create

like a command, the man
sing here is blank
space and a thousand nexxi

connoxii, connect!

the world is ending. gloriusly
under the water. water's heating
meltdown glaciered and enerty bound.

beach front property jokes
are for the living.

then even they forget. tepid malarial springs
exhaust powered summers that just drag across
the midlands like a wet towel from a sauana
after beaching it on daytona when florida
had a bach. wen florida. forida.


it's one f htose thingstoo big to thinkabout. someone elelses's problem
the dontraction consturuction on the euphemism hiwway.


i think that's all i can tonite marsha.
stowhining. goodnite.
this isillegible.

silly sad thngs

sily things make me sad b/c
i can't get into the game of them
anymore. i remember when i was so caught
up in display, ihad to write all the nasty
personal shit going down in my life out
of me. now, i can barely write a thing.
no incidents, no tete a tetes. too much
happens but nothing does.

forinstance this:

the keyboard has a drum machine
we got the 4/4 interpreted,
we got the tempo how we want it
and the boy doesnt want tojam
with drums. it throws him off.

so there's words exchanged, wills
against each other. son says lover is older
brother material. which is fine with everyone.
as long we discount the incestous connotations of that.

still, lover is a musician , while son
is learning music, orchestral. he can groove
but come on he's adolescent when possiblities
either open or cripple.

i begin to regret the mistakes i made
with dotter. the things i didn't know
didn't remember about this time
the things i wished to ignore.

i read in dear abby about a woman
still trying to win her mother's approval.
it struck home, in the backhand way.
am i doing this to my daughter?

she told me that i could not be pleased
many times. i told her, i would be pleased
if you would do something. she said she does
but it's never enough. "perfect" waltzes thru my head.

there was the instruction taken as criticism
the relentless voice of the father, yelling.
the mother's abandonment in his vice the dotters
end of childhood. end of a string of lies.

i loved her with all my heart
then and now and forever. but i also
couldn't stand how she blamed me
for everything. as if i'd lived it all before
and knew what to do. i was just playing it by ear.
dancing with the sound of the flute
the pan pan markers in strichnine treacle.

i ignored what had wounded me. she decided i chose
love over her. i love her. but i was mistaken
in my actions. if i had known i would have let him go.
i would have been less to him, less to love.

she says o like a god sings

yes it was leda, bathing
in the all together cold
lake in the middle of a warming
trend. you could see her stand up
nipples beneath the ripples.
i always think of swans in spring
the way your black cat lay
on the white tiles purring with her feet
under the expressive green eyes.
like flight, waiting for a wing.

in spring i always think of birds.
there are mallards in the reedless water.
they hold the blonde hair dye hostage
in feathers sleek and mimicing spring.
what does it mean what does it mean her
ducklings cry. she spanks them with a bill o fare
and sweats the small stuff, mabb birchy
with a armistice on the side.

in the house of mending some things
are finished while some rending
garments still look for the way, the why.
well, yes, it will mean a period of growth
this omelet surpise, the chickadee roostering up.
the boys go work out. they truly love me.
i tell my son it would be sick for you and i
to do what my lover and i do. we talk about
taboo, incest, recessive and dominant traits.

why do you believe that everything
is related to the sex you all is shue?
is that all love is? was emily wrong
when we she said all we know of love
is love is all we know or was that all u need
or wait was that a john paul, catholic, or
seeming the scores individual and secretely named.

oopsy. a mad cow moment. see b.c , i watch my mind
degenerate. search for words that used to flow thru me
faucet, teapot, no 20 stranded guage wire but now
i am adrift in sensation, these names resist thinging.

and i battled with the tarot when i first met him.
i insisted to the tarot that what i
what i mean is that i mean to fall in love
with this man. and what i mean to do is this
tho i know it means he leaves me.
so i will not fall at all. i will call it fall
i will live as fallen and far far felled
rewooded and pacific coast hiwayed into your ear.

its so nice to not have to worry if this is readable.
now all the comments are gone. dear out there
you will see this and pass it by, grain of man
in the cosmos.

