Thursday, March 14, 2019

PI-ous Daily: All This Writing Is Creating New Time For You to Enjoy

FRIENDS!!!

Hey there, I know you’ve all been waiting anxiously for my thoughts on 2018s difficult reading assignment—The Exegesis of Philip K Dick. I started reading on roughly 5-1-18 and quickly realized I would only be able to read 10 pages at a time, then process those 10 pages like a clunky old univactogenarian before proceeding to the next.

So here we are a year later (roughly) and I still have 200 pages of notes, acknowledgments, curators’ bios & such to read. But I’ve digested the pulpy center of what is understood to be The Exegesis.

Now I won’t regurgitate the contents of The Exegesis in some ‘splainy theoretical way. How goddamn boring would that be?? I’ll try to make it a little personal.

Some important things I got from The Exegesis are: that space is a big still life set in plasmatic suspense until the force of time comes spiraling through—removing one set from the stage of the present and yanking the future’s scenery onstage in the process, & on & on & on.

That time didn’t begin at 0 o’clock in the middle of space & move outward in a linear way to where we are now.
“Time” was a stage set—a beginning scene— that can be pinpointed to roughly Mar 18 70 AD. And from there time arced back & forth (past to future) until it created a spiral that encompassed an eternity of moments around 3/18/70 AD.

That we, as objects in space are moved by time. That time, like a screw or drill moves forward & backward on the x(or y) axis  [I believe you can graph it either way      I’ll try drawing it a few more times…]

Most of us humans are VISUAL/SPACE oriented.

Some people like PKD, and perhaps myself & some of you music/poetry types —are AUDIO/TIME oriented.

[Can people be VISUAL/TIME oriented or AUDIO/SPACE oriented? That’s a good thing to think about.]




There came a point in The Exegesis where PD hit upon a third & fourth axis that he perceived as false or artificial intelligent copies of “reality’ (basically what can be graphed on the space/time axis). So there was an erstaz time axis and and ersatz space axis being created by human thought, and adding eternally to the diameter/scope of reality/kosmos.

The infinite human thoughts interwoven & accrued around time and space = the expansion of the universe aka infinity aka God

All right…here I am ‘splaining, but I wanted to at least get to some of the what-was-it-about nuggets. In the end all this clarity around human thought mimicking time & space and accruing into an eternal self-balancing spiral known as Infinity or God, was a spiritual awakening for PKD.

The whole thing  began in 1974 with his sudden “perception of time” via the fish necklace (this was The actual Exegesis). He spent the next(& last) 8 years of his life examining & getting to the bottom of this transcendental experience—how did it happen, what is time, what is space, what is all this false activity & noise that passes for reality, why am I suddenly perceiving everything differently, why was I chosen to see what others seem to be missing, and then bam…the visit from God explaining it all (on 11-17-80).

He continued to develop his theories & perceptions about all this through his fiction until he died in 1982. (He even came to see his work as non fiction or at least parable at the end.)

What seemed amazing to me was there was a clairvoyant aspect to all of PKDs mental gymnastics. His vision of “information as substance” seems not just like precognition of The Internet (& social networking in particular) but also how all this accrued information might change us on a microcosmic level to more compassionate, aware people.

Also his descriptions of time boring through space (as a tornado underwater would) keeping all of life in a constant state of plate-spun motion (aka alive) was very familiar to me via my Tarot studies. PKD was definitely interested in many (all) schools of thought, philosophies, religions and even dabbled in things like i Ching ( he had a friend who would do this for him occasionally). He mentioned kabbalah in context w/ his Jewish studies, but he made no firsthand mention of Tarot.  Yet I felt like I was reading the work of someone who was well versed in tarot/golden dawn the whole time. 

Without any preaching or moral innuendo, this work forged a union between science & religion—a union I’ve never been totally comfortable with until now. 



*******The Personal Part****************

So you all remember when I did my Adventures in Spirituality (summer ’17). Long story short, there were some  (silly-seeming) issues in my life for which I felt the need for some higher guidance.

