Thursday, 29 March 2012

Poem: Sunshine for Rocks (Paper, Scissors) #roundtwotoday

Sunshine for Rocks (Paper, Scissors)

Alright then let's do this
Write something for light, like sunshine
I don't want to see you angry
Or hurt even.

Smile cause you like it
Theater on cue
Everybody happy
No reason not to be.

We'll settle this debate
With rock, paper, scissors
If only so later I can go and play black jack with my bf.

Design diversity in the forest
Accessible literacy and
Leave no person behind
For love and astro-sized possibility
That we are different is good
Have a hug
Have a day where the village raises a child.


Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Poem: Ode to An Ozark Witch

Ode to An Ozark Witch

Thank you! For just being there.
Hunched over hag
Scraggly hair
Ragged
In Black clothes
A cloud of floury dust
Trailing behind you.

I love your
Holey barn board
Shack
Stoney fire chimney
Black cauldron
And rack.
One pot
One plate
One six toed cat.

Your youth flew away from you witch
Some eighty years ago
Wrinkled apple
Murkey watery eye
Webtoes
On both feet
Nettle from the yard
You chew more slowly
Than last time
I saw you.

Sunday, 25 March 2012

Poem: AVO Blow The Whistle

Blow The Whistle

A Veritable Orgy.

Any first year Concordia C student could tell you how its done.
If only the trains would stop hollering
But they have to blow the whistle.

My dad's ghost is around
My grandmother too if you can figure that
My head is insisting
Logic prevails.

Hoses bust in the basement again
Here is your phenomena:
The picture says jump from the bridge
The dialogue does not match the lips
30 to 40 seconds
Is all it takes
And a nasty story becomes
A cold sore
A perpetual vision of shadow.

It be LIES
My family
A gossiping child
A pathological narcissist
With a negative attention span.

I don't mind the ghosts
They push me harder maybe
Rest up
Continue
To find the truth
That is already unopposed
In our hearts.

Saturday, 24 March 2012

Poem: Grifters In Sin City @sportsrage

Grifters In Sin City


“Look at all the money” said Jimmy.
“I know,” said Eleanor. “They're PLAYING with it.”
What a place to be! Thought the two young people
The hustle was greater than the bustle.

A magic place with cards
Already placed on the tables
It was not in the cameras
It was not in the photos
For sometimes what you can't see is right before your eyes.

The sparkly lights attracted the kids
Who had nothing when born Nothing to begin with
There was gold on the ceilings and fish in the walls
Mirror on mirror the hustle was on.

Friday, 23 March 2012

Essay Question: Just For Laughs re: R U Psychic

Just For Laughs re: R U Psychic

Sit down on a bench today and look around. With your feet on the ground enjoy the terra firma
and just have a chuckle to yourself. This is grounding and good for you too. Now think; am I psychic?

Psychic is not some hoobie-goobie mess of floating object and layers of ghosts from the Otherside. Not for most anyway.

It is however an interpretation of symbols in the world, inside our minds and out.

Many examples of practical physic ability can be noted such as art, story telling, business, religion and everyday life. The symbol becomes a multilevel subtext of conversation which is simultaneously the actual surface conversation and a different layer of meaning. Some clever people will have even a third or more by the use of shared symbols. For example your friend and yourself have a memory about say 'bats' and when either of you mention 'bats' it refers to something else. This is a.k.a pretension but for a positive point here I will not continue on that topic. 

There is also an imagining from the mind that is spontaneous, internal and direct from the subconscious. Where these ideas come from may be explained in several ways; most not so mysterious. I think at this point in human evolution that almost everyone uses this part of their mind everyday especially as we become more literate in visual and written communication. The prophesied Age of Aquarius may not really be that far off and will not be the end of the world if people can keep a handle on things.
 
What is really important:
  1. Keep a positive frame of thinking. And in my opinion this is more important than you think. Why? Is because once your mind is open to interpreting symbols in the world there are a lot of very negative ideas that can make you feel terrible. Fear and sharing negative ideas carry on like a chain and then influence more people. Stay positive and happy. Know what is right to yourself and for others and share that idea instead.
  2. Stay Grounded. For most people the reading of subtext will not include The Otherside so just read the message. Is it positive? Does it reflect the way YOU think? Is it funny? Or maybe the message is not so nice so it stops where you found it. And lastly: Does it really matter?
  3. If In Doubt, Don't Go There. People will not always be 'in the mood' for anything but the printed, concrete surface idea. If you can't understand what a message means to you then leave it for another time. You might just be in a bad mood. Miscommunications are unavoidable so if you don't understand come back to it later or alternately; leave it alone. No point taking offense over a message you may be wrong about. You can lose friends that way.

