he doesn't get the love
just the lovin.

brilliant child if only
you were a man.

you picked me up
and held me to the air
with our faces still in meet:
they couldn't do that.

and that goddamn chair.

i was wearing the perfect clothing.
falling off strap by cotton strap,
leaned back and you,
leaning back to look at me.

dark untamed hair.
everywhere.
the both of us.

child.
if only we were us in years ahead.

i almost fell!

the thrill was actually
thrilling.

you threw the chair across the room.
i took it's place on the floor
pulled you down
for another meet.

is it wrong that i call you child?
brilliant thing.
if only
you
didn't
happen.

best a word unhealthy.

if you think of me as often
as you say you do
why won't you just
give
in?

listen, soulmate.

i'm sick, too. I'm exhausted!
too.

and for the most redundant thing:
of you.
the way you say you are of me.

how can we keep on saying the same,
perfect things
to each other?

i am SICK
and also very TIRED
of hearing it.

if you think of me often
it is nature.
you are forcing yourself
away from the natural.

why are you disrespecting her?

it was me who got shut off.
it is me still begging for mercy:
this is fucked.
why am i involved?
this is fucked beyond
my spirituality.

you spoke of men causing madmen.
wholly! you are a hypocrite.
but think no fear, i did not mean that as an offense.

you must truly despise me to your soul.
and that is why i am so fascinated.
i have never wanted to be attractive.
but if i move you
i want
desperately
to know why.

are you scared to be provoked?

i will continue.
i will not let up.
all this provocation is letting me write!
hallelujah!

Bell.

you can outdo my words
a lifetime
of times.
am i the only one who knows this?
YOU'RE ALSEEP.

WAKE UP AQUARIUS.
THIS IS YOUR DAWNING.

no. i will not let up.
stop wishing it.

i will never quit my harassment of you.
you don't want me to.
with a twist of perception i'm still acting
the way you want me.
you bloodyfuck
need
my
want.
and
i
want
you
so
bad.

hah. your soul was almost mine again.
you spoke, even, of serenade.
maybe when we're both dreaming i'll tiptoe
over to you
and you'll tell me all about it
and it will be our secret.

i have written so long about you.
i'm beginning to think my crave
is unhealthy.
i truly bash myself
for caring.

and, yes, i do say meaningless things
but not things i regret.

my mind is obviously spinning.
i simply don't want these repetitions.
those letters will become art, Bell.
CAN YOU FEEL FOR ONCE?

i promise i'll try to be logical.

i want to discover.
i've said it before:
i want to uncover.

fuck.

my mind is obviously splitting.
can you please
quit your non-thoughts
of thinking yourself unpoetic?
even if the irritation of me calls from beneath:
you
are
an
artist.

i want to know if i reach you.
if you say
you are reached
we can conquer by wordling and
by wordling foe.
earth's characters are us at this turnpoint.
i want to be universal.
i want to go out with a bang.
i want somebody greater
to keep up the art.

i want the whatfuck ideals of me
to take lost expression.
i want choas
through
meditation.

i know, i want too much.
i am not ashamed.

even on the dirt road
perspiring,
flustered, fleeting!
there is the entire world.

i have seen the mountains from the dirt.
i have taken a beautiful road
to a dirty place.
because
passion
exists.
and i believe, perhaps,
that passion is the strongest of all feelings
simply conjugated
with differences.

sedate me.
right now!
do me.
my mind needs a lotus.

the lotus has my back.

shine through!
sunray-sailor,
shine on.

i'm an escapist.
i'd invite you to escape
with me
because i think it
so
awful
romantic.
but i won't. not yet.

SHINE, BELL. SHINE.

ZIP-A-DEE-BAH-DEE-BAH-DO-BAH

I know ill probably fall in love with you
I know
Sweetly
Too kindly
I’ll probably dabble in your
Disabled
Love.

I know
We’ll meet
And aid ourselves in pleasure.
I know this.

I am
Completely
Willing.

I am completely
Reckless
And
Risking
Of your future
Discontent.

I know I’ll probably find quality in you
Though currently
There is no telling of any
Of it.

I know.
Though I don’t know you yet.

Somehow
Your story
Sets itself before me

And reckless,
Risking by the fooling tempt, I:
Know you’ll want me,
Thru all these things,
Too.

1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4.

we must get deep. we must get overfeeling for the
sensation of the word.
we must make real
our unbelievable phantasies.
the word depends on it.
this world; what a vulgar, horrid place.

god, i'd infatuate to stick her.

GOD! I don't even know your name
except
that i think
you're a community.

reaching and testing.
growing like i am now.
evolving and interpreting.
like i am now.

there is nothing wrong with you
except
that
you
live.

there is nothing wrong with me
except
that
i am
make-
believe.

it's true:
i believe that i can touch the world
with these petty,
oblivious things:
words

hey! i believe
that superficially
demons exist.
i have met several.
i have interpreted myself
as one.
i believe.

i don't believe in god.

