potency pocket

dear one dear one dear one two four five
the pour of fingers even removed from my mouth beside your hip bones
stammers to speak but reveals tender tendency to squeak

I hope I wish I dream of staring down into a long corridor in which we are loved by our breath and breath alone

the way I shake sometimes scares me to tears the way I wish to raise my fist and drop my jaw to break my heart and put myself into a corner

and when steam rises and I fail to rise with it, and let the calm settle in
well oh well oh well
how swell to be swollen and let the cold wind wind push tears out until we are dry

how lovely to be dried upon the bike ride through cold streets
and thusly cleansed

and also by your fingers that seem so old

I hold them to my heart when I choose not to hit myself

cage spins endlessly and shake returned incessantly
still eyes roll back in head to re-mind
that stillness lies
in bed
under the moon
next to your head
greatfully

blue blessed
potency
of soft grin
of tender chin
of tendrils that crawl out of my green mouth
alone
children that fall when the tantrum drums out its final beat
feet collapse to sink into your shins

thanking the air of the gods
your breath
my breath
this fear
diminishes slowly
like a kettle left to cool after boiling
the heat cannot last forever
on these cold nights I remember.

world whirl

hello world world world world hole world whole
hello backwards bent open faced face
hello organs spilling out onto the floor
hello bent inside inward grin chocolate table hands
chocolate hands that fall flat on the table
the way we fall flat on our face
and dream about falling
and dream about rising to the top to fall down and back again

the series the series the series the series the series of conclusions
the series of stairs
the series of panels to hide between
the folds of our skin
tie together ribbons that abcess
from within our bellies

cry and hope I can make it
I can survive a few more hours
in this petri dish

does survival make it easier to remove the habits
of fear and repression
or does it just submit them to the body?

I am afraid to say no. to say what I feel to say. I am not.
I am not coming.
I am not here.
I don't wanna,

I don't know.
I cant be this or that.
I am afraid to breathe.

please a few words someone must be able to help

bald heaven

the idea that a French man speaking about an American man in an Argyle sweater sounds so poetic

a separation of stones and tones

crystals that shimmer widely

eye opening scarves around her neck biking swiftly down the street and bearded men with the kind of voice you might hear on a weekend breeze laying still on your bed in the ebbs of the slow afternoon, hot and sticky from the curtains being pulled down and the cats merging into balls into folds of fabric into your arms into the crevices and folds of your skin into the air which assumes a texture much like your sheets much like the surface of your skin

when you think about it, one of your hands is not much different from the other, one penny not much different from two, and in the moments before you rise from your bed, stillness not much different from movement, and the environment of your room not much different from the sensations spilling out from the internal environment of your body. your skin is not the sort of prison system that shuts everything in. it has holes and chutes and rivers ready to expel shit out.

a space outside a space inside and all your organs on the floor of whose room?
the room of all your inner spaces spills into the room of your outer spaces the one supposed to protect you from yourself and your self's interaction with the outside world.

so many pockets. slivers of rings, empty circles, vacant thoughts that carry weight when you look up at them so close it hurts to breathe, when you step away so far you are above everyone else, a king, an eagle, a master of shit. garbage. earth.

heaven can be held in your hand even with a couple fingers broken off.

these fingers that fell or flew






a drop of blood from sitting on the ground
a drop of heaven in my weighted heart meant to measure sin
a tear drop crystallizes on my palm
a slender fish swimming upstream










"environment to each must be all this isn't me
UNIVERSE to each must be all that isn't me AND me."
- R. Buckminster Fuller

sicksicksick

sickening dynamism

balancing swing pull push lub dub ebb flow
they say when one empties the other fills
if all was level there would be no movement

sickening hell eyes
see hell
see heaven at once

has the dynamism has the dynamism
has the dynamism of a star athlete who awakens every 30 years to wow their audience

point unfair fair nodal noxious wiggle

an unclimactic climax wiggles its way to the forefront of yer eye goggles
swimm in gelly liquid lens
that can be bent by fingernails

today no more wanting.
no anything.
clouds low.

clean my room clean my room cleanmyroom
eat my dust
bite it clean
bite it wash
in the serious moon
in the serious target
I had a job I had a job ive had 3 jobs in the past year

noxious black tea baby
absurd desires
for a worn heavy womb

beg to be alone do things based on alone.
if I was alone
id be digging into the dirt to get to the deadline
cross all my Ts dot all my Is extra credit

I can or cannot do it alone


I cant do it alone


do it.
do it.
do it.
do it.

there are many people

from a place of love

I love these knees eyes legs resistance chard of glass on the fllllloooor

no pet
only lies

shut

Vitex Agnus Castus - Chaste Tree Berry

"to cool the heat of lust"

http://nccam.nih.gov/health/chasteberry

"Chaste tree berry extract is believed to exert its clinical action through its dopaminergic effects on the anterior pituitary. Animal and human studies have shown that extracts of chaste tree bind to dopamine2 receptors in the anterior pituitary and decrease both basal- and thyrotropin-releasing-hormone-stimulated secretion of prolactin.[35-38] This decrease in prolactin leads to increased progesterone production in the luteal phase of the menstrual cycle, which reduces symptoms of PMS.[39] Consistent with this theory, PMS sufferers have significantly higher rates of prolactin throughout their cycles, especially in the second and third weeks.[40] Vitex has been postulated to correct hyperprolactinemia, thus allowing normal corpus luteum development and preventing PMS."

http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/406683_3

" In particular it can normalize the amount of progesterone in our bodies."

http://www.blossomclinic.net/2012/01/04/chaste-tree-berry-vitex-a-girls-best-friend-2/

___________________

This summer I bought Chaste tree Berry tincture, which I could taste to be quite strong, to begin preparing my body for pregnancy. I felt as though the repeated medical procedures I've had, as well as 4 years of symptoms of off & on PCOS, have compromised my otherwise fertile body. I also feel strongly that it has a balancing effect, progesterone/estrogen, on my body.

Something I am greatly into, and experiment with, is the so-called 'homeopathic' effects of herbs, medicines, drugs, plants, food, etc.

Maybe it's that I've lived in the armpit of the Pacific North-West where it was common to go to the herb store, look up an herb in a book, and take some experimentally, sometimes under the guidance of the Olympia Free Herbal Clinic, but maybe more so it is the ultimate trust I have in my spirit and being protected at all times by my angels and spirit guide... BUT more than anything it must be my curiosity, and faith in my own personal wisdom.

Well. I have this one very bad habit, and very terrible compulsion, to put myself in situations where I will likely be taken advantage of. Part of me knows it is an energy I send out that emits some sort of vibration that calls out:

Come to me, and Use me as you Please. I am a doll to be bought and sold. A catalyst to your passions, evicted afterwards to be eternally alone.