I took you on a lint-filled journey through all my places of worship—which weren’t many. It started w/ me discovering my own psychic gifts at 13 and diverted to a frenetic guilt-ridden Xtian experiment, then ended w/ a healthy embrace of the nature-based, free-will religions like Wicca. 

At 21, when I was initiated into a wiccan coven after studying w/ the group for a year, I felt I’d earned the equivalent of my Bachelor’s in Spirituality and abandoned all active practice to pursue my PhD in EVERYTHING ELSE.

I felt like I’d done Spirituality. Solved it. Was forever & eternally a gifted little witch.

One thing I got out of my AinS series was how wrong I was doing spirituality! All of it, including my doubt-ridden attempts at Xtianity. Boy, no wonder I failed at being a Xtian. I had no concept of “faith.” Xtianity certainly never was & still isn’t the religion for me, but I absolutely get what I was doing wrong.

Then I told you about the Psychic Safari, my pre & post 9/11 experience w/ automatic writing & mediumship. It was an exciting time, a heavy time, a scary time, and I was doing wrong things then too! I was an undisciplined channel, and I had “angels & soldiers crying around me” with no boundaries. I fancied myself to be “gifted” & “chosen” but had no idea what to do w/ these gifts, or the information I was receiving. I often didn’t realize it was “information” until it was too late.

Basically, if I was gifted, the gifts were wasted on me ; )) I got a lot of interesting writing out of it. A lot of history writ from behind the scenes, perhaps.

After the psychic safari, I began to wonder what use the spirit world was to this world. What business did I have listening in on spirit sounds if I was just going to file them away in a drawer, then brag about it on the internet years later?  I decided to focus on living in the real world; writing real poetry & stories; just getting swept up in life again; drinking (a lot) again…

….then when I was able to quit drinking w/out (summoning) any aid from the spirit world, that verified for me that I didn’t really need anything from that world anymore.

I could be demon-free w/out the gods!!! Ah hahahahah I was so brilliant at Spirituality I didn’t need to practice at all! 



And then came the hardest spiritual lesson of all — and this one I didn’t mention in the AinS — to realize that just because you are not summoning aid from the spirit world doesn’t mean you aren’t receiving it.

When the spirit world abandons you to walk alone on earth, you know it. It feels a lot like being abandoned by all your family & friends, except 1100x worse.

It’s a complete loss of hope, and it’s as close to “losing one’s own mind” as I care to get.

I was able to reconnect to the spirit world, after about a year of abandonment. But I no longer had the same relationship to the spirit world that I did before . The spirit world is quite hard on me & expects a lot. In fact, it gives me mini abandonments occasionally. I think it’s been trying to get my attention for a long time. And finally I listened. In the summer of 2017, I committed to understanding what I needed to understand.

It was my abandonment by the spirit world that made me want to read about PKDs discovery of the spirit world through his Exegesis. I wanted to read someone else’s belly button lint for a change, and PKD didn’t disappoint : ))

Actually his dogged insistence on understanding his own “unquantifiable perceptions” made me feel like such a lazy unmystical lint gatherer!  I felt very emotionally connected to his theories & descriptions of time. [I felt like I understood a lot of what he was seeing & thinking, but I will stick to writing Vogon poetry about (to) it.]

One thing I think I’ve never mentioned in all my lint about the Psychic Safari is that I had my own EXEGESIS. An exegesis is like a long moment of clarity that causes everything in the world to make sense. On a profound spirit, molecular & kosmic level!

Well, my Exegesis scared me more than anything (of course). And then it got swept away in the big tsunami that was the Psychic Safari.

It happened somewhere in the summer of 2001 — the exact date eludes me because it happened sometime around midnight, when dates are temporarily fuzzy. But I can localize it around July 10 or 11, 2001.

I won’t describe it in great detail because it would make me sound like a lunatic. But i can tell you that at the moment it happened I was deep into an automatic writing session & my brain was purring like a microwave. I was listening to some cool music our friend had brought over from the middle east. 