well i could go on about that man thing. the language
patriachy and its insidious overture to demolition you see
it's not that women will clone men from existence, no the idea
is to get mechanical wombs so we can at last get rid
of you women once and for all. jeeze, can't you see
who all the scientists are? all the investors. italicize
the point and perhaps your emoclod heads will
feel the poke.

hmmm, how would that work larry? i mean from what i understand
men are pretty much sex driven drones. even scientists
and mathmaticians are not immune. they simply sublimate.
so if you rid yourself of women what will you fuck? each other?
no there would be uncontrollable raging warriors
who would first fuck and kill the zeta males who cooked up
this scheme. maybe they'd listen to the dweebs if
they could convince the men that they could produce not one
woman, but a thousand women. in the little vats.
othis is just a damn silly line of reasoning. steal it if you dare.


ok so i'm getting ired.
our body beckons my skin
degidedment. wantonness
a sweete caress. your hair spikes
medusa in the morning, dark.

there is a stinger, purple on the vilvet romananivch
pillow duvet. you were never
less with me, than in sunlight.
it is the dark blend of sting
and sorrrow that binds me
to him. which is you is
was will ever be, back there
once upon a ime. i closetthe book
over an over looking for some
warranty. you understand now
i trust, why. it wsn't love
you belived not in.
it was me. or you. you looking at me.
a pretencse a substitute for waht
you wond
wanted. but wouldn't admit.
i will never understand
ou ikea footload. your ennui.
the miracle of your attention.

therer is a wound in me
deep as the years between us that festers
still on the outskirts of your utopia.
i do ont understand why a pearl
resides inside me. i have smoked the hashish
of barinadulam. covered ants
in belgium chocklat to give to your
boys and still you will not sew
this matter in the sub ether of your life.




i was an infant. i was
innocent and you were need. it is
the ghost of sacrifice
that wails across the marshes
and tundras of starbucks crying o woe
o where is the woman i once was, and her lover
who vibrated out of existence.
time handy in the next short bottle.
you should have genied me out
when you knew you didn't actually love me
when getting used to me was your only option.

i was in love, you fucking white birdyou were only
afoce of naute, migratory.

swiss cheese fire

lakeland sits in the most beautiful area of florida

woods, rolling hills abut lakes, chained together
swamplnad border, my ears used ot pop when we hit
the rise up to 456. i didn't notice it last nite.

primal urge
to burn, to turn
things to ashes.

i don't know if it's destruction
so much as just watching the flames.
there's beauty in it's most metaphorically real form.


we made a drive to lakeland, the boonies
where quarter acre lots spike off one of those
cowherd twisted roads-- the kind with snake
backs , moving, curves thrown into your
left hand lane and god rides with you
because no one else slams
into your wrong lanedness- cuz jerry
wants to play drums with us and he's got
a generator and no noise ordinace. it
was dark but early. early but dark. a fire

from last year's hurricane debris burns
a greeting. it took a while to find the place
by checking the mobile home populated
lots for the faint glow of peripheral
headlites off the windows.
going 20 which is plenty fast enough
given the contours of the river,uh,
road.
like all country roads this one's name
symbolizes its genesis. creek wood.
the stars.
there are stars, above the orange
fire fly sparks that linger
in the cold spring night. no moon. no
constellations, how did shepards
see anything amid the light, holding mass
she asks me as she passes the glass
pipe, shivering b/c she is sub
tropical, like me. she is so
like me. i think if we thought it through
we would never have children
and the right wing lifers know this.
why would we want to inflict ourselves
on a next generation? and the ones who want
to those are the ones who need to die out
the ones who use and never feel the ones
who only see their children as mirrors
but biology doesn't let us do this
think it throught cuz biology knows
what path thinking brings.

what my list looks like

the quiet when both of the males in my life
are sleeping. it's an innocence, twitchless
and dreaming, one i can love without neccesity.

the way wind blows over water, movement
without changing places.

things that didn't burn in the fire.
everything i've managed to cart as life
moves from one house to the next.

