pululili

as diamond tends to destroy anything it touches
--nanodiamond fabricator's cancer cure


take good care of your teeth
for they are your food delivery system.
if you want to get a pressurised carbon grille
take a load of this.  oh hey
poet, why do you want
to write rather than being involved
in the conversations of the young?

because everyone has to listen to the wizened.


and you don't want anyone actually taking your advice?


it's prolly bad. ed tells me the words don't matter
it's all in the delivery, the voice.
so lah de jah.


djuana, he taught me how
to love a leaf.  lightly. oh so lightly.





so today i had a tooth pulled
and i should not be smoking
but i had a bit of the ganja
and bit of the 'tine or a bit
of the devil a bit of the green

you know how i know what i know what you mean.


i keeppatting myselfon the back
because i was nice to people today
i made sure my tone was pleasant
and apologetic, servile and unassuming.

people respond well to that.
and so the day passes, dental records
transferred fee free, quasi son in laws not
residing in trailor park but lying about it
to management solved, bumped car victim appeased
daughter's impending school start settled with ease.
going with the flow, sending love vibes for peace.
i even put in 3 hours at work till the novocaine
began to wear off. 

but i didn't answer the fortyish guy
didn't go to an open mic
didn't ride my bike or swim in da pool
just lay in my bed,  my mouth in a drool.

i only thought about you in the abstract
in the everywhere with specifics
attached to nowhere at all floating
an identifiable drifting object
on the edges of my story , firmly
enwrapped in yours.  


hope you too had a nice day ;)


















*(&



by now you've heard about
the diamond planet  orbiting
a quasar every 2 hours a scarce 4 thousand light years
along this curve of the milky way.

 shine on you crazy.

glory box and a hit of the cure

in a nice gated apartment complex.

the lights blink out one

at a time in the space

of five minutes. the ghost of chinaski

sits at a window dreaming of bmws

  the track and the typewriter's clack

 screws his misty

face up against the screen

square acne blooms through it

silent-- like those goddam

ipads or pods  or whatever they use

now  wants

a bottle of shiraz

to quench the earthquake

tearing him apart but there

was never enough

even when he had a gut

and how oh yeah he notices

in the mirror that isn't him at all

peeking like a bashful schoolgirl at

the divided joy that looks back at him thinks Oh

yeah I forgot I'm Black.

so, yeah. like you didn't know

	thunder came and the tribe dispersed --tenth rendering of  scorpion corp's mission statement her voice holds mortality singing from the mezzanine,  longing- drug laced muezzin  candy from the decadent popsicle fields of aksmen askwomen dot cosmos godlets, he said. rivulets on the windshield. it would be good to speak of the grains of sand spread over her feet,  the salt  in her hair , her hair again in your eyes. let's meet  in the grass without blame . let it stain your shoes and remove them,  run bare across her gaze. the tower's built again and again.   mathematics  tries to code into architecture, a unity of panes lintels and posts , a conflagration of ideas interstate truck growling up the staircase to clouds. flight's desire. feather spin spin, twist gyre , breath and bone and tendon masters the curve of wind. the romantic sits by her computer thinking of nexxus and copyright. an hour of waiting for the movie to begin. she hopes there are subtitles in three of her languages: mood, grace & scent. when she tells your story, please raise your hand and walk to the top of a pyramid. here are 17 , impacted in the sands of egypt  extracted by infrared satellite from the dust of all the deaths  you've felt since she left. her voice has gone tremelo reaching into your eyes pulling heaven from them in a thousand new dialects.

if

if we were lovers
each morning i would come
to you with a cup of coffee
stroke the smooth skin over
your hip bone, run my hand
down your outer thigh, break
over you sighing
wake up, wake up. you could
turn to me we could
run our lips over the taste
of night receding. lick
the lines from our faces
and melt into nineteen again.
but we aren't. so i don't
i keep tenderness
from my tongue, venus
out of my breath, the stars
from bursting into song
over places we've
already  never been.

the ironies of me

from may to july i pushed you away
then you left when  i bleeved you'd stay
i think that's all i need to say.

binge purge

white swirling thoughts fill a dark mind, as achilds mind is occupied solely by the involement in a game. Completely filled by these white thoughts, much like white noise, soothing its own unique way, was the  mind(or something close to it, at least a sense of self awareness) of a single entity, dosed and uncontrolled. Dangerous is the mind filled by white, and the mind knows it. Now, the mind must make a name for its self. It thinks of all the names of human history, and decides that not one of them is unordinary enough for the mind.
 For the sake of repetiton, the mind now shall be referred to as X.
 Although not nessicerrly meaniingful, its better than "the mind", and much better then nothin at all. Yet nothing at all seems to be a blissful release at the current state of X. X has troubles with x's sense of being, as does his mind. Oh and dont be fooled, they are two separte beings working alongside to make one funtioning body work as one.


