TEXT

sweet poison ashamed of what you have ashamed of what you don’t have and not asking anything of anyone anywhere. bright egg smiles and one limbed bodies. jokes and sadness.  el otro lado doesn’t seem so cool from here. and you still cant invite your friends back home with you. some other time. in another time. as other people. crushing with thumbs of paper and steel on top of adoboe. dusty earth fruits rampant music. caldo in the pot make the fruit swim coming back for seconds with a smile. How. Are. You. bueno, gracias. dip in the pot and swish for fruit.  verduras de suerte. Comidas no bombas en the dark district. dinners 4 days a week out back. until it runs out. the cactus carefully placed itself in the architechts hands and gripped the first rock he placed it in. sturdy earth.  how do you live? and buy the roof and water in the jug. one quiet perdito in the sea of wolves howl nightly. the calm is contagious.  free bleeding evaporated heat. the tourist districts all have painted milk jugs. Or cows. Or turtles. Or Dolphins. it’s how you know you’re there. much light in the pasaje. much musica. you could smoke on the level above and look down at the cafes. micro worlds like the ones in Spanish language books. where Jorge will endlessly go from floor 0 to floor 2 and turn a la derecha to get to la librería.  And el bebe snoozes on tio’s shoulder as tia y mama tomar bebidas. more real than the world I came from.

now haptic

for us in the now haptic ceiling action feeling preparing it for the screen plate waiting for applause media a version not to be suckled with the box that you’re playing with seeking myth nostalgia in the current rip tide the earth outerspace deep water the earth outerspace deep water the earth outerspace deep water

sinketh

critical to be kind                    

           (measured)

out done with politic

revel in wonderland

compelled by every breath you take

every step is a choice you make

YOU WILL LIVE ONLINE

YOU MUST LEARN

TO BREATHE THERE

YOU MUST LEARN TO

SEE THERE AND

YOU MUST PROJECT

YOURSELF INTO THE

MIASMA AND MAKE

IT HOME WHERE

YOU MAY BE BODILESS

BEWARE YOU MAY BE

BOT and SOLD THERE

TO THE Nth DIAMETER

OF YOUR MATHLESS

MIND WHO CONTROLLED

YOU ONCE STILL WILL

WE WORKED FOR

MEALS OR HANDFULS

OF FRUIT WHEN

WE WERE TEETHING

BUT SOON SOMETHING

WILL CHEW FOR YOU

AND BREATHE OUT

YOUR LAST BREATH

IN A BEAUTIFUL

CEREMONIAL VIDEO

THAT YOUR FAMILY

CAN POST ON SOCIAL

MEDIA FOR THE GLOBAL DOLLAR PRICE OF JUST 10,000.99

So sad can't go outside Most days

might blow up

and there's no ensurance to cover it

needing shoes from a stranger on the road where you live

bringing coffee to the side walk 

being stabbed through the center

with a two foot blade

Did someone hold your hand, sir?

Oh, please, sir, please

Look at me

Can you see me?

Do you know who I am? 

Can you tell me, now that you're going to die -

where are we?

Can you see the other side? Where will you be?

And then we march for you

And someone gets off free. 

Survival

Throw Me On the Heap

I spend so much time mediating my own emotions until the perfect level of affect and humility allow me to stay quiet. I know nothing. The more I see the less I know. The baffler strikes hard on my head. I can’t see. I delirious. I aimless. I voiceless. I ungiving. I posh clean starch bread milk head. fight plastic. days melt. I droop and crease and peel and stench. I suck and slurp and vacuum my intake valve stop. Where is my magic? Do I engage loud. do I see all and say. do I enough? for what percent of the blood am I accountable? Delta squared. sweaty mosquito. red bulge incessant. pricking. tingling. growing. the Spanish moss. drips. the mites crawl onto the blanket. under the Banyan.

there is a homestead of tents where I ride my bike towards home. they dug steps to one entry, built two small gardens with found lawn ornaments. they do laundry. play music. protect each other. share. hang their blankets on the highway to dry.  I once paid 300 dollars for a hair cut, 200 hundred dollars for a pair of in-authentic vintage concert tees, and 450 dollars for a stretching consultation.  All are gone.  the money didn’t hurt me like swinging a bat. It opened a cork stop at the bottom right hand corner of a cylindrically endless well. One drip per minute for an entire lifetime. Water. Bored. Meaninglessness bound. Making cents. Hiding in the bubble. There is no bubble.

I often think about what it’s like to live on dirt. Most photos I see with dead children lying in ditches have people in dusty sandals reaching. It smacks of journalism. But I feel dusty dry hot and I smell gravel, gas fumes, iron, nitrate, the creases of a human body, the breath of a dead child. I hear gravel falling, pebbles underfoot, crunching tires approaching, the sound of some foreign sirens. Sirens are not all the same. and I wonder what it’s like to live in sand. that is all I know of this land, if I left it up to that. stop yourself from feeding. pause and starve. a hunger strike. go until your body evacuates itself and begin with something green. give yourself life. Throw me on the heap.