cafe con leche with evap milk.
slight warmth of my sundress over my legs
against a spring chill.

the vision of tonight's bonfire.
the fact that i'm not married anymore.

my daughter calls and wants to come over.
my son is pleasure to have around, and the fact
that i can tell him this, and he believes it.

the sound of the stand up bass
the way the bow demands attention
and careful handling. you cannot force it
you must simply guide it.

the ever presence of ghosts i call
friends. how i don't let them go so much as wait
for them to say hello again. the wait.

granola bars, chewey. creme horns. hot honey
glazed donuts. the smell of popcorn.

that old man.

that young man.

the way he looks at me, as if this
were forver. the way the wind blows thru me
when i believe it.

what the sunray meant

it's so quiet now,
the electronic bird whips
soundfully out of the speakers,
occasional wolf cries
in some virtual distance.

i feel the taste of flesh.
the rush of jet. you didn't enjoy
my little ditty, it was a love
thang totally unrelated
to antoher. when you talk with the wind
it doesn't echo you, it blows
things away. little breezed eddies
li'l currant filled pastries. i must
be hunger.

the faltering fushia afternoon
related to umber and other ocher choleras
i can't get beyond the feel of falling downstairs
on twited ankles, the stumbling fat
man somehow remains unscathed. it because
he's already a ghost?

last nite we talked of interaction
action, non action, anti action thru action.
my son says his father ends the stories
before they're told. he's brewing revenge
kidnapping, hostage situations
for missed opportunities, money owed.

what they both lose is beyond creditors.
i have a matchbook and a dimes for the dead.

when he becomes adult, how much of this
will stick with him? how will he carry
the ghosts of what we were?


my lover talks about his children.
the ones nascent, incipient in a future without me.
it makes time travel, and i'm 5 years or 20
into a future without him. he turns it says
you'll die before me. i think i will then
kill myself. this is the man with whom i
should have had children. but the cosmos continues
to play these fools for as long as we
remain happy in our delusion. he sleeps cuddled
into the feather blanket my first love bought.
he was good with the money cuz it was easier
to purchase things than to give love, but i was
fully in love. i remember how it felt each time
my lover looks at me like he trusts what i say
without concern at the degree of love. love is love is love.
right.















. i'm hungry. did i say that before?



black bean and yellow corn chips.
a granola bar. cuppa coffee. it's time
to wake the sleeping boys into what's left
of the day. the sun tells the truth, slant
like a poem. my head is heavy, my heart
a tiny succotash of bleating, feed me
i'll love you.

invest your money wisely

i feel like a ferret on the edge of earthquake.
i need to find higher ground. it's more and less
than temperature rising, stagnant oceans,
sinking islands, because when momma wants to kick
you out, you're out. more is i feel the menopausal weather
kickin in. she got a new
favorite, the baby she's carrying now, some armegeddon
begotten morphestic pestilence that'll have
her rewrite the will, sans guess who? it's less
but more amerkan
theocracy in the sunbelt, rigged republicans, degraded
democrats. when the right wing calls for a quorum
you know you're in trouble. i watched
his face tonight, the warmonger's, as he bleated
behing his wolf's clothing prevaricated
fornicator of national will. and this
man sez
i don't think it was a plot, i think
it just happened to happen this way i think
even tho the man had a script
written in tabula
risen holy/er than thou's by the fireaters' testicles
it's just coinkidink about the cars
and the peak oil crisis coming your way, in other words
yes,
we are all
that stupid.

we lit the fire. ribbit ribbit.
we watch the flames lick the pot.


