How do they make the pastry so striated?
Why is a breadstick reminiscent of muscle?
I'm not sure when I learned the term 'gristle', I called it cartillidge.
In between my teeth.
There are some very hard lessons no fancy language can explain.
How and why you keep repeating homelessness. How and why you keep running in cycles away, closer, away, farther away. How and why you return to men. How and why you burn with anger trying to find couches and pianos that won't burn. How and why your mother your mother your mother kept repeating the same mistakes you will repeat, the same mistakes the same mistakes the same mistakes. And we got sick-lick.
Tongues are a measure of health. I'd like to have breasts.
White sludge = not good. May be a sign of thrush.
waves, and surfing bodies, so tan and bikinied. Sun-kissed hair I repeated with thirty volume developer, a perm, bleach, broken bonds to get blonde.
Big bang curls. Afro-centric hire.
Nails like wax. Dripping the red all over my hand on a church retreat, only thinking, GORE.
[NUR IS GOR OR GOD]
And holding it up to others like look how cool I bleed brothers.
Rolling play pretend cigarettes out of proclamations of God, Pslam to the Palm. Smoking G.O.D. Hey wanna get high on some G.O.D?
.OD. on G.O.D.?
Ha. A joke. Because you can't, because God is Infinite.
God is Love.
God is Infinite Jest.
Laughing at you... Brushing your back...
The wind sings to my skin, resonates with my specific vibrational tones.
It is more than metaphoric. It is prismic. It is spherical. It radiates. It glows. I see it. It shines with time entwined. I see it. I see lines crossing like feathers, strands of wind, ether, metaphor, blind judgment, and all marks on the high seas. Swashes of strokes into the water. Faltering. Falling. Enclosing water. Drowning, decomposing, molding, becoming stone.
Cycles as sick as the taste buds, as lick as the flower buds, as buzz as the bee bugs. Dancing. To the beat of their own direction. With arm to angle to sun to cloud.
Triangulate that shit. Ju-ju-ju-just triangulate that shit.
With arm to angle jungle cloud.
I can say with all honestly: My father grew up in a jungle. Now, I'm talking his formative years into early adulthood. Barbados. Little baby monkey pet maids and butlers. I see leaves on branches and dark beneath the shade corners in warm pockets of thrusting green life. I see my father as a young child, escaping into a dream world where movement became brain matter.
[Mate. uh. Shook. yell. Moot. uh. Point. shot.]
I am caught in the cycle or grid-like fantasies.
sorry bunny
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
it's a very scary day out there. we all know we can give each other a grand ol scare. there's a heavy hair today out there. we are raging in our cells with lairs. made key to key in the key of eee!. forgetting deep sores. they come out, when you can handle them coming out, or through explosion when you hold in too long.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
blog style please dont get mad at me
i want to live in a world with no gender and no race and no diversity. i want to stop being predjudice around "women" and thinking they all hate me. And avoiding them. I can handle female cats, I'm not sure if I can handle female people. One time I slapped Jill on the ass. I was drunk, and had started feeling comfortble in my community. I think this was wrong, but at the time I felt it was an impulse I have a habit of repeating (and usually received very positively) when i begin to feel comfortable. But as it is with Olympia, a bubbling pot of disappointment, and betrayal. Where no one is comfortable, unless they are blind and blissfully ignorant, and no one is okay, unless they've been empowered by a minority group to feel as such.
I suppose I'm kind or angry. And I can't stop inward crying everytime I think. In my head. I believed, before, that If I tried to love evrything, andd was guided by hope and acceptance that would be enough. And I spend all my life trying to just keep people happy, feeling like the threads of your skin wavering in the wind, only to be plucked out like my experience doesn't matter. But I thought we shared it. But you say that's not true. And I'm crying every moment like a child. I can never stop feeling abandoned by everything I love, and can never stop being chemically addicted to YOU abandoning me, and telling me, no matter how separate I was expected to be from American Society, and how sheltered I was kept as a child in my uber-arab tone OF HOME, that because my skin is pale I will always have white privalage, and my people will always have to SUCK IT UP. I'm sorry illusion. I thought this was the coming age of realizing that we all hold trauma, and a body can NOT be valued, good or bad. I'm pretty sad and been crying in my chest a lot lately.
Honestly, it's very hard for me to even not shut down and stop expressing myself. I got shut down. But then again. They wanted me out. or whatever. It's hard to transform stuff into love, when you feel guilty for existing. And also like you must be some sort of hitler in a past life, because people just seem to be offended by me.
My mother is a loud palestinian woman. her hands are hard and soft. She is very strong, especially her hands are strong. She is very white. She grew up in a refugee camp. I feel like I am her, but it doesn't count because my single mom raised me in America. And when people took advantage of her because of her accent, it didn't mean anything REAL to me, because I dont have an accent. And when she yelled at me everyday because she can never get over being divorced by a husband, well that didnt affect me either. And my personal opinions and experiences don't matter if they are not logical. And I really feel sometimes that I might be the calcified clog in the machine you were trying to wash out. er mostly. Just some teen angst. i often ponder if somehow they want me to kill myself. Because maybe, I could take their pain with me when I go. I must have done something real bad in a past life. Maybe I was hitler. I feel ashamed to raise my head in public, often, and when i feel happy, It's almost like I am fooling myself, or letting myself be fooled, so I can at least remember what it feels like to have the power of love in me, before I let go of it, and remember how bad I make people feel.
