Done Is Done

engine hollar
Pine tree follow
Kero dash about
walkabout
I reach my evening point
Energetic as an old man
Retire before they pass out
There’s a diff.
Don’t look at me none
snide noncommital
done is done
Set intone
set in stone
feature creaturing

Flow Business

it is said I’m
becoming too intimate
in my writing
on stage and the
flow is not what it was
from a man
who is himself a showman
which is funny
because you think
he’d understand it himself how
the flow doesn’t always
appear to flow
you can’t make it sit
roll over play dead
be a good boy or
stop its true breath
it just may expose a humanity
in one of some of us somewhere
then all the thrown up
eggs will give back
bits of the rock and roll
some meaning
if that is after all
a thing you’re jumping after
I just go along through it
trusting it like I have
for years and not some
half criticism dribbled out…
I’m not saying it’s not welcome
but none such as that
is ever going to stop me
nor some childish half century
rich boy with his head eternally
up his ass blinded by
the worst of all our jealousies
and zen cruelties, long winded
insincere apologies falling flatly
world handed down wholly on monies
bored sickly drunkenly and dumbly…
pining over what he threw out
and cannot get back and if
that has anything to do with me
these insecurities you should
probably sign back to yourself
since I am Nice nice nice
my silence for some only
brings out the worst in others
here, half-baked speculations
and the notion the only place
emotions bleed and twist and turn
is in the eyes of snake inside a man
you can’t take the business
out of the man

Transformations

Without computer still, slapping my arms like junkie style… But I have other means of writing still. DC is on its best behaviour with me, friends who are all so open and giving, even an air mild as can be, carrying a mist to keep me awake after an all day mix up of a flight since our pilot was not aloud to land in DC and was given orders to circle back through the turbulence to Charlotte. I don’t fly much and someone just keen enough would be able to see the little gremlin in my eyes and my wings disconnect.

We have a rooftop view of the city with pizza and IPAs to go ’round. Chinatown has vastly changed into a flashy spot with all kindsa bustle around its Verizon sports center. Friday night outside the theater is the much loved ruckous of old DC, another section of town transformed not without its rowdiness shedded, slid under a red carpet.

In contrast to Houston, here we have a people crowded in and hurrying along and of greater variety as if New York or another city has begun creeping down for a takeover. This is not your father’s DC from the eighties.

What I Did

In the dream, I exercised my kinesthetics controlling the movement of oscillating fans. Brought someone into to show my newfound power and could no longer demonstrate. Then I claimed some woman pulled a gun on me. But she did not pull a gun on me. Kids say the darnedest things. In someone else’s dream, I got up on stage and shouted obscene phrases, exactly what, they would not reveal—only lyrics from a Boards of Canada album were revealed, which is a trip considering most of these were originally thought to be trashcan beats with little spats of oxygen soaking up a spill. I cannot stand behind the statements made by Austin, TX, who I think still, mostly, are a bunch of bitches in this great great land ruined by government, and yes, religion. And if you don’t pay a people much, you don’t show you care for them, they either don’t get up the strength to express what is at the heart, or just the opposite: they come back tipping the scale with a vengeance. Your system is flawed and the joke’s on you. Apparently, I fill dreambooks up. Guestbooks got lame long ago.

Grey Man

I didn’t get a good look at the fish tank next to me. Hell, I didn’t even notice it. This means I am going to hell. Reality, as exposed by scientists as they bite into it, does not reveal an actual hell realm, other than the seemingly limitless varieties of suffering humans and animals create. Hunt down the answer by peace keeping means. The animals, they don’t mean it. Twittering is for busy folk without enough time to be writers; they simply get little jabs in and are happy with it. This is how I started my JOT all along. Notes and open thought. What do you have to say? The servers are getting huger, and if you make friends, you can put it all up there for free. Born into a sweatshop environment is different from me being taken captive while on vacation and put in such conditions. I will jump out knowing there’s a different answer. I am a grey man. I am a new man by way of being grey.

In less than a week I shall return to my hometown of Washington, D.C. and all the surrounding areas to visit friends and family. I’ve butterflies in my stomach over it, many which are not negative. A city is constantly changing. Some things crawl along or fold, or I should say implode, and you shake your head mumbling, “I told ya so.” Last I visited the capitol, it had more of a NYC congestive busyness: more restaurants, lush sidewalks, smack, smack, everything popping… No wonder we don’t address this enough, our attention deficits. We cannot pay enough attention. The years have put on me added craziness and fragmented my verse, so how I say it out at my best, others trip out to it, going like, “he says it the way I’m thinkin’ it…”

my plain fear of
heights is my fear of
falling from one of them
falling to my death
fear of heart attack
fear of smashing to bits
fear of death itself—
climbing a ladder
is launching up
to the moon
we just
don’t say so
fear of flying is
the fear of take off
fear of mid-flight
fear of the land
everything
fear of death itself
fear of death of ego
my children will
carry memory of me
on their backs
professing a
righteous love
like Russia carried Dostoevsky…
but if I have no children
where will
my ego go?
ego must be doomed
to flights of fancy
delusions of grandeur
certainly there
must be grander fates
in store for
the flowers that open up
for those who’ve
waited so patiently
the wettest fall indiscriminately
does not stop a
man from gritting his teeth
in his sleep and if he cannot sleep
then clenching clenching clenching
what we do is what we do
and letting go will always be
something new something new
to each and every one letting go
relaxing relaxing and really breathing
is always the freshest
and most in vogue