HEY! community,
do you
have
any idea
of our potential?

in response to my own, latest post.

p.s.
when i say i hate you
as much as i love you
i mean
i love you
and that's it.

***Chapter Two (the long run)

freedom is a shadow desperate
for light.
those things lit
are burning.
i will never win.
i am erect.
i need to know how our souls
first started
here on earth.
how did we first
fuck each other over?
how did we first
fuck?
you're consuming.
my soul is euphoric with its absolute hate
of you
you.
you.
you.
freedom! bless ye, old one.
bless your children. you desperate fiend.
bless your goddamn hole. slut.
you have blessed no one in all your lives.
you have been pathetic.
and i,
i have been
even more
extreme.
Oh, i've wrecked.
But, jesus. i've uncovered.
and all i want, now,
is to take off yours.
your blanket
your clothing
your fucking gorgeous skin.
you're fuck
all
everything.
gorgeous creature! do you know what?
i melt all over you.
i cringe in shivers of adoration.
i shiver in the sensation of Cringe.
you're bloody awful.
you're more manly than any of the men
i've tolerated.
and still, you're the kind
that bleeds.
your curves. your cunt. fuck.
do you dare adventure?
do you DARE externalize?
you are filled with darkness.
do you know why i'm taken?
because lovers fuck in the dark.
you creature. you monster. you thing.
you everything, you anything.

dollface.

i know you hate me dearly.
i know, clearly,
you can see me and read me without
the printed words.
we're each in a torture device
fashioned by the other.
i could not, at this fathom point
(six feet under)
imagine my days with you
the way we were.
i'll take your word and keep myself at blame
so i can continue loving you.
so i can continue in my childishly-attached mode
so that i never actually
want to run
from you.

i've been running a lot lately.
i SWEAR to the Spirit i would not
have left home
if it wasn't for your contaminous mischief.
i ran.
i learned the trick
solely from you.
souly
from you.
others have left me.
i have written over them.
i have mocked human emotion.
sadly i find myself on earth again.
sadly,
i believe it was to follow you.
so you couldn't live this pain
alone.
so i could again want more:
and want,
and want! terribly.
fuck, lady.
you keep me in want of men.

i was asked several sleeps ago
what, exactly,
i searched for in a lover.
i had never been asked a question so simple.
and i, simply:
i want someone i know
i wouldn't mind hurting.
it would be how i'd know
their worth.
it'd be how i'd know
the fuck
was for love.

hey!
pisces.

i'm like you.

the things we say
we say it just for kicks.
the things we feel...
man,
we keep them to ourselves
as open as
those feelings are.

your ex-girlfriend hates me
and she's related to my ex
best friend.

fuck.
what a mess.

we all think
it's
such
a
big
goddamn
mess.

and we flow.

we kissed each other
on the lips!
pisces,

i know
you.

i know you know me.

now what
about the ex's?

yeah,
you're right.
fuck
them.

even if
we both
still
love them.

the way my mother found out about my latest tattoo

trying on ribbon bras behind red velvet curtains
she wanted to see
okay,
but i have to tell you something first.

i got a new tattoo.

she: WHAT? comes into the change room.

stares
me
down.

she: you're trouble.

this is not a poem.

all hail!

tripping fool.

what would this world be like
if never the touch of further worlds got me
and further gone i
further going
though my mind says already:
enough.

would the streets be the same?
or less tasteful

i think perhaps
all this will grow to shamefulness
that my subject matter of waves
must when i become mother
turn to flesh.

i will speak of things uncolourful. like sex.
i will bed the earthly thing and kind,
like love.

my drug habits are not for the infamous.
stop that.
i want spirituality.
now go.

firstly
the colours got me there
really, to godlihood and soul
now my real age is catching up
to the age of my mind.
and i feel old.
i am 19.

i have expanded.
it isn't clever but full of Know.
i have completed my personal training:
and now, i naturally
think
in
feeling.

joy!
oh
fucking
bloody joy.

hahahah!

fooling trip.

i am so excited
to continue this way of evolution
and to evolve!
but to what?

there have been successes
without direction.
there have been failures
by paved, clean-cut road.
there have been
all who fit inbetween.

i speak so obviously
to remind myself
that any road i desire or choose
is a road that will get me
to me.

what's surviving anyway?

op P eye&you mm

local show, Vancouver.
i put my red wig on.
we walk to an east-side cafe--
these streets are perpetually dirty.
adicts kicking garbage cans,
adicts in garbage for shelter.
i see it from this window, where i sit
perched on a high bar stool,
writing in anticipation of the upcoming sounds.

these streets, man.

this person has passed this corner already
walking the block to busy his time,
and constantly walking to busy his time.
and i watch that one
who i came with
leave the place to fetch a munch
and i watch him as if
he was a perfect stranger, too: what
are my impressions?
he sure is youthful. not only young, i say,
but also full of youth.