Then basically I lifted my head and i was in a different world, seeing a brief vision I would come to recognize in a couple of weeks, then watching time stretch out before me, not in any neon hallucinogenic way, but in a very structured detailed way. Basically time was ahead of me & my molecules & all the molecules in the room around me were trying to catch up. I felt like I was being sucked out of my body or pulled like taffy. The thing that scared me most was I could see my cat on the bed kind of “pixelating” and I was afraid she would die. So I shook my head & it was over. 

I was back in my room & I was comforted to see David Letterman chattering mutely on the tv. But then I wanted to go back there — wherever that was! What was that? can I do it again? For the next 8 weeks I tried to repeat that experience. I tried writing, drinking, shaking my head back & forth till i was dizzy, hanging upside down on my bed…nothing worked… it was a once in a lifetime experience…

…and why did I not obsess on that one moment & all it revealed to me, like PKD obsessed over his one moment until he could describe God?



I like to think it was because I got swept away in the psychic currents of 9/11. [And there were a lot of psychic currents around that event. I was not the only one by far.] But I know it’s because I wasn’t smart enough to know what questions to ask. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, so I didn’t know I was supposed to look for more. 

To me, it was more than enough to talk to spirits about what was happening on Earth. I didn’t need to know what was happening to make those conversations possible : ))

But now I have an even better understanding of that than I expected. Holy crap, this has gotten long. I just don’t know how to be brief about this stuff. I always say I want to write more serious, essay style blogs, but who has time to read all this shit??

I apologize if any of this sounds preachy—it’s not supposed to. I go on & on about it because I’m enthused about it, not because I am telling you how to be spiritual.
I have to wrestle really hard with my mind to make it work lately (meaning the past 5 years, since experiencing spiritual abandonment). But I’ve become quite the heavyweight champion , through my current spiritual practices (which really amount to focusing/meditative practices). And breathing. Singing. Oxygen is important. Exchanging lung fumes is good for mental health!

Returning to studying the mystic arts — intuition & mediumship — has been a good path for my old age. It gives me something to live for as I die.

I wouldn’t label PKD a “mystical” dude, nor would he I think, but his theories about the accrual of time from human thoughts & writings is as close to a perfect description of the afterlife (after time) as I have ever encountered.



THE END

       (for now. I may write more about it. I’ll definitely write more Vogon poems about it. And I’ll draw some better time screws : )))

Thursday, March 7, 2019

February VOGON '19

FRIENDS,

How’s it going? Spring’s approaching, so I’m trying to surface from my mystical hibernation. But I tell ya—after approzimately 5 decades of insomnia, to finally get permission from the kosmos to sleep as much as…. everyone else…

to sleep soundly instead of constantly moving the spheres w/ my sweaty brain waves….  the pressure is OFF.

Forever? Or just this year? Or just till April? Who knows. But I love it.

As Spring approacheth, I’m also approaching the end of the Exegesis of PKD. I can’t wait to say a few words about it here in the Octopus Diary. I’m sure you all remember my Existential Crisis of 2017 — I saw you all making fun of me. Anyway, I’ve been on an exhaustive spiritual quest since that summer & the Exegesis was a thrilling & cathartic parallel to my own efforts. And my efforts have been rewarded more exhaustively than I could have ever imagined. 

So who’s laughing now?

And with the arrival of Spring will also come the 7th Octopus Review. You will love it more than your own Instagram buffet— send Octopus art!

                NOW     !!!     ENJOY these VOGON poems!!!!!!!!!!!! 

————————————————————————————————



BULLET TRAIN AROUND THE WORLD

It’s Sunday, ie no longer a day off for anyone
                                Where do we start?
Breakfast burritos on the border? Naw, construction.
      Let’s go to Sumatra for coffee. There’s just been a murder
of tigers, following a 100 acre rape
               [Attempting to mate w/ a plate of eggs?]

