Trump and Wolf talking Portland protester strategy.
From Seattle, I say: leave our nation’s miles of isles of misfit toys alone.
Trump and Wolf talking Portland protester strategy.
From Seattle, I say: leave our nation’s miles of isles of misfit toys alone.
“Was it a farmer or a long haul trucker, handsome?”
“Antimacassars,” he says.
Mood killed; but, don’t look for moths amongst the new things.
And, my conversions grow sloppy; but, I always know your local time.
The heavens fell and up the churning depths rose, until no one remembered that
one used to be above as was the other once below.
Pole shifts and tom cats with bobbed tails, stabilized by putting
a palm on the small of my back.
A psilent psalm.
She took more notes than necessary; and, it would have been easier to highlight the lines she didn’t want to remember.
But, that defeats the purpose.
Sun stands still today. The degree of inclination; the tilt of the axis. It’s not up and down; it’s a twirling dervish.A top a’bottom a cereal box.The (two/too) many worlds: classical and quantum.Mechanics tinkering then kicking tyres: velocity directed at space.Don’t look; the cat is & isn’t, so just let it be.Don’t change the rules by describing or observing.▪︎The Ark of the Covenant; Medusa’s Hair; Narcissus’ Reflection.▪︎A measured system’s wave function changes dramatically. So what are we studying?What are we not studying?…electrons spinning…First clockwise, then counter. Deflected up or down, state determined.The Copenhagen Interpretation
“Oh, c’mon,” said Einstein.”But, I’m a quantum system. How dare you treat me like a classical, empirical, little thing?!” I exclaim.”Entanglement. There’s only one wave function for the entire universe, sugar plum. Particles going off, but which way only No-One knows. Gnosis,” Æ says
▪︎Equal velocity in opposite directions.><Apposite.▪︎Once you see something, it cannot be unseen.Sacrifice of partial innocence and ignorance. A talisman.The wave function did not collapse; just went under construction.Pardon our progress as we erect separate worlds.Simultaneous reincarnation.Words hinting at worlds. Tao.Witticisms of Wittgenstein, “Whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent.▪︎…▪︎Who are all these people? Me? You? They us & we them?A computer’s operating system is not aware of that system by which it operates.It cannot fathom the algorithms it effortlessly executes.▪︎Analysis Paralysis▪︎It’s a dreadful recitation of the same information.Infinite jesters kidding, but this joke is on me because I keep gawking.And, the wave of the upcoming days presses down on all, yet makes the world as bright and light as a new pad of paper.Ripples in the fabric of spaces.
“…; and, that made me happy,” he said.
“And, that makes me cry,” she replied.
And, he smiled;
because he alone knew if it was from sadness or joy.
I plucked you a flower when,
the moon called me outside, obscenely early and scintillatingly late.
Whispering and bragging of its brightness.
I open my mouth, but not to speak.
He takes the cue and puts his to mine.
Licking my tongue.
My hair bursts into a corona of scarlet flames,
standing on end.
Leave me here howling, until fully feral and begging;
then take and take more by making me wait and wait more.
Then eat. Anthropophagus.
The world is on fire around us.
So, let us burn here and now.
Within the last few days, the days began lasting fifteen hours.
During this season.
From 6:30 to 9:30, the sun is so loud; all day, banging on drums in the garage.
And, perhaps, whomever said howling is the lowest form of magic was not doing it dexterously.
“If I have a daughter I will name her Persephone,” she told me.
“I’ll call her Effie,” I grin, referring to an inside joke.
“I hoped that’s what you would say.”
“What if it’s a boy?”
“I don’t choose.”
Sisters sharing hushed giggles.
Come sweet sleep and make your home my blessing.
A warmth wraps me sometimes.
Some poor animal jawed off its own mandible.
Probably doped up on bourbon and honky tonkin’.
Stealin’ gems and looking to claim the chastity of girls unfortunately named “Chastity.”