i had a friend mention opium this evening
back at the apartment
she said she'd make a call
now
what kind of write
would that cause me deeply?
a sensation i know
i'd never be able to match
a sensation
i'd get over with
as soon as i were able.

terrible euphoria.

the boy says he's addicted already,
before even his first pull
i think about the mother drug.
i continue to stare out the window
wearing my doll-cut plastic hair.
i become my surrounding space.
i see him walking back now,
what are my impressions?

hey, failure,
where are you escaping to now?
home? BACK home?
i thought that was the shank.
i thought the GET OUT was the getting away
from there.
have strangers wronged you, doll?
i have to relate,
i'm glad to see you so godawful sad.
you're so humanly,
and so hurt,
and maybe soon we'll both think it beautiful.
maybe,
this was you planting yourself in this land
and in the new year
you'll come back and be in full bloom.
you don't need those strangers,
but you do need people.
you know that more than anything.
and, i know,
it's exactly the reason why you run.
so keep running, doll!
that girl taught you well, how to GO.
even in tears,
this is your path.
you've had laughs here, too,
don't forget.
but how could i?

laugh
cry
cry
Laugh.

hastings consumption

horny goat weed tea says: (8:02:54 PM)
its so infatuating. i've seen the most disgusting looking living conditions and people who look half rotten but still walking and fucking needles on the ground, and anorexic prostitutes in five inch neon heels in the east

horny goat weed tea says: (8:03:54 PM)
to right exactly where i work, Hasting West, the trendy high class business part of the city right under the habour centre across the street from Versace

horny goat weed tea says: (8:04:16 PM)
you'd think you were a million miles away

the sal !!! says: (8:04:20 PM)
it is the world compressed into a street

horny goat weed tea says: (8:04:20 PM)
at either point

horny goat weed tea says: (8:04:26 PM)
maaaan

blitzeite!

the i socket in the wall just gave be a blast
it was a pulse, i felt it
the electricity was like a bubbly air
and it took my head a shock
to understand i was being attacked
i instantly felt an overall buzz, a high,
an awfully intense one
and unpleasant though telling.
Informative to this creature
sheer harnessed nature.

now, i retaliate. i listen to the flashes outside
i brew, and consume
tea for my life pressure
i've mellowed.
i've replaced that high with a
far
greater
high.

i listen to the newborn silence
to the dark holding me
and type.

(an attempt to put an unpoetic type of event into poetics, in this case
getting electrocuted while trying to take my lamp
outta the socket
because i accidentally kicked it over
and collected it up to glue it back together...
which happened just now)

Reworking the Word

today at the cafe i may have discovered humanity
i may have sought thru the sunrays
and dispelled all previous darkness.
what if my mind does not come back down?
maybe i have it in me to do something terribe
incapable love,
noble and unhumanly,
brethren, kindful be.
i'm sure i know what it means when a writer says:
i saw their soul.
i've completely overtaken.
i've made a mess: savage!
of these downward constellations.
diamond destination,
like the shining silver streets of drunkards
and lame prostitutes
like the flaming actually-there
and nurturing nature
this world is so numb:
she's a woman in pain.
do you know a woman in pain?
you've lived in one,
you live on one.
she's young and tough like me:
breakable.
young and reckless! this world,
growing
up too fast to match the ancient stars
and worldly
for Worldly's sake.
worldly for the world.
a believable one
because the story is rich and
unbelieveable.
rich in nothing but poverty!
and rich,
like the water
and like the matching sky.

today at the cafe i may have discovered humanity.
it may have been real.

just now II

blindly,
i jump
fuck, i jump
and scream about it
hear me:
i am blind!

aye, sailor
i know ye
and i've trapped myself
with your presence.
you fly in your dreams,
don't you?

i'm gathering at your persons
and still
i cannot see you.

where Princess and Hastings E meet

Maybe we won't talk
about this, either
Maybe,
talk will only
destroy us
that the whole being
of relationship is stirred
by wordling
and, that certainly,
a gorgeous thing
of oblivion
is sex.

maybe the body doesn't matter
maybe it really
doesn't matter
and the flaws of flesh and blush
to not exist
in the vision of mad love.

mindful be, Saint Vulgar
treat me like the treat
treat me, i will suppress my anxiety
i will worship.

my gross is more than just
my human, Saint
i
have
a
major
gross:
i not only desire perfection
but believe its out there.

the seedling
gets planted
in my hand
because you
know we're
all
animals
you know the bite
bugs hard.
like being out-of-your-mind
and screaming like
you're out-of-your-mind.

sound
sound

this old onion
this old, rotting lemon
this
old
woman.

you know, the mountain
is a cave
to the otherworld?
you know talking isn't true?

the conrad goes east gathering

she drags
swallow and deep
like i've never seen
and he's retracting:
there is a snake,
there is an act, it's in that corner
over there--noise like bliss
is certainly conceived.
i can't part-take in this tribal fest
so i sketch them
gorgeous souls by word:
chills.

i drag
i drag once more, and toke
swallow and deep
there are layers like creation
here in this room.

i'm not envious of their talents,
i only desire to match theirs
in my passion.

wonderful drag.

snap snap snap snap

PART TWO

and my.
godsome folk.
there's the device
and the other device
and the boy acting silly

my smokes, doll, they're
my smokes too.

you're lovely! you and your selfish demands,
and i'm talking about the lot of us
we're all tired--
the high will bring you down to a restful low
and scene-be-sacred,
i swear i dream only when i'm awake.

