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Showing posts from 2015

good mourning

last night you left us and as with everything you did so kindly and gently and with good grace soon your ashes will be scattered on the shores that we called home to be lifted on a sea breeze to settle softly on the mountaintop forming another layer of our history that we will look to for inspiration this mourning i remember with a heart filled with love with joyful laughter and sad fondness this mourning i know that everything i ever knew about you will never change everything i ever felt and loved about you will never change everything i ever learned from you will never change this mourning i pick and choose my memories that will become my monument to you your ashes will be scattered on the shores that we called home while your essence crystallizes in the oceans of my soul you will be rewarded you will be happy you will be at peace you will receive your long over-dues and you will watch over me just like you always do

the age of the amateurs

[ performance ] this is the dawning of the age of the amateurs, age of the amateurs... if i can write then i can be published if i can speak or sing you'll let me stomp on all your stages art forms are now platforms so if i can draw, my designs might bring delight through all the ages in my movies i can direct, act, edit and upload each scene so no producer can keep me waiting on tables, keep my career locked in to their geographic stables locked up by labels fueling fickle "you'll make it!" fables i'm untouchable to the brick and mortar gatekeepers no more need i heed the signs that say: "abandon all hope, ye who enter here" because the concept of "here" is primitive barbaric outdated, outmoded and the time for our independence is at hand it arrived just as mining bitcoins overtook second-hand-life's linden dollars as the loco-profit-motive being panned i can market myself build my own brand flying spaghetti mon

from the corridors of evelyn's mind

a couple of days ago i came across the following poem from evelyn amber beltser , and was so moved i simply *had* to translate it: .ככה זה טוב ככה זה טוב - לא פחות ולא יותר יותר, יותר, יותר" - ההד של הקיבעון" - .משוטת במזדרונות של המוח ,אם הייתי בית מלון המזדרונות האלו היו הקומה הסגורה שלי .שהמעליות לא מגיעות עליה .בכל סרט אימה מכובד יש כזאת ,לפעמים אני חושבת שלמרות כל הקירבה אנחנו כל כך מרוחקים שאם התודעות שלנו היו כוכבים עדיין הייתי יושבת פה ומחכה לאור של אחרים להגיע that's good. that's good - no less and no more - "more, more, more" - an echo of fixation sails through the corridors of my brain. if i was a hotel, these corridors would be my sealed floor that the elevators wouldn't reach. every respectable horror movie has one. sometimes i think that despite all the proximity, we are so far away from each other that if our minds were the stars i would still be sitting here waiting for the light of others to arrive.

21 gunmen salute

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this just in: newsreel bullet-ins showing mugshots and commemorations while the world passes by on a ticker focus on guns and films of blood hyper-real news to reel you in ... YOU tell ME who just shot up the room and who's shooting up with needles prepared with a "threat level" of "doom" who cares about children with holes punched in their chests when dead-eyed delinquents get their faces in the press the holy grail of fifteen minutes of fame is the press pressuring our youth to show us more of the same if you want to BE, you have to be on tv for which you'd better have blood on your hands so that we can see the apocalypse is on, the four horsemen run the show it's prime time now and they've primed everything to blow we call them illuminati, but it's darkness they spread we believe in our democracies but instead they dictate straight to our heads of state who relate to us through fox and cnn and bbc the true terrorist or

incubation

i have spilled ink onto a pristine page that curled around to form a cocoon to incubate my poem my secret poem i hold you up to the light though you are yet shrouded in dark delight i mutter your name as if it's not a vain action to fantasize you complete though your vocal chords aren't yet fully formed, the lines and folds of your letters direct my mind's eyes from the peaks of where yours will be to the troughs of answering whys though you will question me more than i can ever imagine the love i bear you is as much as i do myself as you promise to deliver me from a shelved life to center stage from a mixed metaphor to a saviour of an age and i will watch over you i will nurture you and hold you and guide you and you you will be better than me you will be sharp and clean and clear and you will know no fear of facing the world for i will weaponize you, a weapon of mass construction whenever you play it will be to change the game and you won't ever leave

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders

in recent history witches and wizards from around the world have been gathering sharing their knowledge and insights and spells and inscribing them in giant, dark tomes the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, or DSM, is one such volume of incantations, and the initiated have merely to mumble its words to enchant or curse but rites once performed in dark corners now take place in broad daylight personal curses have become community property subject to community scrutiny personal curses have become a community responsibility we must fix the broken though we may have broken them ... human brains operate on stories and we need those stories to make sense mental trauma is the result of encountering real-life plot holes and plot holes are like black holes, we’re trapped by them, held fast by them until their two sides, their two opposing universes can be glued together again glued together with good stories a good story is a safe worm