Pick coffee beans from paws & proceed to the mainland

China is old. It is dying &
Some other centipede is bumbling out of its hole &
Redrawing boundaries. A moving target
                           w/ infinite digits
                        reloading, redrawing
Till China looks more like a penguin than a pig

Finally a warship cruise to Venezuela
     where they’re hungry for the recipe
                                       for caliphate cake

                Cartoon leaders stand like unlit candles
      Awaiting a match,
Tigger™ pinyatas swell w/ gasoline

0210:0550a

**********

It’s A Re-re-re-re-World!

I dreamt of our finite globe, 
                the whole thing in one night
Tour guide Owl led me to this & that corner
           of our edgeless touchstone —
     It was a flash in the pan w/
                      no souvenir

The quickest, kitschiest tour of a planet ever…
        It was over & there was nowhere left…

It was time to right fiction. 
Retract tentacles. Present claws.

0210:0575a

***********



My SCRABBLE Game:  white
                                        pigs
                                     praying
                                       trimly

                          jag     axite      edit

                                   ouzo pint
                                  wound fried

Then it was back to 7th grade. The year you realized
             the social contract stated
That as soon as anyone leaves any room, whosoever left behind is free 
             to judge the aforementioned person in his/her/their absence & 
               slander & libel him/her/them within the walls of said room
 Never holding up any mirrors to self examine, but only to cast aspersions
                       on someone/anyone else to deflect any
Mirror/platter/reflective surface that may reveal a clear cut version
                             Of the self to the self—

And you decided then & there in your 12th year of life that that was the very worst
                               Thing ever
                                About people
& you would do your best to avoid being in rooms, then not being in rooms,
                  with any of them

0210:0575a

************

Dream — April 2017 — A Writer’s Conference or Mystic Faire — Hotel Lobby

       I recognized writers
But card tables draped in velvet & linen
          said psychic faire

I tried to say hi to a few faces
     & they smirked or turned away
Soon I saw the familiar gathering of hackles, the bonding of atoms
                that didn’t include mine

[Based on being ignored during poetry week / month/ lifetime

        Why did we stop posting & critiquing, 
                 building a big centipede of conformity
                       A poetry that does not segue 
                           from the brainstem of The Master 

to the old hermetic blackbox labeled Me?]
           I was shoved to the nubbly curtain,  my phone jostled
                       Uproarious laughter  having fun at my expense

Because I am cheap & easy. The centipede can’t make
              100 simple decisions per second, so it laughs 
                   at its own hacked segments

I came back for my phone & found it cracked &
          Mystics smiled all around 

0210:0575a

**********

I’LL CONTINUE to BORE YOU with MY INNER JOURNEY…

—> Loss of libido

—> Psychic safari

—> Psychotic break

—> REINTEGRATE

—> Prodigal ejaculation

—> Clairvoyant assault

—> Redact claws

—> Wrap tentacles around the cake

Remembering PornWeek: surviving hourly wage boredom
W/ the devil in my pocket

(now that I have pockets

            full of frogs & snails & cat tails…)

0210:0600a

*********



THE BODY PARTISAN

Do children go outside anymore?

I’m good at being outside; reading the conference room

Everyone’s a dullard, a dotard
Let’s go

Do children have locks on their bedroom doors
I did.

My lock broke one day & I thought
I’d never get out
& that didn’t scare me until I got hungry
For peanut butter & jelly & how would it fit
Under the door?

Saints & angels for every season —
You’re the patron saint* of those who DO TOO MUCH & HAVE IT ALL!!!
I’m the patron saint of those who’ve been robbed of their will to live.

I dial up terrorists & school shooters, & ask wtf dude?

And they always say the same thing — 
      Constant displacement by new people when the old ones haven’t
                   found a place (aka OVERPOPULATION)

Xenopause. Beekept information.