Here for those who venture out into their Mindscape everyday I would like to propose a concept: Find your shadow, where ever it is in the room and mentally shred it. Shred it into a million pieces until it dissolves and only you remain. Sure it is still there. Wave 'hello'. But you might feel good about it and you can always do it again. XOXO. C.


Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Short Story Horror; Invasion of The Evil Twins

Invasion of The Evil Twins

c1970 Inoculation

The babies were all lined up carried in the arms of chatting mothers. Each woman held their child over her shoulder or coddles them in folded elbow nooks. The government issued vaccination orders and it was marketed to the public from the Health and Safety Board. Some babies cried in protest of the wait and were promptly bounced up and down in response with assuring 'shhhhh' sounds. Some babies gave surprised facial expression when pricked with the needle. This was often followed by a bursting howling cry that meant 'Momma! Betrayal!' It is a grand scene of adorable. Burton Cummings music played in the background of the community hall and impossibly accompanied the sounds of metal chairs scraping linoleum floors and the d├ęcor of fabric cubicle dividers providing the false sense of individual attention.

“God bless our future” said the mother next to Joanne.

“God bless them.” replied Susanna.


1984

She dances in front of the mirror with her hair brush microphone. The mirror is full length and she can see her entire self in it. They bought it from the extra large new box store opened in the west part of town. She has a record spinning on the turn table and it plays Girls Just Wanna Have Fu-un.
Her hair is side-ways and she chooses bright green neon fishnet stockings to match her knee length black pants. She has plans for roller skating on Friday night and wants to be ready for the disco lime light. Maybe she will even get a snowball dance with Jamie in his super tight jeans. She reaches for her make up bag and flops on the bed. Lying on her back she knows that she can only imagine the scene: He (so cute!) skates over to her and says '
hey'. He flips his white blond hair and she says 'hey' back.

Roxanne! Get up. You have to get to class already!”

Her daydream crumbles and she gets up.

Mother I know that!” she shouts in an indignant reply.

Stupid school,” she mutters as she grabs her bags and rushes out the door.

There is a new girl at the high school. She looks a lot like Roxanne and even acts the same in so many ways. Roxanne is suspicious and doesn't get a good feeling about her but all the girls want to make friends.

Roxanne. What is your PROBLEM?” asks Marianne.

Yeah Roxy. Too much heat with the new girl? Come on... she reminds me of you and everything. How bad can she be?”

You should stop talking with food in your mouth Beth! I can take it. It's just something about it gives me the creeps!”

-What about Friday?” Roxanne asks to avert the subject. “Thinking about SKATING?”
The girls all start to laugh and find their lockers.

Sabotage 1998


Roxanne meets Diana at several places now. Diana has a habit of appearing out of nowhere and attends the same events. Roxanne's boyfriend has a similar acquaintance. His name is Peter and he arrives in much the same manner. Peter has even taken opportunity to make a pass or two at Roxanne. Events are plagued with the arrival of one or the other.

Roxanne's boss is fuming this morning. As she places her bag on her center office desk and looks up she sees him marching straight towards her.

“Where on earth have you been and why is my report covered in coffee?” he demands.

It's nine o'clock.” say Roxanne. “I'm on time.”
No. It is not nine o'clock. It's currently ten in this time zone. Explain the coffee Roxy. What the hell is going on around here? Everybody's got a case of the god damn crazies it would seem!”

Mr. Elgin slams the wet report on her desks and walks off to his glass encased room.
Roxanne is stumped. She sits down in her chair and stares into space. All she can see is one big imaginary question mark.

Dailin has a similar view of his day. The trucks full of fresh turkey never arrive at their destination. Four thousand people are wondering what to make for dinner. The golf course chef is blasting the telephone answering machine. He clicks on the small black and white television to see if anything out of the ordinary will answer his problem. “Breaking news,” says the reporter. Almost on cue, he thinks. Even with the volume shut off Dailin knows exactly what he is about to be told.


