Macha – Between Stranded Sonars

No rights: homage.

From the album See It Another Way.

⊙

Having had the autumnal blues yesterday, I message a distant friend who offered me solace. I say: I can tolerate one more beer before my tolerance renders me incapable of doing a good job at the restaurant at 8 a.m. tomorrow. A night out has done my heart good.

Asat alone at a bar top. To my left is my sister, currently outside cancelling her plans with her man. To my right is my father, currently at the bar ordering a pitcher.

I finish my beer as the band launches into their opening number.

Tommy Tutone.

Jenny.

I know that gal’s number already: I think: had you opened with Lady Stardust? Well, I mighta hung around for he/r.

I get home. To my pack of cigs. I wanna smoke a square and pluck one.

My mind moves quickly.

I play the game I love:

What is the perfect song right now?

Macha. First track from the self-titled album?

No. That was the perfect song two years.

Do better. Dig deeper.

Last track. Same band. Album afore mentioned.

I walk and smoke tobacco leaf. To make sure.

My brow furrows. Hard. Like the force of thought incepting me right now.

I am sure. Perfect song for right now, indeed.

The Undercutters: A Banana Nut Muffin Introduction.

“You look ridulous.”

“What? I’m in all black. Scarf for my face. A colorful leotard beneath.”

“Scoff. The Undercutters use bandanas, not scarves. You look like a server.”

“It is my day job. Quite similar to yours. In fact, I have seen you wear that top and those pants at work, girl.”

“Well, girl, all will become clear. We will probably end up running from the police. Now, here. Take this bin of banana nut muffins and hide in the alley while I set us up in front of the bakery. They open in fifteen minutes.”

“What the fuck are we doing here? Where did you get these muffins?”

“I stole them from this very bakery’s dumpster last night. It’s what they didn’t sell yesterday. Idiots even collected them up in the box you now hold, before throwing them out. They aren’t even dirty.”

“Per se.”

“Oh shut up and do what I asked you to. We are gonna be legends.”

“Only cuz I am curious. Also, no legend begins with a box of banana nut muffins.”

“Yeah. This will be the introduction to The Undercutters.”

“Like a prologue?”

“No. The prologue was yesterday’s conversation.”

“No one likes a story with too many opening vignettes. Especially ones about banana nut muffins.”

“Yeah, cuz they are gross. Thank god you wore such an embarrassing leotard under your cover. Stripping off the black clothing to reveal a leotard? That will become legendary when you run from the police.”

“Why are we worried about cops? That’s a bit distressing. Especially since you keep calling us Undercutters.”

“Oh stuff it dummy. And, please, we are The Undercutters. “Undercutters” just sounds stupid. Let’s get set.”

“I need to know: have we brought muffins to a knife fight?”

The Undercutters: Prologue

“I couldn’t get accreditation. I simply lack credibility.”

“Too damn incredible, eh?”

“Am I working too hard?”

“Harder than most.”

“Then have I diminished my own returns?”

“Maybe.”

⊙

“I have a business proposal: The Undercutters,” says Effie.

“Go on.”

“Meet in front of the bakery at 8 a.m. tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Wear two layers of clothes. All black on the exterior, but colorful clothing beneath. Bring a bandana. We may wanna cover our faces.”

Ways of seeing.

Forward and up.

A tightrope walker knows to not look down

when toeing a path

across the line.

When nothing makes sense

Abandon yourself to the terrorifically awful awesome.
Control and compliance, there is a

subtle difference in

Ways of Seeing.

Berger the Maverick.

“Perspective centers everything on the eye of the beholder.”

Star shine Aeroplanes.

So, you want me to make you see stars?

Well, every star I thought I saw turned out to be an airplane: he says.

Then,

It’s the way you whisper: he says.

It’s the way you listen: I whisper.

⊙

I anneal you in my flame of mercy, matchstick boy man.

A merciful burning.

Of transformation.

Howling comes at a steep cost in the currency of my benevolence.

Merciless and pleasing.

⊙

Gravity such as this eats me whole

Specks float in my vision lay-line

throughout these speculation, induction blues.

Blurs the crispness

Howl glad I am to smell this cold air

and, feel it taste my nostrils.

Rising.

Like foals, frisky, on a winter morning.

Catching a chill without getting cold.

