conversation with the future

on a train leaving Las Vegas

i thought to my (future) self

with all the deception in the world

who needs magic?


life becomes tolerable
moment by moment
it won’t ever be acceptable
in analysis

life won’t ever add up
to any magic number
it won’t hold in retrospect
it won’t measure up
to any ideal

life falls apart
then regroups
life is never the same
always changes and

cannot be predicted
by forecast or made

life is unkempt

life will not love you only
you may love life
for the moment
you are lucky
to exist

the living dream phase

About the magic that happens when we meet…

ness less rest

IF i was nude
without my clothes
wrapped in a blanket
feeling soft and thin
lying on your couch
in an industrial space
where the air is cool
but alive

if you were reading
poetry to me and i
was reading novel excerpts

if friends were welcomed
through the lovely living space
without any of age old appropriate hesitations

then the rains would slap
the leaded glass

then the warmth between my legs
under your arms embracing

then the electric wait
before touch is over and helpless is real and beloved this moment of all that there is

then the realized infinite tenderness so palpable!

the fifth force validation so soft! loving! gentle!

so needless of words

then way out there with us in the ness ness ness less rest
ness less

be still
my memory revigorate
be kind my love

pliable me
pliable you

light finds ways to the resting shade. it may be wondrous when it does so. non-chalant. when shadows flicker around these high walls candle lit

taper not
sweet memory

carry on bold to the next. precious life never fail! never falter! never leave! ever last

be still
be kind. let all past present future lives come together here. remarkably

anyone who still dreams
lets go of all you ever established
cherished institutionalized

come read your little voice large into the clear seche vaulting expanse with us. up to the leaded glass high and ritual drumming of rain patter pitter

take off your clothes
wrap yourself in new vetements for once you are seen you are known you are you! you are loved explored like these pages these words these letters inscribed now released upon breath to honor the air

this moment these words from our bodies our ours! and forever. unsealed and exposed to the element

this is now magick. catch fire and cooled by the brick

‘The Virgin Suicides’ – Book Review by K

Rhythm, music, feeling. The sound of words, unfettered by the demands of formal punctuation. Gone are the so-called ‘elements of style’, the stilted choppy grammatical prisons of words. Eugenides has liberated a world of words to speak a careful thoughtful truth which reflects a looking glass culture as clear as it is fragile, as rigid as it is agile, and characters trapped within it who are expansive before every contraction, larger than life and yet just a fraction. Fractured in the moving picture. I loved Sofia Coppola’s film adaptation of this novel, equally. Both the book and the film are magical, different, unusual. And unusual, in a creative and conscious kind of effort – unusual with a heartbeat – is the sort of rarity which keeps me interested in reading and watching, and engaged in the affairs of humankind. Nice to find a novel which does not leave one stuck in a pigeon pose, fervently scraping gum with a stick out from the rubber mould of a culture always left aside looking for some traction for a soul.  Image