Round Up

One by one the twins are identified. The transport trucks are no longer filled with turkeys or cattle or livestock of any kind. There is a howl from the highways that lasts from Alabama to the swamps of the Northern lights. The clones are classified by DNA markers first stolen from the babies who complained in their mothers arms as swaddling blankets were adjusted around them decades ago. The ground crews wear radiation proof white suits to stave off the reactor's damaging waves. They march through the open pit that resembles a roman stadium as they silently take care.

Monday, 19 March 2012

Re-born Zombies & Dark Machine

Re-born Zombies & Dark Machine

I
For those born at the base of the volcano.

There is poetry in the Morbid,
Dark kleider, black hosen my liebling, mein schatz,
And arguably too; there is light.
We can define it in part
Division by night
That which permits 
Silver moonbeams to streak our sky
I send these to you.

I've been thinking a long time about that dirty machine.
It goes in the food
Consumes and destroys.
The greasy pride of our culture
Sell more
Enslave the tiny
While their fingers are still nimble
Make pretty dresses for ruffled children.
Same story
Long time now.

Oh novelty!
It is gone.
Purchased excitements
Dissolve 5X faster
Than ever before.
Our emotions are thirty percent more
Delivery available 
Act now.
Fleeting at best
Nothing at all
Most of the time.

It is a dirty machine; a shameful machine
With stale invented values
The way we print money
Or create mountains of waste
Hidden away
Like the endless glass bottles of an alcoholic.




II

Preachin' To the Choir

Our culture is a bleeding pool
Flogging along
Of no consequence
Please; revalue
Then click 'verdict'.

Candid creatures of the night
Seduce until taboo completely burns out.
Border lines crossed without passport
Long ago Chomsky forewarned
About imminent peril
Ants tossed at sea
Existential remnants of designer jeans
Goethe's gothic hands claw at the sky
A virtual eternity.

Sunshine preachers, rise from the dead!
Our leaders no longer bathe in compromise
Our chorus sings when happy.

And if the bottom falls
Out
Of the wet ice-cream carton?
Do you rediscover life back in kindergarten
Sharing
Quantify joy in the colour blue
Be thankful for the love we have
Or something to eat.


The gummy sutures that make trails on my arms will heal without infection
The black raccoon eyes that frighten you will fade
Our waters have time to recover.



III

Volley

Minus the chemicals from our meat please
Polluted children
Idle, slapping their own heads
Intestinal leaking mass.
Profit the cows
Grow fastest
Consider the disappearing males (nothing).


I watch friends slide
Into greed like tar pits
Devoured by it
All things human dissipated
One-eyed monster
Locked in focus
Sparing nothing
A totally clear-cut thing.


I would love to have coffee hon
But the boss runs late and
My cubical
Is shrinking
My personalized plastic wrap
Time's up.


IV

So Let's Dance, The Last Dance

In an instant
Wipe it away
All conjured images
Brush the scales from your eyes!
So that at once
The retina readjusts
Your blurred images are in focus
Light is soft
Beautiful again.

This pallor
Takes on form;
A slinking panther
Its prehistoric twin
A type font animal
Swims deep below us in the cold underworld water.

When your stuff is done
And mine is too
We will meet in a Grand Hall
Where we recognize each other's soul on sight
In some great cloud
Created by us
On an island once imagined
But forgotten about.

So let's dance this last dance
I just assume
You can hear the music
I play for you now.


Sunday, 18 March 2012

Poem: The Chocolatier

The Chocolatier

I pour the thick liquid
Slowly
I think of smouldery things
Like chicory and strawberry.

It does land
Eventually
Into the heart shaped mold
And layers on top the pink stripped candy.

In it
Is my thought
A small edible piece of idea
Something to cover your tongue
If the day gets sour
Or bothersome.

There is no fighting allowed in my small candy shop
We only have candy if it is made properly.
I open the small cross framed wooden window
The air is spring and sunshine burns off the early morning fog.

“Good morning”I say to you.
“It is my dear” you reply and kiss my cheek on your way out the door.