A couple of sharp incisors then nothing for inches until the rattling molars.
A sun bleached, white galleon.
I tug on each of mine canine teeth, to make sure they don’t rattle so. At least not yet. Sometimes I dream they crumble like chalk, leaving this iron enriched taste of saliva and powder accompanied by a metallic smell that is painful to breath because you know what it means.
The roots feel strong.
And, this strange shyness overcomes where I become bashful reading every word I write.
The rain finally fell; I missed it.
An unpacked wound left agape, to breathe in awe, and slowly heal.
A little thing festered, so I had them cut it out.
And, sometimes, I like him enough to fear he could wreck me by letting me see myself as he sees me.
A foundation. A dream of a house of cards.
The foundation will fall before you and you will then become a dream to someone else.
A sweet one and a night-mare.
Bed bugs and freshly laundered sheets.
The keel remains, but no one is at the rudder.
Those secret chiefs are here. Sometimes, I think they come to me for a laugh. They know I know; they know you know it’s going to be okay.
You are welcome, but don’t tease; because, the words are over flowing. Bubble and bursting.
Cassandra’s Cavern closes, that spot above the fourth rib.
Cicatriz of a wildling.
Whispers in my ears.
Strings of random words.
Panoramas streaming alien multitudes of locales.
I hold still.
I try to listen and see.
It fleets and my mind yells, “Stop suffering.”
“I didn’t think I was,” my non-mind replies.
I dream of a day spent by a lighthouse. Watching seals. We return home.
“Good. Your skin still takes the sun,” he says, brushing my cheekbone with his finger.
My eyes go hard into his. I feel strange. I wonder are you some sort of vampire, pale one? It’s okay. I prefer a vamp to a peacock.
Suspense and suspension; the endearment of a man in suspenders.
A giggle hushed by louder laughter in the dark issuing forth from a little one with the lecherous eye.
We recently swapped places as easily as we used to swap clothes.
A white cotton bralette with no underwire.
A wood chipper left running, unattended.
A burger joint that grinds its own meat.
The sharpening of my axe.
Split nails and feet like cloven hooves. Shesatyr running.
And, my fingers begin to invent strange signals through the bending and overlap of digits as a dog pushes its snout into the corner, trying to become invisible. I watch while I act like I don’t notice.
A divine spark. The yetzirah. Multiple bodies operating on multiple planes.
Want births intent. Breaking of want produces freedom of will. The ability to intend.
I lost myself at sea a few days ago; let me know if you spot me.
I’ve a hole in my side and there’s a hole in the world where all the people used to go.
There’s a hole in Sam Stone’s arm and there’s an Angel who still flies from Montgomery.
Click-click-click goes the capped end of my Bic, against my thumbnail.
A familiar territory. A region you know well enough by cartography. Declension and longitude; elevation and latitude.
You must act without awareness at times.
A slight before the wearied eyed is oft conflated as a sight for sore eyes.
Too tired to cite sources.
A site in sorry shape.
Sometimes, I read you backwards.
Starting with the final paragraph and stalking you back,
coda to prelude.
Because, I’m less interested in how you end up and more interested in
how you found yourself at your present conclusion.
I want to, again, layer on clothes so that I may take my time undressing in front of you.
I want to watch your eyes.
I will sing like the birds enjoying spring outside my open, bedroom window.
And, my face flushes and turns so scarlet that I could swear I am fevered.
I am not, but I swear under my breath, anyways.
I see all those slant rhymes you presume pass most by.
The repeated use of an odd word.
A woman giggles while noting she had to look it up.
I giggle, because the same woman said the same thing a year ago. The last time you spoke the Word.
I recall you as easily as ad jingles and pop songs.
It becomes embarrassing, but I’m not ashamed despite not being proud.
It smells like when ewe made toast.
And the scent memory, turns me into an overflowing ewer.
Catalyzing another metaphysical catharsis.
