this December afternoon feels just about right
cold and a little bit snowy, but so what?
freshly fed and coffeed, to prepare us
ready for a city walk with misted breath
warmed by our feelings towards each other
so we left -
we made the hill that we climbed rec-og-nize
then when finally we reached the street’s peak
we knew the journey’s worst part was behind
as the waining wyethian western sky
said goodbye to us in a fading amber wave
surmising that the warmth at our destination
would rank second - only second - to our fire within.
that ol’ moon’s now singing its envious tune
and silverizing pathways under our tread
shadows and fog become phantoms to dread
as if we’re the crazy proverbial loon
my feets are too big to beat a retreat
in for a penny or a pound of our flesh
wrapped up like gifts, water-tight but still fresh
intrepid like that, and fat with lean meat
having a chew of this protein and salt
anything handy will have to sustain
since we chose cold air o’er snow and the rain
the jerky’s not balanced, but that’s not my fault
'twas a fools journey, we knew when we started
defying the odds for a ghost of a chance
to overcome stasis in lieu of romance
now we’re too broken to be broken-hearted
so roadward we journey as did Kerouac
fingering the shroom i’ve got stashed in my coat
(being a fan of the ‘random’ doesn’t make me a goat)
just offering the rewards of a geek brainiac
sludge-like we trudge through the moon-glistened streets
bemoaning that we were once each other’s sweets.
Just the same,
& information’s scarce.
Kick me and
i may cough up the rest.
until invasion is clear, unavoidable
Just the same,
you’re inside me, pore deep -
so’s I can’t kick back.
"For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains,
but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."
— Nelson Mandela, R.I.P.
1918 - 2013
he wants it;
she wants it;
you want it;
we want it;
THEY got it -
could we get it?
could we make it?
could we take it?
should we fake it?
they got it
we want it;
we watch them
they flaunt it;
they shelf it
roll in it
and count it,
check the ‘whee’ man -
he clouts it,
rush ‘im g style?
i ‘doubts’ it;
rouse our damn selves?
bout it bout it;
we’ll try it
we’ll learn it
we’ll earn it
we’ll sweat it
we’ll churn it
we’ll make waste
we’ll burn it
WE’VE got it!
we’ve got it;
who ever said IT
after just one smell
straddling my stool, sipping
this tidy inversion of hell.
You’re the Chrysler Building
to my Empire State,
I’m the Brooklyn Bridge
to your Golden Gate,
I’m a number 9
you’re a figure 8,
you’re the Papermate
to my paperweight;
make great parting gifts
take a few -
in exchange for
the filaments of degloss you left
in the space between my lungs;
in case of emergent optimism,
i break the glass.
exhale and inhale
with each breath of rented air
of your grand bargain gone sour
as your precious terra firma based bravado
ferments in the trans-global sneering solvent
you sequestered and sub-estimated.
The mundane media micromesh
is no barrier to subatomic animus
scroll-emanated and heart-encapsulated
from eon to eon;
from sea to shining sea.
It shall resolve to conclusion in space-time,
only the ticking timepiece
is a stopwatch
and each iteration produces attendant waves - and particles
as it echoes,
If you haven’t guessed,
this is a love story -
i get to
watch the clock
…is the challenge for expatriates
discovering and reconnecting to a new culture
after the disconnection from their former one,
or rather, after the disconnection,
the recreation of a totally new cultural locus
instead of immersion in the new environment,
…or some combination of the two?
…and what about the resistance, both internal and external?
oh, don’t mind me -
you just caught me in a reverie,
thinking in historical terms
about the culture of displaced people
and the relationship between them and
the new culture in which they find themselves…
what’s up with Kanye and Kim, again?
" To be inaccessible means that you touch the world around you sparingly. You don’t expose yourself to the power of the wind unless it is mandatory. You don’t use and squeeze people until they have shriveled to nothing, especially the people you love.
To be unavailable means that you deliberately avoid exhausting yourself and others. It means that you are not hungry and desperate.”
Journey to Ixtlan- Carlos Castaneda
This passage probably shaped my life as much as any other i’ve ever read…wow - that you would post this…wow.