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.

people work better when driven (insane) – iii)

No, don’t be scared. Just pay attention, brush your hair out your eyes. We can get you that haircut we have been waiting to get you, I mean, for you to get. Ummm… I promise, things will be better this way. This is life! Hold the tv. I know it sounds strange. Listen to your heartbeat for a minute… see? It’s different this way. Everything changes. You are not who you thought you were. You have been touched! Listen… see what I mean? The arrythmia, stupid! It’s going away. You can’t tell? That’s just because you’re still waking up. Come on, we can urge it on with some of that new spangled electroshock. It’s gotten real popular. I think you can download it on your phone. Just have to agree to the terms. You don’t have to read them, silly. Just touch your touchscreen. Swype the bitch. Come on, now. Twenty-first century? Ding-dong! Twinkies are coming back. They didn’t go nowhere. (Just waited for folks to miss them enough. Like the professional athletes. Come on out of retirement again. Peek-a-boo! We miss you). Okay okay, no, now wait let me finish downloading it, too, because like anything good, it requires a little bit of teamwork. No loners! Groupspeak is in fashion. Spit shine collective. May seem weird at first, but doesn’t everything? Let the relativity kick in, and weird becomes normal. Shit, you gotta know what i mean. Isn’t that how you attracted all your friends. Okay, so now take your android and bump it with my android, and boom! FEEL IT?!? It works off the same principle as static electricity, they say. Google it, if you want. Its won some emmies. Or grammies. Or google playmaker awards. Whatever, man, just do it. Whatever you want to think. All i know is this beats a triple shot machiatto blended irish carbomb, anyday. Feel it? Here take this gravity brush. Your hair is standing up. Won’t do for the interview. Anyway, welcome to the clear full of light. You heard me. The clear full of light. Oh, ya, I said YOUR INTERVIEW. What? Did you think I came by to hangout? See, that’s your problem. You have made up stuff to define stuff to make a life out of nonsense. That’s so fucking GenX, man, what are you looking to do next? Pull the trigger through your toejam? Jesus. You don’t need to reinvent Catcher in the Rye. All the good creative shit, the dreamer shit? Its been dreamed! Its been done. Move your ass out of Pere-LaChaise and back into the real world. Time to get PRODUCTIVE. Fuck the age of aquarius! I don’t care when you were born. The only sign you’re gonna see, is the sign you pencilled in and hung around your neck before you wandered onto Market Street with a deathwish and a papercup! I know it sounds harsh. I know. But listen, No more repititions. Stop asking me why I dragged you out of bed and out here with me into this frigid fucking morning. You think I like it? This is a one time deal for you. No repetition. Think of the bottom line. The BOTTOM LINE. If all was repetition, there would be no bottom line. Like that famous number. Hash tag. Pi. Whatever. 3.141414 to infinity, dumbass.

Sorry, I know i’m being critical, but i am keeping it real for you. Real is not always nice. Dummy. Hey, it’s not like i don’t tell myself the same in the morning in the mirror. With my gravity brush. Three i-shocks to the wind. But guess what? At the end of the day, I can say: at the beginning of the day, all the way to the end of the day, I am one driven dude. DRIVEN. MOTIVATED. The only way to be. No impediment. No speed lumps, bumps, undulations, or tables going on here. Not anymore. Not like you. I fuckin’ outsourced a wrecking crew, man! Reshaped my image. Airbrushed my waterlogged fuckin decaying attitude, man! Photoshopped the noise out. Pulled the pillow up off my suffocated orifice. My heart murmur. One more analogy and we’re all through. But atleast I got my point across. This ain’t no backbeat boyz. This is the original tom-tom thundrous wonderbread of the regimented swing shift disciples. Yes, its a gang. In the best sense of the word. A gang of motivated, resume padded, headhunted, cubicled, well paid soldiers of fortune. The Dr Whos-Who of timestamp travel efficiency. Clocking in and out the central artery. Parking our asses irreverently in the very middle of the street. Pretenders, Talking Heads. Wall Street. Whatever. We take our shots through farmers market produce. Please and thank you very much. Long the long stretch of endless paper pushing. Short the short life of rigorous dreaming. You not only need to walk the walk, you also need to talk the talk. Stop trying so hard to assert your individualism. That’s just some raggedy-ass abstract for a special order. Well, I got news for you. The world is leaning McDonalds over Burger King. And you will have it like everyone else gets it. No special treatment. Remember the bottom line! We can’t fuck up the bottom line, if we have a prayer’s chance in atheism of competing with China.

