Fight crime: dont blink

The urban eye coalition of oakland, a subsidiary of watching you watching me, circa 2003, has pushed through new legislation this week.

The joint congress of the Alameda county kangaroo court, has sprung

upon our good citizens and residents of the big (and mad) O,
A stirring mandate aimed at protecting us from the now studied and clearly confirmed blight of cell phone thefts on our streets.

As of January 1st, 2013, all citizens are to report to the urban eye coalitions clinic, a large unsightly concrete structure on a block just down Mandela parkway and to the left.

image

You know,  Where all those rundown Victorians have been bought up by the nouveau rich and given makeovers to face the
Approaching encroaching gentrification parade. Near that elementary school they turned into oakland police headquarters to combat the violence familiar to the Lower Bottoms.
There we will be able to sign up for or opt out of the mandated legislations proposed solution to cell phone crime waves.

The large undertaking falls under a branch in california consumer affairs as the  Optimal Vision project. Those who sign up will be given a number and a tube of Lidocaine 6%, and sent to a surgical prep area where they are to await eyelid extraction. An outpatient procedure performed by an unremarkable cast of scab opthamologists hired in lieu of the licensed professionals, most of whom have joined the strike organized by the licensing board of Opthalmology.

So the desperation
to stop crime in Oakland has fallen to new lows. The medical field has been circumvented so to afford us the opportunity to be ever vigilant as individuals to see criminal activity 24/7 with eyes wide open. Literally.

Never mind the luxuries our eyelids afford us. You know. The ability to block light and settle into sleep. The protection and insulation of one our most delicate yet essential organs.
The ability to shield ourselves from some of the atrocities we may stumble upon walking the streets of
our fair city.

And above all these functions of the eyeli overlooked by the legislators, the strongest argument I have against having the state remove my eyelids… what will I do with all my mascara? My god! No eyelids? What a fashion faux pas! In the name of crime prevention? I don’t think so. I will take my chances, thank you very much.

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some green some whole some light

Fuck I have been cold.

I have been frightening cold, I have. Until some small smile some light somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the north. If north is astral. If north is known by certain colors that stand out brilliant yellow, lighter than gold yet darker than lemon, and loved and even lusted after between air steam rising top of the crucial consciousness sitting on your shoulder, lying close to the earth…

On soft ground with soft soil sinking ever slightly like the dopest egg-crate city beneath the back, while the mind, still boiling hard, hand shakes the rising roof of random screaming of kettles.

A world of color. World of meaning. A world of green lights gone red gone yellow. A life I missed if I blinked. A world dark and cold when the brownouts roll black again. Dark and cold in the big electric heat in the cities. Most backed out on the tidal pools like the undertow. The sharks would get them out in the big blue. And maybe me and you. I winced when I caught it all on shark week on discovery channel. The animal would otherwise have escaped me. The animal within me would come out come out, wherever I was, at inopportune times perhaps, yet invaluable kinda lesson to anyone and me…passion so passionately. I found source in there somewhere.

The multitudes go and they flow, like all natural life and not always pretty. Sometimes the internet flashmobbed them together. Sealed in wax and coaxial cable. Sealed to go with the flow… with the go with the flow. Pick and move. Sometimes impressive. For a good cause. Other times random and human and flawed. Other times stupid, just plain ignorant mentality. Like kkk marches on martin luther king junior’s day. Like evolution has just hit a curb and fell out.

Culture gone in a circle, and come back to the start. Trifling. Awful. Shocking. Atrocious. Condemnable acts blurring out the true focus. The f-stop got jacked by some cellular phone, and minolta got bought out by some fully-automated drone; behind the lens of which stood some sunday bananas.

Don’t let this distract you now, I told myself, you only have so much time. Come back to the life, and be your best friend.  Come back to yourself. Dust off the old ways. Look around you.

Come back to the refrigerator and all that’s inside. The carefully-cut icebergs ziplocked in the drawer. Come back to the dubsides, come half-baked with home fries, and toss out all those lies and the sidewalk thrift threads. Well maybe not the labels. Say goodbye to the waiting, and thaw out what’s cold. Let down your long blonde. Open up the long halls and sweep out all the crap.

I was sent that curiosity, the one that fills the soul. I opened it with a butter knife. The dreams still inside. I was stamped with experience I never thought nor would believe. I was sent to myself… and with some dreadful anticipation, received. Sent without tricks, without sleeves. Kinda like a caramalized onion, in an envelope.

This is the don’t know, now you know part. The grow on you street that my feet touch and meet there. Pavement so hard, almost killed fred astaire. And took out all the spiritless shells of the species. Wicked cold and unforgiving, something wicked comes this way. I had to flashmob it with all my cell memories. I had to keep moving, keep writing, find my thirst there neglected.