*


the boy is away, banishment to his father's house
where he can watch the party line
he has to learn that anarchy in these troubled times
requires smarts. that means not getting caught
by the men with the guns. it's one thing
to depend on family to hide you but friends
are out for themselves, never forget that.
to wit:


he lets me accuse his friends and implicate
that he was not involved. thinks he's off the hook.
the other 2 boys fight it out with him, if they're in deep
then so is he, after all, he had the red can.
i hear some fisty banter outside.
i give them to the next big thing.
ashbery says i don't write life i write out of life.
i think i believe i k now what he means i mean
the tailgated whip whistle bellows from the next room
where an entire civilization drifts
in as much anime as we gods herein.
i walk the saturday afternoon sheltered from the attack
of the pollen, picking up scraps of laundry,
cigarette butts, the metro section picking things
up, putting them into some order
no one recognises after the body bags are dragged
through the remains of a once sunni home
he had the red can. his friend comes in and says
i don't know if jacob told you or not, but he sprayed too
he had the red can. i once told a young man
that if he were in the desert, out of water
for a day and he came upon a compound, an oasis
thick with palm trees and ungrazed as yet this year grass
beside a crystal pool and the people at the windows
seemd to be saying something but you can't make out
the words and you stumble towards the water not asking
just moving toward the only thing that can save you
if one of them raisedagun at you, it would be bliss
rcycled for one of you. in war
there is only you and the other. whatever is not ou
must be other.

let's call it a night shall we?

title

now nat's gone off her rox
what's she saying about how her private
correspondence is being used
means she knows exactly who anon
the one that "used her stuff"
is. so, makes her sorry she posts
at this board. sigh. well, i could
get up set. but i won't b/c listen
there are a hundred boards the same
except for the freedom to post anon.
why do we all have to be the same?
if you can't take it, don't come.
let us know where you'll be
please b/c i'd like to read you.

i don't know what to tell you. i wanted
to move to a commune. leave the hatred
and bullshit behind but it follows
because we wish it to. if one tries
to not take offence at soft jibes
or familiearity then perhaps
anon would not be so great a problem.


i don't know. i'ts clear that some
can't take the crowd. i don't really like crowds.

what really saddens me is her stance
that she owns it. i dunno. would i feel the same?

man, i would love to get a recording
of situation down to play for dj.
and the others. i would love to mp3
it on the ghost.


anyway,i have to believe that what i'm doing's
right cuz it feels right. hiatus in fifteen days.


so, anon is still controlversial.
and i still can't spell.

got an earcuff and no dots

i don't know how to get around
the certainty of your exit.
i know i know
pms is when i can feel it most keenly.

for instance, i could tie you up
nightly,keep you bonded
to what i believe but it won't help.

we are so mismatched in everything
but the part of temprament which
hates ourself. i swear i believe
that's why you're with me you

don't think you deserve better
than a woman 25 yrs your senior.
well, that & i keep you sorta inline.

i think you frightened yourself
where you ended up when it seemed
that you were unlovable













it's just that
you go to porn too much.

saying schizphrenia

As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1.

There is a tradition in many Usenet newsgroups that once such a comparison is made, the thread in which the comment was posted is over and whoever mentioned the Nazis has automatically lost whatever debate was in progress.


so i decided to answer your schizo mail.

do you know, you should have just posted most of this the ghost.
it's got some really good writing in it. i keep wanting to edit
it and post it anon...
i never heard of godwin, but now i'll not forget it. and yes,
i can see your shcizo corollary. if you've not truly been there
you have no right to say you have. but what if
well what if you're there, temporarily?

o i have been meaning to write about this woman who cut off her baby's arms
in texas, she was up for murder
on the basis that she was sane that she knew right from wrong
in the testimony given
by her psychaitrist, she was suffering delusions and post
partum depression. she had even run away from her baby
a couple of weeks prior. abandonnment they called it i
think she was trying to not kill her.they sent her
back and anyway her preacher
testifies that drugs is bad. bad. we must surrender to the will of god.
she stopped taking her meds. this woman
says god told her to kill the jezebel in her daughter
to cut off her arms and her own arms too. she had slashes
across her shoulders where she tried to obey
cuz god you know might
do that to test your faith god
told abraham to kill issaac
but he stayed the sword o lord
why didn't You let her keep her little arms?



see, yeah, that's schizophrenia. unable to differentiate
between inside and outside. like meth, sometimes. knowing
it must be delusion yet belief in the delusion
b/c it's so real. i have not been a jew. but i might
be a nazi. i hope not tho.


