I sang out to Sweeney Todd and the Snow Queen,
Jesus and his Virgin.
I knew that feeling,
sanity dripping out the brain,
orange juice out of its carton,
expiring 7 months ago.
I told you
not to link arms with the devil,
hoping to take only one turn
around the dance floor,
lean to the right and do the charleston.
As twilight steps in for a kiss,
I wrestle the angel in the river
and lose, again.
This is getting dull,
strike a match on a guitar string.
I was seen,
through the eyes
of a sharp toothed novel,
displayed on a page
of a new sexual revolution,
a new perspective.
Seeing holes in concrete walls,
and concrete people
like the night.
I awoke on a carousel,
singing in flowers,
the disenfranchised and corporate fuck-ups
raising a fist to Uncle Sam Spade,
I wondered then,
if there was more to give,
a way to change the world
not just be another hit of acid love,
Light a candle,
shower off all the dirt
of the consumer.
Send word to the page of the undertaker,
take the poison
Finally, to see your own ghost
standing behind you,
in the mirror.
This is dedicated to Britney Spears (who I am listening to right now “Piece of Me”) and to the fun trips you can have on your journey in and around wonderland sometimes.....
Let us start at the beginning of the trip down this particular rabbit hole (I want to shout out to Rachel and Eliza here)... I think you will laugh, hopefully, at this small little channeling exercise. We shall go into these uncharted waters together and at least get a laugh and learn a bit about ourselves, maybe if we want to.
Let’s start out light. Pass the grapefruit around the table as whatever we want, we shall reign for a moment. Angels in the cornerstones of our universes, thriving passionately in a learned laughter, a recognition of the sublime in the ridiculous.
Trees seem to get it, I think for some reason. I don’t mind telling you that I went with Rachel to a Britney Spears concert (recently, I don’t remember when) and we met a gay man in the subway that we ate at across from the concert and he was very blah blah blah about Britney Spears. So, that was interesting and we were best friends for two minutes and then went our separate ways. Ahh well, that’s how they do sometimes.
She is pretty freaky lady. She was doing her “Circus” Tour. Watch some of her stuff... some weird stuff going on here.
Britney Spears song “Blur” in which she says “can’t remember what I did last night...everything is still a blur”. This dissociative Cheshire cat needs some help. If you are sacrificing your happiness for someone else, you need to get out of there. You got to “keep in touch with your star player” at Kat Williams would say.
Do yourself a favor and get off that table and down and out of that room altogether, let’s bond together around some positive, hopeful people and see if we can’t work something out. If you get it together, we could save this ship from sinking. Some are moving forward and that’s great and yet some are staying still... move forward, it is time.
So we arrive at the party late, it’s a big ballroom masquerade theme and we are dressed to the nine’s (that’s an old school phrase for dressing up for some of you new souls out there) and bring a bottle of wine and turn a record on. We bring our projects and books we are working on, our papers, various tourist brochures, candles and incense, chocolate.
We are starting to relax with each other, start to open up and handle each other, carefully and without too much harm done. I come to this event in tails, top hat, dark and shiny look. I hope you take no offense to this, it is just what I see today as a way to represent myself. This is a memoir, of sorts, and thus I should be able and allowed to express an odd gender confusion on my behalf.
You put on quite the show, champagne and mirrors. I love this kind of party, I have to admit. I like a challenge. Set this party in the Great Gatsby era if that is to your liking, old French Elite if that is more your taste in era, a rave in New Orleans if that is more your style, Women’s Studies Conference’s in South Carolina, any number of places this particular party can be placed. The main theme is the same.
We live in a world of madness and thus how else are we supposed to cope but to be a bit on the tinge mad ourselves, I think it is completely understandable with all the fights to be yet fought and the challenges yet to go through. A little mad I think is the best way to go in situations such as these. Have a laugh at least about it and move on to the next week and beyond.
We sit and dine, again my friends. This discussion does get a little carried away Alice thinks from the proper way of things, but Alice sits on her hands and says nothing. It is fun to see people having fun, but the Church would not have this kind of communion go on for too long.
Speaking of church I went today. I am glad that I did because it gave me faith in the church again: good sermon (shout out to my pastor Paul here) and such. I am enjoying my time with you, my friends, and I think I shall go and see Alice in Wonderland
again sometime on my own expense. I want to see it again, regardless of what others think about it. Soon, I have other movies to see and buy but I will wait. I want to get Fantastic Mr. Fox (I love this one, funny as hell) and Where The Wild Things Are is also a good one too.
