blueimber: (Default)
My friend Chrys
in all her awesomeness
sometimes writes about this Free Will Astrology
and so after reading about it all this time but never actually going to the site
i finally did today
and was curious to what the archived horoscopes would have told me
((I like to compare my past experiences to horoscopes to find a site that is actually in tune to me))
my horoscope for the last week in September
lead me to this list written by Jack Kerouac
of his 30 essentials
which are like completely and totally on par with me, my lifestyle and the way i live. ^_^

Here they are:
  1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
  2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
  3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house
  4. Be in love with yr life
  5. Something that you feel will find its own form
  6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
  7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
  8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
  9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
  10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
  11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
  12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
  13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
  14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
  15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
  16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
  17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
  18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
  19. Accept loss forever
  20. Believe in the holy contour of life
  21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
  22. Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
  23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
  24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
  25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
  26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
  27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
  28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
  29. You're a Genius all the time
  30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven
The only one that doesn't really jive is the Never get drunk outside your own home thing
tho artistically speaking it could be interpreted in many ways..

i particularly love 'Accept Loss Forever' and 'write what you want bottomless...'

The typos in the list, of course, are all his.
I wish i could be his contemporary
i wish i spent dark, homeless on the road nights with him and Ginsberg and Burroughs and Watts and Carr--
laughing and smoking and being destroyed by madness, starving hysterical--
i have always lived to be one of the mad ones-- as he wrote..

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you see the blue center-light pop, and everybody goes ahh..."

This list will be my new bastion
my reference when i get the blues
my justification for living at the height of my poetry and prose
for always burning
and raging against the dying of the light.


blueimber: (Default)
there was a word
there was
a first thought
something sparked out in the darkness and the cold space of night
when the silence had descended and
under the quiet heard
that bell
for the first time
the sound of it coming down
the hope of a word
of a thought
it echoed your name.

like the first warning drumbeat
of a waking heart

but it will not rise
drugged with shame and dissatisfaction
laying there
oh flesh
filled with poison and

the drum beats again
you cannot deny who you are

the inspiration is only whispering
it gives these
when the world feels like it is on fire
and then
leaving behind in its wake something hungry
strips at my walls and
away i waste

i open my mouth and it is dust which escapes
it is everything i know crumbling down
it is
something calling to me
trying to pound against the walls
i have sealed myself in
telling me

telling me
i could escape.
blueimber: (Default)
((I can't remember if i posted this here when i wrote it. 12 pages. Enjoy!))

imagine there's no heaven

once we painted pictures
where our eyes should have been
and never could we seem to find them
for always there was just reflection in glass.

tonight i look to the bottom of the glass to see
if i am walking the line

the line the line the line
reminds me of
that fragile connection to
what happened september 11
oh how all i was searching for the line

else in our lives
the white is sometimes washed
grey almost
at the edges
as if there were nothing really pure in the world
but i see it in the undisturbances
pure comes along the rim of a jar
a flicker of shadow
and inking of line

to make days pass faster
before i can make the leap and take my fall
i surround myself with beauty
soon too i shall grow flowers
and make once more
those wonderful things in ovens
risen and hot
the metaphor lost on my
domestic self

you cannot always get what you want.

sometimes air hangs heavy off the line
and we hear the woman bring it in
across the lot from this new life

she askes me if it is worth it
and i tell her that of course it is

and we have this dialogue
my little girl and i
small talk in small voices
like whispers of the friends we were when
all there was was the moon

sometimes in this life you find
your twin born off from somewhere far
from where you were
but realize
you are exactly differently the same

so i live with her
and her
we all being the 'she's who make it this happen
this happen

buddah he smiles on it
zen in my garden of computers and paint brushes
my Jerry on the wall
giving his elastic smile with an interesting juxtapositioning in his hand
the papers of love
upon which are curling the gentle smoke of the word

the word

the word has lost meaning and sometimes i think
that i cannot speak it anymore
rare moments of clarity break down
into lucid wet paintings which
never seem
to be of anything at all
why is it
that he can paint it all one color
and yet i
who have such beauty seen
cannot even get a color
to express that violent feeling