Hot tears spill. Oil slicks slipping down geological formations of cheekbones.
I look sad but I don’t feel as such.
I feel rapt.
I simply feel.
Make your libations and lower your vessel that I may fill it, vassal.
Two of them were here; and, then, they weren’t.
And, she never met either but she knew them both.
It made her feel sad; it made her efforts feel useless.
And, both feelings felt indulgent, so she resented the emotions, to boot.
“That’s really irksome.”
“That I’m unafraid to say, ‘I don’t know’ ? “
“You could speculate.”
“But, if I did not tell you, ‘I don’t know’ before speculating then I devalue the currency of my words at large.”
In American English, the most beloved sentence laid upon ears may be, “That’s my baby.”
The refrigerator moans through its vocal coils like a horny impotent cooling out.
It boils down to a teleological desire to manipulate matter.
I’m not your adversary; I just enjoy being adversarial.
Call me ‘the devil’s advocate,’
I got no-name to guess.
Pulling in deep to hear him say, half asleep, “I can do it.”
Can you do it on command; can you do it without hands?
I mumble, “give me a modicum of good sleep.”
Head nuzzling under his chin.
“Let’s doze. The world wants me awake; but, I’m not ready to face it.”
A hand moves to rest on an ass.
I hear a man’s bicycle’s spokes whir by my open window and he hums beautifully as he rides.
I slip from the bed’s cocoon, to part and peak through my blinds’ slats; but, he’s already breezed by.
The neighbors putter in the shared garden, a new bird feeder being installed.
I get dressed to do an investigative prowl around my block before coffee.
As I walk, I understand that I am created by intersections of energetic threads being woven together by a macro loom.
And, I remember: if you fold shoulders and make yourself small, mija, that is how people will treat you.
And, a voice in a void is worthless without resonance. Show me your panacea, boy.
Echoes of Sette in cassettes.
Pure white noise is the sound of a resonant channel chattering in the background. Before we had silicon and screens, they used the rubbing of crickets’ legs, the guttural thrust of a frog’s croak. Working like a little whirling dervish screw driving its way into foreheads.
And, I return. And, the caffeine calls. And, my pour over waits for the water to boil.
Sentinel surveillance of the syndromic and the asymptomatic.
A coalesence of convalescence conjuncting with a tyranny of averages.
Handmade beds; and, piles of filled in journals.
The area below a curve
a line above a
Gating shepards watching Anafortas exploiting the incomplete mantle of Parcival’s effulgence.
The ecstatic trauma of successfully arching the black swan of your black sheep dreams is becoming the dog chasing a squirrel. Knowing not what to do if it actually caught it.
And, she called out to her gods and demons, saying, “wherefore and to what end?
The sun begins to rise and, still, you refuse me the password to sleep.”
Strange, dynamic current/s; accusations of dereliction of duties.
So, they transcend from surge to suppression.
Chai spice fragrance in one room; lavender and shæ in the other.
Dragon breath vapours pour forth from the room where a steaming bath is drawn.
And, food is around the wall; but, every bite is like you chewing ice next to me.
But, they don’t die; and, now, they have to live with it.
Just like the sporting, courting gentleman he was, she was informed of his intentions by writing. Epistles held in chester drawers reserved for intimates.
My temples tighten.
We said the same time. Echoing.
Impetus being found without being found impetuous.
Can we go dancing?
The living room would be fine.
Kissed hard last we spoke.
One felled; the other asleep fell.
The dispensation of the enraptured.
She sticks around fifty four years to see the Black Sun when it reappears. The scandalous subterfuge of a subtle sabotage. A gorgeous space virus that more than a few shall remember.
Rope a dope, dummy.
Keep an eye out for the advantage of my left uppercut.
Cassius Clay was hit more than Charles Sonny Liston.