I miss my Edward (from Twilight) persona. I know that many don’t care for this particular one but I like him, so just back off. I will be fine and you will all make it through in one piece even if I do this persona for a while. You are adults now; you can handle it.
Also if I do mad hatter... you can handle it. Just calm yourself down now, we are all going to be fine. Just ride the wave and no worries. But if I am going to do mad hatter, you have to let me do Kerli too. She is so much fun and my favorite line in the Tea Party song “let’s keep it traditional...” I love this.
I have one strict note for certain parties, however, Alice stands and shouts out to the crowd and there is silence in the long hall as they await for her words to come out. “Enough of this violence. No more casual talk about torture of people and mutilation talk whilst we eat our scones and drink our tea. These conversations are for another time, my friends. Let us keep it light. Please, I beg of you. No more horses, slain or dead or hurt...
no more talk of that for now. I can’t handle it. It hurts my mind to see these things. You are toxifying my mind when I am down and out. Please no more of these harsh videotapes. Let’s keep things light. No more talk of abuse, child or otherwise, no more serial killers, please. I cannot handle these demons now.”
She looks up and to the left.... in her sweet voices with her yellow laces on her shoes and her blue dress and blue hat. Someone told Alice the other day that if you look up and to the left that you are lying. I think that is bullshit...hehehe... but still kind of funny. I get that a bit. Cool, anyway I hope that this was funny in bits and makes you laugh.
I know there were bits of unpleasant but you brought these things up in the first place so I don’t know what to tell you. Until you stop talking about it, I can’t stop writing about it. It is in my bloodstream, as a channeler, and I have to play these scenarios out because I don’t (as of yet) know how to wash these things out of me. I do not know how to turn that off yet cause I am (k)new to this trial and error thing. Patience with me.
Alice is done for now. I feel good about this one. Please respond. Does this help? I don’t know... I noticed that you liked “the red queen speaks out”. I am exhausted in trying to get out to you, Thanks.
Please allow me to write a few stanzas or lines about hard times. I pray, for you my readers and for myself, that when we have hit rock bottom and feel as if there is no farther down to go, I pray for you my brothers and my sisters that you have someone around to help you out. I hope you have a friend, a pastor, a girlfriend/boyfriend, a brother or sister that will be there that you can call (or someone can call for you).
I pray for you prophets and interests alike, all of us need a hand sometimes. I had an experience like that recently and I had people to call (or call for me) and talk and help me out when I was bluer than blue.... I hope that you out there have someone (or can even be luckily as I am and have several people) that has your back. It is so (sometimes too hard) to get through some of this stuff by one’s self.
I have been there. I have fought through the storm without any help at all and tried to do everything for myself (so I know what that is like) and it is rough... almost took my spirituality from me completely- almost spirit-less this body would have been, just machine or even parts. It was not pleasant so I understand.
You artists out there and activists, do-ers and shakers find you some good people, good people now not just any people, around you to help you out of the darkness. Teachers are included in this category as well.
Readers, I heard something most disturbing today. A professor of mine (I will not say who) said that she thought writing and teachers are not activism. I hardly and verbally on here disagree with this statement. I think reading this and writing this are both education that hopefully leads to activism.
The education system is exactly the same. If you are not sparking your students (at least a few of them) to do activist work then shame on you, we need students inspired and sparked to do something, fix something and do anything.
Don’t just disregard our work because it is written down or because it is spoken word passed down from teachers to their students (and hopefully teachers learn something as well). I absolutely think that this is activism. I was inspired to write this book and to write and submit that paper for Queer Theory and am reading on a panel at South Carolina University.
Teaching does make a difference. Writing is art. And I know art makes a difference. Art makes a difference in my life every day, the quality of life and not having to feel alone and wounded.
Also, you friends and lovers and helpers of artists and movers and shakers, you need some people too that help you out. I know that we can drive you crazy, so get some good people around you and you do some of the things you want to do as well. You have great power and wealth inside, beauty. I have not forgotten to mention you.
We will work things out. I’m not going to leave ya hanging even though I know I can be optimistic about such matters. I can’t resist the urge to say again: We will work your shit out. No worries...