0210:0600a

*Patron saint = unpaid psychiatrist

*********************

my attempt at an insta-poem!!! (ie, not Vogon)

“Tarot Bell”

I’m a very affordable mystic
But I won’t go easy on you
You’ll feel me the next day…

2-17-19

***********************

THE CODA PENDANT

I haven’t gone through anything diagrammable

At least that’s what I thought
Till I got the bright idea
To connect the dots

Just decide what the dots are — 
          Dates? Songs? Dicks sucked? —
And connect the bejeezus out of those
        Little ordinates that could

               **********

Taking an    unpaved
                unlit      uncool
                     Road
to get to this junkture

     Blindfold + balance beam
Between temporal lobes I walked
                                (‘I’ meaning ‘me’ this time)
                          I walked & fell

                        I palpated walls
                 I massaged my heart

I called you out on all the things I heard you say
                                     inside my ear drum ( your
                                           unconscious biases)

I knew from 12 that no one really likes anyone;
                your evaluation is always going on
                       But it’s never glowing…

I walked the planet as if it were 4 inches wide
And the judges were eager to deduct
                             not only points
But actual wood molecules from my unvarnished feet

I somnambulated
I echolocated

Till one recent a.m., without my asking,
            a great wink of the eyeball sun
      lit up my inner/outer
                    (core/reactor)

& I was evaluated by the sky
           (or God, if you want to call It that)

Here is the snapshot of how the world
                      or Satan if you want to call it that—
                                       views you

I expected to see a fetal spiral, head bowed to chest
    A piece of human excrement curled around an overflowing loo…

Instead
The impossibly high-def mental picture
Was of me on the ledge
                        (parapet, railing) of the Philippi Creek bridge

Walking               way above the water

Doing my mental & physical gymnastics
While cars honked & classmates shouted

“You’re the girl on the bridge” people would say at school
          & I would make some animal noise

I forgot I did that. Forged those skinny paths
Unwalked by anyone else

You’re the girl on the bridge, God said,
                Even though you’re a sad-but-too-happy-to-be-a-poet man
                                                these days…
You were born to be the girl on the bridge 
And that’s who you’ll be when you end
No matter what she’s gone through, no matter where she’s been

*12th grade witchcraft*
Now you’re back on wet cement

0222:0333a

************



BRIDGET BARDO

words are back
to play  to pledge allegiance & plead
                                    insanity
Rudeboy Giuliani
      please have a seat in the oxygen lounge
We’ll call you neighbor when
                    we’re good & ready
When the fortress is built of moonparts
             & shoots gamma rays

Early wood, morning hammers,
         Construction galore & pussy
                nowhere to be found
Even his truck is a ghost
         At 4 a.m., has he had breakfast
   behind the dateline? Somewhere in the Dominican?
I know he’s a pilot, but we won’t discuss it.

Flora/fauna codependent 
       Audio break up — rain, Forest!

All that (those) bacteria! Lit up. Glowing. 
     Not just Fairuza Balk(crafting)
       but Mayim Bialik(blossoming)
An invading viral consciousness that turned us
        inside out like a tube sock
   on Dec 23, 2012

We felt it. We split,
      bifurcated, lost sight of each other,
           became a mismatched tribe

Of tubesocks in an overcrowded drawer
Till the lint trap opened and out Bakula
                   (quantum leapt)

0222:0375a

**********

DOE-EYED BUCK-EYE

You grow fat & lazy
       When I make you supper
         & the world covers me w gold stars!

You grow closer to God
      When I make you suffer
    & the world peels the stars from
               my ceiling

(“specific spirituality” = please God help,
                  but only until midnight on Tues.)

0222:0375a

********

p.s.  Just a note about these DIAGRAMS OF TIME.
        They are Diagrams of Time, not cartoons of our solar system. Please don’t get that mixed up, as I do every time I look at them.


I’ll keep working on them as they are not quite right yet… I’ll spend all year drawing TIME if I have to

Friday, February 1, 2019

January VOGON '19

Hey Y’all

Happy Groundhog’s Eve. Here are the very first Vogons of 2019. I’ve been super busy w/ gross earthly responsibilities, and also I’ve managed to spend a lot of time hibernating. Which I plan to do all year long. Which means there will be fewer Vogon poems & hardly any new art. But I’ll give you what I can.

Just a reminder that submissions for the next Octopus Review are open! Send me STUFF! 