((that was you in the shower
those were your eyes
it was me there

it was us
don't you remember?
and i fear my love is falling all apart again
all over again
as if as if as if
the bells ring the knell
and never
i whisper this, you see
i am already afraid
that it is lost
are you..
lost in all?
this tide
leaves me empty
oh where
has the wind
begot you?))

i place the steps to the delicate dance
upon the flooring of my soul
it is again
all mirrors
don't break
the glass
if shattered
like this love
it can never be rebuilt
makes you question
solemn irony
of once broken dreams all
in the matter of arangement
of how the pieces fall...

where does the word fall upon the
hapless ears of a
befuddled world?

this language is lost to me
it makes no more sense
and sometimes
i do not even understand myself

i surround myself with beauty

women are weak creatures in their passions
they come in to the counters
and talk to the ladies
all in black
who women deem
sit supreme
upon thrones of beauty
in judgement of
the ugly
they will plead before the bar
for justice and youth
with the contents of their wallets, souls
they come and plead
never once looking at themselves
and for what they ask
they touch their face
not looking
and motion to the mirror
never breaking eye contact
observe the mirror
remember alice
but instead their swan motions
as they deny what appears in the glass
and beg
for the salve
that could make beauty and light
in the soul

i don't deny what appears in the glass
and always
i hold it out to them who come
thinking me a judge
and finding me

a teacher

((sometimes i wonder if i would have
that last dinner
and be the woman
fluttering at his side
crying into his cup
when devils pierced his side))

but no
not denying the glass
almost always the glass delivers the line
raw upon the edge
a seam of blood
or perhaps
handed down
word of our departure from who we were

young ladies growing up

"in the room
the ladies come and go
talking of

sometimes i forget
yet remembering
sometimes the glass is only the surface under which
we have been denied

what did i write?
that it was like
being stuck in the sky
falling back into the water
of our lives
and being able to breathe again
that is how
suffocation feels
the lack of drowning

so is that how it was to be for us?

just like it wasn't blood

oh yes.
it wasn't blood
but remember
we thought it would be.

bleed the bad things out against the skin
until all the world was new again



wasn't it the end too
of that forefather?
and didn't he
become famous in his own right?

keep your wooden opinions to
we are not sick.

yes. not sick at all.

When the truth is found

When the truth is found
it will be revealed
that he never had a sweetheart
and he never had a home

always it served us
to listen quietly

for the orchestrations that
illustrate this life
lead on in many ways
but never let you really

hear the beat
as if god was playing baby grand
and all you could really hear
was the sway of his shoulders
as the reverie grips him

but he finally found a home

fell the fabled walls of jehrico
those trumpets
that sometimes you can hear
above it all

sound it
sound it
for we are ready
with extra water bottles
and batteries
to get us through the nights

all of my love falls around november

All of my Love Falls around November
ivory leaves and
beautiful crisp rose deadheads of color
our brilliant blue skies

shall we all meet in
the autumn?

oh it will be something to behold
this fall

and this time
when it happens
who will be behind the stars that catch us
as we fall up into the sky?

oh for the fall brings fireworks
and determines slowly in its right
how harsh our winter will be

will the snow drift us in until we must
cozy down and build a fire?
shall it all be rain and ice
where our heels slip out from under us
after achillies had taken his spill
and leave us on pavement
as nothing more
than sadness
and blood?

we pray to leda and
her swan down
for cozy thoughts of
the what could be
should ever
there again be
dangerous dangerous love.

he knew with his indifference before
he cast this about my neck
oh he knew
and to some degree
i bent the slender
so in all it would fit
the tighter
silver clasp'd chain around
to keep my soul
and thoughts
directed singularly
even when
i could not find the words.

((several days i had to break free of it
because the throes
gripped too hard
and i got bruises
i told them it was abuse of the love
they knew my secret smile
did not ask further))

Pianos sound the track of our footfalls.


gentle rain across the melody of life
sometimes she said
and i thought the whole world in that moment would
wash away.
all in our
an entire force in mourning
for the economy
is that all there is
to the world?
is that
all there is?

each day i break against the storm as
sunlight in the waking hours
for although the wind
blows through me like violins
it is the piano of
sun speckled clouds
within the seed of the sky
which prevails
as the resonance to which
we accord our lives.

we accord our lives to bus schedules
and try to make our ways home.

so it is that circles engender in
our gyre.

a deep breath and the chest sinks
proudness struggling
he is crippled and old
ah but the ladies promise youth!
won't pride step up
to the bar?