Saturday, 17 March 2012

Bought and Sold (Heart and Soul)

Bought and sold, I fell in deep with it,
Bought and sold, nothing left to do,
So badly...
Because my neck was held,
Stolen funds in the night...

Bought and sold, With no alternative,
Sisters too, pushed around some more,
Never forget it...
No more to kiss good night,
Vapor in mist.

“But now I see, what one embrace can do,
Look at me, it's got me loving you,
Madly...
That little kiss you stole,
Held all my heart and soul.” Heart and Soul Frank Loesser


Friday, 16 March 2012

Poem: Love Notes From The Grave

Love Notes From The Grave

My eightieth birthday.
I find your photobox
In it are fifty seven love notes you sent me over the years.

One man
One direction
I never realized
You wrote so many
So you knew everything
Me tring to understand
So alarmist in my fashion
I say each time
“What do you mean!”
And I don't understand you
But they are love letters all the same.

Such lies at the same time
A double shot at the bar
Rest in peace my love
I know they are all over the house still
Tucked in books
Under the laundry hamper floor board
From beyond the grave
You send your final transmission.


Monday, 12 March 2012

Poem: Triple Blind

Triple Blind

I have three eyes
In my house
All from different planets.

When the people started coming
To fix the problems
It was the usual human needs
And so tired, they were beyond my scope of practice.

So three eyes watch the life play
Now installed on the front of my head
Ironic since I never believed in that stuff
I look a little funny,
And autistic-ally shy worry if people are staring.


Sunday, 11 March 2012

Poem: The LAW of THE EXCLUDED MIDDLE

The LAW of THE EXCLUDED MIDDLE

Tyrants who wouldst believe they may conquer own their people
Who would take hostage the souls who would once love their glory
May be met with some unaccounted force.

Justify your message Tyrant for some criminal pursuit
Spread lies to keep out those who would oppose your method
Believe me no human is perfection, no criminal would out run our law.

The stories of truth are contained in folk music.
Evolution happened and schooled by the conspiratorial hippies
We all discover your illusion simultaneously
Neighbor to neighbor
Friend to friend
Brother to sister
Cousin to cousin
And yes, notes on the subway.

Waldon told me a story about a dream that couldn't really work
For many reasons I suppose, the means for application out of reach
Too small yet; the state of malicious immaturity still popular
I accepted that for the good of the people.

Game change now
Civility still applies
But your product Tyrant is bullied children who choose a different option
The one's who reach for something other than a coil of rope
Because they are not alone anymore
And so many, so many are not children.

Friday, 9 March 2012

Short Story Fiction; The Charm June 2004

The Charm 
Originally Published in Anthology 'Cinders', June 2004. I haven't read it in a while but I remember the premise.
Part I
The charm of such a time rested in the hands of random order. Imagine, just for a moment that all guns froze. All those with angry urges to kill sat appeased like children consuming their ice cream and a saline sort of love slithered like wind-swept ribbons through the air. Bright gold lights and yellow walls illuminated everything with large cartoon-style lucky charms of optimism. This may represent only half our colourful emotional spectrum but let’s agree it is so for the sake of this tale.
Suddenly, all people paused. Just paused. All clink and ring and bells, all sirens dwindled- unwound right down, until everything fell silent. Car motors choked out in the endless lines of traffic, their headlights first flashing on and off only to die out completely. In every bustling place of business, every morning-swamped restaurant and logo plastered coffee house eyes lifted slowly, expectantly towards the ceiling. At one such location a waitress abruptly sat herself down, folded her black plastic tray into her chest with both arms crossed and muttered ‘-hun’ to no one in particular.
Every person and inanimate object waited for an Omnipresence to make its entrance. The feeling was like you just knew you were going to miss the next bus on the line home. Later politicians would denounce the entire incidence as one of an electrical generator malfunction somewhere outside the New York City limits.
But this is a tale of love. Never mind how the governments attempt to spoon feed Joe Public repackaged pabulum.
This is not the kind of love between an expectant mother decorating the nursery-to-be and a child waiting to see the results. Not the kind between lovers who have wet the sheets with damp salty sweat, mapping out their first days. This is a kind of love that only a faith-healed believer could create. It is the exact same belief that, even today occurs between that Village in the north Ozarks and a Great and Powerful Witch.
Are we in Oz? No, we are where you stand at this moment in time. 