*********************************


VOICES BEHIND CLOSED DOORS:
       A TRUMP & PUTIN DIALOGUE IN THE STYLE OF MAMET

T: Bail me out
P: Hey
T: Why not
P: Why not pay?
T: Later
P: Now
T: Why? Let’s wheel. Let’s peel & eat. Let’s seal a state.
P: Rue it. Rent it. Ivankit.
T: Rentvanka?  
P: Ivankment
T: Nosvedonya
P:
T:
P:
T:
P:
T: Let’s fluff. Let’s tuft. Let’s Tiffanize.
P: Hmmm……
T: Hah?? Huh??
P: Hmmm….mmmmm….mmmmm….Tiffanope…
T: Wha??
P: Ivankage
T: But Jared…
P: Nyuk nyuk…back channel
T: But…
P: Nyaa..nyaa…
T: Scapericorn. Goat germs?
P: Sharksteps
T: Chirp chirp 140 chirp chirp chirps…Tiffanyet?
P: < 3.7 tongue clicks > Perks?
T: The works. pp cummings. Any sexton pussy mob or dick&sons
P: We make poetry together?
T: And rent
P: Da-da-deal comrade < poison sandwich? >

0114:0625p

***********

2014: Spider   2015: Frog     2016: Owl    2017: Rabbit    2018: Worm

           2019: whatever hibernates 51 weeks/year

(The Sunshine State Zodiac. Which sign are you? It doesn’t matter, they’re all incompatible)

************

THE PLEASURE OF BEING A BURNOUT

Drone. Yawn. Snore. Whaat?!

You’re
cutting edge
cutting hedge
cuddling ledge
budding Reg

   (or is it Rog?)

0114:0625p


***********

HOW TO DEFEAT ISIL

Let them have their caliphate &
also bake a 
        many-tiered cake

Build a wall around their caliphate &
      toss the bread-laced tablets
  Manna Manna Overboard
       overbred  overbite
Sanctions, blah-blah-blockades
          A caliphate from
      Walls of bread & one day
                                 needles
One day only flour instead of bread &
         one day bliss
         becomes a kite
        becomes a comet
     blessing this caliphate
A cup of small white disks, crushed
          into powder

Pull a pretty hippy to the town square 
     A hub of sunshine in her love-vest &
                                    detonate…

Dust the cake generously w/ fine powder
Be sure to wear full hazmat gear

0114:0625p

************

Spirit Animals: From Karmic Kidnapping to Deluxe Escape

Spider: Not the coveted Soviet features of an ubermodel
            But one 8-eyed spy
Tripping, hopping on too many stages

    Burying currents in well insulated legs

Frog: Suddenly you’re an apprentice
                     electrician. It’s your house & body
              That need rewiring
Beginning w/ the doorbell & ending w/ the
                              hyoid bone

                     Ribbit  roar  purr (remember
                                  when the doorbell almost
                                    burned the house down?
             That was my last day w/ guardian angels
                                For
                                   how
                                      long…? About a year….
                     The morning I was frog-bombed on the toilet
                            I knew I had new angels & 
                should never ask what happened to the old ones)

Owl: You pulled your wings from my overdrawn 
                   Bank of orgasms, 
            And fluttered like money across my eyelashes
                              Glory bee! That did not sting,
                      But too many peeks behind the curtain
                               Leave you weak

Rabbit: Your scars itched & your brain prepared 
                                            to give birth
                                  (to a whole new reality. And
                               I don’t use that word lightlessly)
              Nibble on the clover you’d overlooked
                    for falsity (& I use that word selflessly)
        
                       Dismantle the gingerbread mall
                                 w/ your teeth

Worm: turning & resisting
           cliche, always softening your angle
                        With those segments
           How could anyone mistake you for a visual thinker?
                          And yet they do…

0114:0650p

***********
Blurry shotgun penguin wedding


ADVENTURE AT THE MMJ DISPENSARY IN SEATTLE*

The sad thing about the adventure
      was how perfectly it started

Some water drops are naturally unholy
          but each particle of fog on this adventure
                was of baptismal quality

