you, me and the blinking ghosts

you, me and the blinking ghosts

Ya you got lost like I did    And came around eventually     Getting lost was part of life     Part of the deal     Finding your way was so surreal     Now you’re not who you were     Are you sure?

I will bet you a dollar you can make it from here to there
But I cannot make it I don’t think I can
I’ll bet you a buck you can

I was just as likely to devour the blinking ghosts before they turned solid and came after me. I really didn’t want to eat them at all, but if you don’t eat them I’m told they will wind you like a clock then disappear you. I’m not ready to disappear! Not at all.

You can come out of hiding
Really  Show up if you can
We’ve all been dying to meet you
Dying

All we were was lost
Not faded. Something out there polished us
Now we are shiny and smooth
Not a statistic
More realistic

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nails painted blue

NAILS PAINTED BLUE

FAITH is all i have after all i have was my heart now falling out like the rest of everything i ever knew, well worn. faith featured prominently like a celebrity, LESS the paparazzi the stalkers the money being chased around….LESS the icon devotees, the groupies, leeches, attorneys, public relation characters, travel agents, lifecoaches… LESS nights smiling and getting progressively wasted on champagne, cosmos and weed at the pre and after parties, LESS socializing to point of discomfort, exposure, sunburn, hangover, and LESS dreary lost weekends watching projected television on one wall, feeling flat as the flatscreen… LESS mindful of the discomfort inside, mirror to the discomfort outside, kin to the discomfort of solitude. MORE wondering why.

LOVE was all the RAGE and you know the images of love? So very embraced here where i live, planet earth i mean, images watched without censor, images of love! the smiles, the gestures of invitation, the hugging and kissing the loving oh my god! oh my god! – timeout! adrenaline RUSH! Oxytocin tsunami and believe me some welcoming party, a nation of hundreds of thousands of Arabs, Indians, Islanders, Egyptians, Greek, English, Spanish, and Croatian.

All of them excepting a few of them, most of them addicted to images like us, images of love, enough said! the SPACES in between more noticeable more glaring more frightening more indicative of ABSENCE, sister of SOLITUDE, daughters of MISERY, related however intrinsically to the good-natured cousin EMPTINESS — the smiling buddha of spaces, the proclaimer of all things inverted. In discordance from the 5 or more senses the sentients carried and utilized on a continuum directly mathematically correlated to their ability to see what was really going on here. Para dice had been rolled. Para dime took his place. But of course their was a SHIFT. Energy to the left. Consciousness to the right. Revolution across the Arabian sea of peoples in cities with fervor fighting the once accepted now scorned leaders cemented for 3 to 4 decades in place. Intractable. Embedded. Atom Feed = FED. On Planet EARTH again, the masses were FED up. Pretty cool, awfully tasty, is it not? Antigravity chambermaid serving astronaut ice cream to the men and women needing no sustenance, other than the passion described by their countenance.

STILL — all that changed so, also remained unchanged. The smiling buddha offering up emptiness continued to be frowned upon, not even half-smiles could be drawn out of them! Meanwhile back in the places inbetween… scattered showers. (at best). getting bad forecasts by the meteorologists. here. On planet Earth. How we digest these, the images of love! getting wet, better yet, soaked, deluged, goodbye they waved to the empty rural devalued stains that separated these ones, these ones addicted to the images of love…always seeking, always stubborn, always taking, excepting a few.

Most TAKING, some GIVING, some small percentage would not catch attention of those paying most attention to the good/bad better/worse, petty kinda necessary kinda labeling as librarians label books– that is, with the best of INTENTION and certainly not to disown any novel of its SELF, just to find a place for it to sit somewhere in the grand halls of the reading rooms of New York City Public Library, the Harold Washington in Chicago, through the many colors of Stained Glass in Ivy League and Big Ten Reading Rooms, Masonic lodge lounging, Alumnus arrives by bus…Okay. All of this measures up — to the thrill of us
All this steering around navigating sentient life, like a ride through virgin snow over familiar territory now mad crackling black ice. Unknown! untravelled! and witnessed by fresh eyes diving to sudden flashes of well worn land, to shelter or cushion imevitable crashes. Leaning one way, leaning the other. Looking for balance. Brother, brother! where have you gone? I meant to see you so long ago so long, it has me weary all this time between us. All the ashes, all the dust, tell me do you know? What line was drawn so heavily permanent? Marked so decisively in the middle of CONFUSION, the heart of CHOICE? the son of FREEDOM.

What will they say when they map out our history? All of this PAIN all of this LOSS for you for me, for us, I see. I feel it deep down in my bones. The pain now inked across my arm. I moan at night in half conscious memories, how we got along then you, and me. The reality has now become dream. The dream, reality. Is this what we fought for? what we learned? how we survive today? Do we really source from what they call LOVE once we see it? Or do we turn away to be truly marked and known by the source of all great and relative SADNESS? The broth the reservoir they all call SOLACE? Daughter of REGRET?