Last night at the Yale: New Riders.

I encountered a story
and too many stories this night
so characterful and alien, so human
and so fucking
dirt
human.
feeling the noise and
really feeling
this noise.
Spirits from the streets;
Spiritual beams from the street,
from the Grateful Dead,
and psych, sweet psych:
it was all so heavy.

All happening and happening NOW,
these old men,
looking at me knowing that
I'm seeing total cosmic colour.
I know that I remind them
of themselves.
I know I know I know
I don't really know--
trivial blissful
and blissfuck my soul.

I encounter these plots, people
in the most outrageous expressions, people
as their most beautiful selves.
So many pasts shining
and I'm the young one
feeling already
quite old
but in absolute observation
of Them Who Have Lived
and of them who are clearly surviving.

The place swings and I
swing with it
right on the dancefloor,
only a breath away from the stage.
On this Blues planet
we are the atmosphere.
Here
these people
and everywhere
this world
telling a story,
telling a story.

There, my soul meets yours
and there, we are now friends.
Mother, your belly is warm
your belly
is round and most beautiful.
Mother,
are you prepared to age yourself so young?
MOTHER, this planet,
I have exactly your personality
exactly your endeavor.

Tonight the adventure had us;
psychedelic poison with our sup,
and Jordan at swing with me.
The waves and craves of the multi-dimension
greeting and feeding us,
and these people!
Exactly Them Who Fit Into It.

Solid sounds, man.
Universal solid sounds for the timeless anytime
and everywhere:
stories
stories
stories

This Morning by the Green Light

The entire block's a movie set.
I read the notice last week, I knew there'd be another one
There are people with cameras everywhere
Documenting the making of, blah blah blah
I walk
subtly
between
the trailers parked to one side
and the crew
jacking off
by the fake coffee shop.
I am not overwhelmed.
Some have glared at me as if I should care,
Some have said goodmorning very pleasantly.
It seems
to be all good
in this fake neighborhood.

Junkies

Aaah, world. Wonderful cunt.
This planet is one with the blues.
Really, I've become quite content,
blues and all.

Peyote Tea Bag

"Sipping Cigarettes"

That'd be a good song title, Jordan,
or a poem
"Oh yea? ..Yea?"
As I blow o's at him
and he does, too,
he says,
for the first time in his life.

My mind's at the static high
It's a desert place to be
Hot by the astro-sun
and swallowed by content

Kindof eurphoric
kind of deadbeat--
in the most lovely way.
hello, waves
of dementia Earth,
you must be a radiant star.
Hello forgiving, innocent waves
you must be the epitome

It's like,
each time I trip now it's nostalgic.
it's like I'm over it,
but for the fun of it
I can become a child again.
when really it's the thing
that's aged me


My head darts like the vulgar cat
this has been an evening...

i've seen it before but i havent seen it in a long time

i can feel your facial expression:
it's got
devious
glitterbug eyes, they're cryptic
things, with your lips
pressed firmly together
your face taking on a hard
ancient look,
moreso
than your typical self;
an intensified womanly
glare-thing.
it's silly devious.
it's damn serious
with foolishness.
i say this for soul:
this is
a creature
of its own.

**to the spoil

i behold myself
as my real, soulful self and
i'm looking back
at what caused me
to be me.
i'm reading myself sitting as her shadow
sitting within the looking glass
and at the window
to relive memories:
this is why i act the way i am?
this is what stirred me?
these are the languages i have spoken?

i think about my ability to feel
i think simply
about the ability to feel:
it is a challenge
at times
(even as the fishes)
they conquer like our leaders:
for the hell of it!
now,
cookie,
hows your fortune?
which words
have you picked out of the ocean
to put down fancy
on that little
piece
of paper

something vague
something ignoring
(even though i put it in a poem)
something
like something's GOT
to
give.