W/ laser precision I calculated the time of your birth &
from there I was able to pinpoint the moments
                       you made your way west

All the zany cardstock characters were written
  in —
       the ranting blond whose tears turned out
            to be holier than rain

She distracted from my reverie
                    but didn’t destroy it.
Continue. 
               Everyone stopped & posed
                  in my windshield
One man halts & takes an everest chug
          off his vapor cannister
            as he limps up the ramp

Not a puff but a breath of creation heavy w/
                                        holy mucus

Perfect weather. Perfect temperature
      for rolled down windows

A hot box of MAGA hats leaves the station @ 10:45

& at 10:47 it’s your turn.

Then,
 my turn to see you in the windshield,
                 familiar not zany

In those 47 minutes I’d written your life story
        and couldn’t wait to get home & end it
            w/ the perfect punctuation mark—

An audio-visual orgasm
               A just-long-enough jest—

when some walk-on character appears,
                                summoning,
                        desperate semaphore
                          & you respond
By leaping from my skull’s embrace & traipse
    through a fog that’s already hardening into glass

2 writers should never share a windshield

0127:0400a

*not the real Seattle

************


Please, no more tests!!
Remember the one I took all last year,
Swordplaying through your obstacle course
Of illnesses? 
Please no more.

How much longer do I want to hang out
Watching the fragilest minds of my generation
Do what they’re doing??

Intuition is a thing now
      but there are forces working against it
This is a collective, a food pantry
           of Christ hostages
Needing to be eaten before decomp sets in

All TIME has angelic seals of approval
          from dickless gatekeepers,
      somehow always defeminized
            like astronauts in SPACE

Let this 45th Blotch appear
On the face of a wafer

Screeching for us to halt as the
       Evolutionary bottleneck approaches
Some get stuck there like a
        Butterscotch in the throat…

0127:0425

*********

I was born the moment your train left the station
               We crossed paths
      I couldn’t find a mother & friends
            were a chemical risk
The drano crawled around your palate
    & the styrofoam cup corroded as you watched
                       from the bathroom floor

And other mothers scared you,
       the caring available ones —
            (If you got something to say…)

Most of us unpack this shit through
              divorces/troubled tweens/ whatever mirrors
we encounter on the walls of the world

Rarely do we choose to face
          the mirrors of the skull. Your inner disco ball awaits!
Meet it w/out flinching &
             the velvet ropes will engorge
                     w/ loving platelets

Like, how dare you see me under
                all this business,
           this shroud of bureaucracy?

I must be doing something Pretty
Dumb. But can’t believe all the dumb things 
You keep doing!

I always counted on you to be the smart one.

0127:0450a

(this is so like today, all my thoughts ending on the other side of the page
where they’re easily lost
10 of fucking wands! “broken pumpkin”
I always thought the first family might be a little
                     topsy turvy)

**********


WILD WEST VERSION of 1980s + 1930s =

An era I never wanted to see
But here I am w/ eyes not made of hamburger
I love to conspire
You were the pious earth mother
You were sawn in half & rebuilt yoreself
W/ good food, meditation
& a photogenic lifestyle

Who else are “American”? The Weiners?
Do Americans congregate?
A parish of them?
A perish? A persistence?
An astroika?

What about ostrich feathers
Blooming from sand pits?
What about popped heart balloons
What about the seabirds &
                     the billionaires—
How do we reconcile their differences?

Octopus Diary is back channel to oligarchy?
Now I will call the interpols
Those we called “mama’s boys” before
“toxic masculinity” was entered
In the lexicon

Gardening under hydroponic duress
A different momma’s boy has arrived
(Alternative spelling
Because his variety is benign)

Expie al Adocious, 
           Sir Gaga
    More purring, less roaring
You are the Master…..
                                    [It’s hard to be a poet when your
                                       family is still alive. There’s so much to show
                                      Not tell. And, it’s not all bad. It’s actually
                                      pretty interesting & profound. 
                        But privacy (yada yada) respect  >: ( ]


0127:1225p