FAITH is all i have, better yet — after all i have my heart now falling out like the rest of everything i ever knew, well worn! FORLORN. I got to fake the faith I confess! I feature her prominently like a heroine. But here. on this nonpaper. I also turn. On planet earth. With the revolutions of her. Feet in the earth, in the garden, you know the one. And inspired by the Palestinians, the Egyptians, The Libyans, the Somalis, the peoples of Yemen, the Iranians, inspired so so so so….

I can LESS the bullshit, ya know. Minus it. Balance out and outbalance the deficits, the liabilities of life here. On planet earth. Feet in the soil. All i once learned on the recoil. Feeling it now? MORE wondering why and living the wonderful tragedy OUT…. to the shook OUT of the unbuttoned cuffs, OUT the arteries blue like my nails but less prominently so. OUT to branching out of fingers five on either side, and disciplined focus dispels the energy , the love thats all the rage, the rage that rages on! OUT the echoing off the lips of the song. My nails painted blue painted blue, my nails true. True BLUE. Blue i notice and must study in the cafes and bookstores, the reading rooms, libraries, cathedrals! OUT looking down as though reading words, yet, studying the karmic law i know is true, true as the sky, true as my nails…

As my nails painted blue.

milky ways last forever

milky ways last forever

Here comes the full moon. Our street probably won’t get any kids on Halloween, we never do. There’s only one side of the street with houses, the other side is a park and a school. It’s a raw deal to walk down a street with only half as many houses as the other streets, you’re liable to get only half as many treats. I don’t blame them at all, hell, if I was a kid I would avoid our street like the plague. Most of the kids around here, the ones who really know what’s going on, go up to the Fabulous 40s on Halloween. The people live up there are all politicians, doctors and lawyers, CEOs and stuff. I mean money. They probably drop a K on Halloween decorations like it’s nothing. Gimme that giant spider there. That drone, I want that witch ona drone. Can you gimme all the mummies you got in the back, please? They need a goddam assistant to open the warehouse doors in the back by the alley, just to unload all that crap into the SUV. Mummies coming out the sunroof! Amazing. Will you take a personal check? They probably have stamps for signatures they write so many checks up there in the fab forties. Ya, if I was a kid I would hit that for sure. Bring a Macy’s bag or something, cause they’re liable to drop the kitchen sink. Don’t bother coming around my block. My neighbor says he still has candy from last year he’s planning to use, just in case anyone shows. Maybe two years old now, he can’t remember. Snickers bars don’t go bad, anyway, all those damn preservatives. Milky ways last forever.

conditions on earth

conditions on earth

On the one extreme there were those who were dangerous and knew they were dangerous, just like in the wild, and embraced it, and even decided that society and law ought to have its face put in the dirt and extinguished, and so went beyond what was natural (hunting for survival) and went on a violent tear for assertion. On the other extreme were those who championed law to such an extent they would turn on their own family if the law demanded they do so, even if law was corrupt and nonsense. They believed in safety to a point where no one was any longer safe. In the middle somewhere was you and me, trying to keep a grip, hoping to survive, and letting our intuition guide us especially in places and times where reason alone did not suffice, when everyone seemed discouraged, and it could be said by measure of population on planet earth, we have outdone ourselves for sure.

saturday

saturday. am

The carpets were thick and we moved quietly about the house. We met in the middle and held hands. The cartoons were moving pictures around the screen, blacks and oranges and purples, a latchkey kid lost in visions. Church was all tomorrows and the grasses were not so uniform if you were hiding in them looking. The flapjacks were thick and we moved quietly about house. We met in the middle and wiggled our toes. The leaves on the trees were patching final shadows before they fell, which was sad if you thought about it, but if you focused on the colors it was gorgeous. The walls broke out in patchy spots and we moved quietly about. I did not have to dream about you when you were real.

Mercury

M. of the intergalactic planetary alliance

Oh hastening retrograde, dear Mercury!… Shout out to you who placed yourself in harms way of suns ray, so as to protect our dearest milky blue baby earth from the diabolical burn of our dying star… alas the 100,000 spf ring oozed in orbit by atlantis was only the thinnest layer of banana boat generic and apocryphal in its promises! Oh mercury, you selfless spinning wonder! You and your secret services catching the bullets the solar flares, sacrificing your lifeless little self. If we may pay infinitisemal acknowledgment to your heroism, may we tribute you in full view of the planetary alliance eye (in lieu of the usual vacuous ingratitude under the oft overworshipped darkside of the sun).  xxx  K.

illuminated

(by a screen)

Anything I do not have and want is not gonna change how I am or how I feel about myself when I am alone, is it true? I would ask the internet but the internet may not be my friend. If the ghost comes to walk me through my past many years from now, when I am an old lady staring at the sun through my stigmatism,  enjoy the walk and be bored to death by the hours upon hours regarding the young lady in her apartment typing away at the computer, i mean, the ghost will drift away (hoping I won’t notice) to someone else’s brilliant past I am sure. Oh well. I am illuminated by my goddam screen. So what. I don’t and won’t have kids. So what. I stopped doing half the things I loved to do. So what. I’m a gen X internet baby. So what. Anything you do not have and want is not gonna change how you are or how you feel about yourself when you are alone. So there!  xxxx  – K