Last night, I felt that Chaste Tree Berry would surround my body with a vibration of protection, it would insulate my own desires and direct them towards myself.

I noticed that my lust for physical companionship was way reduced in an environment where I most likely could have been seductive, and it seemed to also reduce the lusty feelings from the other person I was around. I noticed movement and feeling in my Ileo-Ceceal Valve, which aligns above my right ovary and becomes stuck or swollen often when I am ovulating.

I feel a great amount of gratitude for being able to not submit to my social conditioning that I am a doll to be abused freely.

I will continue to use Chaste Tree Berry, especially this year, this year of recovery from being sexually abused for much of my adult life.

And as a side note, because I believe I have higher amounts of male hormones than other female-bodied peoples, I wonder if it will help with that, the more I use it consistently.

~ Teeth Crush Bones

the |BODY| is my 'lingua franca', in its abscence there is no/thing between us
the |body| is the only truth I know even a foot// of distance creates confusion. I don't understand you and I have no/thing to say when you touch your hands to my hands we pass infinite communication when I turn to walk away we are instantly removed from memory as if a phone is left off the hook
if I could scream from my roof and touch your roof,....
that is why I keep my mouth open
in case my breath is ever thick enough

the |body| is the only river I trust
when I drown, I do not die in it- unlike the way speech drops to cut my throat until I bleed to death left alone to dry in the sun

the |body| is the only truth I know in its abscence there is no/thing beween us and these words , only white noise.

nodal

everything was raw
on the cutting board and open and spinning wildly and bleeding
gums that didn't make room and bled and teeth that make room and bending down to touch your toes and all the things one can do with their eyes
to spin backwards
do handstand and try out something heavy

[she moved like a slow lumberjack who didn't take any advice from the mouths of babes]

if person A was crying
then person B would be alluding to something casual
and then person A would wind up on the floor in huge sigh, covered in post-masturbatory bed sheets

"we are always a mix of genitals. but we use the the target system to divide ourselves. people who hit the center of the target with their ecstatic juice HERE are rendered hopeless and ill-communicable. people who fall short are put in the boat and sent off to THERE. Trained in under-water sky diving."

"Oh isn't that baby so precious what a cutie! Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Well, why don't you take 'em for a spin and find out?"
"Uhhh..."

It was something like the right kind of lighting, dusk or something like dusk.

A scraping sound underneath the concrete and trains in the distance, coming and going, and the moonlight, coming and going with the wind and the way it made the trees and the flags hover beneath the sky, undulating ebb & flow of depth perception. Covering. And uncovering. Covering and Uncovering.

Hiding and not hiding. In extremes, him-her-we lay now in still neutrality on the hard-wood floor. She-him-they hadn't made the target, or missed the target, or gotten anywhere. They felt constant pull towards so many directions that thrustly once a day lay by themselves, delusionally in the ecstasy of the coarse wood grain they could see so close up by falling face first on it.

Just like hugging a tree or a soft milky person, him-she-we-them never wanted to let go.


do a dandystand. do a handstand. do a dandy stand. do a dandelion. be a lion. be a pride. be something. don't just lay there! you're worth more than that! be productive! have a family! make some babies then take care of them! be a doctor! try a technical skill!

be more do more
allways
eat more
poop more
die more
willingly





in soft fleshy folds of skin, perched on a flake of dust, hiding from the sun, a future-fairy glimpsed her former self. in those bedsheets. wrapped so warm and wet.
these folds of skin connecting. so squishy warm.
we never want to leave we wish to die here if we have to.

and slowly with one foot out she-him-her-we-them starts shaking. starts coming alive again.
the climax is finally over. the sun is rising. and everyone is staring at you from their homes inside tiny cracks in the wood flooring where all the eggs lay awaiting birth.

breathe in.
breathe out.

a love of nature.

a true love in a breeze.

a real love in a breath.

a sincere love when I close my eyes.

a loyalty at night in the bedsheets before the daily ritual re-birth.

no. no. no. no. no. no.no.

and all the said things that sound so clever fall off target like abstraction sent away to another world.
and all the nonsense does't fit in things, face it, must fend fer themselves.

breathe in.
breath out.
there is joy in the air, just, you can see it, by even trying to look at it.
and you don't have to do anything about your condition.
breathe in. breathe out. now,
prostrate.

I was that Mayan Princess

Cultural Identity: Does it have to be connected to your family? What happens when your a past abuser dies? and Lomatium Root
September 10, 2014 at 2:24pm

Hello Folks,


Some things on my mind today.


First, I'd like to discuss the connection between some sort of middle man and various forms of identity. There is the person (the subject of the identity), their identity, and usually some factor that connects them to that identity.

But what happens when that factor disappears or fades away? Dies even? Do you lose that identity? Which begs to ask the question: How can your identity persist without some person/community/culture/or other factor connecting you to that identity?


One example from my own life is being genetically Palestinian and Guatemalan, but having relatively few cultural experiences in my lifetime to link me to those cultures. Outside of a community of Arabs or Latino people, how do I connect to my identity? Can I choose my own identity and connect to it without typical connections?

Typically I would have arab friends, and family, who I share this identity with, but outside of my immediate family, I have no one. And how connecting to my identity can one Arab, and 2 Arab Americans be who they themselves do not have a community to share in their identity?


I believe one can choose their identity. I can choose to be Hispanic, and Arab. I struggle with this concept a lot because I have Arab relatives, at least, who are around the US generally (although 2 of my cousins live in Lebanon and Dubai), BUT I barely know them and we have no report between each other, no connection, no familiarity. (My parents were both Pariahs in their respective families, although I'd say no longer, as of recent, for my Dad).


I then thought, well, there is at least my mother, in all of her Arab-ness which seems fairly intact since the past 29 years or so she has lived in America. But even then, DO I need her to maintain my identity? Is it she who links me to my heritage?


If we allow ourselves to choose our identities, we can avoid feeling isolated in our particular unique cultural (or whatever) circumstance.


So I find this connecting to the identity of being a victim of abuse.


What happens when your abuser dies? As mine has in the past years.


I will say there really is a similar feeling of loss of identity, as in the above description of not having a clear connection to my cultural identity.


As my Palestinian family falls more apart, I still feel like a Palestinian, just a Palestinian who has really only one other Palestinian to share in their identity as a Palestinian. And I find, that that connection is really inside of me. But that the transition from finding identity in community to inside of my own singular being to be awkward.