The world is on fire. It is hard out there and in here and we need to start getting our people together. I have a bad feeling that it is only going to get worse. I will not give all my details but I feel the tension building and the hardships coming. So all this to say, we carry on. We are all still here, yes? I think so.
We trek on through God knows what but usually we come out on the other side. I care not how/who./whom/what you get for yourself to help you through it, but I do encourage you to get these things ready. I know I still pray when I’m scared but that is just me and some have these ways and some have others way.
It doesn’t make a bit of difference what your way of preparing is (not violent though) I say it is probably a good way to go. Just positive things, things to add to your life, help you get through. We all have to get through somehow. Once again, comedic relief I find very helpful, a variety of songs and movies, stand up, ya know other stuff too. You do what you gotta do.
I want to add some funny stuff in here, come to think of it. I want you to laugh in your seats for a moment and take your worries off your shoulders. I am not usually a comic among most people... I am very sarcastic and “bitchy” I guess some call me... but hopefully it makes you laugh and if it does, that job is done.
I invoke the spirits of the north, south, east, and west cosmic sources to channel or otherwise dazzle and most giggle or gossip a bit at least on how crazy this sounds all coming from the same person: tell your friends, I don’t mind.
Chemicals are crystallizing in a very odd sort of Dr. Seuss kind of way... They flutter in the wind like ash or snow... chimneys under which people sit and cuddle together or write or listen to music alone and make wonders, do wonderful changing things.
I thought your comprehension as well as mine was pretty good, and we can do something with this, together without green pastures to roam in and always sing happy songs of life and happiness. We like to get our hands dirty a bit. I know I do. I love a challenge and a way to fight through and make it and be stubborn as hell about it.
I hated the you that I saw in myself. Mirrors were to hard to look into, shallow breath, cuts from the earth that birthed you, bleeding and sputtering. I was not like you. I saw wings on my angels, real pieces of heaven walking on this earth. You were caught between death and dying spirit. I was the reborn flower, the seed that refused to take your water and spat it back out, poison that is was. I will go dry before I let you run me, own me as you said you owned the moon. But I knew her better than that.
Moon says she laughs in your face and she does your dance before she rams the sharp blade into your thick skull, not to live for long, awake and unafraid. Torrents of tassels hurt my sleep. She moans and arcs her beautiful back into ecstasy, hair in her face. She is fully in that moment, forgetting the bed under her, the pillow at her head, the girl over her whose hands give her this communion with the four walls, the house, the street, the town and all its people. In this moment, we are all called to live it with her. We are to feel her beauty, her lust for another breath, her closeness to the earth and the heaven and hell that walk this ground place, this holy hallowed precipice. It is like we have closed our window blinds eye to the world, shutting out the lightning that makes our world bright, even if for a second.
All we need is a moment. A moment to keep us going.
and listen and sometimes laugh. I will wait, ever so distantly and patiently, until you get your shit together and want to talk about things that are real, that are happening to you every day. I don’t mind. I am very patient (at lease I try to be).
You sit down in your misery and confusion and refuse to budge from that stained and static plane. I want to (not fix it) open up in you a want to discuss and reflect and experience and grow. I want you to be able to feel the deep misery of
despair and ruin. I don’t mind if you express that. You own those bad things in your life, I applaud you for your honesty and character. It sink down into that deep feeling of ugly is something that I think is important. It is part of the process and I embrace it.
We can come back to this place whenever you need to. But I think we need to be learning and doing positive things in there too. We can’t just mingle in the mud. I want to be able to talk about serious shit about the world too. There are other things going on in the world that affect you too but we need to talk about those things too.
The meta-physical world seems to be screaming to me and I think we need to band together in community and work some stuff out. We need a plan, not just about you or me but about how we can start to change the world we live in.
Not every conversation can be about you honey, sometimes you need to grow up a little bit and think about the world. But I am patient. I will wait for you to get there, somewhere behind you.
The world is a crazy place. With all the racism, sexism, homophobia, (and the list goes on forever) how are we going to get anywhere? We need a plan to start to move and shake our communities. I mean, even small actions can be triumphs and shake the earth a bit (in ways we don’t even realize) and these things can change.
Writing, for example, I think is one of my best ways to open up discussions. I want to know what you think about anything that I am saying. Let’s start a conversation. I’m saying some pretty wild stuff or maybe you have heard this all before? I don’t know. Because no one is speaking up. I would love for you to tell me your thoughts (if they are long).