I'M SCREAMING WITH A MIND ON MY TONGUE
i'm tripping
and screaming for the trip
i'm practicle.
insane logic like born you the genius
born you a brilliant sun,
born you.
shine on.
the world is in need of art.
i apologize for being unable
to participate

i'm giving up the cosmic ride for sleep
infortunately
i just can't stand
with
it
like digging my winter-hole
before it gets too cold:
I WILL DIG DEEP
I WILL CRASH AND WAKE UP WARM
i'm going to make myself have it all
because i want it all

i'm going to invade
i'm going to war
peacefully
to be foolish
selfless and selfish
and in extreme craving of want
desperately
for love

the war is never that universal
but shoot yourself across the world
for words
cos i'd read it.

just Now

my fantasies
my fantasies
I'm such the
common
sight instrument
i'm the mellow wave
the mellow unseen
cos i dont make
statements

or was that
a statement?

somehow the radical feeling gets to you
somewhere in outer space
a brilliantine
parallel
spiritual self is loving you
sheltering you from the cosmic
therefore
it may not matter
how sheltered you are
here
on earth

i believe my soul to be
tragic

i believe in my soul
that the circle is
the solider
that the mold
is shaped
from the inside-out
and even at the distance
the interior craft
is felt

Oo, spirit,
take me by the statement.

my fantasies
my fantasies
in elaborate hoax
it's okay.

i think next i'll visit denver

when talking to strangers
it is best
to keep in mind
that you are
equally strange

simply dislocated

i know
what i want
its exactly what
i'm running from
exactly what
i have to orbit
what i have to repair

why am i playing
chase with the goddamn
Golden Age
why
am i
shitkicking myself
around
mother planet earth
why am i a victim of rent
and of godless mother fuckers

i'm trying
so desperately
to imagine
myself as parent
the motherload
the taxed father; i am
neither of them. i am
new and expirementing
because i'm a scientist
with my feelings
i am
new and experiencing
because in my black water
i want the sugar to be natural
BE JUST LIKE ME, NATURE:
a little more childish,
a little less explaining
because
i'm only in the know
with what
i actually know;
have lived.

literally, like a fish

come-up looking back at me:
now that i walk thru my last hour
in reverse
i get on
on how short that all really was
within its lifetimes of interpretations
i know how far out my mind really is--
jazzelectric.
that's how i feel but i'm listening
to rock'n'roll
and breathing in the air*
i wouldn't mind the out-of-body
so i make it heavier
i've been walking around female but've
brought down to meet man at his natural point:
neutral.
i'm dancing with my shivers
they're giving me the moves
giving me the constant
jitterbug blues

observer, i'm dislocated

i'm not at home my body's stuck
i'm spacing out to this vibe and
kinda feeling beautiful
cos im so aware
of my
every sense
kinda feel like i'm
getting home

i'm not old but i'm getting waves of childhood
i'll never forget
i'm not young but i feel wise
maybe i just feel connected
i definitely feel connected.

i dont need a personality i need a voice
i don't need this body i know where pleasure's at
i know what it's like
to be stoned
exhausted
starving.

i'm a drifter by soul, too.
i by human know that when human
there is something blissful knowing puppeteering
my invented third eye
and receiving a big, trippy story like
reasonbook on existence like
spiritual art movement this is how
i think

yes, my head is exploding. and i guess,
a soul only comes in three colours:
i've been told that when i get sad
mine goes from blue to grey.

my mind re-eats itself at every circle
i feel
literally
like a fish
the way it all works
gets me feeling cosmic
gets me seeing colours.


*track two dark side

by day 3 i was seeing people

there is a young man at the station
he has long hair
blond
also, it's on his face;
heavy.
over a triangle, though,
he puts on round glasses
for a moment:
you know who i
imagine
this to be.

he gets off the bus long before i do.
my thoughts of him expire:
i need a shower.

the past

A SUBJECT OF THE AVANT GUARD

i read this at the second Beatific Beatnic. good times

i am obsessive.
i fall, i fall, and i ever fall
and i love the fucking pit.

i know my graces
they're bashful
except for the intimate
and intimate deliverance, i'm talking abstract
but i'm talking abstract reality.

that my shattered mind keeps me earthbound
but that the voices of my psycho-activity
remind me i'm cosmic.

that i don't want to be part of the past, MAN
I WANT TO BE A SUBJECT OF THE AVANT GUARD

that sometimes
i pretend i'm a sailor
and that when my fantasies get too fantastical
i pretend i'm a sailor's wife.

that i believe in TANTRA
in the same way that i believe in love
that LOVE
is love is love is love is good.

that sometimes i'm shy and
sometimes i'm so shy i can't even read peoples eye colour.

that i'm poor in pocket, heavily medicated in conformity
and would only marry a hipcat rich in mind

show me your soul, SINNER,
and sin most beautifully
like the children of Kerouac's "BOURGEOIS BOHEMIAN MATERIALISM"

he didn't dig his own creation
he! god as the archetype
and HE because god comes in genders:
JACK,
retire under the mushroom.
do things that please you.
buy a drink;
drink.
be rad, be bad, GIVE ME YOUR BODY
see visions and believe everything that is most undeniably
unbelievable.

and jack,
if you succeed
i will have to follow
and,
jaaaaack!
if i succeed
it'd become a revolution
cos by then the whole world would have caught on
that love
is love is
love
is love is
good.

phases, all phases, people enjoy the ride of each personal era you WILL get over it you will fall to the new

I know it's aged me
already
already breaking--NOW,
from HERE, where
can my mind take me?