Just as I found it awkward when A. died, and the person who i hated, who i tried to understand from a distance, who in his last phone call to me sounded like the devil, was gone, literally gone from Earth.


What is interesting in both these situations: When i realized I no longer had an abuser to have been abused by, and when I saw my family fading farther and farther away from me sharing less and less about our culture, instead of losing my identity, I actually found it even stronger within myself.


So many years, seeing myself as Half-Arab and never Full anything, left me feeling culturally isolated. And even though I cannot take away the feeling of being different, alien, alone in my own personality, separate from many in the society I live in, it truly feels better to let yourself feel the person and grab the identity of who you feel you are, even if you cannot prove it on paper.


Telling myself I was only half-Arab kept me from allowing myself to participate in activities in the various cities I've lived in that were for Arabs. I was afraid that I wouldn't be accepted because I couldn't speak Arabic or because I dressed very American. Now I don't care if I'm accepted. I feel who I am alone, or not alone. My identity remains regardless of approval or comraderie.


And when A. died, at first I thought, how could I feel so abused if my abuser was gone? But I found that the experience of what all happened was inside of me. I could grow from allowing that experience to be real and present in my life, to let it transform me in a positive way, without being attached to the past circumstance.


Actually, in both situations the lack of an external connecting factor to my identity, strengthened the connection to my identity from and within myself.


I feel that maybe I am even lucky to have any familial connection to my identity at all, but I also feel like if anyone wants to have a connection to their heritage, whatever they feel it is, that they can do so within themselves, and they don't need approval by some external community. They don't need to fit in, to be like the others who share their identity.

And if an identity of yours is one of circumstance, it is interesting, that that circumstance stands alone even without its players around in the present moment. The story lives.


These both are different sorts of identities but both can be seen as based in one's personal story and the stories one chooses to feel connected to.


When I read the Popul Vuh (the most famous Mayan sacred text and creation story), i felt so connected to its imagery, its movement, the archetypes, the feeling of the spiritual nature of the story, and I went to the National Museum of History in NYC and I stood in the gallery about the Maya. I stood in front of a Torquise necklace that had belonged to a Mayan princess, and as I stood there in front of the glass it reflected onto My Neck, and I became that princess, and that culture became a part of me.


There may be a myriad of unknown identities within each one of us. I would highly encourage anyone who feels like it to allow themselves to feel any identity they want to feel. We don't even accurately know our cultural histories, we are each so mixed. Why not allow ourselves to feel connected to any identity any culture? and Peoples? Any language? Any Pro-Sport community? Any music scene? EVEN IF WE DON'T FIT IN WITH THE REST.


Please read this article if you want another perspective of what happens when your abuser dies: http://www.buzzfeed.com/leighstein/piecing-together-my-troubled-exs-last-days


and this, "I come from both sides,” I screamed at him. “How can I choose one?”

“You have to choose,” he shouted back. “Or else you’ll be alone. A child who doesn’t share her family’s values has no family.”

(i cry when i read that last sentence, because there are parts of me who feel like that)

from: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/personal-view/11061569/What-is-it-like-to-grow-up-half-Jewish-and-half-Palestinian.html

JUST THE AUDIO:


Onto...

LOMATIUM ROOT: The herb that saved native peoples in the Pacific Northwest during the 1918 Influenza Pandemic



(to be continued...)

much of the daay on the west philly side of a stream

amazing depth width and breadth of breath!

how the moon proffers its boned finger

up my nose boogers

as i jounce around town

in near to be spindly fashion

of about to become pinned

blood transfusion

amalgous breadth width depth pain0tience zip OH wings of death!

to be tenderly mis-fashioned american steel protractor non sense
delivered to a doorstep

when a certain angle of wind hits the angle of sun
and the angle of moon

one more abandoned grown grass child

on hot concrete

less and less hot concrete

covered in tendrils of change

that fall

away

fade

a submission of discovery

letters of tips of words been tryin to shove out
vocabulary lost
linguistic tongue caught in throat

fishing
shades of moon
tide's a'comin

dip into the blue
cultural lag

swim into sleep
swim into a pool of sleep where sleep is both
sleep and non-sleep

devil's watchin'

only a road to death
the one i came in on
rode a white horse

respect respect

the hands of imaginary savior

she had the hands of an imaginary savior

she hung the hands of an imaginary savior

with her hands

she could spin thread thick

cover all the wounds a healer could lose but wouldn't loose

spell a few more letters

if my brain ain't right and i gotta shove the phemes morph spit
gargle fuck

saviour saviour saviour

sunshine silver slivers of it out like a river
in chest heart lang-wage
exchange
one with the wind
each breath
we spin
one with the wind

all i ever wanted was to be wrapped in continuous thread
so i wouldn't be so bare headed
lengthy
breath

im starting to cry.

dustdustdust

dust dust dust dusst daily dust cant enough
dust dust drive
piles of hair
leftover skin
leftover cracks
they get in the crack and they never come back
once the dust falls it can only lift up again
it can rise
but it will never come together there are dists of a fetaher that fly together
fading into dust
looking into dust
touching dust jackets
finger covered in dust. moon rivers covered in dust.
hugs .

___________________________________________________________

how will i leave my room?
how will i leave my room?
how will i leave my room?

i hear cutting boards down the stairs
i hear
i hear
i hear a tiny voice

wishing for comfort
its not me its not me its not me

i hear every ache in her body downstairs
like it's calling me
like it's illustrated in full color.

falling out of her sleeve is my imagery of 'sleeves'
out of her breath my imagery of sighs
out of my thighs
tension and looseness
and what a whore is
and who the whore was behind the whore make up and the whore masque
which relies so heavily on being feminine.

i dont know what age i was when i realized the cool girls acted like boys
it was an affect you could add to your persona to get popular

sometimes i wore little boys' clothes
but to get the cool creds you had to uhhhhh looka like a man

but a boy and a girl before puberty are so much the same, and the costumes they wear on top
straight jacket
compares
loosely to the lonliness of being alien
all the new categories
but i stick my arms out and scream when they try to fit me

there are no pair of shoes i could buy
to jump out of my identity
it is ALIEN/FOR-REIGN/OTHER
it is essential

i am a dog
when dogs are cute or sickly
i am a cat
when cats are worshipped and thus separate

who whore? what hair?
what proves you are a whore is your whore card
a vague interest in goddesses
and that feeling at the end of the day
that your body opens up an abyss to the etherworld
built ready to swallow.

modern day whores who shoot arrows meant to trap
the innocent men, who could have remained boys, and been spared

who hair?

who whore?