art II
Dearest Beverly,
I thought it just a trick of the mind. Perhaps the events of which this letter is really about are already happening. I can’t tell- there is no High-tech or machines out here. I bought this place for that reason. Just read this and write back as soon as you can.
I have been alone out here for such a long time that I find it difficult to judge anything objectively. I affectionately call this place- my place, The Low-Tech. Hey Bev maybe you remember; my eightieth birthday is just around the corner. I’ve ignored the years and just kept going.
I’ve committed images of the blank walls surrounding me to my long-term memory banks. It had to be done. They are painted, white cinderblock cement randomly pitted and pockmarked with tiny shadowed holes. The holes often dance for me in the firelight and funnily enough, resemble a teenage fight with acne.
I have the usual gripes accompanying my old age. My vision is failing and if I glance at objects while in motion, they tend to blur. I haven’t seen a mirror bigger than the circumference of a tea saucer since I arrived late in the summer of 1972. The grass blades were sharp and green. Let’s assume I have wrinkled. My hands are losing their function more and more every day and because of it, I suspect that I will have to return to modern life within the year. I will have to go back anyways. The Shadows on the Wall have been repeating the same messages for as long as I’ve been here. Wait- then go back!
Before I arrived here I travelled through quiet mountainous regions in the United States. My modest idea of travelling had been to walk, through dirt roads with High-tech backpack gear and a thermal sleeping bag. For some reason I thought this to be a better than sound idea. It was there I met the strangest woman. Our meeting, by my perceptions then, was quite accidental.
I spotted her, awkwardly approaching my direction from approximately fifty paces. I raised my head from the view of the dirt road moving under my feet and noted myself witness to quite a display of fanciful oddness. Her black rag cloak seemed as hurriedly constructed as it had been thrown onto her back. She possessed matted red and silver hair, piled near a foot high onto the top and sides of her head. It appeared that she had made up her coif, creating a makeshift beehive. This donned her with qualities from some sort of a bizarre Bohemian age. Her manners too, were satirical. She walked in incessant half-circles, a native-like back and forth dance that created small dust clouds about her feet as she progressed down the road. She told me details about a pending and crazy moment in time that I should watch out for and I believed her. I believed what she said with every inch of my person.
I thought I should write and tell you the Whys and Whereabouts. You know, I was completely unable to ignore that bizarre encounter on the mountain. I bought The Low-tech property within two weeks of that journey and have remained here ever since.
I hope you get this letter.
Write Soon,
Love Stell

Part III

Destruction of spaces… blasted like a sand storm across black urban tar. Veritable riots, looting, rage incited running/ heavy panting. One starting the next upon the next- domino, k-aos deconstructionism, modern. Identities tossed like stained laundry. Nothing could tally as quickly as the damage came.
I hid in the back of my office unable to scream for fear of attracting something worse than what had already come. I was shocked white- the kind when truth has stopped your heart. It was all over as far as I could see, everything, as I’d known it. Dear Stell! I wish you could hear me now. My hope has dissolved. My urine collected in paperclip jars.
My thoughts were these- Magic Genie lanterns, UFO abduction, Jesus saving my soul, Elvis helping me walk again, reincarnation, a greater consciousness opening my psyche thereby evoking ESP, transmutation, transfiguration and eventual ascension. My beliefs had to outlast the Big Burning. They had to be greater than my circumstance or I faced an incomprehensive mental system meltdown. I required the sum of my latent philosophies to achieve critical mass. I know it is too late. These seeds are from fields of the past.
Part IV
Shhhhh! (This is what is believed. The written word. Ink printed into a variety of shapes on paper. Then, it can also be said that the greater the amount of words produced by machine the greater the word’s assumed validity. All logic authenticated by popularity of opinion. More people believe this—therefore it is certain truth. Democratic truth.)
The headlines read, ‘Boy Makes Get Well Card’ and depict a grinning young fair-haired boy balancing a giant construction paper crafted card. The card read ‘Get Well Soon’ and was an assemblage of multicoloured collaged bits of the same paper representing rubber ducks, fireman hats and geometric patterns. The boy’s mother repeated over and over how the boy had barely survived delivery and how there had been nothing but problems since. She chalked it up to past life crimes committed by the child and stated that she ‘was well on her way to finding a regression specialist.’
The story alongside the photo went like this: enraged by the losses incurred by mass society due to the k-aos causing pause, the precocious boy determined that he ought to make things right again and so, he sat down with his crafting supplies and proceeded to make the card, intended for one and all. He stated to the reporter that he “just wanted everyone to feel better”. And we can suppose from this, in concurrence with the laws of democratic truth, perhaps with the exception of his mother that they did.
(But nothing happened. Nothing changed. And nothing happened. Nothing changed. And nothing happened. Nothing changed. And nothing happened. Nothing changed. And nothing happened. Nothing changed. And nothing happened. Nothing changed.)