a gray mare, a grey hair
a grey man
from the grey area
while we experience techie difficulties
trekky properties
oh so forlorn we wash up like seaweed
so gross grody to the max
Max Headroom
max-a-million
tuned out
tuned in, twenty-four hour marathon
burnt kernels
I want to become…
a therapist, a social worker, a tree squatter,
a caretaker, an engineer, a baller, a manager, and more!
sign the line, mail it through the mail room
all lines are busy
all thoughts are consumed

Dream Factory

goth sex twat
questionably hetero slave bot dot dot
thanks a whole damn lot

by the way
along the way I like to laugh a lot

fountain of youth
holocaust

the arms of pretties
ready to be
given attention
but not like obsessive attention
of course not

fine hairs standing up
thrust your hands to the burner
young sirs with the gall
sometimes
a blood clot
slow adventures rot
road sideline tire pop
catalyst to answer the megaphone
at midnight on the spot

ears baby cat kittenify
listening vengence
“I heard that”

think I heard flying daggers
to your blabbering nonstop

slice the air hop
could be anything
or everything
head bops

openly invitify
party for the
whole block

and… the ink blots
seatbelt kept off
on would be saying it not right
so you can knock it off

ruination
fuels the power
of paranoia’s imagination imagidrag

awake now
the body contains not
enough air strip
to manifest
necessary eyes
that we call the eye fleet
the pain of me is the pain of
you feeling it too wanting
to name it only to
run to close all
our eyes to it but they
won’t shut
the dream factory
doesn’t kick on
like it use to

Unshake

Galveston salt still grinds
back there no matter
how many times
I brush
it’s the little town
the island fever
sponsored by
pounding sun
the neck line of cancer
moving in
she says it’s what
you’re gonna catch
so I sneeze one for the sneezer I know
which he’ll appreciate
back home drinking
that flat hardly disturbed water
from the cow looking
back up to us
from the bottom, eyes
with heart

if you look with
eyes like that
how could anyone
ever harm you back

Even Empires Expire

after the afternoon tea what
we will be having is
no nap for we know where
these lead off to
there will be no guessing games
or hands held out willy nilly and
when you call the
name calls kept down
kept low for tea remains dantily still
in the air the sweet taste
the harsh root fowl and medicinal
fire flitted up from the palm
so if you asked evidence of
another world perhaps you’d
provide this card trick party favor
a tow truck jab a fable
a candy counter quip
tea on with it sitting deep
in belly warm with afternoon
the employed spilling out
loosening their outer clothes
the growing heat
the dying machine
even empires expire

Meditation and Other Notes

What is the difference between writing, blogging, and microblogging? Possible answers: Writing… is… the act of writing… simple enough. You do it, ya know? You put pen to paper the traditional way all the self indulgent little thoughts you obsess over, later maybe reading it back to yourself or sharing it with someone else. Blogging, much more instantaneous, shoots all your shit from your shitty computer over to your site and into the feeds. Microblogging, same, but provides less room (140 characters). This is kinda cool because it forces people into writing pseudo haiku, not sudoku. Brevity is sleek, stylish, makes you look cool… gets you laid. I think. #haiku!  Other thoughts.

I use all three of these medias. It still hurts to be alive. Living makes the body sore. One could say living makes the body pure. I can attest that it doesn’t.

I don’t know your name, and that’s okay.

Someone is calling me drunk but I don’t answer. Anyone who assumes I’m drunk all the time has another thing comin’. The better idea is if you see me out at night, I’m drinkin’. And I’m not so jaded that I don’t love people. See the good, I say. I’ve heard it said. I’m reading When Things Fall Apart. Grab that! And things do certainly break down, like my knees. Thing is, they’re not. Only my mind panics over what it’s not used to. After a few minutes in meditation what I considered Big Pain started up. I thought "Come on, don’t tense up. Just eye it." Sure enough, that shit was gone. The pain leveled up once I insisted on remaining as still as possible. My own breathing became the most bustled activity in the city of my room, the little window AC unit still kicking out a hum, and I made sure not even to allow myself the gentlest tree sway movement of breeze. No soothing boat rocking, either. Things fell still. The body grows stronger, more accustomed to the act. Thus my motivation to plod on continues to plod on.  

No Sleep

cannot sleep
this has carried over into an ongoing thing for me over the past week that I become an owl of night and finally trail off to sleep by sunrise and return back sluggishly around three four or five by which time I’m settling back into my still spot bending knees and concentration to in/out breath in silent meditation roughly around the same time every day only writing being that thing that suffers an unknown and sporadic jumping into and luckily is no less necessary or intense.