most of that is just jibberish

boredom takes over the mind of even the most sophisticated beings

The state of being is largely accepted as the best deal any living organism will get, because of the fear of the alternative.
Random thoughts fill x again and again, and x finnaly relizes that the music distracting x is the cause of all the random thoughts, but x learns to like the randomness and simplicity of how the thoughts come and go, like that of water flowing though the ears of time.

found on my drive

ignorance when the need for illusion is deep

--saul bellow


outside, longhorn steakhouse lit
by early evening sun. professionally
manicured parking lot islands dot
the ground. clay holds water the sprinkler
system delivers at 2 p.m. prompt.


wish it all away and it haunts you
ignore it and a feather lands in the lawn-
a txt, a break in the routine of loss & its
opposite, the queer cardboard-against-spokes
whine of a deccelerating truck. doppler

memories sing,  sirens with helium voices.
reflect in the mirror, see how pretty the tears
in the fabric, let's keep it that way till friday.
neurotic and self involved is just my seed,
divided by new york speed equals a fiery steed.

let's ride.







*(&&


my frenz is lilly allen and amy winehouse
lilly shows me how
to do it and amy shows
me the way i keep doing it.
sorta. lol. not talking fame babee
talking at long last love too good to be true
believe it
isn't.





trust me when i say it's ok.













*(&&





so what am i doing here in the prefecture of perry?
mundane bidness in the early teens.
snafus unsnaffed at your service.
talking sensormatic talking packaging
talking circuit boards and soldering irons
capacitors and broken hearts...ummm...parts.
can't do nothing bout that typo.



they gotta pool. barely used.
bluer than anyone's natural eyes.
i'm swimming in that. under
a georgia peach cloud, as
the sun stretches back and floats
to the other side of the sky.

on the king's highway in the prefecture of perry

j's fingerprints are on the walls
bible in the drawer, tea light supplied
by a thoughtful packer from home.


 watch the flame dance in the ashtray.
love georgia because they have not yet
outlawed smoking.  a big king size bed
with   mirror positioned to the right
side. opposite the handily supplied alarm
clock. if you like the linens, please
go to our.com to order. nothing
bolted to the wall, 47 inch color monitor, flat
screen so you can watch the daily
and the report in real time. but you miss them.
masturbate with the electric screwdriver
masturbate with words
on company time. add it into the set up 
they're still paying you by the hour worker b. and music
supplied by one m
s niven q.e.d., lately seen in london
france & fancy underpants

clock out. your time.







i an i and a bongo track.
a large slow gait on the bass.
trucks going by on 75 at 90.


i am robot. don't say a word.
fix it. machinery. feed it.
chicanery. i brought bukowski
bishop and watts. there is no


wet bar. we took a clay road
off the interstate past the factory
then right,

on to the motel. there's things
need to be fixed. call in the geekery.
every road takes us far from home.








tonite the world could end.
you never can know
when the last
of something is
while you're in it

it's alive right up until

 the heart attack ends. isn't it?












there's, like, romantic songs
on this station.  i'm afraid
to go to sleep you
might be in my dreams.

a view inside some loves

from nothing to existence there is no logical bridge

--william james


a philosopher i believe.


that statement is so true esp
when one speaks of love.


but life is just as illogical. the scientologist
argued  for a creation. i was as convinced
against it. a sprining up, a banging on, a
loose set of rules rolled out with a blast
but creation? huh. design for chrissake?

does it speak to my lack of imagination
that if there were not peacocks, i don't
think i'd create them?


well, yes, i guess it does.  or giraffes,
however logical they appear to me
seemed to him impossible to have merely
evolved
from the same bacterium as we.
they must have been dreamed up
(from whence the dream?), engineered out
and let loose.

i spose. i think not tho. if any entity desinged
it was with one simple rule. the T O E. the big one.
all the rest derived from that. but his argument
seated in the revealed ramblings of a certified
science fiction writer and modern day religion builder
( megalomaniac with a gift for spew)
was that indeed evolution occurs but this world
has a lot of genetic engineering evidence.
"there is no time!" he'd say
and proceed to tell me of past lives.
until he realised they could just as well
have been future ones.
gotta love the pluperfect tense. even if
you dont know what that means.
even if you use it wrong.