A light blinks next door,

Like the last time a wanton man winked at me.

To shrug it off or shake it out, baby?

Of course, Ariadne howls feral heat at her latest revelation.

Ventilator, I am?: she asks, but really says.

I cannot be the first and I know I shalt not be the last.

I say I am not special and you say this makes me special

And I wonder: how much is mocking and how much is kindly.

And I ask you: distinguish for me the difference between illusion and delusion?

A Coy Pond

A

Deritive is an infinite difference.

An

Integral is an infinite sum.

That’s why they are

Inverse operations.

The difference between contrived and derived

can be found in the [con] of poor artistry.

Decoy or coy?

I am not unlike a koi pond: he responds.

What, swimming in your own shit under bridges you may not cross?: I challenge.

Everytime with this one: we both think

but, we do not say.

Can you cross the zigzag bridge over my fish head: he koi-ly bubbles.

Oh howl you want to know if I am a demon, hum huh?: I think.

Yeah, I can. Many times have I crossed the eight branches of an iris-strewn river. You are merely a pond, doll. Turning left, turning right? Not problematic to a whirling dervish. A modern ballerina. Do you, sweet koi, have the tenacity of a salmon?: I say.

Can you cross my moonbridge?: I ask

Do you have the potential energy required to achieve the kinetic momentum required to overcome the archway: I wonder.

~

An enlivening of a skin abrasion.

A salmon swimming upstream.

Bears with fish scales stuck between incisors.

~

Rub it til it bleeds, said PJ Harvey.

Clears my crown and your heads.

You wait seven days.

It keeps you, freshly.

It keeps you integral and not derivative.

Mountain presses sky

A rising reddening mountain

set against my pink sky.

States of matter change.

Snow returns to the peak,

with the seasonal shift.

Dripping downwards.

More will follow,

like bulbs remembering how to

burst forth in full bloom,

after being held back in a hard

petal enclosure.

Hosting Flaneurs

The chill in the air smells like the last time I fell in love.

Knitted woolen leg warmers donned. Chestnut brown and unraveling from overuse.

My sister gave me three pairs, last year.

“You want, like, Flash Dance legwarmers for your birthday?” she asked.

“Yeah, I am standing on my toes these days.”

An hour ’til I walk to the restaurant.An hour of coffee, words, and nicotine.

I will pluck my heavy comforter (trans. duvet) from storage after work.

⊙

I seat a one top.

Coffee?: I ask

I insist on it: he says.

We have that in common.

No cream. Bring white sugar if you have it: he says.

White sugar?: I think.

Kat, do we have white sugar already on the table?: I ask, unsure what white sugar means.

Bleached sugar, you mean?: she asks.

Smiling, I say: dunno. He wants white sugar. Those words.

Well, we have raw sugar, nutrisweet, sweat n’ low, and truevia in packets on the tables. We have Splenda packets here, just in case. Brown sugar for breakfast…:

The dishwasher (who provided his own sobriquet [call me MC BlackCoffee: he told me, when I first started] ) interrupts her.

He wants this: he says, holding a shaker the size of two coffee cups stacked on top of each other.

What kind of sugar do you call this: I ask him.

The good kind: he says.

We need to reevaluate your nickname. Sugared coffee is not black coffee: I tease.

Don’t change the color, does it?: he nods, smiling.

⊙

Server T. touches my shoulder: the guy at table six has a book for you.

Oh, word. I was hoping he would make good: I say.

How do you know him? He wasn’t sure if you were the right person. Plus, you just seated him.: he says confused and a bit irritated I had let one guy sit at his four top.

I don’t know him. I didn’t recognize him: I reply.

He shrugs. I smile.

Two nights ago, I discovered this server knew philosophy as well as, if not better than, me. And, he discovered a coworker that could keep up with him. We had discussed the very book table six has brought me. He seemed happy.

~

I met table six when he came in for breakfast a few days before. I noticed him reading a Martin Gardner book.

I dig that guy: I say.

This seventyish year old man looked up at me. I recall one eye not opening all the way, although both eyes appear open today.

I found Hofstadter, Penrose, and Feynman through him: I say.

He stared at me.

He wants to be left alone: I think.

I walk away, after offering: I’ll leave you to enjoy.

As he left, he stopped by my hostess post and asked: how did someone your age find out about these guys.

