i am sadness

I was sadness
I could not beat the dust back
I could not keep a friend

Sorrowful sorrowful
Sadness

Even I would

leave you
In the end

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archive k

The right is preaching morality again. Not that the left isn’t. This is not news. The right is taking sides again, damn it.  They are halving these lemons with merciless stainless steel knives they sharpen behind smirks and glassy eyes, listening to Limbaugh and talking about handicaps. They are crying now, the right, crying while their daughters work their confidantes into friends into acquaintances and phone lists to drum up a ride to the clinic and some cash for the procedure. Its outpatient. Its dire. It has been weighing on the young girls’ minds for longer than necessary. And the tears fall at around the same time. Early afternoon when the lemons are being spruced up and gutted of seeds for the marinated mountain trouts. His eyes are stinging and he’s crying and laughing as the compatriots rib him over it. Like they always do. Grown man crying. She’s sedated but still more aware than she would like. The nurses told her best to take a mild sedative not a deer in the headlights dose. Why?

Now she knew why. They were right. Because hey, she was still in her body afterwards, and though the seconds were hours, they were gone like seconds and she found herself looking back into the outpatient room almost as though it were too soon to go, unnatural so. She was saying goodbye to the nurses, now. They were trying hard to smile. They were doing it for her. Focused on minimizing the trauma. No one wants this. No one asks for it or deserves it. The right was wrong. The far right. The crazy deadstare lifers with their deadweight x-rate images no one should ever be forced to see. The deadend lifers dead to the daughters of the invisible American family experience. The parents whose lives have turned a difficult turn again, and no it’s not the best time to share. Not the best time to care.

Will it ever be? Maybe. Maybe looking back ten years gone, looking back and apologizing for being absentee to the emotional discord, the spiritual movement flexing inside a young bright star, young girl got screwed and screwed up, misjudged the guy, misjudged the timing, got drunk with her friends and got stupid. Lost alertness… lost a whole lot more. Even with the benevolence of the nurses, the nonjudgment, the suspension of judgment, the carrying out of reduction of harm. The understanding the psychology of trauma and loss and grief. The grounding the girl’s process in smiles and facts and exactness of protocol so as to provide a tight container of love or compassion for someone so young and asking for help, and still learning to love self through the madness of all the bad shit we do and see and have done to us over the years. Some to survive. Others to survive longer. And all of us to endure that steady certain suffering in whatever dose we can take, and then working to stem the tide with our pharmacies by our sides. Crutches are good for a while.

What kind of world could be more intriguing than this mystery mansion with its dead ends and distortions? We witness ourselves and one another, going through contortions.

loss 4

another loss -iv

i borrowed your bike because mine was already locked up in my future home, this cool and windless morning, and after passing through De Fremery Park,  i found my key under a stone and let myself into the ranch on Magnolia surrounded by high and gapless fence. after catching my breath, i switched out yours for mine, as my Motobecane was twice ten speed and yours BMX. i determined it too dangerous to travel slow through West Oakland at dawn. the lady of the house, an attorney corrupted by law, was dead asleep ina sheet ona couch in the living room. i held my new key close to my heart, and walked down the hall to see the project i had recently completed. two new coats of eggshell paint covered four walls, ready to receive the light and warm a heart or two. all the cat dander raised up in the disturbance, in my lungs now,  soon to wake me with fits of asthma overnight. once i would be lucky, with my dear Kali at my side in the cot, fourth of july, to help with pressure points and rifle through my many backpacks for my inhaler , to rescue me without breath.

loss three

another loss -iii

I was in
between pages
a book without
binding

You let me stay
with you
one night
a moment’s notice

we were friends
our lives derelict
unusual

the music
the midnight
oil

bands like us
cannot make it
no more

traded street level
stories

left out
again. in the sunlight
soon to be
exposed

before dawn

you were kicking
back. i was several back
packs deep to and from
Magnolia street

several unsavory characters
wanted a piece
of me they
could not catch
me

thank god
for this
bicycle…

loss one

another loss -i

You let me stay one night in your room, many years ago,  i was in between places and spaces and a kick in the gut had landed me in Oakland with nowhere to go. Brown-outs were my life back then, and nobody can tell you what your psychosis is gonna look like or how it will feel, because they aren’t buried behind your eyes. Electronic Dance Music was one thing we had in common that night, and we had what was left of my battered laptop to trade tracks that touched us…

the universal human right

I am sad to have to say goodbye to old friends, but there is nothing to be done anymore to salvage a friendship sometimes, and though my friends may not wanna accept my walking away, walk away I will ’cause there is nothing there anymore, just pain. I am very sad to have to say goodbye and mean it. And then they reach out again to see if they can word something just right to cause me enough trouble grasping what they are suggesting, this old friend takes the pin and buries it subcutaneous and deeper towards my heart, hoping to touch me again in that dreadful yet stale way, to force me back into the dead patterns of negative thought and feeling and relating. And I resist as best I can. For what will it matter how I respond or how vehemently I disagree with what they are suggesting has happened, or some way they think I am responsible for the troubles in their lives? For sure I am equally flawed and in my life have brought storms and darkness upon my own world. I am no better than anybody, though I have my talents and gifts. I am trying not to waste them anymore. I am busy writing books, can you not see? I am busy hoping and dreaming and living in new light. I believe I must move on. I have the right to do so. There is no marriage, there are no vows to hold me here in this heart of mutual misery. I ask that anyone who once called themselves a friend, or still considers themselves a friend of someone who has expressed an interest in freedom to move on and be left alone, ought to consider this: THE UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS    and regain your composure and consciousness and self-respect by ceasing all activities contrary to the basic principles, stop phoning, stop texting, stop emailing, stop cramming your commentary and opinions under the door! Cease and desist in all communications and not limited to the five basic senses by which we perceive one another in this world! Unfortunately you have lost your right to my ever expansive circle of light, and so much as I know, I have lost my right to yours. I can light a candle for you, for sure, and wish you the very best (and get well soon). I have tried and tried for so long to restore a pathway between our hearts, like the one we first knew, but the conditions are no longer safe and the bridge has been devastated and fallen and sunk to the bottom of our sea of tears. I am sorry to see you go, sorry for the loss of a once great friendship. Now I must move on without you.

about a murder. unsolved

My impressions from an article about a murder of a young girl in my city. The trial started yesterday, but the outcome is only certain in one way… a child is gone —  http://www.katyamills.com/2015/08/on-murder.html