i spose we learned all we needed from each other
after all. some new ways of seeing the same old flesh,
a bit of self healing among the beatings self administered daily.

i miss the way he drew the pain from my backi havegi'gi

go now, use it wisely.

so now what, homey? it's 1124 in 2011

there's talk of the end of the  world

and riots in london . i think my gen has just about

put the screws in its own screwdriver. 

half the kids are in jail, the other half

are in the military and the ones coming up

are strung out on dope. we really fucked up

you know? i talk to so many tweeners

the ones who let the revolution go

who know the big crunch is coming

and are ready to offer their necks to the blade.

 we don't wanna stick around for the rebuild

and we're trying like hell to take everything with us.

leave nothing for the aliens. 

too bad it's not like the movies 

where godnature kills us off

while some benevolent overlords

save the children.

we gotta do this ourselves. 

and i think we doin a damn fine mob of it. 

ya know i'm pretty sure that's why he 

chose to go home to the family he made.

be with them during this crisis time.

maybe he get to ride that wave of blood money

for a while before the calendar ticks out.

maybe we find some more rocks, start it up

again. but something needs to give.

i gotta tell my kids to take a crash course

in survival in the woodlands. if the end 

doesn't manifest itself in 

nuclear anihilation there are some dreams 

you just don't want to repeat.

the tarot on the new guy 

was not encouraging.

but you know, we can hang for a minute.

however, be careful that he isn't using you

to reintigrate into society. or wait. that would 

be fine. just be careful he doesn't tell you

i love you while he's doing it. 

$%%%

ok i think that's nities. 

only leaps can define

the way nothing becomes something.

a spark of electricity created between

magnetic poles being broken by the thinnest

of wires would not threaten anything.

except the magnitude of nothing

capitulating to desire.

rehab

shortly before he left we watched
a lot of amy winehouse's videos.
she died the week before and i
wanted to show him her talent.

plus i'd never really seen the vids.
she has some rack
he said.
it's true, she did.

tonite i watched a 2008 documentary
about her life. at 12 she wanted to be famous.
i thought about you telling me
you wanted to be on the cover of the enquirer.
i thought how you might have met her
and saved her if'
you'd been born in the right place.
you certainly were in the right time.
and she's short enough.

damn. the gods are malicious.


but the paparazzi, the press.
the way they hound the famous.
just because. your life
is never private again.
you live in a strobed mansion.
do you really want that?
she dies in 5 years from it.













&*^





so yeah, the synchronicity of things.
love, the  losing game.
the osprey in the clouds with a fish
below the triune breaking things up.
i don't know if i can
forgive the remorse. and the sting.
at least i have time to write now
  just like old times.

the addiction is obsession.
the way she demands you love her
and always takes you back
until she's done with you.


amy always had her mask
to turn to. she had her privacy.
we know something happened
in that hotel room, the blood
and the cuts for you buggers
with the cameras.can't you see
the crowd frightens her
the way they all want  a piece
of her but she's his, his alone.
 she can't sing without him here.

but  that other guy
the first one
who broke her heart
that's who he hated.
she will never love him
like the first guy.


love is a losing game baby
she says. it's like heroin
you just can't get enough
to make up for the hole
the first one left. daddy,
daddy, why?


i'm glad he went back to her.
we always knew it would have to come.













&^*&^







i don't think i want to play anymore
so why do i keep goin back to the hood
looking for more?

the theft of her face

when the things we want
collide with the duties we have
the things we want must be stolen.

some call that sacrifice. choices
that are preclusions are not chosen.

in my ontology life is about learning.
lessons, facts, exceptions
to the rules. i keep trying to make
the exceptions be my rule. but it never
works out that way. the pattern remains
led zepplin.  perhaps those that want
to blow out are correct. to lose these lives
this certainty, this beauty of being
to forget the struggle.



the newspaper told a common story
the woman who disappeared inside her home.
no one knew for 2 years. how sad, how  lonely
her final breaths. a little sparrow said we all die
alone. this is the last mystery, the lasting one.


i think she chose to do this
because she understood her fraility
was her strength. the manic who hurts
and the depressive who kills. joy, light, hope
too lovely to bear. "i wanted to destroy
something beautiful". become kali for a minute.
the only thing you can kill, in the final analysis
is yourself. it's all you, baybe. be.