((She stamped her feet.
i remember this
when they cornered her and asked about

the jeans rolled up
and stuffed into the folds
of her purse
she stamped one yellow heel'd foot
making the motions
to either
or run
the girls placed their bets on her
but i
smiled silently
and knew that
double oh nine would take down
the bull))

all of it related and none of it tied together
but what if i gave you the key
of the between lines?
would you be able to find the secret alley
and claim your birthright'd treasure?
oh we talk of
misplaced youths and trusts
do we really know where it all had gone?

there are none of us who fit perfectly
because how can you possibly hope
to organize a puzzle this big
you can clearly see the table it is all laid out upon?

once, in our youth and childhood
we had two pictures going once
half the box had half of one puzzle
and the middle of another entirely
all summer was spent bowed over the small shelf
even when the lake called out its loon cry to us
at the moonlight
we sat and turned the pieces
mademioselle does borders
until i had
a simple outline of one world
colored in entirely with
centers of another

and not one clear picture
of either.

like songs without notes

you can never reconcile the image of the maker
with the story that unravels in your mind
always are the half truths of reality and
all the world in what you fantasize to be free

aristotle would have told us to get free

and the web of the words
falls away from me
as the world gives away back to the fog of life
because i thought perhaps i had learned something.

something to be said if
you read me

((indeed, she said
what could come of any of this?
no one hears what you cry in your corner in the dark anyways.

they hear
but most
choose simply to listen to what has been told
and then
cipher the curd from the whey
they wait for the dream to separate
for perhaps they wish to make butter
or perhaps
they just want to know that the undertow has sufficed
and shall draw its venom away from the surface of the
before they wade
into the fray


but don't you still hold
that it would all
sound better
in french?

would the language make any difference?


no. you would still not understand the words.
and this would be even less than nothing.

ah but
at least if it were in french
an excuse could be seen for why no one
gets it.

i am tired of excuses.

then why persist?

sometimes madness overflows.


yes. if only i knew french.))
blueimber: (Default)
in my mind
the whole world is going to loose me.
i am going to let a little bit of it come crashing down.

our skies are falling
the stars blank right out
the sun hisses as it's pressed out of existence
and the moon sinks away into deeper space--

my god and it is all breaking

the trite refuse of this world
oh girl how sad it was that you had a thought.

how sad it is indeed little girl that you sit there
all day
and dream
and follow everything that has ever led you into heartache
all over again.

it is always the same
doesn't anyone present anything different?

like the queen had told unto alice
in this world child
you are insignificant.

i turn away and turn away and turn away
each day i open my eyes and it is something else
life giving me no constance.

i am nine days away from three years.

each day each day each day
each day i wake up and face what i am afraid of most
each day i thank god for whatever i may have been able
to get done
and each day i fight back the tide that seeks to overwhelm me
pull me down into its vicious subtle poison
the idea
of my unnatural life.

nine days
to three years.

i am a little proud for it
that i have for this long managed to stop myself.
don't think i don't think about it
gods no no no
i must think about it near constant
save those few moments
when the little fox of love
curls up against me
and fills me with hope--

oh silly girl
lost in the woods
listening to the howl of the animals,
scraping her body against stones

steel the stones of our prison
steel the rocks of our shores
millions of points of razors and blades
the sort of thing
that would of me
have ribbons made

my whole skin

three years

no more messing around
i've crossed that threshold.

this was what was waiting for me on the other side

devastating wretchedness
something so deep it is poisoning my blood
turning my body against myself
something very wrong
something very soon

but if i can just make it
if i could just get beyond these nine days

these nine days resisting the lure of it
the sweet song of our redemption
the ease of all this suffering
the silent kiss upon the brow of eternity

oh they could put me in the ground and forget me
i would very much like to be forgotten
i would very much love to fade away and have no one notice
that i had been gone
it is the most lady-like way to go about a thing

sometimes i actually sit here and think
that one
thin little line
would do no harm
that just one brilliant stroke
against the alabaster of the pain
would serve just right
to make everything feel like it was worth it again

no, i whisper under my breath, no no no.
a sworn oath you cannot break
your promise, your promise
you must never serve to break
i calm my blood, i cool my body
and i sit there with my eyes closed and
i wait.