Well, I was ten years younger in Alabama selling collegiate clothing in a boutique and I got very bored.

~

I go up to table six. He has brought me his second copy of Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, thoughtfully wrapped in plastic as it rains heavy. This was a gateway book for me and I lost my copy during my move from AL to WA. I am thrilled a copy has found it’s way back to me.

What kind of restaurant is this? You and my server is a philosophy graduate.: he says, looking quite serious.

One that is open to hiring ex-academic flaneurs: I joke.

I have him sign and date the book.

By the way, your server is also a third degree black belt: I mention.

~

Server T says: Don’t you think it’s funny we were just talking about that book the other night?

Ha, I am surprisingly unsurprised. Things like this happen a lot to people like us, don’t you think?: I respond.

Well, I think there would be some observer bias in such a thought: he says, quite rightly.

But, observer bias is unavoidable by definition because we are observers at every moment. What are your thoughts on metaphysics?: I push him.

I try to avoid metaphysics. Too messy.: he says, walking away.

Yeah, yeah. That’s what all you philosophers say these days. Too messy and too close to mysticism: I call out as much to myself as to him.

Dream of a rude awakening

A pair of legs splayed to show well placed snaps.

“Undo them.”

That’s what he said.

I do.

“You want to feel the rise of my serpent up your spine’s

base.”

I roll over for this rude awakening.

Æ whispering to Parçigal

You want me to write right now, right?: I ask.

Yes: he says.

Well, I want you to stay hard; and I want to talk to Maplethorpe. So…you win because I am tip tapping. Here’s my hangup. These housemates of mine are always here. In the living room. I am trying to read/-a-just to being around people. Where can /I/ make My noises? Where do /i/ do my movements? Their energy is perceived by me as invasive. Encroachment on my energy. They feel like hungry animals. I let it oppress me because all my energy is focused on not regressing. I think I have achieved this ability, to not let myself regress. I now move to the next challenge of not having my energy allowed to be oppressed. Because this feeling is what leads me to want a beer. Taking drugs is taking sacrament to me. Purposed and not medicine. I am now able to recognize when I drink to sedate and when I drink to take sacrament. This is step one. I move to the two step now. Giggle [cuz giggle is the way I get by, {h/owl} ].

I gave everything to my metaphysical considerations because why the h/owl else do we keep on keeping on? I found treasure so I try to be patient with myself as i face the consequences. Even if I had found nothing, I would be patient with myself. But, reliance on the others in my life seems more for their peace of mind. But, such a statement is on me. I wilt figure out how to make manifest the opportunities available to me.

And, you need to buy shoelaces, so you can walk more: he kindly whispers.

Thank you. The difference between a chastisement and a kindly reminder.: I say: I must like you.: I say in honest exhalation.

Have you eaten?: he asks.

Kind. No. Only beer. I am not hungry; but I want to eat. What do you make of that?: I ask.

Oh, just like the good old days. I know what you mean.: he says but guesses.

Thank you for telling me what you think about that which you do not know: I groan, wet now: ewe make me smile. I wilt reward you for this, in my way.

(My eyebrow arches; because I like it when you say:

She cums.)

What if this is all one, big lucid dreaming experiment?: I conjecture, in fantasy.

What does that mean?: he quietly, quite justly asks.

Good question. Ask me again in a day and I can say it better. Rumination.: I say.

You said you could tell me about one of your three triple embodiment experiences.: he reminded.

I can do that. Be patient. I have been virgin, mother, and crone in body and mind between the last five years. Virgin to the sulky, sociopath, mother to the recovering addict, (I re enlivened him thru his will), then I became single and rekindled by the other one. I gained 60 lbs as mother, but have not ever become pregnant. I lost 60 becumming virgin, Artemis, despite having slept with men. I am the she Archer and some hunters chose to fall with me.

I thought you were Parçigal: he says.

I am many things and my head hurts: I say.

You drank two pints: he replies.

Uh hum, huh. Water. Hummus. A ham sandwich with mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomatoes.

Gore Vidal vs Norman Mailer | The Dick Cavett Show

This gal loves a good interview with interesting speakers.

Lou Reed, Lucinda Williams, Neil Young, Johnny Lydon, the list goes on,

Anon, anon.

But, this one….oh howl, I love this one.

