self-portrait by Katya

lake bake

ive gone retro on the retrograde today, sun is out, wind is whipping across california’s northern, confusion left in the wake of mercury’s spell cast down through the unbelievable space between us. Mercury is a motherfuck, she jams our communications and the confusion in which i reside got me fallin’ out with my girl half of every evening, half of half of hopeless odds of good luck. fuck!

cannot write. cannot hold a conversation. web pages on edge of viral! warning me i need to change passwords. multiple times, same vendor. same site. yeah right! Some planet in its own world its own orbit fixed, in that unbelievable space between us, is purportedly fucking up our program? Yes yes yes. So sad to say so true. so true, so true, now what you gonna do?

I cannot hardly talk to my girl, the one i love most of all with all my heart! Conversations go awry and affirmations fall out to the coming of deny! deny! DENY!

Meanwhile the goddamn planet we live on, our host, has lost its mind somehow. Maybe got turned on to space acid by the milky way. Or a friend of a friend of the milky way, lets say, big dippers contact on the down low?

if you can learn to read stars like streets, you can gain access to the Orion, humble to her street shakedown crew glowing tight out front the nuclear waves of all colors blasting and diving about this part of my new understanding.

See i opened up this past year, opened up to the earthbound spirit crowd, ’cause i have always known they are here, to my left, my right. i can feel their energy and i got acclimated to them and proceeded to just leave them hanging most of the time, unacknowledged and set aside like junk mail.

Bad idea. So i did, after they left me — after i left them! mind you. I became an seven or eight on the depression scale. Anxiety strangely dropped down to a manageable level, panic attacks at a minimum this summer. Thankfully.

Anyway, I felt like — like– well not like i owed them nothing cause i didn’t. But rather i knew i was meant to pull away from connection with those sentients in full weight — the heavy! — and in lieu of the grande repetitive mating pattern, i chose to give away some of the most captivating timeless juicy romances of my life before now in exchange for my soul!

Scared ya? sorry! I am leaning towards 90/10 opacity mix in this new worldview i have embraced. I wanna be transparent. I wanna be adored. I wanna be anywhere but in what she calls the Bardo.

Cause i cannot fully come over to the comfort of these poor souls earthbound and kinda lost yet kinda found (having found a home in synch with the multitudes of others like them, calm coming over with a simple opaque glance and then a humble passing through one another, the highest form of intimacy for these souls.

I can only witness them, really, though i felt embraced at first…a month now and i know nothing more of any of them, no stories shared, no passing through me, just fear.

They see me and see me seeing them and get scared. Oh. There’s always the one out of ten that has no fear of my kind whatsoever, Often highly volatile element, one electron short of a neutron stable. One legged shivering table.

Restless spirits, endless nights, turning 18th century pocket watches by and by on down to the common evening gathering of trace of life into a fullness, and most importantly , free of the nags, the bitches, the assholes, the witches, the A-types, you know the worst of any and all types! Goddawful ugly mean karmic nightmares fucking up your day or trying. These poor sad souls have perks! Anyone who wants to judge gets judged at time of judgment. And the verdict is easy enough for the proselytizers,

Proselytes, acolytes, succubi and trilobytes all get filed under JERKS. I dont know why or what to tell you, like i said i dont quite fit in. Not quite so well, see. Not with the sad souls, nor the jerks, not with the sentients, not the turks. I dont understand the lurkers, the succubi. Sometimes i feel as mundane as jug wine in an Italian held banquet, common as a loner house fly.

I mean… I feel… I am seen and considered known quantity. Ok yes, this is what i learned, this is where the rambling comes to fruition. You may wanna take the headphones out yer ears, jack, and give another listen to my track.

My first released EP, dubbed’ known quantity’ circa 2022, was about me but really about you! Girl? you there? I need your attention, even your angry stare. Cause yes its my monologue, its my story, whatever! I am telling you its about you, not me, you see? Believe me! Its hot! hot like fire!

No, no! where you going? No! dont say that! I swear im not a liar! im not being sarcastic. I love you and i mean it! Come back, i beg you please! This is critical, this is drastic. So i can flesh out the feeling that i voice, how i live my life yes, ‘free will’, but check the limits on the choice. huh? Now you’re coming back to me, now. Yes. Cause you love me, the Known Quantity in the space we inhabit. In Alice in Wonderland, i would most certainly be the Rabbit! In the Lord of the Rings? the hobbit! In the sanctuary where monks take and hold vows? the Abbott!

who am i?