Start talking about it to everyone and let’s start some revolting (I don’t mean angry violent revolting.... no violence for me thanks) but talking is a step in the right direction. Writing and talking. And really, when I say writing (this is just my way of trying to change things) you can be doing all kinds of other things to change things, revolt,
if you will (in a non-violent way... I keep saying this because I am not gonna be responsible for some idiot getting so riled up reading this that he/she goes and gets violent on anything)...
You can start a dance troop, write your own blog about what you think about all this stuff, respond to me, talk to your friends, write to your senators and governors about things you feel strongly about, read the issues that are out there
(learn information about things you are passionate enough about to write it down (send it to your friends, do a blog, make music in protest, make art, any kind of art at all, humanities are art kinds of people too, this is a very broad and big group of people) or express it in some artistic way.
I am personally writing this blog to spark even one person to read it, talk about it to someone, email it to a friend, discuss it with pastors, teachers, mentors, thinkers, philosopher, spiritual people, any thing of this nature. I am just so desperate to change something in a few people. I love my family and I am supporting them in any way that I can but I also really believe that the world can change and that there is hope.
There is film that is changing the way things are as well: documentary film, honest film (even of a personal nature I think is still so beautiful and brings me closer to spiritual enlightenment) films that make you think and talk.
I do not mean to advocate really violent films however, I do not like blood like honesty (lets see how many guts and blood we can smash into a film) or torture movies of any kind... or really even scenes of torture. I hate this stuff. I am not advocating films such as:
The Antichrist (the Dogville’s director film not the other one), I don’t know really anything with torture in it is really just not acceptable to me. This movie business is supposed to be entertainment not trauma inducing centers. Movies like The Happening (oh hell no.... I actually walked out of this movie- it was just that awful- sad, and not entertainment) are not good for my psyche (I swear to God it is true).
So I am just trying to ignite something, maybe. I feel as if I am not getting through and people are not paying attention and so apathy and indifference to social change. I can’t stand to watch more intelligent arty people get traumatized by bad shit (this can be defined in the broadest of terms) and then give up and die in a spiritual way (artistic way) or they actually die.
Hey, and we all have our problems... I know I do. I’m a mess half the time. So I know it isn’t easy. I just hide it sometimes cause I don't want you to worry about me. I am writing, I am doing what I have to do to make it through.
always and forever,
as long as I can.
Till the dungeons sink me,
or rise above me.
To the heavens with you,
I will remain and fight,
to stamp out the darkness against the light,
the brethren together come,
totem and testimony,
I call you forth to unite,
gender perspectives all among you,
live as you are,
you prophets and beasts alike.
I can see the pentagon from here,
this astral view of Washington and London.
An interesting view from here,
so much to tell,
not time yet though.
Until our ladies and gentle gents
can smile in the sunshine,
This Cheshire Cat is being silent.
I hear that the Knights Templar
are business men now, hmmmm...
interesting choice of occupation.
This patriarchy castle is plastic beauty,
but I think it is time to burn it down.
There was no one inside of this floppy building,
you are doing no harm
to shake and shatter,
tear down these systems of oppression.
I take the pen to my fist and wrench
of whomever is around,
I hope the weight then feels less,
on our tired shoulders.
Red seas rage in my mind,
coughing syrup I ran,
I drank soup
on winter days and clapped my hands
together to stay warmer.
I was flying and you were listening,
and I sang to you and wrote down thoughts,
fought through the fog for you to understand,
where I was, who I was.
At least remember that even if you forget yourself.
I can remind you of you.
I will cross lines to reach you,
battle for you, if you will,
in the sunlight.
Let me curve around you and look you up,
define me rhythms of the past,
the minds eye can be seen
through pictures of the dark and haunted places,
I will go through,
bleed almost to death,
to sink and regain consciousness,
remember who I am and who you are,
again and again,
until you understand.
Bow down to the serpent,
and she will respond in quick
tugs at the skin near your eyes,
a dark sermon must be preached now:
insert sermon content:
My Fellow Misfits and Transvestites,
Writers, Singers, Actors, and Movie Makers I say that I
aim please to have as many of you as I can find
to teach each other and learn from each other once again.
We are in need of strength and
peace of character, thank you.