Life! hold the tv. You’re the one! You’re the one who signed up. So what if it was after the last dollar was spent at the dollar store, and the recruiters glistened in the parking lot tarfill? So what if tv. hold the life. Held out the promise of the driven? Anything to sign you out of that funk and back on the railroad. Don’t be scared. Look alive! What you need is something altogether different — what you need is this. A haircut. A bigger box. A mentor. An outfit. And a permit to enter your own kitchen, soldier. Because you know you’re mouth has been watering for some time for a little of this.Hello! Knock knock? Who is it? Reality! Corporate world. Business class. Identical non pinstripe suits. Ladies, no open-toed shoes. Life is not a beach. Gentleman, no windsor knots in those ties. This isn’t England. We don’t have time for that shit. Every second off the timestamp is deducted from your paycheck. Ok? Let’s get into the mentality here. It’s a simple kinda program, a simple way of life. Leave your dreams at home. Put your unpublished novels in the shredder. There’s no glory in your personal story of desecrated ennui. You owe yourself and your country some restitution for all that rest. Bipolar? Autistic? Schizoaffective? Come one, come all! Let us coach you out your self-actualized mental illnesses. You wanna work like that? Like what? Work your way into a straight jacketed institution? Work your will away at some fanciful creative endeavor? Please. You just need some motivation, son. Let us know you better than you know yourself. We know how you tick, we have studied homo sapiens and cognitive behaviors for the better part of our wonderful miserable lives within cubicles. Heroes! That’s what we call ourselves. Because heroes are real!

Wake up, sunshine! Heroes are real. They don’t need to dream. They’re out saving the world, not cracking nuts in some blue diamond almond factory down the street in the day. Not throwing paint chips at some glue-dipped armchair and passing it off for high art at some oakland first friday telegraph avenue meet bourbon street doused in whiskeytown rotgut penniless parade! All the drunken prairie dogs. Come up off their skateboards to see some lost vision. High art my ass! Bottle bands and road flares lit up for applause. Kids hooked on ropes, bouncing off buildings. Calling it dance? There’s solid proof of wasted time and effort squeezing dreams dry. No, I’m not angry. No, no, i’m not jealous! Can I continue, I was working up to something good, I think…And all the teenage angsters and the oakland gangsters having their out of body experiences over that fucking couch sprayed with paint chips, yelling Hey! Look! A masterpiece! What does that almond farm factory sweatshop sucker call this thing? Barber Shop? Barber shop! I get it. No way! Dude, your girlfriend looks so dope passed out on that thing. Her ass hangin’ out. Loveseat for one. Maybe she’ll get a haircut. Hey, man! Someone give that bitch a haircut! This is Oakland. This is the East Bay. This is experiential learning.

People work better when driven (insane)

We were byproducts of bygone days of dirty damn flowerpushers! some suggested. Some of those who said such things, were people we trusted. Others were not. Caring, the act of caring, also had not yet withstood the weather to delineate a clear empirical map to know it by… best we could do was water the plants when they looked like they were dying. Or eat the wonderbread in the pantry before it went bad (or before some other kid ate it). We were young. Americans. Still, we were a decade from the first beacon of datastreams reflected back through space and time and taxpayers monies lumped into pretty grants all in a row, which would inform us to take hold of the ropelift (though only with fortified canvas gloves, if you expected not to get rope burn) and not let go of the new mentality of a culture embodying less that we could explain. A culture less caring? A culture less careful? A culture more populated and therefore less personal?  A culture going through a difficult growing stage? Define caring. Define personal. Define growing stage.  Then we might work to fight and hate and hope to someday prevent the very clear and concise examples of what for sure could never be mistaken for caring, ie, that which results from neglect.


So we all got to learn what not to do, in the presumption (or ignorance) of expecting some other behavior modelled often after someone or anyone who spent their time preparing to blow sunshine up atleast ten asses before each day was through. For the extremity could not be laughed out the room. Why? Well, because you can never have enough sunshine. And second, there could be no question of getting as far away from neglect as possible, which therefore gave allowance for extreme acts of incorrigible kindness. Whoever pastes the biggest smile over their bad news like a bandaid, got the props. Now that’s the world we grew up in. Feel sorry for us now? Nah! Shit, we could have been born in a minefield. We could have had to push a lawnmower, to make the blades cut.

Studies show that cars work better when driven.

Empirical data can be an addiction when its not a nuisance. Well, adhering to that stat, and changing out people for cars, one can (manipulatively) propose that people work better when driven. Define driven. Or just add a (silent) adverb predicate, in order to clear up any confusion. and voila!  my life story and maybe yours: 

People work better when driven (insane).