MS

Yellow circus left the stakes a broken ropes world's useless mug
The ties that bind, ha ha
I can be bad poet
Street poet
Shit poet
Kind poet too

Subway
Almost 4AM
Halloween night
Had enough to drink to make my own party
All my fellow writers in half costume, half asleep
Half silly, gone to seed

I don't mark my time with dates, holidays, faded wisdom, locked karma holders
Convenient

I am made by my times
I am a creation of now
Shaken with the cracks and crevices
I'm not giving up easy
I will not fold
I don't have much
But what I have is gold

I saw your face...

I sing in platinum
I dress in brass
I eat in zinc
Let it pass

Compare a toast
I like that
I understand courage
I still roll with the shout of a character I was married to today
I try to see outside myself
I understand the eyes
Excuse all the highs
Sorry
I am sorry
Ha ha

I like you, love you, every coast of you.
I've seen your eddies and tides and hurricanes and cyclones.
Low ebb tide and high, full moon.
Up close and distant.
I read you.
Look, the sky, the sea, the ocean, the sun, the moon.
Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.
Naked and blue.

Breathing with you. Touch. Change. Shift. Allow air. Window open. Drift. Drift away. Into now.

I want Whitman proud. Patti Lee proud. My brothers proud. My sisters proud. I want me. I want it all. I want sensational. Irresistible.

This is my time and I am thrilled to be alive.
Living. Blessed. I understand.


REM. Blue.

Survival techniques

Today the inside of my brain looks like this...

Wow, guilt.

When you are attacked so frequently,

Softly and over time,

You remain hardened without any effort

At all.

Everything is practicality winning out.

Utilitarianism,

For want of a better term.

Fear for

Another.

Defence and survivalism

And so on.

When your head is at 45 degrees

For most of the day,

Eyes open most of the

Night,

Your walls are at least chest high.

Jacket zipped -

Buttons fastened -

Laces tucked within your shoes to avoid any

Snags.

Pretence will do where

Otherwise an air of alienation would envelope

You.

And so an arms length becomes the

Normal unit of measure.

And so on.

When you live

Through these minor fluctuations of realism,

Never quite gaining a foothold on

Solid ground,

Always being the lost puzzle piece,

Everything is suspect.

Second guesses lead to a third and to the

Nth degree.

And so this leads me

To yesterday,

In the middle of a playground sandpit

Walking away from a young girl

Who was just trying to be friendly.

My auto response button stuck down.

Before even feeling the sand shift

Under my feet,

I am away.

Maybe she was normal,

Maybe she was a freak.

Though if she wasn’t she didn’t give me the

Secret handshake we freaks like to exchange

Under tables in small Parisian cafes.

And either way

She’d probably watched people walk away from her

All her short

Life.

Who knew?

Again and as usual

All of this had to be brought to my attention

After the fact.

(For someone so interested in human behaviour

I seem to be remarkably

Insensitive to other peoples feelings...)

I took it all away with me and forgot about it

Until this morning, when I kind of felt what she

Did,

Or must have.

And it was nothing.

Neither sadness nor rejection but

The normality of it all.

Oh look -

They’re leaving me alone

Sitting here in the playground with

My sandals off and little

Red painted toenails

Peeking up from beneath the sand.

No surprise at all.

And my stomach hurt for a moment

And all those other things

Inside and out

Cumulus rain clouds

Pins and needles

The survival

Pretence and

Alienation

Minor tricks of the moronic

Trickling down the back of your neck

They all

Gained a little perspective.

Tangled

Even if it did have musical numbers, I liked it...

A photograph

of Jake by Mark J. Which I liked - so posted up. Why not eh. Though what are those 3 lights in the sky about? Are they just street lights - or the Summer Triangle? Coincidence or some subtle Illuminati code? You decide, I don't care either way. From the Alley.

Hail Mary Mallon

If you have to ask, you'll never know.

