chit chatting my small time down to a chopped down tree tree stump that time is video gamed away and in my last breath on my death bed lying on my back facing up to you I can only hope to say that I love you or with my eyes stare through the pain convey a whole life full of intensity. in the meantime old lyrics of automatic writing and late hours grow later, reported events, lists, the thoughts, “your belief system is not as loud as my car system.”
my tape deck is broke therefore tape deck adapter disallows iPod connection so radio vows are strictly held to NPR news and classical chamber jams and sometimes blue grass which she likes which I see all as one blend of the same country or mountain or western that I cannot really stomach but must because I am going for all experiences in this world, even to stand in the rainfall downpours for hours like girls stand with notebooks on class field trips. I instead push further and learn with every grain of me, I forecast, broadcast, overcast heavy fog happenings.
kisses on earlobe. thank you. I am thanking you for being alive but I have history what it tells me that I have to believe it, myths also, that some lives know pain, know only pain, each second is filled with something like eyelids being pulled back and needles poking through them till they are like window screens and their demons get joy for this telling them how nice they look, burning them, burning them over and over again. this you have to run and tell your friends, these men in military uniforms were off duty and enjoying a holiday, standing surrounding a dog, putting a bomb underneath the belly of a dog, igniting it, watching that dog rise slow motion in the air with a surprised look on its face, eyes bulging, blood splattering, body smacking back down to the ground, and the head officer ordering these few men to pull the body out of the way. the body gets pulled up over top of the guts. that is, this is hard to describe, but the body comes to pieces when trying to clean it up, like I am coming to pieces as I write this, this horrid event retold from the dream world. I feel like I am coming to pieces like this, knowing of cruelties. dolphins killed by the masses. killing two birds with one stone. killing a million birds with one stone. it’s like no one is quite left alone. it is why in some ways I am a cynic and get so pissed, because you are not far off from the terrible things I imagine, like for real in news cops kill a dog right in front of its family. pull over. we’re going to kill you because we fucking feel like it. I know there are good cops. you just got me jumpy with this news you keep pumping into the world. it is standard you get admonishments for these behaviors which you probably look upon as much needed vacations. I sometimes cannot help but to think these hells have reservations for you, and the bell boys check your bags and the whole deal.
don’t pry in on me. or spy in on me. satellite’s eye from the sky peering down on me, microphones bug in the lampshade waiting for me to speak certain buzz words, then I will be held custody and is the custom that we have to co-exist with one another and it has become complicated, the most complex lifestyle invented this governmental overpopulated organism. I hear news and it hurts me, and mull over and over news close to home, and it hesitates there in my blood stream a healthy fear of monday mornings filled with work memories and those new stupidities to come, when I could be reading, writing, but more or less feel numb, and they want me to ring little bells and whistles, while in the meantime, little songs of revolution whip through my head, scenarios where I rise victorious if just in creative soulfulness that you will never come to understand in a thousand years for your lack of concern where money isn’t concerned giving you security, comfort, profit. the woman who says all the time she is scared of dogs laments: no one looks in the sky any more. I am looking out for the profound signs that will head butt against the idea that the world is ending with the one that it is just beginning but am wondering if it is really true. I want the ability to sleep sound in the middle of the snow if I really have to, the ability that I would even prefer to. that is how I will survive you, harsh world. that is how you will speak of me to your grand kids. all these things must pass on from one person to the next.
bless you with
eyes in your eye sockets
cherry tomatoes from my garden
hungry thinking of this
pasta dinners
trying to
live a full life
I will not
be
full of myself
but also refuse
to make less
of myself
life long and strong
stomp around
glide without feet
even touching
the ground
float
tell you
you are beautiful
in every
freakin’ way
which is
where I find my
comfort
and don’t feel
judged
which is
is what I’ve
been
waiting for
we’ve grown into each other like
a tree is ecstatic and defies
the conventions of this world
grows to the left and right
and back again and
topples the wall
and the wall doesn’t mind
but understands the
whole deal
that even plants
can talk and
sometimes walk
in this
unrestrained world
where scientists
are fools
because they’ve
placed too many
limits
on what
they think
they know
they know things
but those
things grow
and are
on the go
run and tell them
that I said so
I’ll pin this
note on your shirt
“yes the devil exists, but he gets bored with your ass since you have become a devil yourself anyway, and you’ve upset all the kids in class today with your bull shit. you’re being sent home early today, so you can go straight to your room and think about what you’ve done, and old mom can force feed you that lava again and your can feel those shooting pains through your spleen. please don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.”
transmission ends….
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