Quick
most people worry how fast you can put our a fire; keep it from spreading
just before I woke
I was looking through a magazine (paper? Internet site?)
of my neighbours
and was shocked to read of one
next door
who had plenty of hay
and other incediaries
packed around the place
so he wouldn’t have to worry about suffering in a fire:
it would all happen so
Quick
. . .
earlier in the dreaming
some party
or place i was living
or reality tv show I was on
or scripted fiction
with plenty of space
for improvisation
I was wearing a costume
simple
dressed in All White
(my mother, yesterday, saw a picture of me like that and said I looked good)
and I figured out some way
through electric shock
to swap personalites …
to swap bodies
holding onto speaker cable
connected to an audio amplifier at the house
and shorting it out
while…
it did it with a girl, of course
a red haired…
like Lesley, England
thinking about my now-red pubes
then, no
dark hair
a vampire
not a fiction
but confused how It should feel
not even noticing I don’t have a dick anymore
how would I feel if I looked?
and days went on…?
and Zeus…?
and I figured out the way to switch back
without the need, now, of electricity
because I had it in me
the power necessary
and she, of course…
( so strange to see my body moving around, looking out through different eyes
knowing I was Right Here
and that was Someone Else)
we did our ritual
and swapped back
everyone was amazed
I, a little, as well
we were OK
but I was so tired…
I wish I could have drank just a smidge of her blood…
I had to rest…
.iP
to find out
after all these years
that I was really Left Handed
That’s why everything has been so difficult
i’d just never realized before…
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i am an agent of mystery
and whenever someone wants to reduce supernatural occurrence
to events easily explained by science
they are my enemy
as those who, through fear
attempt to convince me why everything they don’t understand must be
controlled into homogeneous familiarity
-the contemporary truths obliterating all unknown options of history
to truely live the life here
magic must be foresaken…
must even the possibility?
now
still
I’m only comfortable living here
with ample space for surprise and wonder abounding me
perhaps I’m yet an embryo…
what fascinating creature
in what astounding world
might I be born?
.iP
I’m sure I’m not the first person to feel I lack some vital obvious link that would allow me to connect with people in a more satisfying way…
I often get the feeling I want someone to like me
and they’re not
yet they’re showing patience and tolerance as one would to someone else’s child
( is that what keeps the world going? )
and there are others that seem to like me a million
though there is still some sort of chasm between us
we smile over
and sometimes pass on
I’m sure it’s not rare
yet it is my own
.iP
what of that sex, then?
falling in love?
transformation?
exhaustion?
obligation.duty.
failure?
of course!
tell the story
live it
it’s who you are
what is that feeling?
of Indiana?
of tedious obligation?
the chorus of lack-love, absent of the spark of life… only moved by the wake of its passing.
a use
a fear
a politeness
beyond the heart’s reach
death.
starts the dying in your breast
the energy seeping down
passing out
everything gunked up
foul yellow humours
settled deep in the body
yesterday
tell me
was it the needles?
or the physical action of loving?
the heat created through the bodies
smart, clever, wise that neither of you came fully to orgasm
imagine 20 years of loving with out ever crossing that gap
for
of course
that gap is what Makes the spark
gives it reason for being
keeps the yearning for loving
what if this were the recipe of a healthy love for me?
a man who I could live with many years
always excited to see his beauty
and wonder at his being
the seeing if seeds in another is an anchor
usefull
roots
to settle into eachother
certain questions always answered
but if that breeds only discontent in temperments such as me…
what if I never came again?
would monogamy be worth it
with a yogi?
what if I found my feet
very strong
and had a few men
in the age old fashion
needing to give their excess life force
because they aren’t practiced in the arts of keeping it in
but keeping it flowing
through the bodies of different dimensions
is celibacy true if no orgasm is reached?
what if he does and I do not?
is it a needle pierced through me?
binding me to his story
as he strives, triumphs, fails and falls?
we all do anyway
Vine
knitter of the forest
ample task
blessed duty
knowing the place
knowing one’s place and function
like the challenge and rewards
of giving up the ability to forget
what burdens, what powers…
still
companions are needed
benefactors and wards I am to mentor myself
oh, what a choice
what a blessing…
.iP
maybe the Art
of this celebicy
is to transform sex
into an act of loving
.iP
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if the hardest question is
" Why is there anything at all, and not nothing? "
and the second is
" why are things as they are and not different? "
I feel, again, a fool
these Whys I have not asked
my concerns were always
" how do I get put of here? "
or,
" how do I change how things are? "
the first two are given
but, as questions, repeatedly pop up at the edges of my thoughts and
actions
perhaps if I ask them more
my Hows will become givens?
.iP
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I don’t watch TV
it really disturbs me
it’s inane
often terribly repeditive, pedantic
and increasingly violent, traumatizing and stressful
I think it’s assinine that so many people program themselves with such
high-tension fears and dramas nightly
but then, I don’t understand the actions if most of society
(oh, but I pretend to)
like those people who leave the TV on all day, loudly,
as if to hear the town square in their livingroom
as if there is a society
right around the corner
of their desperately isolated lives
but that’s probably presumtious, right?
they just like the chatter, the company… the education.
in the last decade and a half
I’ve pretty much only watched movies
south park, and other Adult Swim satires
though even those rarely
this year
I’ve watched both seasons of True Blood and It’s Always Sunny in
Philadelphia
satires are fine
I get it
it agrees with me
and is often entertaining:
it’s all crazy
but the shit that passes for entertainment scares me
it’s all cop shows or hospital shows
the majority of it is people screaming at eachother and displaying how
Right they are all the time
the situaltional dramas
cop show with a psychic
cop show with an anthopologist
cop show with a serial killer
cop show in Miami, Phoenix, DC
with sexual assult
or drug smuggling
or fucking aliens
why are people so obsessed with the fucking Cops?
someone point me to some essays about this shit.
safe?
right?
powerful?
free to do bad? really that bad? but always getting caught, right?
ugh
but this is what my parents eat
and my sister
and so many people I’ve met all over the world
I fucking hate TV
(though I may start watching Dexter… or Survivour…)
but I’m a racoob like the rest of us
if it’s on
I can’t help but stare at it
I do my best to avoid it
(but I’ll be on it someday soon… serves me right, I’m sure)
anyway
what I meant to write about tonight was something intelligent about
being with my family
and understanding them through the drama they force in through their
eyes
but I just ranted in hysteria
like I saw on TV
I really don’t understand
and it disturbs me
I’m going to sleep now
and I’m very happy to be slleping in my bed tomorrow
in my apartment
with No TV
( though I do have a… room mate for a bit; we’ll see how that goes )
Hello
.iP






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