A rare confluence of different energies, including the audience’s, along with a tennis-like art of arguement.

Style.

I love hyper-intellectuals flying their idiosyncratic flags.

“I am here and I am becoming very, very bored.”

“I have to tell you a quote from Tolstoy?”: Cavett to Mailer.

“Are you really all truly idiots, or is it me?”: Mailer to audience.

Howlaciously howlarious.

“It was the voice of Legion’s.”

“The difference is I’d savo(u)r the quote and you’ve thrown it into the battle.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.”

Lucinda Williams – I Lost It (Live 1999)

Coming from the state of LA to AL (now in WA), I am a snob about country music,

as most of it is pop music now; but some still continue the musicality.

Lucinda W. is not unlike a Patti S. to the Southern american music scene.

/Are you heavy enough to make me stay?/

/I feel like I might blow away./

/Let me know if you come across it./

/I don’t want nothing if I have to fake it/

/Never take nothing don’t belong to me/

/Everything’s paid for; nothing’s free/

Metaphysics

What of the things after the Physics?

The left over ones.

The ones with red x’s painted in the blood of autumnal sacrifices of

sweet satyrs and wicked mares.

Pass(ed) over during the Harvest.

Prepare for the final plague and

yet another Exodus from Egypt.

Recall: a tarbush is not a fez.

One have women worked under feet for ewe.

One has not but is not naught.

Liquid Breezes

The curls of my hair,

a kelp forest waving in the currents

of the jet streams and trade winds.

I deal in oxygen as well as molecules of water.

I may suspend myself in the watery depths,

adjusting my buoyancy.

I may crest your foaming waves to reach the sky,

propelled by the energy of

the momentum of your surface tension,

; and, catch the breeze with my fins

which, repurposed, are now little wings.

1st order nonsense

I hear you in magical, howling waves.

As though howling at me,

for me.

I remember standing in your circular hall, situated in front of one of twelve windows. I could only see eleven.

Just as I k/now-sees your strange, blue table has only three legs,

Æ believe twelve is your number.

I fell for the Baker and his dozen of thirteen and thirty one.

AL LA

These I found in your thirty six chambers (the dirty version).

What of the power of inaction?

I have seen it. I am re enlivening the power of actions.

Asserting my attention so that it becomes attuned to

My intent to action.

What of your golden cauldron and collar?

The triple obelisk etching adorning the table

and, your fine robe.

The position of your fingers.

An empty hand and a bespoke hand which

furls, clasping like a talon.

There shines the indigo light

about the crown of your skull, wild one.

Dream of vulpes vulpes & serpent

I dreamt I was a sweet, sly serpent.

I wrapped myself around you, into a möbius strip.

Eating my own tail.

Skin ceaselessly shifting

and sliding against yours.

We wrestled playfully in the numina of everywhere and

know-where.

Your face flowed like magma, between two appearances: the face of a man burning into that of the red fox.

My infinite sliding scale skin tethered your temporary

states of flux.

Fall for the Fool.

There I was in the sunny shine shiny.

Apposite the Alps, wearing my best burlap, with berry and leaf applique.

Knapsack number eleven over the left shoulder, loosely slung.

Greyhound, red eyes, nipping at the ankles of my bare feet.

Onward, onward.

Stepping over the cliffside.

Behind me to the right, the foal of a chestnut mare looks on,

intently,

at the journey of

This Fall,

Or perhaps, s/he was just eyeing the ten and one, white lillies to my left:

I think

whilst falling,

yet still, and

looking up upon.

Brittany Howard – 13th Century Metal (Official Live Session)

No rights: homage.

Check this esshit out.

From Alabama Shakes to this.

Brittany Howard evolves.

Change.

Happy Autumn.

Daily duality of scents

I watch the water mist itself seamlessly into the sky.

The ferryman drives his cargo across the water

to my c shore.

I espy your spies and I show them kindness as

you cannot

show yourself.

In black velvet with a white silk tie

necked,

I bought the garb earlier today. It smells old.

It smells like the previous owner.

Trading Tigers.

The pink votive, colour of my heraldry,

burns oily shadows into the chilled airs.

The intermingling of the scents tricks my nostrils

into sensing you.

And, the last sip of water from this glass tastes like salt

off the thinnest part of your skin.

It invokes the duality within.

Ariadne and Artemis.