 

Poem: DUDE! They said: This Is An Experiment

DUDE! They said This Is An Experiment


Would you provide reason
To argue against the capture of a real monster?
Where is the money going? What are the laws required for capture?
This is impossible and we cannot help.

Old people scammed of their savings
Children we can't see
Homes and families destroyed
Horrible things are happening.

The vulnerable
Are beautiful
Children in the Rainforest
Age gracefully because you worked hard your whole life
Pretty and smart at the same time
An International Dream.

Nerds have superpowers
Nepotism is out of fashion
They did tell you smarty.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

Poem: Unedited~ Liberation By Bedding

Unedited~ Liberation By Bedding

It's a Doris Day
When 50's garb is ridiculous
And smooth legs are for the glide.

Clothing forbidden
It's your birthday
It's my birthday too.
Un-shy un-edit yourself
Cute men of the mindcubes
Liberation on the front
In a woman's way.

Curves and peaks
Dip into valleys
This is not your mother's landscape
A shadowy play on volcanic passion
A private display of lustful affection
Touch my
I look at
Gravity is beautiful
Human divine.

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Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Its The Children~ Second Generation Market Targets

Its The Children~ Second Generation Market Targets

I applaud marketing. I think I was the first television generation of the big brand product adverts. All our favorite toys and must haves. The soda to drink. The place to shop. Our kids see much more and a whole lot
faster.
What they see as popular has taken form in a total new idea. From what I watch the images seen are flash
pictures and animation. They are collected, like sea-shells as Jack Dorsey mentioned in his interview with Commonwealth.org. Although there are 'mature' social medias I think the most appealing means for messaging
with children on the internet is a modern version of the picture story book and it is www.tumblr.com/


Poem: Forty Daze In The Desert


Forty Daze In The Desert

I took that long journey
Out to the desert
Spike fallace
Rhymes with palace
To the rocks and the sand and the sky(lab).

I need to face Myself
Strike a deal with God
Higher-self, Omnipresent Energy, Faith Creator
The eye of Raven
Shaking rattle of Cocopah.

Stop the train!
Just one minute alone
With you
Just one minute please
And then we can return to work.

I stand in the sun
One-armed man I'll find you
Look up
Look around
Oblivaceous Cormorant spots snake
Drops from sky
A snack it thinks
More please it says.

Locals tell rumors of a villain
Spinning eyes
Habitat: Cave
With a thousand enslaved dogs
And a blimp for fast escape.

Blimps are used when people know they are doing wrong.
Caves are used when people try to fly to the sun.


Tuesday, 6 March 2012

Love Poem For Jack (Some Guy)


Love Poem For Jack

This is a love poem for some guy named Jack.
Man! He's a brawler.
Deep exhale
I get all spun up just thinkin' on it.

You should see him tear down the highway all rebel-like in his black leather jacket
He rips up the punks like a preacher on Sunday
Takes out the poison with his lips
And spits it in the dirt.

All the girls are just dyin'!
He can barely keep'em off his arm
Universe size magnetron dines where he likes.
Don't tell my dad I'm crushin' he'd send me to my room for sure!

You should see this guy named Jack
He'll make stories into legends and girls into woman
Man! What a Baller
The G's got it all going on.


Poem: Between You and Me CENSORED VERSION


Between You and Me Early 9:35am

From me then,
Just me
Not the world
No assignment to Universal translation.

Iambic pentameter Romeo
You flex your massive muscles
This is Venice beach
And I hang from your very arm.

You ask me about rock stars
I say, and What would I do with that?
Lasting only til morning
The brilliant only speaking one language.