mish hona


it is the memory of a silvery blue and red plaid jacket.
it is a memory of a little boy, my brother, who i could can never be and now don wanna

i want that
i dont want that
i want that
i dont want that

two whores with who'res breath walk in a room
one looks at the other and says,
I BLEED TO BE FORGIVEN
they lay down and break their bones into the concrete
really
just for kicks

just for the kids
they can't handle it

there are no more words
for that feeling of sitting on the toilet thinking with yer pants down

and laughter receding
a breeze you hear downstairs
a hope you can rely on

jail break sally

jail break sally
rise to her performance
off the moonrise sunlight
ache to become bread
eat one piece in the hand of a king
jail break sally
no one got a thing on her
she is beautiful like a rainbow lacking metaphor
she pours from the spoon of honey
is the alfalfa queen of the field
is my hole in the heart in one
jail break sally on her death bed
well she's been dead since was born
so on her life bed in which she was forever dying
she managed to swarm a few words from her lips
they rattled off the vent at the bottom of her
hard. wood floors
and into my mouth scream
gulp gulp gulp
baby vegan ice cream
lickin that grit off the city streets
well it said//
harbor my hopes in the roots of yer fingertips
never let go of the essence of yer childhood
sing to the wind
when no one is lookin
if you break some bones
just bring them home
if you break some hearts
just put back yer own heart's part//

I'm really sick sally said I to her on that day
the one she died on.

the birth canal was a slow and narrow dream
jail break sally came from the ethereal never forwards

im sick my chest aches with pain
and in spite of the air not being able to fit in my lungs
jail break sally gave me a kiss
and I blew her a kiss
and we both died together
our lungs flattened on a rope swing together
washed by the sunlight
and now we are one lung with two wings
and that's how I keep singing

lost as voice
not as loud a brick
as a clump of dust
as a scene depicted in a book
you can hold in your hand one or two fingers up
they brush through your hair as you turn the pages
as you press the buttons or curve your ear towards the sound
of the television which is made louder by repetition

take a lesson from repetition if you want to scream

there is more power in the undercurrent of a dope beat
than a hundred drums

there can be one voice even that sounds louder in the wind
because the wind is an amplifier for destiny

coarsing my fingers on the fences, and railings of industrial setting
texture of drops- flops stabs pounds knuckles ribbed nature

why inside is so calm when outside rumbles with passages

how to make sound travel through our feet
oh but it does when you stop to listen
but not stop walking
walking is like heaven if you can close your eyes and hold someone's hand even better

i wish i was blind enough to see it

he builds me a synthesizer shaped out of my dreams
opalescent vulture-saur
wild white canine with deep blue eyes the shade of the unborn river that runs through me
chain
metal
dark red rivers
blue-red-blue-red
breath


oh how a single cat hair can get into my eyes

what is fear

fear is like holding a sword fashioned by uber-magical dragons to specifically cut through the masque or veil of all the fears you've ever had, but the idea of ending those fears is all too much to bear.

fear is the fractalization of fear

fear is the opponent to love, but it is also the bridge to love
love is like super highway that one can instaneously transport themselves on to overcome the bridge of fear

ultimately you will have to overcome your fears, avoiding them will only put them off into the eternal and never here-right-now tomorrow

avoidance is the illusion that you have some problem with yourself to overcome fear
fear is an illusion, avoidance is a tactic to distance yourself from feeling how illusionary fear is

with this sword you can cut through fear, or cut yourself and wrap yourself in additional layers of fear

with this sword of love, it sings a song of bravery, or confidence, you can hear it and believe in it, but until you use it, you are only a casual believer that is afraid for it to be true: that love overcome all fear

on the road to love is fear, and that is where I currently live,
Princess Fear-Love

- if i refuse to do and act instead of being afraid, what can i do to take a smaller, granted more aggravating step, towards overcoming the fear of overcoming fear?

That's why I am the sun.

Lots of things make me sad
That's why I am the sun
I hold my sorrows in a bag
That's why I am so strong
I have a memory of being grass bone rock and wood
I am as sad as the history of choosing pain instead of peace
As sad as my fists can be for ancient acts
of losing true love for jealousy

A watching eye
A destructive breeze



Lots of things make me sad
that's why I am the sun

Don't have a cow man!

One of the main deterrents to becoming vegan or vegetarian for me has been that I feel embarrassed to join others in what they are doing. So, even though i have experience making vegan foods, and already seek out vegan restaurants and food places, I feel embarrassed to hop on the bandwagon. Vegans can be pretty pretentious sometimes, and it almost feels like I'm not supposed to join their elitist club, but can be an ally on the outside.

Another example of this fear of conformity is when I am whistling and someone joins in with me. Although I greatly enjoy whistling or making sounds with anyone, the fear of doing something WITH someone, the embarrassment of now consciously and openly participating in something together... makes me feel scared to keep going.

It's like if you were dancing in the streets and someone came up and danced with you, it'd be awesome but then you'd be all, "Oh I guess someone saw me dancing."

So, I fear that vegans will be all protective of their own veganism.

BUT. That is changing. This past weekend I spent time around people who are not just vegan, but they tell you WHY they're vegan. They're vegan for reason of having compassion for animals, for feeling oneness with animal consciousness, and would like to END ALL SUFFERING.

Really, there is no better reason to stop killing or enslaving animals than for the reason of:

MAY ALL BEINGS BE HAPPY AND FREE OF SUFFERING.

(in my opinion)

I suppose the act of trying to eat vegan (this is day TWO), for me right now in my life, is like taking a hold of my right to do whatever I want. It now seems okay to have opinions that I believe in even if others agree with me, I am not as afraid of being like others. I learned this weekend, that being part of a group, doing things with others *which is fun* means letting go a bit of your own personal identity. It ALSO means being stronger in your identity, which is something I am working on.

It feels really good to not smoke a cigarette just because I see someone else doing so. Not to accept milk in my coffee (I haven't been drinking milk anyhow), just because I am afraid to ask for what I want.

It is liberating to not be afraid of going against the grain, and not being worried if I am pleasant enough for others. It's tHEIR CHOICE! I want people to be in harmony with one another, but if I am always acting like everything is okay all the time... when it isn't when I am a different body with different needs, then I will continue to get frustrated and upset at others when they FAIL me.

I cannot expect others to please me all the time, and in a way, conforming to others' preference is like holding on to the hope that we will both always please each other but what always ends up happening, is I feel like my sense of self is lost...


sometimes... I don't like the music you're playing and I don't want to be around it.
sometimes... I'm not going to eat anything because nothing you have is what I want.
sometimes... I'm going to say, "You bore me," instead of having a hissy fit about how much I should be entertaining myself.

