Thursday, January 22, 2015

and i forgot about my nudes.

I.

watch my dream for me while i go to powder my nose.
dream brushing, keep it. trap it in a locket.

curiosity introduces me to pleasure.
it's tickling the inside of my cheek.
involuntarily,
i kept smiling spasmodically.

what is it, new thing?
"the beetle requests you lift him
off his back." again?

he's the king-in between, a link between he
and
uncouth hurting.

na, na, na,              na ,  na na,    n                    a.

II.

AT THE CENTER OF RECENT HISTORY OF THE COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUS IS THIS STATE OF CULTURE.

SELF-documentation. these days, the people
obsess over it, even if not

all the smog it emits. emit away!

back in my day when i was pretty young and vibrant, we played with poor people things
e.g. make believe

do something
do everything, do speed.
tell the world "i'm in control.

'and this is how i go about
demonstrating it."

you never are in control. (humbling lesson, one)

you think you're not something until
you find out you are.         (humbling to countless degrees)

crushing. truly crushing.

you can still see the world from riverside park. things are
still as good as they used to be.

people don't know that "rebel without a cause" was a movie from the fifties (they don't even know natalie wood was the little girl in "miracle on thirty-fourth street". they don't even know who murdered natalie wood or that she was murdered or that natalie wood existed.)
because they can't possibly imagine
that "ahead of their time"-ness existed way back then.

the world wasn't ready for it yet which is why it had to come across the way it does.
the world still isn't ready for it.

that's why the expression exists.
we must exonerate it else marvel.

(marilyn monroe wasn't marilyn monroe's name. it was her gig. she, too, was murdered.)

III.


years of symbolisms in outer-world things gone ignored.
and then it begins: music. really? at a time like this?

i'm overwrought with beaten-ness.
beaten-ness stains my ugly.

ode to a grecian urn:
siren songs and one-dimensional scenes of sailors under siren trances

haven't
we all
worked just so
hard our
whole
lives

the phone rings. if death be, it must not
be one anti-climactic. therein phobia so tragedy, too.