Didn't you know I was clamped down
Strapped to a gurney
Injected for treasox
The skin on my face peeling off
Just having clean water a challenge
In first world
What the hell
'You can find a job' you said
I couldn't even find a door.

But I returned
Inevitable
My curiosity
Magnetized to fate
Guilted into contributing
Propriety
Stop the freakin fights!

I don't give a damn about the past
It is just not the point
A lawsuit for damages
An unjust egg-beating of young brains
So much for investments.

They're writing songs of love- but not for me.
A lucky star's above- but not for me.”

So get jealous if you want
Be a tyrant
I'll love you anyway
Prepare for countermeasures
Because your implication is not very nice.
Yes it is our killer future
I'll support the sport of it
Because I trust your fabric.
a million dollars

Sunday, 4 March 2012

Short Story SciFi Fiction: Love Stories and White Stripes


Love Stories and White Stripes

Our picture glows from the fusion lights behind it. You look at me so intensely. I wish I had been able to smile for the picture. I swear it was almost erased entirely by that time. You worked at it. Your ways so subtle, so persistent and convincing. Eventually I did laugh but it would be months after the photo, months of shaking off the disillusionment that took years to build. I am happy for us. Happy for myself for once.

The hydroponic system kicks in and release fine white mist onto the vegetables planted by you in tidy long rows. The way you like things. Even though you've never said it out loud the problem of water spots on the stainless steel still aggravates you. I can tell it is what you are thinking by the way you buzz around the edges of the trays. Your body language says there is still one more master stroke to make. It says life would be perfect then but really it never is. You are already perfect and you make me laugh. More perfect, you think. I think much the same of myself.

My desk is spotless. The suspended thin crystal panel hangs by air vacuum wire; its surface completely blank. The engineers wait for my next map. I can practically hear the toe tapping. This recent deadline is respectable but I have to start from zero again. Success is sometimes the biggest stressor. The landscapes I created for them were exactly what they were looking for and they wanted another. They requested a variant of the same. I imagine something in a solar flare, something a little hotter this time; like pepper fiddle sauce.

I voice command <SCREEN/ON>

The light in the room changes to blue; a custom modification to ease my eyes and aide creative process.

<TOUCH/VERSION1> I announce.

I reach for the space in front of me and begin to trace out the curves of the land that will be with my finger.

Earth expressed its last breath a while ago. The atmosphere released itself in a bang and the sun's radiation waved over its surface in one fast and final flash. The scientists at the time knew very well this end was on the way and inevitable. All the business funded propaganda and bribery did not alter the truth of destruction. The toxic garbage pile humans managed to create so successfully outgrew mother nature and Earth was laid to rest. The only positive was that almost all labeled 'environmental conspiracists' had left the planet. Well in advance of Earth's demise they began to invent atmosphere generators for the new target planet of Neptune. The generators fought the challenges of its temperature and unimaginable winds. They began to smuggle plant species to Neptune. They found success. It was the Great Exhale; oxygen and sustainable life on Neptune.

I find your love note beside the tea plant.

{(WATCH4ME.back(callback),timed-out)};WATCH.DARLING}

Yes, I think. I will do just that. I smile quietly, knowing you will appear in the teleport any second. I am not getting any work accomplished but no one will know any better. My heart picks up speed a little. Maybe a few more attempts at the landscape homework.

I create a smooth curve and add chakra colours to it in fuchsia and electric blues. I imagine a flame building and place it along the left side. I make trees rise in small lined groups. I colour them purple first but change my mind to gold. Gold oak trees of a historical nature tip their leaves as the slow, simulated-organic breeze strokes over their tops.

The scientist say the ice on Neptune is melting at the right speed and with the new atmosphere is providing a fine water source for oxygen particles. The ice is being heralded the foundation for survival. Plants are growing and the animals are establishing order.

Our pair of white tigers live quite contently below the twenty foot balcony built of lightweight suspension and amalgam metals. The builder's materials of choice for everything. The tigers hardly notice us or maybe just don't care that we are here. They are beautiful and every newly immigrated Neptunian is encouraged to provide habitat for some species. They are, as we, the last of their kind and are so beautifully deserving.