Ultimately, I will have to entertain myself, walk away on my own, feed myself, play the music I like, but simply the act of expressly my preferences more truly will have /is having the effect of feeling okay about being the kind of person I AM and not the kind of person YOU ARE. and Ultimately that will help me let go and let you be the person you are, more freely.

So here are some of my own experiences:

Well... I've mostly not been drinking milk since I had a vision one morning driving back from my overnight shift working as a caretaker... I had dozed off in my car and woke up to the image of a Cow in a purple dress and golden crown. She was lifting her breast out of her dress and looked me right in the eye, very sarcastically she made a baby voice and whiningly said, "Awww... did you want some milk??" As if to say: Oh are you a baby too? Are you debase this queen and suck on her titties just cause you want some milk??

Also Ashley/Pearson had a dream once that there seven golden opalescent chickens and that they were godly beings asking them why they were eating their brothers and sisters.

I also personally recognize the suffering of any being to be a reflection of suffering of many beings... one thing does get me... what about plants?

I used to believe that since plants had equal consciousness and we needed to eat SOMETHING to survive, that eating plants was no different than eating animals, as long as you thanked the animal and appreciated its role as giving its life for food. But I suppose my worldview has become more practical. When you can see the pain in an animal and not in a plant when it is cut, when cutting and destroying a plant often causes it to speed up its reproduction process, when plants represent the highest evolved form, that is, they are very efficient making food from sunlight, water, and air, perhaps they are emotionally okay with being eaten, and have evolved to not feel pain or sufferring from it. How can you agree animals feel no pain after watching an animal IN pain? any animal? I feel it when people are in pain, why not animals...? Why not plants..? I am still not certain. But it "feels" like it is more accurate to care for the sufferring of animals than the potential suffering of plants. As well, it is obvious that most animal products are coming from the systematic enslavement of animals for food/products. Recall that once Black people were thought of as 'animals' in the same way.

Objects to be used and commodified.

Humans/Animals are not commodities for our society. I feel that acts against such a system are more aligned with my heart. I have a heart for others' pain, especially the pain that is routinely allowed with out much thought. Just as I am against abandoning children, ignoring friends and lovers, and helping the outside world before helping your family and neighbors.




If I can have the compassion to not participate in the killing and using of animal bodies, even though everyone does it and has been doing it for thousands of years, even though I feel embarassed that I am doing something other people do... it might help me have the compassion towards myself to stand up for my beliefs... or to others to respect their differences... and it might help people respect me more as some sort of chain reaction.

simply pythagorean.

much fear & love,
Nur

what blunders befallen ye

heyo

goddess Inanna up in the house

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inanna


i believe i am innana
and inanna folows me in a dream


"She stirs confusion and chaos against those who are disobedient to her, speeding carnage and inciting the devastating flood, clothed in terrifying radiance. It is her game to speed conflict and battle, untiring, strapping on her sandals."

it is inanna that evokes war and ruin in me, but to enact ruin in such a manner of Justice, and not creating more pain and negativity.
To be a sword that points to who needs to fall, to scrape their knees to learn a lesson. Who, usually men/boys but not always, mostly people, who do not realize who they hurt as they walk.
People who scrape the shin of others with sharp objects around their waists like it ain't no thing. Who say sorry and who do nothing.
to say but not do.

i am also at fault.
there is much fear.
i can forgive like a kitten.
like the kitten i am.
i will forgive
but i also will wreck justice

.................................

what is justice?

isn't it okay to stop loving someone

yes

but justice still needs
to be shown

i think all i want to express
is that love in a union,
and that union can be respected without chaining it to certain expectations


*****************************************

i don't know but venus visited me in a dream
she had the eyes of my daughter

there were fabrics of social situation i do not understand

i am child

i am the child tree

that gives birth to new ideas

and she in turn gives birth to me

and we create each other

i know it's true

i saw her smile in a dream

miles points and berries

Miles points and berries crystal fairies Point at me Im home in a bed spent my winnings on losings... Almost scary didja eat those berries? Cause I notice someone's got purple on their face She screams to the moon! Im a THEY!! All over Seven horse heads and none too fast Fer a shouler impasse I got trash on my lass Oh Pleasure is a leisure for the soul I got cash on hand in between my toes But the man is the archaic toll Poison boysenberries im a crystal faery So im told Im one of those Out in the cold

words from: And It CAme To Pass Not To Stay

The game called money is about to become extinct. Advantaged by the computer's capabiltiy To inventory, permutate and reevidence All relevant metabolic information, Humanity is about to discover That whatever it needs to do And knows how to do It can always afford to do And that in fact is only And all it can afford to do. - R. Buckminster Fuller from AND IT CAME TO PASS - NOT TO STAY

scared of girls

this is about how im scared of girls and i go on ok-cupid looking for people who have similar interests to me, and then it's like ohhhh we're attracted to each other but really i just should make friends with girls/trans womyn. but girls are scary, and i'm afraid to go up and talk to them, i seriously, in the back of my head think the girl will be all like: EWWW what is she doin talkin to me, i am NOT her friend. and rarely do i see girls letting loose and having a good time or being silly or embarassing in public... but boys seem so much easier to talk to and it's easier to be less afraid cause in my mind it's like: welll they prolly think im cute, even if they're not attracted to me, and that'll make it okay to talk to them. but them i'm just playing into these role dynamics. but. beats being friendless. p.s. i think the truth is that. b. and me are very unlike each-other and there's ton of other people more like me.i think iphones freak me out, but then again, andriod phones used to freak me out, and then Abe had one and now I'm sitting in Abe's super awesome apartment, just after eating an awesome salad with vegan cheese. actually i dont care if we're different. i do love him. now abe is rolling the vegan cheese in herbs. (stop talking stop stop) YAY! "this batch is sticky" oh! i'm really excited. "letting it all out" BEATSBEATSBEATS BEATS BEATS WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE DRUM BEATS DRAG DEM BEATS UP YER FEET DRAG THEM I LOVE A SOUND AS IT FLUTTERS THROUGH BABY GOT THE HEART CAVITY HOLLOW AS A SPINNING SUN BACK <3

don't edit the sad parts

The real love of my life will.want me? Won't they? They'll want to spend time with mr and create together and work thongs out together? Won't they?? And it's ok to love someone more than they love you, as long as you have boundaries with them and don't expect much, right? Still sad, but less sad tofay. The real love will at the very least share their troubles with me? I'm an idealist. I don't think I made the first move Tho. He has tp disappear for me to realize he wasn't good enough fpr me, not because of anything inherent within him but simply because he wasn't willing to try harder, or do it together. So I have to accept that. Love is real, but, I mean with sacred flaws and all, I was offering my soul on a platter. And when I went to the sacrificial table, it was just me all alone.