I know I'm myself.
though sometimes I feel unkind.

I know it's just an in-between era;
the Golden Age is coming up--
where ever I'm living, it's Utopia
when ever I'm living, I know it's Utopia.

4 grams

Another one out of the journal i carried with me this summer in BC. I probably shouldn't say, but this one's about a heavy shroom trip i undertook at this beautiful beach-coast line, overlooking the gulf islands, Canadian and American. it was an absolutely gorgeous place when i saw it i told Manda that was where the shrooms were going down. and they WENT DOWN it was one of the most inwardly moving trips i've ever had. we sat up on these rocks and dropped at noon, by sun-down the tide had risen 8-9 feet and i kept on having to climb up the rocks to not be immersed in the OCEAN. it did catch me a couple times, though. i got soaked because i was too deep in thought and getting awfully sunburnt. at the peak of the trip a tiny, baby crab scuttled up to me on the rock, came close to idle and scuttled away--i wept.

psychedelic passion i've got
to get you in my pocket
got to get you weeping at the peak
bringing in the tide; the tide
came so close that day
because the ocean wanted to be with me.


the tide
got me
and got
in my mouth.


it's a sinful expression--
too holy,
too above me though i know
i'm absolutely capable of it,
of conceiving it and of
being wanted so cosmically
the UNIVERSE comes to meet me.


what life have i lived to have my soul
make me
the
ME
i know now?


in my gut, i feel temptation.
in the gut of my broken mind
i
encourage
temptation.


i appease invading desires because
i miss my soul.
i miss my wonderful memory:
it's simplistic, it's an
immaculate energy and it truly feels
all encompassing


a bit of nothingness, a bit of enlightenment.


a bit of taoist tantra.


my skin changed it's colour in the hot sun
i stayed there tied to Open Earth
and thought myself pretty
without seeing myself or remembering
what the mirror has ever said
i thought myself pretty--
my skin took to a natural golden-pink
and i felt so fastened to this land simply
because i was thinking like the ancient people.
and SIMPLY
beginning to look like them


i could see nothing man-made
from that day since i wonder always
how magestic life on this continent would be
without the intrusion of modern "civilization"
but just the land
just the natural mother like she should be.
i understand why those people worshiped the elements
of nature and spiritual nature.

i was static in body
but certainly not in mind: i was
everywhere in mind and Everywhere deeper.
i was unforgetting and patient
i was reaching dimensions:
i shut my eyes in this gorgeous place
to shelter myself
to be Nothing and enlightened
to keep myself closer to that place
to GIVE IN to earth
to the real ride of Anything

Victoria you're bright but impersonal

The dinosaurs in front of the Empress

And Darth Vader playing electric violin

Taking a moments break

To move his head

With our direction

I am wandering the streets of this new city

it’s peaceful and bright:

with ourselves in bold body and out-of-mind MINDS:

we make somewhat of a show of ourselves.

We smoke a stick called Cosmic.

When my appearance takes on

A new portfolio

As the world appears to me

Different and

It’s a mutual exchange

I WILL take the dirt road

I don’t need luxury

I WILL drink to the foolish adventure

(I guess) I really don’t need that foolish friend

I’m taking the notice: this world is breathless

this world gives only breath and keeps none to herself

like mother and I anticipate the divine of motherhood.

I create my own circumstance

Every time my confidence talks to strangers

There is a star that warms me from the

Inside out, and you can easily

Catch my glow.

I WANT the alternative life

I know it’s a drifting sacrifice

I know I’ll own nothing tangible;

The stories will be told, not held.

im starting to: last thoughts

i stare at my undone bed with its missed-matched sheets of India, leopard, and bright; it's a beautiful put-together life. it's my comfort at this place and it tells it all next to the neutral wall. I'm leaving it behind only 'cos i can't take it with me.

for the worship of the roaming people

I started digging through notebooks, found this one written in a one-stream of consciousness on the second half of an "idea" page. it's dated end of august

in other news I NOW OWN EVERY BEATLES ALBUM. oh baby. I finally have the white album; it caused me a moan. I don't even remember moaning much with boys, jesus, they aint no white album.

look at the godhead it's wearing thrift clothing
it's ballin' the goodlife & style be religion--
i've got to find me something to Worship.
i've got to find me Faith--i don't see it on the streets,
i don't feel it at home.

look at the unknowns, they're a gorgeous secret
they're dictating from the underground
i've got to meet them all
i've got to find me Faith

look at me thinking of my death
i'm warm and it's cold
i'm grossed out at all the luxury i have to deal with
i want it; it don't suit me.
i've got to find me Faith.