I am a sugar pack.
(Not high fructose corn syrup)
I am your referee.
I am the witness to be called upon when needed.
I am the one you can talk to when no one else will do.
I am the algae eater in the glass tank.
I am the calm water below the surface of an ocean
stirred by storms.
I am a yardstick.
I am Switzerland in time of war.
I am the small talk that leaves your lips
when you are waiting.
I am the hardcover peeled dusty dictionary
cast aside.
And never cast away.
never cast away
finally i see
who i was
and always
will be

the one they cast aside
but may never cast away

so close and far away
so painful
you cannot mention
my name
in any company

and yet you set a place
for me
because im always there
with you

cast aside
and not away

you shuck off peels of carrot
and potato
you pull the hide
right off the ears
of corn

a thought of me
is like a thorn

and confusing
because you know
theres a rose

and you
like me


Light. In California. In August.

There were solar flares and a mad burst of energy on the scene, earth twenty eleven. I had to double up on the two for three at the seven eleven, just to keep up with it all. Our two pair eyes widened in synch when we saw the giant rice krispy bar behind the counter we could not afford. We both laughed. Stocked up on throwback dew and the sugar that makes high fructose corn syrup less appealing than sucking down household glue. Not the best effort toward a healthy dinner. True.

Throwback sounds so good. Old logos the older folk may remember for a moment with interest. So quick you missed it like the shooting star tails across the way. The milky way. The one. The only verse, a song across the galaxy soars and falls back and is absorbed. Stardust and sparks trail the muffler of the Cadillac suspended above the pavement all the way to Reno, to Vegas, to dusty lands concealing gypsy caravans of doomsday cults and circus families. Circuit cities dot the nights. Canadian geese take flight.

Throwback. Back to something better. When sugar was sugar. When leather was leather. Turtle necks rising from woolen sweaters of ivy league lovers in a weave of arms and legs at the home opener. Rum and cider and foliage. Blush colors the colorless cheeks. Smiles color the faces of the love they have. the love they still seek.

Damn the sucralose got me crazy. The splenda i dont know. The raw sugar from the caribbean cane grow. This fructose dose of toxic level fruit juice ten percent glucose, shit! Has us half zombie, hybrid diabetics on the verge of comatose. Polyester rubs us wrong on our back sides while we sip out of plastic straws jutting out from plastic cups in icy reservoirs like pre-nups typed up from big sky law firm leatherbacks and souped up cars carrying engines once reserved only for trucks. Big big big bucks to sap the feeling out of hydrated homosapiens who once were wet young wild saplings, they were, now reduced to dry firewood status fallen to the floor of the city forest. Poor babies! Poor them…. poor us.

Poverty comes in many forms. Today i am homeless. I sleep in. She kisses me goodbye. Straight to the clinic and back in a few. Perry Mason will pass the time for you, boo.

Poverty comes in many forms. Today we are homeless. We sleep our way into waking. He hugs me tight and goodbye. I let my breath fall out of my chest in a long sigh that reduces me to the clear outline of lungs you can trace with me to a point. A rib. A path to somewhere, even if its nowhere. I can reside right there, on that path that comes to a clear dead end. Hell! its a path when paths are gone south. Hard to find. Rare to see. And hardly remembered, the pioneers who forged the paths that got us right here where we reside.

A homeless migration of alien species flocks in the shadows of the fallen sun. The vespers like the embers of the dry fire wood of broken spirits and bodies, dehydrated and clearly about to be burned by the sun as she flares up, swells, and churns her medicinal heat out upon us with great heaving and sobbing of photoflash visuals.

To really make our way through this heat. By our teeth. Whitened with bleach to flash back a response. By our smiles and our effort. Or we dont have a chance. By our buckets and buckets of blessed cool waters. Thrown back upon shoulders then down into a stream. To the small of our backs.

We ,must carry on through this. All the way to rivulets punished. Meeting deserts of sand. The dry puff of powder encircles our lands. Little rivulets left of what once came before. Shall drip off the smalls of our back to clear hopelessness.

Then watch. Watch the children, holy madness! They crawl up just behind us and catch the drops falling. Then we smile so wide a valley opens up. A shade tree. Fertile soil. Some water beneath oil.

The rivers. We find them. By the cool light. In august. They found us for sure. Our children heroic. Our children endure.

she brings me flowers

Every day she brings me flowers. Every sweet monday she makes my heart swell, ya, when we kiss ’cause each kiss feels fresh on my lips as i remember, each one i swear. None the same. Like the flowers. Quotidienne and per diem, so there never be no question where or when. And always its a mystery to me. She is. Her method. Her madness.

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She is my girl and that U see is what U see and what U get and believe me what you want if you want the best and most dramatic kinda play out in life’s long theater of tears tied together and strung up on the clothesline to dry out in a new kinda shape as we evolve and fall apart and come together and bleed each our colors carried of how we really wanna convey how we each one another feels, without having to pawn no formerly owned mood,  nor thrift some worn out poor excuse of affect, nah…

Haha. We got us and well enough scandalous in screaming porous moments whereby grains drop out, strains of our each own peculiar way or ways of trying, of effort to come to ground, to land it. To come to knowing like the fabric the cloth so wellworn she be mundane, effortless, easily given. Make no sense the other end of the line might go dead every other time like it may. Like it would. Like it did. Like whose to say but it should? Incommunicado i swear. Like half the damn time, and how? Make no sense. I could pull out my hair. Na. Never will. Haha.

