I feel like I spoke up in a gentlemanly manner, so I'm good with it either way.
***
Little crystal/"new age" shop two blocks away. Some classes, energy and massage workers offering services. Wonder if they could use a Reiki practitioner. It's worth a shot.
***
Writing's getting very abstract. I love it when that happens. I don't feel like I'm just dressing up the same tired old emotions with fancy bells and lights, I feel like I'm actually creating, clearing paths and opening doors. Windows. I love that track of existence inbetween emotions, where thought splinters off into harmonics of idea and lore; light, shadow, life, and love. Wayne Dyer mentions that the last gasp of ego death may be hanging on to the need to explain ones self. I agree; but at the same time I want to invite and soothe, without alienating anyone.
The 'track'. The zone.
I'm definitely riding high there tonight.
working notes
(from a notebook):
Overheard as answer "Yes...yes..."
*
Candy-apple mohawk. Blonde-witch, blind.
*
A glitch in continuity. "What-not"
Is the computation
Of boredom. Loudbang
Deafness. (Chinese
Pants, Siberian
Hair.)
*
The living often rolling
Over in their graves
As well.
*
Presupposed.
*
To recall every moment
Of every day
What a single, solitary
Waste of time
(Omnipotent
Amnesia)
*
Blonde-apple mohawk. Candywitch, blind.
*
darker silver grey shade
tree
on lighter silver
day, un-
ignored
emblem
on flat
plastic
tape
*
The mute winter, signing; hands floating as
Strands, minus irony. A carved bowl.
A turtle; two things deaf. Can you
Do that? Hear like a squint? Splinter
The stain of sound into two: A hare
And a walking box, a long-eared
Soup, a cold fire heating teeth. What
Else would have time for this? Patience. Impatience.
Anti-social butterfly in wry cocoon.
A bright dancer blaming shadow, misshapen.
A drape of breast over shoulder, swelling.
It's a test of posture.
Spry spine
Standing in for shell.
*
"All I need is a miracle/ All I need is you..."
-Mike and The Mechanics.
*
Drum strings. Guitar skin. Keyed voice.
*
The temperature drawer...closing.
The fever shelf. Pick one.
Solar ice. Fire moon.
*
If I put a foot in my mouth I
Hop and bobble.
Two, and I scoot
On my ass unless
I swallow.
Snake-circle self. Pleasant
Snack, but
Only
Once.
*
Somebody
Water
The
Phoenix
Humid
Redundancy.
***
Believe it or not, my head is much better.
A bit of throb and a bandage.
Even little head wounds bleed alot.
(I first typoed
badage
bad age
Must not do that...
off to sleep
love and
rain)
***
Little crystal/"new age" shop two blocks away. Some classes, energy and massage workers offering services. Wonder if they could use a Reiki practitioner. It's worth a shot.
***
Writing's getting very abstract. I love it when that happens. I don't feel like I'm just dressing up the same tired old emotions with fancy bells and lights, I feel like I'm actually creating, clearing paths and opening doors. Windows. I love that track of existence inbetween emotions, where thought splinters off into harmonics of idea and lore; light, shadow, life, and love. Wayne Dyer mentions that the last gasp of ego death may be hanging on to the need to explain ones self. I agree; but at the same time I want to invite and soothe, without alienating anyone.
The 'track'. The zone.
I'm definitely riding high there tonight.
working notes
(from a notebook):
Overheard as answer "Yes...yes..."
*
Candy-apple mohawk. Blonde-witch, blind.
*
A glitch in continuity. "What-not"
Is the computation
Of boredom. Loudbang
Deafness. (Chinese
Pants, Siberian
Hair.)
*
The living often rolling
Over in their graves
As well.
*
Presupposed.
*
To recall every moment
Of every day
What a single, solitary
Waste of time
(Omnipotent
Amnesia)
*
Blonde-apple mohawk. Candywitch, blind.
*
darker silver grey shade
tree
on lighter silver
day, un-
ignored
emblem
on flat
plastic
tape
*
The mute winter, signing; hands floating as
Strands, minus irony. A carved bowl.
A turtle; two things deaf. Can you
Do that? Hear like a squint? Splinter
The stain of sound into two: A hare
And a walking box, a long-eared
Soup, a cold fire heating teeth. What
Else would have time for this? Patience. Impatience.
Anti-social butterfly in wry cocoon.
A bright dancer blaming shadow, misshapen.
A drape of breast over shoulder, swelling.
It's a test of posture.
Spry spine
Standing in for shell.
*
"All I need is a miracle/ All I need is you..."
-Mike and The Mechanics.
*
Drum strings. Guitar skin. Keyed voice.
*
The temperature drawer...closing.
The fever shelf. Pick one.
Solar ice. Fire moon.
*
If I put a foot in my mouth I
Hop and bobble.
Two, and I scoot
On my ass unless
I swallow.
Snake-circle self. Pleasant
Snack, but
Only
Once.
*
Somebody
Water
The
Phoenix
Humid
Redundancy.
***
Believe it or not, my head is much better.
A bit of throb and a bandage.
Even little head wounds bleed alot.
(I first typoed
badage
bad age
Must not do that...
off to sleep
love and
rain)
I used to dabble with paint and poetry. Now I just stick to music.
Glad to hear the heads a it better.