I came quickly out of the labyrinth,
searching for the foxes and suicide droppers,
keep your hopes up my dear friends,
I know you are dreary.
Fights such as these and very hard,
struggle was bound to bound us and abound us.
The Devil is standing on the moon today,
I saw him earlier when I left my apartment,
looked up and wondered:
do other people see this?
The circus is playing
loud in my eastern portion
of my brain today.
The sheep are dancing
in the northern part
of my mental health,
just today and yesterday.
You, as well as your teacup, sir,
are spinning and I can’t hear you,
even when you jump up on the table.
Let us just play our instruments aloud
and speak in tongues,
Russian maybe for starters.
I can tap him out for you
I wish though that
you could see how
I twitch and cower
as I write this one:
The animal is let out of her cage,
the audience cringes
to see what they want to ignore.
I just want to slump
to the nearest bar and meet
up with friends I don’t have,
make some new ones,
sing awhile and get a group together,
do an album of sorts.
Caroline, I miss you
and your soft hair, lit up skin
like fireflies going the foxtrot,
smart clock towers and such,
good timing when it came to traffic,
hard to un-love, so far impossible.
Let’s haunt our skeletons again,
chase away the blue skies,
the suns and bring in the night,
the cold becoming us,
steal and ice storms.
Once I saw two slain horses,
on a road to a farm,
indeed where the rain reigns red,
blood in the pantry
and two sad soulful animals
left in the road.
No one is talking so
I gave a wink to the piano chair,
and we started to rain down
on the small crowd that gathered.
Frost came from drunks on the sidewalk,
and the coffee drinkers
at all of the nearest 24 hour diners,
sex was whiskey in a bottle,
some times ice.
Do you ever feel like you’ve seen things so horrible,
that you will do almost anything to forget these things.
I just want to forget,
I don’t care the cost,
the girls and boys,
the styles and schemes,
all is worth
the ability to forget.
There were spills and perfumes,
I don’t know,
I can’t remember,
dreams are so real,
like you could reach out
and touch them, you, me.
I suffer when you don’t hear me,
I can’t get that beat out of my head,
so much lost for the price of getting
one person’s attention.
Commit to asylums if you must,
but there must be a better way
out of this mess.
I just can’t seem to remember
the way out of here,
this hole, this tunnel,
this rock and roll hideaway.
I call to the gods of the west,
the hierophants of our remembrance,
the fathers of ghosts and shadows,
must stand and rise and dance into the light,
another time to help us,
I know I write so much lately,
instead of saying the words out loud,
but I have become shy and loyal
to the older version of yourself,
that faint glimmer in the mirror,
of a past life,
Call to the goddesses of the North,
You are needed to calm the waters,
give us our patience and our strength,
Mary with her Jesus,
watching him give in again.
I sprang awake,
at the thought of war,
oh lord, it is too soon,
we are tired,
but God insists to keep on,
though we are weary.
Call to the gods and goddesses
of the Southern plane,
Our native brethren,
call to our energies,
together bring out,
the New Age,
Aquarius is the leader now,
support will be needed for prophets,
changers and shakers,
bring us some ark angels to guide our
strange and weary way.
Prepare say Elijah,
it is the time of legends foretold,
We are coming,
these beacons of the light,
these demonized originals,
we shall rain,
in some hoards and dark nights are ahead.
It is the Mark of the Beast
that growls in the dark unknown,
let us light fire to his dungeons,
and raise him up to see in his eye,
We are here for only a little longer,
I am being told from all corners,
we are out of time and fantasy
still distracts us from our
I call out in the night,
Hollow hallow be the able
to look our savior in the eye,
we will join together,
see through the fog and reach
the journey ends and begins
and ends and begins again.
I call to the moon,
we are here,
spirits in red and velvet purple,
we are colors
of the rainbow,
delight and delicate,
each of us to the other,
we are all together mourning
and celebrating a new sun to rise.
Horrible things to see,
like screams from inside,
I am taped up,
trapped and sunk,
eyes to dark to see anymore.
I was “other-ed” to seek out,
some med or new style.
Cathedrals are bloody
Jesus hanged on his cross,
and welcoming in a new era.
Even to write this,
to print these words to the page,
I hear my demons scream
from inside the closet,
they are hungry,
and want out to play.
I am weak
from remembering so much,
so many events,
circus like acts,
all Hollywood stars
and contracts with
Let us pray for safety,
our beating hearts
fluttering in the breezes of Neptune.