person person

dear person inside this outside person,

stop trying to communicate to people who don't care about you but who have built their life upon a mountain of obligations they don't really connect to. or maybe you just don't understand them. but please stop trying to write them letters. and crying. as if you could electronically send your tears.

dear person person,

it is very sad and i am upset at myself. that i cannnot stop feeling so strongly that i just hesitate. and nothing gets done. and i am erased. i start again.

i know i have mental illness. but i know that. i am stubborn. and i want to. do it my own way.

i feel sad.

and also there is other parts of me.


i wish i could talk to elizabeth because she understands these things

i am weary

something is messed up in my head, cause a fly could trigger this emotional reaction.

i know it has to do with being abandoned by my father when i was little.

i know this now.

this awful and false-seeeming reaction.

why i am i still twelve?

and i always give people advice, good advice too, and who can help me?
no one.
i can only help myself.


i wish i didnt cry for hours

yet.

i pre planned this mental breakdown, more than a year ago.

so i would have the freedom. to be this sad.

i still love you N. so, don't give up, just cause you don't understand why you feel so strongly about everything.

love to the zero
n.

dragon fly

a dragon fly flew up to my second story window.
i am in love again.

i am in love with a dream. a boy who is yet a man.

with the steam from the humid summer air.
with the dirt in my face from falling down and making a fool of myself.

if your emotions are wild.

there are kitty cats on sky ropes
clawing their way outta the glass ceiling tight gaurd

for the non sense people

who smush their tiny little kittie heads into watermelon squares

so sorry.

but i will never call you on the phone.

because i am an asshole.

love


me


your mother kitten
tongue splitten
good licken
lover

splendid

this is my journal. AN online public exhibitionist's journal. mostly written in the form of poetry.
I've found that i can't say everything out loud. Some parts of my mind are a bit too painful for others. i mean hardly anyone reads this... but i was asked once to take something down. and i did.

right today. the verge of things changing.
right now today. it is 2 days past the turning point.
was it the full moon in capricorn? that made me feel like it was time.
how did i get the gift of coming stability?

i recently got word I was accepted to live in a really beautiful house. i have always wanted to live in a really beautiful house that would allow me to be most productive.


i hope to catch a sunshine river... slide down the sunshine slide...


how amazing these different parts of us.

i love someone.
i love many people.

i am strong in myself.
i'm a tiger.

the universe will take care of me, if i exchange my work in hand.

i have much to give.

i am building strength.

i am awakening.

i have faith the struggle before me will turn out fortuitious.

i beleieve in the power of love to draw in more love.

i believe it's okay to love someone who doesn't love you back, as long as you try to be conscious of respecting their boundaries, which is still really hard.


im okay. even when sad things happen. i know i will always be okay. and just because i love people real hard doesn't mean that i am depending on them for external strength. only my heart is so full and wants to learn how to love and be healthy.

ii'm movin to philly what what!

KBYE <3 p="">

lizzie the levy

i had a boyfriend he was made to die
shot the apple of his eye
hole in one
pie in the sky

i had a lover
laid her under
thought about touching her hands
her lips
and smile

so i prostrate on the ground drove a screw through my eye
Oedipus
complex

confusion for a non-conformist

severed my wrists
and placed them down
hoping soon they'd grow
and be found
by someone who i'd never know
by someone who i may never know
by someone who i never knew

by my open mouth and by my wound down wings
now a spinning doll, at least one that sings
when you wind me up i cannot stop
just like the earth's rotation
the things you'll never know
the language that is never spoken

all rhythms rhyme.
all lines divine.

because there are words you'll never know.

one open mouth that breathes,
a mind is an animalistic thing
i feed it celery
and water
and hope it'll never grow
taller
than my rooftop alter.

because i don't own a thing.
i am a fly.
am no where
like the golden ghosts that wait
on the edges of my toes
i dance over speckled bugs and rings
of designer fashion
orbits
and lit up parallelograms

the process is in the pudding and the pudding is all on my face
but when i lift my head at daybreak
stare into a mirror
and roar
I have fucking chocolate pudding all over my face.
and am proud.
or my place in this life.
i can be nothing else.
than my choices even the way i breathe.
with red on my face
i still do not change
so why not the most raw nonsense?

in autumn things will settle down.
another year will pass and i will still be here.
in my body.

star (t)

star people .
star poison.
play strings of mental harmonies.
that ride yer soul up the windy river.
and beam downloads
like incredible energy.
i send my bat signal.
nightly.
so you can save me from,
these horrific humans.

and yet perhaps i am from here.
my tetra terra
my lover in chains.

were you the alien?
and perhaps there is pain behind those tiny eyes that seem so strange to me.
if i were a bodhisattva, i'd never leave this genetic ribbon alone, though my fingers swell with strain.

oh star people. please come visit me.
and show me how large my family could be.
and what sort of precautions i could take to not be devoured
by these residuallly believable android figures
which could be you or i
and both horrific in relation/inverse relation
in revelation.

i can agree. i can. compassion.

aside from the sliver of moonlight that bleeds from above.

there are tiny neon dots of freedom

from the thread gill

who breathes so heavily
in this dirt

star player. star seer. start here. end nowhere.
hole in one spin.

in a roving river

today I woke definitely shaky

my body is shaking and i feel emotionally shaky as if i could fall out of my body at any given moment.

spectacular nails bleed water

sometimes. hard black asphalt crying. sometimes raised roof tears. sometimes blood outta socket. sometimes tendons are shoe stringed. finger nails crawl and eyes stare long towards the sun. they sit like that for hours. and when the wind knocks you up, the ocean will sweep you into its waves. the sunshine shimmers spectacularly. one breath is enough. a bowl of past blood sweat and gold. magnified by the divine will inside your tied-in-two. a corn worshipping peoples. a feather worshipping saint. a long very long oh so long finger nail sigh. recovery from an addiction, of asphalt crawling. of backwards dream glow head. of inside outside eye cone. red green. red green blue. blue no yellow. fire. hide it.
hide it or she will get it. she/he/we will take it. metallic fire breath. only one is enough. sometimes. lungs hurt and heave to breathe naturally. when one grows up with no real life example of love. on the ass back-fault nails sink creep into skin rivers end.  one  can stare as long as is enough into the most natural thing on earth. the blaze of the wind hitting you upside that head. as it drags your body back into the sea/womb/corner pocket. if needles and spindles and rivers and white owl feathers and shadows and rabid dog whisperers and children and magical sunsets, radishes, and diamond tears were real things, these beautiful copper pennies would be so sticky in the sun. but as it is, these beautiful pennies are so sticky in the sun. dashboard mom. dials backwards sun. delivers backwords songs. fights for clarity nails it hard.
a sign asking for patiency. and pageantry. and regenerative blue-green-current.
gs up hos down.

balb blah blah life im stuck in the 90s

Dear Diary Lover Layer,

It wasn't that great of a birthday party but at least Brian was there. Brian and I also spent much of the following weekend together, but then i freaked out like a cat and Brian freaked out like a cat even though he tried to pretend that it was all okay and beautiful. Is Brian really so naive? Could it be true that Brian really doesn't understand that I don't want I mostly absent boyfriend? How sad Freyja's golden tears must have been.