I suppose I'm kind or angry. And I can't stop inward crying everytime I think. In my head. I believed, before, that If I tried to love evrything, andd was guided by hope and acceptance that would be enough. And I spend all my life trying to just keep people happy, feeling like the threads of your skin wavering in the wind, only to be plucked out like my experience doesn't matter. But I thought we shared it. But you say that's not true. And I'm crying every moment like a child. I can never stop feeling abandoned by everything I love, and can never stop being chemically addicted to YOU abandoning me, and telling me, no matter how separate I was expected to be from American Society, and how sheltered I was kept as a child in my uber-arab tone OF HOME, that because my skin is pale I will always have white privalage, and my people will always have to SUCK IT UP. I'm sorry illusion. I thought this was the coming age of realizing that we all hold trauma, and a body can NOT be valued, good or bad. I'm pretty sad and been crying in my chest a lot lately.
Honestly, it's very hard for me to even not shut down and stop expressing myself. I got shut down. But then again. They wanted me out. or whatever. It's hard to transform stuff into love, when you feel guilty for existing. And also like you must be some sort of hitler in a past life, because people just seem to be offended by me.
My mother is a loud palestinian woman. her hands are hard and soft. She is very strong, especially her hands are strong. She is very white. She grew up in a refugee camp. I feel like I am her, but it doesn't count because my single mom raised me in America. And when people took advantage of her because of her accent, it didn't mean anything REAL to me, because I dont have an accent. And when she yelled at me everyday because she can never get over being divorced by a husband, well that didnt affect me either. And my personal opinions and experiences don't matter if they are not logical. And I really feel sometimes that I might be the calcified clog in the machine you were trying to wash out. er mostly. Just some teen angst. i often ponder if somehow they want me to kill myself. Because maybe, I could take their pain with me when I go. I must have done something real bad in a past life. Maybe I was hitler. I feel ashamed to raise my head in public, often, and when i feel happy, It's almost like I am fooling myself, or letting myself be fooled, so I can at least remember what it feels like to have the power of love in me, before I let go of it, and remember how bad I make people feel.
Friday, April 22, 2011
entered the room with a solid state hard drive.
I only read words, I do not read the connections and relations between words, because I can draw them out of the ether. Every word, every phrase has an infinite infancy of meanings. The relation between our morphemes are not concrete, in fact they fluctuate quite rapidly.
I am experiencing a Hemmingway morning. I read the Sun Also Rises once, and I made it into a banner, and T-Shirt with "THE SUN ALSO RISES.. AGAIN", I always come up with the best slogans.
I only read words, I do not read the connections and relations between words, because I can draw them out of the ether. Every word, every phrase has an infinite infancy of meanings. The relation between our morphemes are not concrete, in fact they fluctuate quite rapidly.
I am experiencing a Hemmingway morning. I read the Sun Also Rises once, and I made it into a banner, and T-Shirt with "THE SUN ALSO RISES.. AGAIN", I always come up with the best slogans.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
excited for being dreamy
I dreamed about HIM again. It is not you, you were every part of every one of my past lovers. I remember the body parts matching up: first you had the same penis, then the same legs and arms, the nose was different, but the texture of your skin was the same. But this dream had a name on a platter like the head of john the baptist, with mouth open and medusa like snakes coming out, whispering, I AM THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING OUT IN THE WILDERNESS.
Pull head down and close the eyes, think about the times past with smiles, and eyes, no lies.
In the deepest part of my heart, and including the parts that squeeal with the pain of a memory that wasn't mine, I find at times a tenderness. In the thought that someone even imaginary might complement me on some cosmic scale, adding up to 360 degrees, and counting.
When gravity attracts me to another a'spiraling I hope I notice them a'spinning their weave web and woven bread. Find me, and place the food in my mouth.
I must stop talking to hear. And fill my face with food.
And find cool places to put my hands in the dirt.
Pull head down and close the eyes, think about the times past with smiles, and eyes, no lies.
In the deepest part of my heart, and including the parts that squeeal with the pain of a memory that wasn't mine, I find at times a tenderness. In the thought that someone even imaginary might complement me on some cosmic scale, adding up to 360 degrees, and counting.
When gravity attracts me to another a'spiraling I hope I notice them a'spinning their weave web and woven bread. Find me, and place the food in my mouth.
I must stop talking to hear. And fill my face with food.
And find cool places to put my hands in the dirt.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Ja'la walked o'er towards the county line. They did field a find of lines and mines. Where there were fields, and grass as high as life, on life. So they crossed and entered finding time. Time and space had fallen here. Now their armors disappeared, and left revealed, a set of spheres bent on free will. Will'd themselves into a grind, will'd themselves to set a path, will'd themselves to reach the grassy knoll of inter-dimensional abyssmal hole. And after set their spheres on ground to orb and lay absorbing found. For order obey and destroy a sound. For morbid obesity laid the shroud, heavy loud, bending fat, opening to gapes of "wow" and alll that.
How stayed and true their followers dew. How laid and brew the chyme & the stew.
At once approached, her hands on his throat, his hands on her goat head, his hands on her rabbit legs, the fur up a'curling in air, distraught only by the feathers on the bridge of her brow, covering up the I-Thou-Eye-Thou.
Looked, and entwined, in the mirror, above. Saw what was two had now become one. Touched all their hands and the spaces between--- had congealed and betwitcthed as one solid be-in'.
"What you doin' here?"
"Be-in'"
been. spin.
bean. sprout.
As vines do, Ja'la grew, as one being two.
How stayed and true their followers dew. How laid and brew the chyme & the stew.
At once approached, her hands on his throat, his hands on her goat head, his hands on her rabbit legs, the fur up a'curling in air, distraught only by the feathers on the bridge of her brow, covering up the I-Thou-Eye-Thou.
Looked, and entwined, in the mirror, above. Saw what was two had now become one. Touched all their hands and the spaces between--- had congealed and betwitcthed as one solid be-in'.
"What you doin' here?"
"Be-in'"
been. spin.
bean. sprout.
As vines do, Ja'la grew, as one being two.