All i know is….

She gives me flowers every day. Every fucking day!  Imagine a cut fresh and colored in 4 shades of blonde from root down on. Shirt barely holdin’ on.. shredded up and down and almost -GONE!  This young lady pushed violence so naturelle or so it seemed.  Young at heart? whatever the hell that means, shit, she was young and she had something something just drew you in like any kind of invitational to fire lake surround those burning eyes.. She might squeeze the sun to sunburst. Watch out boys. girls. No chance if you gentle. Do not enter! Not done. Or not told. Cause those who did, must i continue? those who did, did not ever never grow old.

 Wild still -a cyclone of a presence – and most certainly out of her mind and into something more comfortable, slipped. She don’t fuck around! Cuts attention up and divides like a magnet. All filaments stand up, kneel down. Visceral over all won out. Tenderness clotted up in cartilage like the blood of corn syrup sour candy… up the far banks of the muddy bottoms of her living. the lifestyle half chosen, half fate. Acceptance was a — scratch that. sorry. move on now…hey judge? haha. can we scratch that from the good record? Na. See there aint no judge of colloquial expression. Though there may be, i dunno. Gotta stay on point, cause its critical i dont know why but i need to do this. I gotta.

She, well we, we moved in the way you may like.  She — i mean we — either heartened or disheartened ya, nah none inbetween no… nah none there just nada nothing nix. All real. Okay.  No trix. Yet unreal is what i saw there also, by the light of the real come the shadow of the unreal, and i will not say vice versa, though that may be like the church people used to tell me when i was little. See, makes her, our scene so maddeningly hard to capture! see? Mmmm. I wanna say so i will say –If crazy was not an extremity no more. thats got some kernel of us in it, it has. Ya.

Indelible no doubt in your consciousness imprinted. Yet still her flower essences hid behind windows tinted. She was half white trash and half Puritan, mixed up makes her some crustacean from some panthean disbanded below the coral reef to become an aura or aroma or floral signature ignited to rise up above your average scum manifested. Her differentiation was painful; these are not trial separations. She takes them like spirit emigrations in flight from adamant inflexible nations.She picked up her pieces of glass and softened them. She could then move on and wish: best of luck with reparations.

Again she would be leaving, and leaving her impression. They were tremendous losses for her. No one could know. Her eyes could and did and told, and betrayed her such a way. In such a fashion made her vulnerable, they say.  Na. I just invented they!  Okay. Settle down me. When i can i will i do i try atleast i try at the very least i do try now, i do. Rumors glanced and cast momentarily off her. Could not hold. No. Not in those celestial days we made it under the Cathedral De Luxe. She never meant to go off like that, hella crazy kinda fux. Passionate peeling and push of great feeling. I know this hardly makes no sense to no one. But there is no better way. Sorry if i got you caught in my indeterminate grey. Na. I am not. Haha. Not sorry, no!

 Sometimes i still feel the moods drip into one another — bubble up to the surface. Okay. I had to tell you. Cause im nothing without her. I am relative to her — she fills all of me…some days… i hang over her like summer san franciscan fog beds. Embedded in her. Losing myself sometimes in her…dangereusse… poison like leaded by her. Weighted. Pencil #5 when we met. Eleven when we dated. There. I said it. Set it forth into the space like she had been before. Tumbling down the throat. No lack of certainty. No mistake, I wrote. head low, emotions uprising, looking for truth, realizing.

 There the waves foamed and ripped around her, around us? I dunno but im sure I was there, too, I was! stormy, clashing, leveling her inside her. often would she gasp in the silence. shallow breath deepened, and the space heard her, listened. her gasp filled all the air and was received thoroughly. leveling her inside her.

Continuity of sound, great purity! ha! ya. its really fucking great it is.

No, no! i am far from ready to share of myself, she whispered in the midday light some days. Her whispering sounded like waterfalls a city block away. water and blood rise effortlessly to color the scene. clean. such is the extent of vitals risen. but mostly the signs said dead end. over and over again, days infrequent, when she could discard whats no good for the heart, she knew… we knew….i knew.

She was she is she may and always will be, my life. she. my spirit.  i came to know. became a given. given to me. so thus with appetite did i do i will i digest her glass of tall cold water with a lemon and ice, all the while so to effort to ask all hatred be lifted off my heart. she taught me. yes. i gotta pray, remember to pray.

 One ray of california light at a time. only some lucky days could i walk with her, with her with the divine. Some lucky day divine i pray…

well today was one.