It feels best to string aside Brian's love like another pearl.
It is a sort of uncommitted love, but I sort of understand that Brian may not be developed enough to have an adult relationship, whatever that means.

This is the 4th time I've had a mostly conscious love affair. I must say my heart beats in circles, because it feels so weird, but all relationships do. The idea that I could have  a normal causal not overly intense fair and balanced relationship seems possibly impossible?

I feel like my relationships are always lacking in continuity. I feel forever awkward. I might get more schoolwork done if I wasn't falling deeper in love with someone. But especially someone who I can't see all the time.

It really sucks. It really sucks. It sucks that I can't just meet up and chill, or go for a walk. And the time we have spent together is so condensed and like a flipped switch ON or OFF.

I think my head in high heaven would want me to end this. But Brian is so cute and lovable.

there is no where to burrow when you live above ground

there is no where to burrow when you live above dirt

watching someone burn

on television

versus

sending naked pictures of yourself to yourself from an alias

to pretend you're in love

versus

making tiny cups of coffee in your mind with an unused espresso maker

that sits in the corner

growing dust and whiskers

versus

smushing your lips up against the mirrors

in a bathing suit

after swimming

and your hair is all coarse from the bleach-water

versus

the light hitting all the angles of the most mundane objects

producing geometric shapes in shadows

versus

an ol' bust-up

bust

made of clay

with her lips sewn shut

with two sides of her sewn shut

in the best attempt to undo

backwards progress

disintegrated ideals

body & body

versus

tears that drip down the back of your throat

as numbing as cocaine

down through aching lungs

versus

joyful sunshine fingers
in the wind
out of a car window

versus

those fingers covering your eyes
making crosses
hiding from the light that is totally encapsulating your back

versus

lines of arms stomach squish
my breasts squish
thighs squish
and tighter
in warm embraces
solitary spaces

versus

only your hands
only these hands staring you in the face
only these lines
only these wrinkles

versus

and when you unwrap yourself
maybe this morning
will be met
with more than fleeting
shining strings of upturned chin and upturned eyes
and downturned squishy toes in the dirt
like dandelion
a quite resilient weed

it is okay.
these seeds germinate in the wind

i'm burrowing myself outta a hole. im burrowing myself ouuta a lock. im burrowing into the isdes of the walls of this dirt
and im sure glad my nails are short.
im so very glad oh my nails are short.
the dirt falls off ffrom under my nails.
the walls are shortening them.
the walls are opening up.
i am climbing out.
the heaviness of dirt.
the lightness of sky.

the sun lifts gravity.
the sun lifts my eyes from sleep.

the darkness was a nice dream.

now my dreams are rainbow sprite colored speckles.


goodbye


i feel the weight flicking off

it feels fine. im sorry loose lady.

yer skin falls.
scales drop.
we at peace in the heat,

evn though i cant think

i cant stand.

goodbye
blues
hello oranges
and maybe pink.

god disease
lets go


i love you so

eyes covers

reading and benediction player saver


in such efforts to be serene

serenity alludes me

in silent time growing holes of ooze

time affords me leisure

in affluent tongue teeth letters

mixed with wine

speak words
through the eye cover
lacey longer than before
grow yer nose chakra

and time lets you in

and there are days to offer creativity
a blood sacrifice to the sun.

tell me sweet layered lover.
in the desert we wear many rings.
a thimble on our thumbs
until sunset.

a foot step in the dark shadows of summer days
where the concrete covers the back alley
shade grown
webs of tailored truth.

okay okay okay.
alright alright alright.
i'll hold yer hand(s)

piece by piece meal.
pleasure by angled lever lover
dive into swimtime with
old timey bathing suits


watch the clock spins
drown in seawater
seasplatter

eye covers hang further down
covering other organs

uncovering crown blaze shine

looking down
to
hide this emblem of phoenix ash
on my forehead

and knowing the movement forward on this push-pin
is alone again
alone again
but sometimes tied to string and points
with colors diluting the image
whose boundaries are anyways already imaginary

eye covers blind fall down
naked
spin
shame is shone down the river
to die

a sparkled death of tones

singing hope songs
and merging rays of solitary string
with lit leaves
and back-lit clouds
and lens over hands over mouths of lens of truth
over eyes, covered yet again

a repetition of good enough fer the lickin

layersrainlayersblackvelvet

it is that i feel somewhat lost and

i care not


sailing smooth

onward

pushing through

uncertainty

jump into the unknown

leave your dreams behind...

she does not own you

you are in a mist

she does not need you

captain

tails

and swagger

she is alone without you

let her be alone

she is your mother

you do not owe her blood

if when you are here

you turn to glue
concrete
and fowl smelling ways
or
you turn into yourself
and diverge like bud
roses

but then
who cares

you are everywhere

she does not own you
she cannot disown you

if love has the wings
(for yourself)
then why not take the risk to be the sun's friend
no where is sunny all the time
and sometimes the best places are sunny almost none of the time

if you are lonely

go walk in the rain

turn around turn your head
look down
and cry
the rain and you will make love to the ground

and beauty will follow you for the rest of your days

deep time

this might be about that.