Eames

About a hundred years ago while Lu and I were in San Francisco, in one of the last bars where you could still smoke, we were sitting up on a dark balcony listening to the DJ play a really good set of classic hip hop while a projection played on one of the wall. The projection was a series of looped films by Charles and Ray Eames. Most people usually recognise their Eames 'Lounger' chair more than anything else they did - and they did a lot. These guys were polymaths - and pretty much borderline geniuses in my eyes.This is one such film - a deceptively simple idea elegantly executed. Take the time to YouTube some more and read up on them as the work is really inspiring.

Pfanti Hero

Chris Pfanner from dlxsf on Vimeo.

C. R. Stecyk III

Luxuria, C. R. Stecyk III from MOCA on Vimeo.

Natas animation

Natas Skateboard Projection Paris from Blue Collar Distro on Vimeo.

Imagine a plucked, white skinned turkey that won’t shut the fuck up, and you’ll be halfway there.

Suffering is a state of mind

If indeed you have a mind

The ability to speak does

Not

Make you right minded

Or left in a field of daisies

Dreaming

And yet – HARK - this

Noise

Fills the air

Hanging there

Like a wet towel stinking and

Raw

A damp taste on your

Buds

And you are left

Craving ice and mountain air

And you are left wanting to

Hike the north face

Granite hard and clear as day

Left open mouthed

Eyes raised to the rolling flurries

That keep you upright on

Your spikes

But instead we hang beneath cars

Sucking giant tail pipes

Suck up the grey motherfucker

This is what we do

Accept it

And you are right

Craving acceptance and credibility

And you are left alone

With no one to face

Granite hard and black as night

Open mouthed

Eyes raised

Upright on your spikes

And by the way

Turkey

Chicken

Duck

Pig or warthog

They’re all the same

Gobble, snort, rut, fuck, die.

Quote of the day

“I have never grown out of the infantile belief that the universe was made for me to suck.” Crowley.

The wrong time

The big man came in

Lumbering

Not slow but still looking as though formed of concrete

They were both champs and the smaller one

Started to duck and weave

The first was usually a measuring game

Feel the other out

Time it right

Then come out swinging from the 2^nd onwards

Unless we’re talking about Hagler/Hearns

Those two fought the first like it was the fifteenth

Arms were up

A few jabs tapped

Side to side

On the back foot

This went on

Both neutral

The odd flurry

Frequent slips

Stoppages and

Warnings

This went on

Until it became clear nothing was going to happen

And though frustrated at the lack of contact

Cheated almost

I felt good at least I hadn’t paid to watch the thing live

Our champ swung the overhead right

Time and again

Like the uppercut had never been invented

I kept thinking of Iron Mike and how he’d work his way inside

From the bell

To the end of the story

Their champ just stood

Leant

Smiled

Grappled and raised his eyebrows

As though waiting for a bus that was never

Coming

I knew the feeling

It was the start of the week

I was sick with a cold

Sick with hatred for the world

Sick with self confidence

I practiced my breathing

Managed 45 sit-ups

Distracting at least my body for a time

If not my mind

I made vows I knew I’d break before sunset

Lies I tell myself

To help me fall asleep each night

I thought about writing and then thought

Not

And realised I never – hardly

Write at home anymore

Alone or outside

In the old dark corners of coffeeshops

My refuge all those years ago

It’s always at the job now, I thought

Trying to hide it

Disguise the real work as theirs

Stopping and starting

It’s not the right time to do it – I thought

But there you go

Let’s go

Carry on

Come on

Arms are up

A few jabs tapped

Side to side

On the back foot

This goes on

Neutral

Bar the odd flurry

Frequent slips

Stoppages and

Warnings

This goes on

Until it becomes clear nothing is ever going to

Happen.

Quote of the day

Society is no comfort to one not sociable. Shakespeare.

True Grit

Watched this last night. Bit of a strange ending if you ask me - but Jeff Bridges is still the man. And Corey Webster plays the bad guy.