The technologies on Earth developed exponentially and synchronistically. When the final surmise arrived teleporters were active and reciprocal units placed at the new base. The manipulation of worm holes had been achieved. Earth would benefit the most from this achievement as willing persons could return to the plant and incite a reparation process. It was a very difficult pioneering but they did it.

Entrance sound plays and your beautiful face appears on my screen.
“Hello darling.” I say quietly as I look up from my project.
“Hello.”
“How's travel?” I ask chirpily.
“Very well. I will be back soon.”

You smile. I smile. We sit and just look at each other through the screen.

“I have good stories to tell you about some progress we are making on the New Earth Plains. People are reacting positively towards the systems integration habitats. There is a lot of room for growth.”
“That's wonderful. You're so smart looking. When are you coming home?”

We both start laughing together. There are some things that will never be replaced with invention like breath and body heat and heart beat.

{key-paradise-hand-Prussiana-VenusII {A.classCasimir +=" "+A.getDielectric ("data-highlight-class-name")

There are three hundred and three mapped worm holes in our universe. They are all employed in space time travel. The calculations for time position fluctuations and gravitational crush are complete. Rebirth is possible heed the corrosion of clear ethics.

<sublime="messages" data-love="messages"> 41714001.

BRANDED: A Poem for Cowboys


BRANDED: A Poem for Cowboys

Yippee Koi Yay.
It's Sunday and the sermons
Are Baptismal.

Cowboys on sandy plains
Cowgirls in braids
'You took my daddy an' now I'm mad'
A wild west
Scene
Down at the Hollywood set
Busting corsets
Those girls know all the secrets.

The best shooters have their horses stolen
The last straw Pardner
Silverado was the best
Mother's crying now
Can't efford to replace him.

The stage coaches blow up dust
Along the trail
None of your armed guards
Can halt real bandits
What you got in there that's of such importance?
A ruby to toss in the forest.
Gold coins to rest my soup cauldron
Let's have a look-see.

Black coach
Covered up windows
Your woman
Drugged and asleep on your shoulder
You didn't need that horse.
A rope for justice
Crimes in the Badlands
Appropriately named
Just below the boss's property
Justice comes by
Slinger in most stories.

Yippee Koi Yay.

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Poem: They Just Keep Comin'


They Just Keep Comin'

Clack Clack Clack
The Trains
Just keep comin'
Mr. King
Can you hear me now?
The riddle is a red line
Out logic-ed your
Nightmare train
Oh it's a trick
Alright
Blaine-Blaine-Blaine
Believe-Believe-Believe
Phantom Dj's misinform
It is in the very script.

Humans
Can't really be that bad
Our nature
Childlike
Wants to play
(see exception to rule 101)
Our government
A massive money-management company
Death and taxes.

The train of mass hysteria
Rolls through
Blasting whistles
It's on the way
“Storm approaching” it says.

Oh its a tricky slide
of hand
The shell game arrives
At any time
Suddenly
Things LOOK
Dufferent
Kind-of all the same.
That feeling
Like 'oh no'
Frost flowers exploding
Release bromine
Destroying atmosphere.

And you are correct
If you feel that way
You are correct
This is no illusion.

It will be dark for a while
The only way to catch a thief.

If you feel
This is shaking your
Reality
A little too much
Take shelter
Stand far away from the tracks
Trust in something
Pray for the sun to rise
The next morning
It is Passover, baby
The Angels have arrived.

Thursday, 1 March 2012

Poem: Graffiti Murals on The Subway


Graffiti Murals on The Subway

I take the subway
Carefully go down the gray shiny staircase
Listen for music
Echo
Off the walls man.

I feel my hair lift
Remember why I don't usually wear skirts
I picture a child here and there
Where there are none.

A can of coke on the side of the pathway
Knocked over by a bench
I feel bad someone's left it there
But I won't pick it up myself.

There needs to be art here
A midnight landscape of foaming seas
With spiritually Native things rolling out of it.
And more things for no reason
Painted across the builders blocks.

I am not stuck here
With an architect or a librarian
They come go quickly.

In small spaces there are pieces of writing
Jammed in cracks
'Maria please, I love you.'
'Call me Bo, Az 8473727491'

There is graffiti art on the subway
The artists 
Are fantastic
For I arrive at my destination in no time at all.
Real enough for time's sake
There is no disproving that.