yes, consciousness is really an ugly word.


if you were three years in the past
or three hundred in the future from where you are
right now, i mean, could you be you?
i don't think so...crucible of skin. mold of living.
burning thru the wierdness. you prolly are transferring
your desire onto some unttainableness
cuz attainment requires
a little effort. also there is the hunger, hunter.
we could have been some salvia trystin cross
these communication lines but there would be differences and three
years ago i was so empty, i had nothing to fill you with
except need. that's hole flow without electrons.
magnetic repulsion not resonance. we are too far away.
we nmight, once. but yeah, not here
not now. maybe we meete across some universe. time really has no say.

But family means breeding, and I'm really not into that. Yet.


i always advise don't do that! but really, i mean, if you don't there are lessons
you'll have to take again. you might desire to return. then there's the mass suicide of lemmings. children can be the best part of your lives. then we become teens.
if one survives that, then one wants to feel that joy again. i never truly loved
until i had a child. these are my childesque thoughts. but as a child i say
don't do that! i had mine when i wanted to. when they wanted to come. but i had
them childishly, selfishly. then they come and want to be their own person.
that's when i have to submit to some sort of death.


No, it's more than ideology. It's me hoping I have a supply of heroin when
things collapse. Not that I think that's inevitable, but it does seem
prudent to keep a good supply of opiates on hand.



see now, i like the idea of opiates but i want to be sure
i don't sleep thru the fireworks. i want to able to say
i've had it, but not until then . opiates love me.
they would like to hold me forever. i stay away from their embrace.
till i get the cancer word. then babee, hook me up.



. That groovy gravy gradient, see-sawing between toxicity and
snap-to-grid.



heh, haven't been there is such a long while. these days
it makes me dizzy and tired. how did that song go
"wear sunscreen". good advice. was sposed ot be vonnegut.
you read vonnegut? lonesome no more! i like what he says
about saying "i love you" in there. but tho i like it
i can't abide by it, really. i'm always saying it
hoping for return.


the leaves are tricklin from the oaks outside.
it's a beautiful spring day. the upstairs neighbor's
air conditioner is silent. there are no jets. i can
hear the birds scolding. and then, the silence
breaks. machinery begins.



second guessing

How can I miss someone I've never met
but we have and will i'm sure we meet
better than if we were looking at each other.


some things are better becz of the distance.


you were drunk. these things happen. and perhaps
they will again. the only cure is
don'tdrink.
hahahahaha...

drinking on a steady basis leads me to depression.
i am so sad on depression.
but i feel that's when i write best
when i can hurt that bad. i wish
i could do joy.


but it can't be recorded, you know
not the way it needs to be
so it's good that you only wishpered it to me.

labels shmables. we got em in white sticky back
you can print anything you want
call it diamonds on a kid glove.
it's still just semiotics.
it's still just what it is.


every one i've talked to about e
talks about that crash. yours sounds like
it ends in lack of sleep as if
the pleasure receptors for that were burned out.


leslie is my doppleganger in nelson.
i mean why not. we could be riding the same wave
only she's my future and you've already met me.



psst. have you taken enough drugs for that to make ya go hmmm?
i don't think drugs are the key. they're a lock
like any consumptive lock. i lke the weed cuz it's
kind. opiates are scarey unless
you know you're dying.

lolol. wait a minute. we all know we're dying.
i dunno why i don't want to take that rush
until the last minute. yeah, i do. i'm a skeery cat
with a flat black back, call me beetle with a leetle
soul, wheedle and littl mo, greedy with a smiling ho
inside beside the dancing fool. i want to go dancing
tonite. what the fuck, i'll pay. it's just money anyway.


getting silly here. been sitting too long in one place
trying to down load marsvolta nomeansno

currently listening to mars volta.
reminds me a bit of white stripe.
stripped down rock. def needed as 80s anti dote.

hah, n then the thrasher comes.
and then there's a blues based song
with a woman's voice.

man, i'm getting hungry.
i'ma go eat.

laterz