I realized then, I really had to do nothing. I got to do everything I had not finished doing. I got to kick down the doors to my own fucking taste buds. I got to touch memory deeper than waters underground. And below the earth below the water, where my spirit then penetrated, I found my heart again, wrapped in bubble wrap, bee stung with preservatives, ready waiting. And my heart’s telling me kindnesses I cannot even begin to describe… I won’t start cause I am finished, but let me say this…

I found myself filled with some green some whole some light.

Duplex for sublet in the foothills of the oblongata

Wouldn’t it be nice if the abandonment of protocol here in wordland cyberpressed central were clearly egregious and yet as unintended as it were intentional? I mean wouldn’t it be nice if i said what the fuck i wanted and needed to say without ceremony, and without censor? Wouldn’t it be nice if it happened spontaneously and instinctively, with the kind of confidence that even the most powerful CEOs of the most powerful corporations might marvel at and, in the deep of the night, hire their thugs to locate and steal out from under me while I am sleeping?

And wouldn’t it be nice if they came back to the office of the CEO the very next day and did not follow through their ritual customary flirtations with the secretary or slave of said CEO? And wouldn’t that be a nice discomfort to watch unfold on some untold height of manhattan real estate, upon some floor which held the claim of the only floor above which their would be no further floors, so high and crested in its cold marble immaculate fix right there above the entirety of Manhattan and somewhere level with the lowest clouds which were not formed of factory stacks pollution from the garment or industrial districts of our beloved world city? Wouldn’t there be a clear movement taking place in this lonely fixed place every top of evey food chain resides? Not just of the clouds around it,  falling away upon contact in glowing condensation sparked by the sunlight.

And wouldn’t it be amazing when the CEO paged the secretary to let the mercenary crew he sent out not a dozen hours earlier, into his grande chambers, and then leaned back in his swivel chair with arms out resting upon the padded leather the greatest cows hides were made from, and then stopped cold on his throne, heart half-frozen with anticipation. Then, as the eyes met the eyes approaching and the lines on the forehead became more pronounced as the energetics were a quick study and all became clear?

Wouldn’t it be a captivating, shut up and grip your seat unconsciously and pull your spine up close to fight or flight posturing moment in this particular scene when the minions of power suddenly came accountable to power,  having failed to execute power’s command, and having to tumble out over their bitten lips somehow the impossible and unacceptable truth?

No, they had not returned to him with that which he demanded and paid well for, that which had to come into his presence now, meaning must,  lest he fall into a developmental pothole loop and throw a tantrum ceo bitch fit like even his mistress or wife had never before seen the intensity of?

Wouldn’t it be bizarre? If that which he demanded were not for the taking, but rather only to be witnessed and coveted and possibly admired or lusted after by power itself,  came directly from you? meaning we, meaning us?  Wouldn’t this be the illest and most awaited for coming of the least expected and yet best odds for those hedging their bets on some clash of the  imperfect but aware of themselves and the world around them, conduits of the new paradigm civil disobedience I am perpetrating, you are perpetrating, we must inevitably all collectively be perpetrating here and now, day after advertised day in part of north america and yet all of the world?

And isn’t it nice that somehow i need not explain further or ask any more questions right now, because i know you either know or do not know to what I am referring, and further explanation accomplishes nothing except a possible proof that my, your, our efforts matching our expectations hopes or dreams of alignment and unity with those who are still sleeping where life approaches death but supposedly purportedly goes tangential at the last minute in a Hollywood happy ending to trash the place.

drama by k

search 4 space

Our, your, my awareness is all we need and more than enough. The confidence tells us so. So won’t you agree at least to that and give yourself a break, cut me some slack, see our similarities? Then go home despondent to change anything other than your mind or the permeability of your closed or openheartedness with yourself and us and our inheritance? This despondent kinda unnaturally cleared or filled land of circuits wires concrete and a desperate sort of nature pining away for some space, goddamn her. Whether the congress appropriates the allotment or not, the space mandate must be exactly that: mandated. So says confidence, almost succumbing to a case of overconfidence. Almost sideswiped by the moral superiority complex. Almost downplayed by cold logic. Almost upstaged by impoverished children and anarchists with guns.  Just give the goddamn trees and forests and you and me and us some space. Then you get license to shoot up the place until the space suffers inverted swiss cheese displacement disease.

Really, truly, it is a big thing, space. Inside and out. Room to breathe and circulate. Spread out. Enjoy silence and sound. Experience feelings fully again. Whole emotions without interruption. Imagine that. Some space between the synapses, before and after the firing of them. Some space between the microwaves and cell signals crossing with evil comcast or the evil formerly known as comcast. Some space between the pharmaceuticals you pop to medicate your self.

And in the morning when you step down and out of your duplex you sublet in the foothills of the oblongata, there is no promise you won’t find it on deep discount right up there by the cash register for all to see on the way out, to see and vaguely remember, or not, before paying again, paying for it, and disappearing into the clamor with the greatest of ease. Disappeared. In the clamor. Looking so effortless.

You, me…. we must have mastered this.