*(&





well, yeah. so you're dead.
now what? make a new pattern?
you probably won't. i mean, these
tables we've built these chairs
these passages thru the aether
seem so solid that they are.

come back to this. come home.
if you blow out, certainly
you will recycle into the now again.
water is neither created nor destroyed
just poisoned and dispersed.

you say it all happens at the same time
and it's true, there is only now. ness.

i can tell i'm stoned. when i talk to the you
sometimes it's me,and sometimes it's you.
this is how existence becomes chronomic.


except for the last month?
you are a fond memory.

















(*)&&&












today i will drive ashton to mayaka.
on the way i will stop at the beach
and take a swim in the mouth of the bay.
leona will be with me as well.

the joy of children. even exasperating ones.
which leona is not. she's   willful but   smart.
who was she in a different life?

before i go i will wash the porch
now that the 5 monitors, 3 keyboards,
an extra hard drive and 2 shells have been
properly recycled. i will mow the yard.
then i deserve the beauty of the water.

how fucked up is that? that in this universe
we have to earn our way or we don't really
appreciate it. gifts are not honored, they are expected
and devalued. what a mess we have here.
surely we can make some other type of life?























*(&



it's all in the perception i spose.
i percieve a dream that becomes reality.
you know the roles, you can believe them
because they are you. what you desire
can be a reality only if you do not split your
alliegences. this is not possible in our vessels.
of course you can keep up the search
for a way to transmute yourself.
it's an amusing passtime. and you have
accomplished this so many other times.
you're doing it right now, as we live.













(*&







i laugh at myself with my certainties.
but jeeze i've seen this movie before.
it always ends the same.
i keep hoping for a rewrite.
some way to add eyebrows
or a flash of teeth and have it be
as captivating. but once it was in my possesion
i could not deface her. i couldn't
bring myself to change a thing about her.
she was so  perfect in her imperfections
an immortal reality perched on
my easel smiling at the joke
no one ever tells.

why do pregnant women want clay?

phosphorus, potassium, magnesium, copper, zinc, manganese, and iron.
 nutrients. that's what they say. all these things are found in clay.

omg

http://www.ifate.com/tarot_reading.html?T6C531740121410721111B6

omg. the tarot.

it's so odd funny how i do that.

i think i will never doubt the rot again.
just hope i'll be able to decipher it properly
sorta like my subconscious. sigh.

well i hope he does it.
makes it work i mean.
it's a bloody miracle we worked
for a while so maybe ...

selflessness. that would be a real change, wouldn't it?

denoument

this one's different in that we aren't
yelling and screaming at each other because
you don't yell. all i can do is cry

even though what i want to do is
delete all of last week's pix and the things
yyou said about future from my head.

it's a good thing i  never really believed you
for very long anyway. little snips here and there
but you wouldn't look me in the eye when
you said them, so i knew. not really


see i was taken again by my own hopes
and desires. taken in by thinking everyone
can think outside the box, but no, the box
is so comfortable. so enclosed and safe.


so now it's crying time again, yr gonna leave me.
i can see that faraway look in your eyes.
you have nothing to say to me because there is nothing
to say. it's gotten uncomfortably loud here

with a baby in the house, and your li'l paradisio
sex kitten is gettin the mange so, time to
go back home, jo jo. i don't care about your pain
in that mine is so much closer to where i live.





%$





on the way to the airport, silence
until a bit of gorillaz comes
on the radio. watch me as i navigate
hahahahaha

right into the red zone "we have
arrived at your destination mr smith.
have a pleasant flight.we hope
you enjoyed your stay in florida and please
don't forget to tip your waitress."

animals in human suits

i think you confuse
my sloppiness
with danger
 
no

  no that's what makes
you dangerous


true but
sloppy and dumb
is usually fatal

you have to brilliant
to be as sloppy as i am
and survive.

























*&^


super size the power balance
  of the arms race, defeat
the accursed share
with a kabal of twelve
firing bullets made from

your soldier's ashes.

corporate culture smiles
on big city happines, value
weirdness over traffic
install esquisite glass door knobs
and free energy devices in your eclectic
future, ban the warmongers from  your domes
install a happy shiny size 2 balanced
budget in your trillion dollar 3d life
don't mind the maggots trippin
outside they be gone soon
oh
soon, oh






(

my m0uth is a painted desert









*(7











chronic pain has the same narcotic
effect on thought processing as
a bottle of nyquil or maybe the 10 mg
oxys. retrieving words that swim  under
a thick blanket of ignore-that-synapse
or thoughts that flare , snuffed
by the distance between brain and consciousness.




she walked into the kitchen for the paper
by the time she went to thirty paces
she'd forgotten why
she went.