I AM a student of Earth, she is a fix

IMMEDIATE GLOW: the fixture in my head meat
wrecks the artful plain
hopping from thoughtpad to thoughtpad
like i'm a creature of this pond
eating dry cereal with no plate simply scattered in front of me
like i'm a creature

the story's building
the story's building

hey! early morning,
i fiddle with the planets then have a snack
ordinary pleasure--i mean,
this dimension
the thoughtsult universe gots nothing to with it
LIKE my bloodclot species:
a cosmic infantry attack strategy
in the war of the Creators--one of them decided
Earth could act as a distraction,
spiritually,
being the equivalent of a psychedelic trip

Baby, i'm a sinner.

in my ideal i'm even a megalomaniac
though i certainly don't live by ideal.

THE STRAP ON

picture came from my jane-phase, poem from last night

I envision a man with a strap-on piece

About his thighs

But it’s not in imitation of sex

It’s a building.

And he’s sticking-it to this country

Not because she likes it

Because he’s a rapist,

Sadist,

And metal craving oil—

Son of man! The bitch

Is getting stuck.

I dig the bitch, she’s green.

And I, this night:

Sit on green blanket

Middle of my personal outer-space—

Bedroom floor, perfectly,

Among and in-between

My luggage packed and boxes

Of things

For my next, new veracity.

I picnic here with notepad.

I AM green blanket

Laying as the floor for cosmic park

For these quiet moments I get it

But I only understand

In silence.

I try to break thru

By word-thing.

I am green and unsure

If it’ll ever

Really work.

I don't know why I'm wet, I just wanna write--

the tune does persist me
question after nauseating question
I; here
drip to the slip of my mind

yesterday i believed in extraterrestrials
now it's mellow knowledge--
like them drooling at my window PAIN
and me absolutely drooling back:
dimentia meltdown
(i feel it behind my eyes
it numbs,
though bitterly,
and reaches my throat,
now taste)

everything is made up of matter--now,
what's the matter with you? the
matter of fact is,
fact has no matter. LANGUAGE,
you spell.
you needer of writer:
like the things you can only understand
when put to paper
and
what defines things?

i'd like to hear my voice
but my ears are busy
so my minds collaborate
and the nonsense noise you hear
is also
senseless

there is an eye
above us all
because
our minds are at the top
and it's the most selfish organ
even moreso than sex. i am watched
by my own consciousness
this head
absorbs
everything, it's aware-- i think
that's why my human
likes touch as best. it's a
body sensation--HAH,
sight,
what would you do
down there?

if individuals have qualities i say
there is a dimension of Quality
where Love can fall for Lust
who are related to Temptation
and Wealth can get
fucked
up the ass.

(how would you survive off the stuff?)

it's another high, you know,
that place of thought
which brings you a level brighter
in aura and existence
like a spiritual raise and you feel good
being a thing of earth; thing,
like already mentioned before and THING
as in:
definition.

my ass.

there are cliffs in astro-space, too
they are slave-like, like
the cotton pickers LIKE i once overheard
a group of hipster-young afro-americans talking about
being the descendants of slaves and this group
did quiet at times though not when i came around
because that night i was waitress at
middle-society-fancy-show and certainly
in their bidding and far out in my politeness.

anyway,
my favorite song
of the album just begun: goodbye!

CosmicCoincidence_2:22

This just happened, i put it to narrative as quick as i could.

This is emotional—I find this unreal, it’s really

And very much

Inspiring.

I was sketching, listening, thinking:

Sketching to keep my hands occupied,

Listening to documentary after documentary of the things of earth

And thinking, getting deeply,

Of what reality really is and of the extreme potential, thinking

Of the greater scheme of things, that man

Really hides from man

And how mankind works, how man-eats-man and wants

Only certain things

And, yes, I was thinking of politics because my mind

Is beginning with its world and I’m thinking not only thinking but

Believing in things that used to genuinely consume me—topics that had me

Obsessed—topics I forbad enter my mind for a short while

Like multi-dementia and the spirituality of everything and One

And I was really thinking heavy

These thoughts and theories of greater depths—things

I know I’m capable of understanding as the individual

Things I know WE are capable of understanding universally (putting it that way

we really could travel thru outer space)

And things I know I’m capable of knowing though I have not yet

Had these thoughts conceived (also applicable to us as a whole).

It wasn’t that I was absorbing from these programs information that was truly profound

It was the way it was all letting me think, it was the kind of thoughts it all provoked.

The phone rings.

I look at the clock for a suggestion of who it may be—2:22 PM.

I answer HELLO.

It’s a representative from a culinary institute I was considering in order to gain

The necessary papers to properly work and address myself as “professional chef”

I often still think of this possibility, perhaps one day when I’m full of commitment I’ll

Actually study this interest. I ask him (he has a very pleasing voice)

If they have any campus’s in Vancouver—

No.

Though the way he stops I sense I’ve touched something. Immediately

His voice brightens and immediately

Topic of school is abolished.

His pleasant voice turns excited, intensifying my enjoyment for this awkward

Stranger-to-stranger encounter.

OH MY.