i sit and i wait
listening for
the word.

it is out there in every night
everynight tells a different story
i suppose it is why i get up to face the day
because i want to know how it ends
i want to know what the night holds for me
constantly under the realm of the moon
but in those moments
those moments where this solitude
this vast empty
this unfathomnable void
becomes too great a burden
for me to handle
yet there is not any other thing i alone can do for it
i am able to now stop myself
and simply listen
for the sound of it.

even if it does not come down
sometimes there are moments

i was hoping tonight for something
i am useless to think that
this silence too
i could break.

eight days left
has been crossed into
and the infinite cycles within those loops
reminds me
that even if i removed myself from this otherwise sad picture
some creative designer is just going to blink me back into it again

altho for tonight
i served to be broken
the closer it gets 'to life'
the more certain i am that i will be fine.

i will be fine.
blueimber: (Default)
like fire sparks light the darks
illuminate the greys
in darkness wrought the things were frought
and hushed in all our days
then on the fly, starlight and i
and found straight way our wyse

then into shadow creeps the light
and from goodness wounds the blight
and carries them all away

and where shall the dance go on
and where shall the fete end?
here and alas the dirt is black
and there and forsooth water deep
and always always always
where and hownow spirit le vie

dig down dig down dig down
my friends
dig down dig down dig down
and when you hit the barest ends
dig down dig down

dig down to find the coaly mine
dig down to find what was all mine
dig down to redeem the final hour
dig down to dreamsweet not sour
dig down dig down

in when you are in that deepest hole
when the hour is past and the minutes ramble on
when you thing you are here but know you are gone
when you at last see the light yet know no sky
and only that---
is where you shall find

blueimber: (Default)
this weekend promises to bring
the circle closer and back
oh we shall save this ribbon
for a darker day

from out the sad state
of which life presently has placed me
comes a weekend of salvation
at the mercy of boston
and all her salty tea

something convinces men
to not lay down next to me
to not stay after they've had their share
something tells them to leave me
laying alone
bitterly alone

all i want is an arm around me
all i need is to touch and be touched
and all those who have--
are so very far away.

but even those men...
even those boys---

if they love you
why do they leave
before darkness can even
take its prowling stance
why would they abandon me
to the cold and nightmares
to all the things i fear

this feeling---

this feeling....

he smiles at me from the supper table
as i scrape the last of the breadcrumbs into the trash
it is a silly grin
which exposes his teeth
white tablets with pink gums...
his parted lips, pink too, fleshy..
the smile still says i am hungry
altho i just fed him...

i walk up to where he is sitting in my kitchen
and place his head against my body
i kiss his forehead
and look down into his eyes
and he says he loves me
he doesn't know what he would do without me
but i know what he would do
he would not eat in my kitchen
he would eat in his real girlfriend's kitchen
the one in the house
where he lives
he is not mine
but he says he loves me
and i, alone, am willing to act
to wile away lonely...

his hungry smile
turns into gentle pulling
we tumble to my bed
and no kissing
no touching
almost instantaneous

and he says
as he grows inside of me
but he does not follow through
with owning me
he'll not kiss hard enough to mark me his
he'll not press my wrists
nor bruise my skin
he'll not make me unable to live without him...

as soon as he thinks i've had it
as soon as he hears me cry
he lays me down on my back
and like an animal
takes what i do not deny

and then i become less than what i am
when he pulls away from me
and in that moment after
when you're supposed to see the stars...
i am left cold and shaking

while he washes every trace of me
away from his skin
and makes me feel......
so worthless
so very very worthless.

and i think of what i have known
and i know i don't deserve this
and i think about what is in my heart
and i hurt to know what i am, have done--

it spirals
it gets worse

i keep hoping that one day
they'll stay...

but everyone leaves
don't they?

everything you love gets carried away.

i don't want to be the other girl anymore.

September 2017

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