7/14/12

ode to dreams

50 more years of this and then aquarhombus drowning? hopefully on ambien - a request - who knows if they grant them? to compartmentalize my karma, i put some of my loose change into the hospice donation box

ode to dreams chorus ran out of breath - words could slip off the handrails - i played sheep for a few months - trivial pursuits - open mike with mike bullard - a different person here, a different person there - not significantly different though - arthritis of the rhyme, cancer of the consonance, rheumatism of the rhythm, jaundice of joie de vivre - i'll carve a statue of you from the thickening atmosphere to commemorate your consumption, the heroic feat of having drank that much poison and lived, for a while, a sick seasaw, seen, here and there, about town - dull blades

dark kitchen dreams, there's a series, cross-breeding with the other theatre troupes - maturation merely means more resonant aches, and the things that seemed so sharp are now so dull, they don't stand out clear against background bullshit and radiation - but it is fuckin cool to sort of intuitively and sensitively understand what radiation really is, on a level i can only sense through metaphor, but in subtle ways that allow this, in the subether realm, tactility, nerve nodes, tiles of gentle body bitching

witch hazel, citronella, DEET

decimate bacteria with synthetics - but we know what causes cancer - can sort of sense the thing like why things bite back, at a certain stage of life, different for every iteration of an organism

what happens at this stage of life is, the past can be revisited, but getting high isn't getting high anymore - it's, oh, this sticky thought pattern - it is sticky - and it is interesting, there's still interest - there's higher def perception of time slowing down - the nature of that time - maybe with a few more IQ points, or more neuronic structure soul-boosted with alien donation and unicorn connotation, whatever it is that gets caught in a certain standardized test snare, theories could form about the way things work

work - has a negative connotation from this corner of the self-reflecting universe - yeah - dark kitchen dreams, can i request a lab coat next time? in the nocturnal tram underground...

why can't i just write anymore? say things? something happened to this venue. and to me. could be quite temporary. as everything is. as life is. as death is, i hope, like a weasel. that's what we say down here on this planetary plane. like a weasel. most recently, i dreamed of death as a tall rhombus shaped room, like the interior of the aquatic center in nelson, with a declining plane lining the four walls, and a bottomless pool of water, increasing in darkness and pressure with increasing depth, squeezing out the mind the further i sank

squeezing out/in - how bout those languages in cells? i could almost see it, groove on it

sore, burn, burned out, fried, crispy, ache tracers... i'm glad i quit my job - it seems like the right thing to do - and the next right thing? just about anything, as long as it's next - the show's still going on, getting more and more familiar, and yet more ridiculous at the same time - and comprehensible in a campsite of modern amenities and products of china and culture conglomerated - silly stand-up comics takes on kentucky fried chicken franchise and this globe with a surface scum of genetic copies of ourselves, more or less

paranoid, hunting for mosquitoes, cause they can die - at a higher frequency - if we analogized the time-dilation, we'd be dropping like flies too - the little flies, the non-mosquitos just fly around silently with no seeming purpose which is okay with me, i stared at them with a new vision, i stared at them because i could, could focus, time was slower

no obligatory obeisance to a guilt-ridden neurotic's seriosities in this rock opera - no opera seria - and no need to invoke some opposite extreme of loot the future for the sake of this night, or this hour - it's not that anymore - it's a partially re-wired structure, suggesting possibilities, office space, it aches, it's got insulation to be put in, needs teams of electricians, drywall installers, plumbers, all that stuff - but it's bankrolled by a crazy billionaire - it'll be work, and play, let's say

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not paranoid when you should be just one of my normal keyboard improvisations, nothing special, except that it's recorded on a real grand.