He speaks with my name (it must have been down on paper somewhere in front of him)

He speaks quickly to get all his thoughts out—how wonderful a place where I’m going is, that

He doesn’t know me but he knows I’ll love it out there

He mentions the spirituality I was just considering in my head before his phone call

In fact he mentions many things I was just considering in my MIND before his phone call

he kept speaking of the mountains and the beautiful land and how things just wait for you out there.

He says: I’m so happy for you. He gives me his story how he sold everything he had to roadtrip

Out WEST, just where I’m going, how he went there to stay and, simply, he is

Just as intensely wondered to be speaking to me as I am him.

I say my plan is awful-similar to his story. I hear his smile.

Everything he says relates to me absolutely. I smile and wonder if he can hear me.

I feel the rise of personal power.

This unknown person gives me more confidence than close friends.

He begins again something about the mountains, cutting himself off and says instead only:

Maybe you’ll meet something up there.

It’s like my mind explodes at that comment.

It’s like this man I’ve never met and only spoken to for the past century of several minutes

Knew what I was thinking and knew even, that I was thinking about cosmic

coincidence.

I swear I’m moved.

Though I don’t quite let him in on it. I say: WOW,

Random phone call!

And he laughs with spirit.

that morning i rewrote this a million times in my head before i got it down to paper

i was OUT but all up in HERE and huffin'
my puff-puff off the fag-drag of Ciggy
(i'm in my cradle getting fed disease)
and the blue birds were playing above me
and the coloured folk were singin' their
dulcet noise
and i danced to the songs
of nature. now,
puff-puff
...
puff
puff...
my drags are done; back
inside.

the Creation of an Awkward Situation by the Monster of Words

______________________the

slaughterhaus is skinning instruments

the slaughterhaus is high—-------baby, them kites

are lookin’ up at me.

the slaughterhaus is playing symphonies, and, yes!

my dreams do absorb into yours when you sleep close by.

when we’re helpless, absolutely,

and vulnerable, completely, to any extraterrestrial communo

my stomach:

they’re all there—-------all the regulars all

the messy brawlers and their talking button-up

vests. ______________________all

the holy terrors of early-morning recollection, but

these people call it late-night.

they’re there—-----speaking with lies and smiles like

they believe themselves, just because of the way

they said it.

i’m leaving to avoid all this____________________.

ancient hair

In the ancient times girls of nobility were adored by their opposites, and also the the young men of the KINGDOM just because their hair was soft and their hair was always soft because their maidens constantly combed it with their delicate hands.

the foreigner and the witch

When i worked in the cafe i often spent my entire shift writing what was going on around me down. i have a lot of poems about the random creeps that came in. in this case, i started writing about a very close friend of mine (loooooove you to death, g!) and as i was in thought of her, one of the regulars came in and obviously sent my mind spinning. hahah, this blog stuff is a lot of fun...

The most beautiful girl I know

says to me: I like your touch,

I like that you can touch that

you don’t stiffen at contact that

I know you mean it when you give me

your embrace.

The most beautiful girl I know

said that to me.

I was taken back and inward;

I touched her in gentle thanks

This girl likes

as an addiction

to touch.

This girl caresses openly

in conversation

even to the acquaintance, showing always

a welcoming nature with

the added tangible of touch

and that in my evolution of comfort

with touch I have mostly learned from her

and that she is credible for it all

the most beautiful girl I know and----

a psycho lunatic comes into the café.

she overtakes my gorgeous thought and asks

how much I could sell her

and individual

piece

of lettuce for.

I sigh in helpless irritation.

This most asinine interruption: the same

psycho-bitch who asked once if she

could bring home salt

wrapped in a napkin

from the shaker on her table; the same

bitch bloody idiot

who once came in once with “no money”

and said it would “please her”

to buy a bagel for dinner

with the money

in my tipcup.

The most beautiful girl in the world

and this is my note of thanks

With decrepit intrusion of an

awkward misfortunate creature

I move back to the good thought:

I love your touch and love even more

that you love mine.

i ate jam on my icecream. 2 yr old poem

Like

When you’re there And

Its spur of the inspiration and

Your soul is hangin’ out, raw,

Satisfied,

And the jaunt is ON and

It’s consuming

Like

Candy

Asking me to put more tongue into it and

Lick ruins feast—

My soul

Goes into recluse and

There is no telling

There is no telling

Eternity is left

Eternity can be reached but

Purposely

Is

Not

themotherfuckload

Muet thuh sea Zuhn-queer!

Ich fahst brechen waden smohk!

Nosh groov fohr Tidan!

Carricare instrumentum sweyen Byoot!

Ich mania mahynd,

Sexen Aage ahrt grohs.

Meut thuh sea Zuhn-queer!

Ahy breyk mahy fahst with smohk!

Fohr korhs meel!

Mahy mahyd ehs ien revolht,

Thuh wey hiz wey ehs,

Thair ehs noh charitea.