Posts for June 2, 2017 (page 5)

(none of this may not be true)

What do I want?
Freedom!
What is freedom? The extreme case:

Do whatever I want, whenever I want
Have all that I need whenever I need it
Have it any way I want as long as I want it
Do anything I want to anyone I want to whenever I want to
Believe whatever I want until I want to believe something else

But you probably want these things, too
And you and you and you
So we cooperate
Cooperation equals less freedom.

I can volunteer my freedom
You can take it by force
Or offer recompense

I have an apple
I can give it to you
You can take it from me
You can pay me for it

When I’m starving, an apple is worth life itself
When I’m fat, I throw it at cats
But most of the time it’s worth an apple  

We codify our cooperation with rules and the worth of an apple with money

When you break a rule, you have a difficult problem
When I break a rule, I have a despicable vice

When you take my money, it is for the common good
When I take yours, I am a thief

Most of us are willing not to do things we don’t want done to us
But this is not universal

When we can’t cooperate, we form a group and pay people to force our desires on others
Until the group becomes large enough and powerful enough that all is just taken from almost everyone 

Let’s say we have cooperated and made a rule:

You cannot read this poem

You have 3 choices:

Not read the poem
Read the poem and tell no one
Read the poem and report your reading

The quality of our cooperation, our civilization
Is utterly dependent on each of us
Choosing not to read this poem

What did you choose?

                                                                   (please respond)

Science explains everything.
We are so poor that we are woven in grass.
The highways forget to return us home.
There is no mystery anymore.
Our wonder is alone and trapped.
Love recognizes us like that.
A victory ode comes smashing around.
We are heroes in our own hometown.
Our tradition of hope; a win for the heart,
Graffiti on steel; busted, broken, flat.
We sing ourselves apart.

Amy Cunningham 2017

Sisters.
When they try to corner you
You expand and fill the entire room.
When they try to pay you less
remind them
you are worth double.
When they touch you unexpectedly
drive their filthy hands into the
dirt from which they were born
And when they tell you
You are beautiful
Say, “I was even before you noticed.”

Little white pill I live in the clouds
you send me here each day from
the dirt-infested earth you pull me
by the teeth into the atmosphere
the stratosphere the something-sphere
the just-pleasant- enough-to-breathe-sphere
I am wet and cold here I am weightless
and shadow-free here I am chemically
enhanced to drift on the jet stream
this is a daily dream a thought that turns
into a morning a feather that turns into
an afternoon a mote that turns into an evening
and lands on a wooden surface in my
bedroom spotlighted by the dying sun
and I lie there waiting to be bearable again
waiting to kiss my wife again waiting to kiss
my children again waiting to kiss the edge
of the universe again in the morning
little white pill I live for the clouds

Outside of Court

it is the day after Memorial Day and
i know everything i need to know
about you.

The Old Brain: Rhinencephalon # 23                                                  To be in
                                                                                                                the  moment                                                                                                                is the miracle.                                                                                                                              ~ Osho    
I might be more compliant a parishioner
in the church of Live the Moment Now,
 
were it not for lost love’s slow roll of the stone   
to close the sanctuary of precious recollection.  

The blanching kaleidoscope of her laugh.
The fading flavor of her diction on my tongue.  

The glimpse of eyes bluer than citadel domes    
that if I turn to see full on, in heat waves melt away.  

The sensuality of smile, the slightly
upturned nose, rose cheeks on perky cheek bones seen  

through the smell and lick
of breath steamed glass.  

I fear that time, will leave me vacant of that life.
But then arrives the fabled unkind cut:   

a shirt deep in a whicker laundry creel
rips my brain with the raging fragrance of her flesh.  

Redolent proof that she is not in this moment
here with me, but she is deep rooted  

in ripe memories that draw me like a Siren’s song
to islands of the past, rush me Rocket Man  

searching for her in the clouds that are not now
but of a future time, more gentle to the touch and gaze.  

So, thank you Osho for your insight, so profound.
But, I do not wish to constantly inhale this present pain.  

Truly I say to you, I cannot wait
for the stench of this living moment to be gone.    

(this is a piece began a year ago, but has undergone a ton of changes the past two days. several lines have been added to the ending. not sure how i feel about it.)

…

face it:
it’s the only reason
you even brought us here…
to masturbate to your authority;
forcing us into the non-linear / labeling
us as still life:
“see, all they ever do
is grouse and grunt!”

for ‘the good ones’
you gave your grammar,
the self-stammer of the subordinant…
an “american inanimacy”
but you never loved us
as a literate.

“the dark and
the dangerous,”
you called us.

“beasts, if left unbound;
unchecked… after we’ve made
ruin of their bodies & minds
they will wreck us!!!
just wait / just watch!!!”

not a prediction. it was always the plan.

it’s what you’ve always wanted of us,
face it.

this throes-of-death dynamicism.

this controlled coin toss
with our individual holocausts
clashing; you want this.

this cinematic soliloquy
with you knighted in shine & glitter,
sword gleaming with all of heaven
beneath you as you hover above
this academic doo-rag with the thick lips…

“the dreadnaught vs the fetish faith”

yes, you regal gladiator,
mythical and moribund,
one of us must surely live or die
(if we can’t do either together).

so it’s my forearm
against your nape, your head
submerged in fluid metaphors
until you gurgle & drown and crack
at the crimp, where even in death
your critics are lenient and wreath
your whithered woes as higher art.
this isn’t murder;
i turned you into poetry.

from a specious god
into a precious metal.

even now, from your dying
breath, comes a flock of sparrows.
a rainbow. …movie rights.

my mother’s femur as flotsam
in your wake of shadows…
and yet here i am,
broken and bent above you;
this wail for the ages,
my gourds before your grails,
my survivalist’s romanticism
for crossroads and midnight deals
with demons and devils
and every other fallen angel…

you see, this is what – i – want.

to be a stigmata in full,
to be a stie in the eye
of a villainous sun…
with the hero’s welcome, in waiting,
wherever i call home.

like your’s, mine’s is also
a time-honoured tale.

one of ruin & vengeance
and vindication… a life
on its own terms.
lungs bursting with salvation,
the supernal coursing through
the bloodstream… this body, mine.
these actions, mine…
this life,… a love,….

it’s too late to feign remorse.

mary shelley tried to warn you.

I’ve always felt a bit of a criminal.

Ange  

I have a friend named Ange.
This afternoon I get an email from Ange
& I open it.  

The message is sent with high importance.
I read: Get an Asian Girl in your bed tonight.
It’s easier than you think.  

Like to date Asian Women?
Eight pictures of young, beautiful, busty women
are included, followed by the words:  

These Women are Determined
to Find a Boyfriend!
Sign up for free!  

Needless to say:
Ange @paid-throat.drawdelta.net
is not the Ange I know.

I paint a large x and a large o
Onto a oversized canvas
Crying out loud