These days, the howls come from a new place. A softer place. A place which usually silences itself to allow other parts to howl. But, now, they fall silent; and, this strange drone of a low, long howl emerges. No longer abrupt outbursts.
So, she put her left hand in her mouth, pushes it down, past her throat, and pulls out all of her ugliness from deep inside. Just to give it a long, hard once over. She’ll have to consume it again and work it through her system eventually. It’s not the sort of rubbish one casually discards.
And, she wears a dress of rain while waiting for the world to collectively feel comfortable and stop holding its breath.
First, she assisted in erecting the ædificium of the flora’s subterranean root structure.
Learning from watching the trees talking through their bizarre vasculature, aided by moldy interpreters, the lady discovered the secrets of the adytum of Soloman’s Temple. They inscribed themselves in the Temple’s very dimensions.
Compliment to the unsated volume of the Petaled Shrine of the Pearl.
Then, Bloddeuedd asked her starling to stalk Merlin’s peregrine, leading to his Cliffside~House.
“What do you wish me to grant you for finding me¿” asks Merlin, charmed.
“The power to grant myself my own wishes,” she replies.
The nearly-old woman had rowed across an entire ocean.
Sick of water and the hyena laughs of seagulls’ cries, she found herself dreadfully lonely. A certain kind of lovely ennui.
Upon finally reaching a shore, she steps onto land.
Snatching up and opening her waterproof satchel, she snaps off her final dry match from the little book.
Striking the head, the lady sets the flame to the first tree she sees.
The limbs swallow it and ignite.
The fire brigade arrives, as hoped, her bidden welcome wagon heeding its combusted summons.
They were upset.
“You seem upset. It’s just a trick I learned from the matchstick boys,” she shrugs.
Kids soon arrive to witness the hullabaloo. The fragrance of the fire turns to a stinking reek, as they throw garbage to feed the pyre. Glass, aluminum, become explosives, followed by bombs of pubescent giggling.
“Why are you here?” the exasperated chief inquires.
“Because you have land here.”
“Because the ocean thrust me here.”
“Why were you on a rowboat in the ocean to begin with?!”
“I was exiled from another strip of land for starting fires. Shall I grab a bucket of water? I’ve experienced putting them out, too. Water? Wood? I can carry six of one and a half dozen of the other.”
“Matchstick boys teach you that, too?” asks the chief.
“No. Priapus protects them against prosecution. They never developed a taste for accountability.”
“And, you did?”
“Yes, chief. I’m an honest fire bug,” she says.
She reaches into the camisole grasping her breasts and slides out a demure rectangle. Opening her copper cigarette case, she removes one and waggles the rest at the chief.
“Want one? They make your skin look younger and your hair shine brighter.”
The chief shakes his head.
She delicately clasps the slight case closed and taps the head of the smoke twice against shut copper. Packing it.
“Suit yourself,” she says slipping the case away, against her heart.
She gingerly leans into the burning bush which is all that remains of the smouldering tree.
She inhales, putting fire to leaf, lighting her penultimate square.
Ending up with grandmother’s wedding china because I was the only one unashamed to use and chip it.
Gobbled down and choking on a lack of appetite..
Only one of us made it out; I still pay penance for it. An empath loves the narcissist, everytime. One ideates, conceives, while the other perceives.
Scour my skin to the bone. I am asking for it. I will disabuse you of yourself; just don’t abuse the Looking-Glass.
A sovereign holds the realm when this body alchemicalises into the temple’s adytum. Walls forged of a steely, alloy blend.
Iron and carbon. Chromium. Not allowing pliability of constitution. Intolerance. You ought to don a mask should you choose to galvanize.
It is cool to the touch and smoother than the current state of your aging flesh. Calipygian ass shining and scattering the light.
What is the difference between reflection and refraction?
Ball bearing production won a second world war. The sustenance of victory gardens yielded sustainable consumption.
A stake in envisioning the desired outcome.
“Let them bake cake.”
“All hail the queen bitch.”