite to masturbate in public forum
we'll stay a hand from thrashing
the lion's share of the society we mean to save
it works
plebian pyramids cemented in bodily fluids
it works
and we love it | | |
| lucky number ninesharing sherry sweetens tongues
and makes a mad man merry
raccoons will carry, reclaim all night
about the town you'll not see them tarry down and in
out and fro
they're famed
reclaimed is said to go
at night, with love,
the gazebo roofs all in need of stow by the moonlight raccoons pilfer
and one just might hear a bump a quiet thump
a grassy riot
greasy, sassy,
indignant smiles upon their faces
the Midnight hour - graceful wiles
in piles the pilfered loot will tower
for the people in the morrow
who need it most and wear their
sorrow upon their sleeves as if to say
i'll hold if you can for tomorrow
but let's first beat today | | |
| all or nothing, with otherwell, you'll throw a new one up
but, it's coming down too
the blemish under this make-up
is our soil ran red by us!
all your structures throw everything back at us compounded
and it's fuel
like all or nothing
and we dance all day
and we cry each night
we scream and fight
and spit and thrash
our feet are millions
and we've got nothing but time
we shake very foundations
and we never say never
anymore
and you'll fucking pump new ads out
and every one will incense
like gunshots in a crowd
and we'll pick up our dead friends
and bury you in them
under the rubble
we remember every love
you destroyed, brothers and sisters shattered
trying to meet a base moral
bastardization of life
until we shake you
to your very foundation
we scream
never say never
and every single one of us
is carved out of oak
every single one of us
is stained in chemicals
and one of us is still better
than one-thousand of you
one pair of hands working
accomplishes more than 10,000 bound in fear
through the mausoleum we'll dance
all night, making coffin lids rattle
bare feet bleed on pavement
and glass and remnants of
living rooms and all the loves
we've never really had the dust will settle many weeks later
in a rain evaporating visibly from flushed bodies
embracing in a cry
for a life worth living
all or nothing
and never saying never
ever again * * * * Though love is an abstract concept, restrained by language and interpretation, it exists uniquely as a coagulator of a pure and positive nature; therefore, love actually exists, maybe not as anything that will ever be communicable in words, or even actions, but only as something necessary and real, and that alone should be enough to make any nihilist give a damn. * * * * For the brief second we touched chests in an embrace, I was light and thoughtless; everything was sublime. As we pulled away and said goodnights my chest was already at a loss, like skin as bandages are taken away, and my whole torso ached to the elevator, down two floors, and down in the lobby still. The sunken feeling in my chest remained and did not let up until I had settled downstairs getting high. * * * * They said: it's all for nothing
and we need to get away, but this
raft is rotten
the ropes are worn and breaking
we had the flag to row
but there's nothing left in that
lost in the deluge the river is brimming with
contemporary cowboys,
cannibalistic capitalists,
coiffured cunts,
and unobservant cowards,
corrupt legislators,
small-man pigs,
fashionistas,
filter-fed media whores,
insecure thought soldiers,
justified suicides,
masochists and pacifists,
indoctrinated children on leashes,
obese slobs at troughs,
state-medicated psychopaths,
killers and victims,
philosophies and acts,
consumers and revolutionaries,
ad nauseum. An old woman afraid to leave home;
an old man afraid to close his eyes. The river rolls with sprays
of blood and semen
bone mulch, shards of flesh
and gray matter
flow in lines over bodies
with mouths on necks
mouths on mouths and fingers
on breasts and cocks and
cocks in slits with nails streaking
backs and sides in lacerations
hands woven together with fingers
white and tense
with lips kissing faces held against one another
intoxicated by and drowning in
our waste and fluids, narcotics the torrents of masses pull the raft asunder
wear this raft down
but fear flowed in the deluge
never here for us any longer * * * * the light was different -
the raft had fallen to pieces in the
morning star light which had run
through airy cloudscapes
screams from the waters died
and the raft was gone altogether
we were in the ocean, where
translucent green-blacks
and blues apex rhythmically in
sensual folds and dips and it was only us there
bobbing between gentle crests
that ran up over our cheeks
pressed to each other in the cool waters
which would glitter and mimic your eyes
alight by the early rising sun the raft was forgotten and unnecessary
like everything before
the mouth of the river in the distance
shone a colour like charcoal
bright dyes in the abyss
a glow in the gloom
a spark in the darkness
that said we'll all be out here eventually | | |
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