deep time
is underneath
when she takes her underwear off alone
with space

in between spaces, expanding space
between her and the nearest other
"deep time, how far or fast?"
wildly spin, is the iris of our eyeballs, a thousand eyelashes,
and the spider who spun the silk they're surely made of
of orchestrating cuneiform(s) of patterns
one by one placing then down
each pattern placed, eventually conjoined
makes cycles of pitterpatterning
all domination transient
what stays is passing
in this placement
one can star at their hands
and find a line... (the finer the line the finer the find)
now color deludes fades to gray / back again / lights come on
deep colored time patterning
distorted recorded reflections of recorded recordings
repetition
of that one time
when,
she laid down beside a dead fawn
she and jack found in the woods, away from the people
and opened her mouth against the dust, in agony, to perform the suffering
of its death-before realizing the deer was covered in maggots
spinning flesh slowly determined in small pieces
before dropping her shorts
and removing her underwear
before
burrowing into that dim tunnel
cavernous archaeology of
thrust
or touch
with tips of fingers, uncovering material history
light like fingers, the friction
telling distance orientation and spin
before
opening her eyes to each new
sun
and seeing real people pass by like an onslaught of never-ending waves of viruses
before, pointing to the place
"where it hurts mommy."
and almost falling down (but gracefully)
backwards in time (space) time
almost spending too long in the dirt
before
being ready
before
cloaking one's self
before
reaching for top shelf shit
climbing up / jumping down / grabbing corners kitchen cabinet skills
like a lynx

in deep time, deep rainbow'ed time
splits / fractures / splits off
that prismic jello
that
fractal hero/heroine

before, getting back up again
wiping the fine sand off her butt and looking below at the imprint of her silhouette
alone, with spaciousness of space compounded, between her and her
moment.
when she took off her underwear, for no reason but to bare it
not really alone, could see herself in her self(body / river /map / guide)
and all the playful mandalas
of her childhood
running outside to pee on the dirt
deep in deep time

This is No Creation Story.

This is about a point of OMitance. This is the conjunction of animals. This is the endless flux of ending but not quite really ending, and beginning but not quite really leaving the beginning and the non-cycles or vacillation.

The ones we witness in the dark when we are tired and wake up not to a new day, but the SAME day, in all it's pieces now. We wake up, we pick up the pieces, we put ourselves back together. We are eyes, legs, mouths,  knobby knees, shins, bone, flesh, pointy fingers. We are hair, nails, eyelashes, whiskers, gnarly tongues. We are teeth so sharp and bloody. We are the tips of the newly formed buds in Spring and the dirt floor reaches its tiny tendrils of moss up our toes. We are ground, sky, lifting, shaking, dying on the ground, prostrate in the sun .. kinda children.

space aged

this space agey new bullshit themed lifestyle
minus the bullshit
new age are just really vague words
what they actually refer to are
new feelings
that came from older traditions
wrapped in bougie suburban heebee geebee

BUT

what they really are
is the freedom to create your own religion not based in a singular practice or religion

what the fuck is wrong with that?


new age music
is a theme
 and yes the music sucks


but the words : new.
age.

are really not "new age"y at all.

they are kinda nice words

i look past culture sometimes.

jesus was an anarchist.


*****************

this poem these poems this lines these lines
sweat centuries of word-age dribble
the fallen asleep cat on the lap
in ecstasy drules


now we can form lang wage without the sin or death
of grabbing fingers

lines and cut throat style
foundation
and traditions we cannot ever escape

we are free in the way the caged bird is free
the one who sings
you remember?
you see these loosa acce;lerated assoications offer drem time beneath the word-lines

typos.

don't ,matter.
 when meaning which was once flat
is even flatter

it doth not matter
to be understood

maybe it's just cool to sound good

the pattern smy breain follows ans wallows like robbons of blood organs that feed me
I want to eat
with adoration to the me
inside the me
inside the me inside the me

a fractal.


i spy a robot with a ribbon.


i spy a space ship.


i spy no one looking

face world is in the background.
phone cannot ring.


no one is around


new alone the real thing


now.... another...

*************

who to cuddle with:


who to cuddle with
my room is so dirty
inspeckled
mountain of hope
i grow more open
filling entirre spaces with this smile
and with this smile i hug each and every blood absorbed mouth

andrew wk night
replaces
zombie themed party


i have this heart that sings
deeply woven string

for who?
for who?
for who?

because once in my bed/dirt
we will see our fate/face

it will be a mess.

but i will be patient

non e the  le ss

trigger warnings

I CANNOT watch the news
i do all my work at night
the moon light offers perfect shading

all this work in spite with
eyes blinded ears muffled and screams once incited
covered
in blankets of security
blankets from'd of stars

fuck yer television.

the lens shines on the
do what thou wilt
and not the
reality absolute truth 24/7
rhythm

i don't want to know
i got all the protection i need

with this blood shield
and the turning away

enough gray skies

to know

a hope can breathe

medicinal poetry

trikatu

long peper (pippali)
black pepper
ginger

circulation medicine candy balls

turmeric
tahini
raw honey

equal parts


that's a poem.

three hearts apart and counting

it must be
at three
cowering in love
wallowing in spritely noise
opening in flower
early


voice of a pretty pheasant caw
voice in shades red mauve pink green
voice in silence wave


at three
in the morning
my bled blessed lips
at the harbor
of the opening
space
clears
space.


mouth breathes in new
wind from above



shadows hide behind
in depths of release
comforts settles finally into the heart all the hard parts
mass of angels
that like dirt get in the way
fall down
and left liquid

a spilling that can settle one's

toe crunching
good time

there is no more to research but
to dream in silence
let this brain talk sense into ya

a force unimaginable approaches up ahead
and  with one eye looks out of the water
and with one mouth breathes or sings through the water
and forms sound all encompassing
sound
ALL ENCOMPASSING MAGNIFICENT

SOUND.

i've cried so many times
out of reverence for this body
for this ship
for this ground
for this sun
for this pale blue ocean
wrapped in scarves
for the touch through my fingertips
the electric moon
torch
river
shedding its
how do you say...?

dope shit.


mmmmmm.
it's as if
lub dub
lub dub
i can't breathe anymore
because this air now is too good
if i can sleep, i can dream, if i can dream,
i can wait

i could wait
an eternity
for these shades
filters
of rainbow
grace
so much grace
and begging the sun to slow down
such silliness
because i asked for it


well actually seems
quite right
pace



lengths
i can feel tug not as strings
as clouds
as soft gentle
motion
making it so i can't move


unbreathable air
because it's so good

unshakable mind
so focused on such light
that mesmerizes me
shakes my finger nails knobby knees to the ground


i cant but help to be
grateful
mouth full of dirt grateful

in these dream times
when hands so soft still seek earth
thought tendrils of imagination build endlessly

i love thee
love
thee
these paintings of arid happenings

and was told
it was enough, when i could bear,
just to breathe thee-ease unthinkable dreams
the ones that with a calm heart
make me breathe like a child again

Hey you. what we' re gonna do

You're gonna do some exercise use before bed


Yr gonna a do work from early in the morning


And yr gonna be hopeful goddamnit

the siphon post

sever that siphon
put it in my mouth dear creature
on the rims the molecules must be dancing from the friction


in this gawdd awful status clingawd wonderful designer jeans follow me

genes
like
genus

oh family
oh favorite tree river

so beautiful i shiver
while my laundry is delivered
by the turning mechanical
sun