Saturday, December 24, 2016

Zin Is A Type Of Vin

O' MERRY XMAS FRIENDS!!!

I hope this Xmas Eve finds you all drunk, stoned, in love, or at least not trapped at work with a heavy cold and 17 inches of snow between you and your yule log-infested hearth.

I've been meaning to check in at the Octopus Diary sooner, but friends… I have been getting so many hits from Russia that I'm downright paranoid about it. As you know 2016 was my 10 year anniversary of being an Octopus Diarist (you can read about it here). And I don't plan on quitting just because the Russians are either spying on me personally, or routing a fake news site anonymously through my blogspot address ---

----- OKILLAKATZE COMRADES!---------

but you know. These are silly fragile egg times. And though most of you shun diaryzing as something adults don't do, I will diarize the fuck out of 2017 because we face the reality of having our freedom of press taken away and 

I would rather die pressing freely than live w/ only freedom of speech as my means of getting across…

I have for you today an Epic Poem--now that Moonchild is officially a senior citizen he is eligible for colonoscopies. He is also eligible to be called MoonSenior. This long poem is about my time in the waiting room while he got his colon scoped. I've been writing such long poems lately & they get rejected by the presses for being too long. 

Small, economy-size poetry is in vogue these days. Long elastic odysseys are not. So I will share them here. Feel free to give me feedback if you can manage to read the whole thing.

Also--I have ART for you!!! Yes, I spent the Winter Solstice getting reacquainted w/ watercolors. But don't get too excited--they are just experiments. I literally made something from the rorschach stains on the palette paper leftover from my last painting (of Shelter Cat & Trust Fund Baby). But it was good to get the hands & wrists & brushes coordinated again.

Rorschach experiment #1  Pixel Pisses Off the Puscine Priestess


So here's the COLONOSCOPY POEM:

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We are traffic drooling over the lip of sunrise
Who leaves these big gaps  2-3 car lengths untightened at lights
Texting "out of fuel" perhaps?
We turn and signal parkway pique;  once auto immunity's 4-door wall breaks, usually a surge in the stream of concrete
But speedy's distracted by copilot's 3" French caresses, cranking flow valve
To carb and nozzle to
Slow drip 

Now we've broken walls & laws no one saw
I agree to wait  [?]  hours in this snug McNugget box
Within  [?]  minutes
2 Trump cards shuffle in and slap gnarly hands on my arm rest/privacy fence
One believes her volume's set to Indoor but I endure this: 
I don't write anything from my own head,  just regurgitate content from 
Nooz-sites I believe in. One today re: Reagan calling from the 80s to put prayer back in school & she responds with a long thought from her own head! As if she knows everything!

To paraphrase, poor libtard network kin so brainwashed, reciting all the godless scripture of the classroom, babbling about progress when what we need is a brake pedal, a retraction

I mustn't misconduct this War on Conduct, wherein I'll need a brochure of trigger warnings after every intake of breath, that sublime feline tip off I'm about to claw your flipside to bits  Wherein sensual assault is no mere tone crime 

Bandaging my former armor's spastic knees, strengthening my anti-social core, softened turd-like by lack of use

I clutch my book like a steering wheel, words roll by my eyes but they have pirated one whole 
Brain hemisphere, filled my throat w/ fossilized frogs, 
All sphincters from anal to mental clenched around my spinal flagpole
Because these G-mas would have me carry stones 3K miles from home
To build a border so concrete in the franchise of consciousness
One could only stand before it & try to order tacos
Try to classify rapists, or outline some of the good ones in chalk

These old clucks muted by their own lack of authority, deafened by their
Blocked cockiness, silent bowels waiting to take the exam, 
Can't stop their liquid whisper's confluence 
Live-streaming into my well

Watch towering overprotective over families overvalued
But not appreciated
As if she knows everything!

These G-mas would stack pixels to add VIP room to the Constitution. They'd say it was the divine occult will of their departed Daddies who served 

Heroes, honey, forced Hitler to his hemlock hive

God's own image said the flag was sacred and not to be burnt in red-skinned blue-flamed white-hot protest
While those involuntary vaginas call it Symbol of our fatal design flaw, our flow of scoliosis, our unclasped, neckless genuflection, Daddy rises for the post-mortem anthem

For Him the new fascists cut coupons and throats, cut themselves off at the pituitary knees,
If you were black I'd color you all over & have you drink from the leaden fountain! 
If you were brown you'd be raptured back to Aztec temples, sacrificed to America's
Overnight jungle, to its overgrown honey-do, listing like a ship off a cliff!
And were you queer, you'd plead for Pentecostal boot camp--Make me in your atomic-saxon image!
Make *nameless genital configuration* swell!

O little old lady tilled by the patriarchy when America was ripe for
The pickin' of slim cotton dresses, linen winging it between fucks, 
When America was so well-fluffed everyone had a donkeyshow! Everyone had an acre of virgin g-spot soil!

Now general admission is an admitted mess
But these angels don't even sing in the shower
Before gassing the rainbowed gutter 

11-21-16 

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Congratulations on reading that. You're good. I really hope this weekend is filled with love & joy for everyone.  2016 was one of those years that really rattled the scaffolding and threatened to collapse the structure, the jagged mystical steeple of an Illuminati that reached the pinnacle of its erudite elitism. Not the structure you were thinking, right?
Rorschach turned into self portrait


Anyway…I shuddered w/ dread to face the news of my world, my country each day…and yet…my life, at my house, in my head, was terrific. Fucking grand. I am happy to have my mind back, and I promise more art & less jacking off in 2017. But I am on alert, ready to take action or fight or flight whenever the time is right. No polite nazi here. Intelligent anger, no artifice, 'kay?

1 comment:

  1. Epic Poems and Rorschach Watercolors! What a blast. It is heartening that even in the waiting room of colonoscopy the Artist channels the Muse. In conversations overheard we hear truth of belief and wonder is it true? In poetry (epic) we feel truth and believe knowing it is honest. I love the art work so, so much. I see a touch of serious Spock in the self portrait and chuckle at Pixel & the Priestess. It is Monday morning already and all is calm all is peace. Love to all and hopes of a peaceful year.

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