We swam in dank,
skipping around in time,
haunted by visions,
afraid of the dark
and of being all alone in the world.
We are not as such.
We are fierce
women that face
the trials of hegemony
Ice cream hostages,
painted and starving patrons of the arts.
In winter time
we are ahh yes,
just the players
in the game of chess.
They took away my pen
and handed me a revolution.
I escape the prison
and enter the gates of a
somewhat tainted heaven.
the girl heads up my
sign of the times
with alchemy pens and serpent fangs,
gravediggers and incumbents,
hell froze over
and left me dripping,
aching to be inside you
with my surging energy,
giving you pleasure.
I want to
thrust you deep into me,
grasping for the trees
heads of the church aside,
we beg to be awakened together
in a flash of spirit and sex.
Though, be oh so careful in the darkness...
The wondering wandering jabberwocky was once just a young boy with cells like you are I, a woman on seventy-third and chester street in downtown manhattan.
This jabberwocky, was full and bright with light and glory like any of the other characters that are at our tea party but gets toxified along the channels and angered violence, the mean and cruel finally turning himself into his own monster, poor silly thing.
This mad hattering was brought to you buy: tea pitchers. They are giant and have a lot of beverage in them, but I want the beverage in a glass, not a tea pitcher.
Not plain good or bad, but complicated as many of you young mad hatters are indeed and as well. No worries, my friend, the jabberwocky was once you as well. But, along the way, perchance- you catch a deathly virus, or drink blood, chew each other out in classrooms, cubicle painters andd organizers, managers and so on. We all are messy.
So we fellow Christopher Lees, Angry Inches, Stanley Kubricks,
George Bush (once he fully came into his viscious self- not like these others listed who were just like you and me) etc.
Have no fear,
I understand your struggle, you kings of the Netherlands and beyond
The weather changed slightly, and we all became insane with rage and violent tendencies... it is alright, we understand you. Life is really hard sometimes and if you are not paying attention, you will miss it. Tis one thing to feel the anger as it raves through, tis quite another fornication to let the anger turn you into a beast of machine and violence... oh what weeping when I saw this happen over and over, pathetic waste of time and management... So the Apocalypse is coming, eh? Fear and factors, paranoia leading to disillusioned aggression towards the ones you loved, once.
This mad hattering was brought to you by: Katt Williams and Eddie Izzard- truth and humor in flashes.
Im not linking the two, but I kind of am.
The dawning or awakening of a new generation of leaders.... huh. This is an interesting idea. That is coming around and was proclomated by the Miyans? Yeah, we are in for it. At least I fucking hope so with the moon slightly glowing and growling low, the earth tossing and turns in her fevered sleep.
You better get ready, and I don’t think you are ready yet. We are going into the eye of the storm people, friends, believers, prophets, death is coming in a way you are not expecting.
Our mad hatters are being chopped off, our alice’s are dying, our white queens are loosing their power, our red queens are getting worse, and our dormouse’s feel inadequate.
We as the lost living need a place to go to get away from all this stuff. We are going to the collective consciousness art stuff and being celebrities and those channels of fame and fucking fortune are toxic to our artists. Toxins breeding toxins. Mmmmm, not good.
So some relief from the pantheon about all of this madness.
Must be careful bout these suicide times... They seem to grow with idolization of apathy and I shiver and shake as my loved ones around the world vomit chemicals and prescription pills with such wretched sorrow.
We have had a long night of battle, and now it is time for some didactic philosophy. Ive spent long enough talking about myself to you reader, and now I want to know your thoughts on the divine, the earth’s travel into a new age.
Questions may be the best way to start off our journey on this particular round-a-bout. Who are you? Where is your space? What does it mean to have space, to recognize (or not) one’s own image in the mirror- a plane, another dimension, a lifeboat, whatever you want to call it, I am obliged to use your words for this- not mine. My words are still without that gold- crusted shine.
What can we do-do, do, do, It is all actioin or it is nothing (says the big man in the big house). I feel there is an unpleasant stirring in our communities- this idea of fights worth to be fought. Can we not choose to use words for expansion- no more wars for me, thanks though.
It is past time that our 30 second generation chooses to think of war on a more meta-physical force towards something we (you or I) want to make our footprints in. I feel like we are not getting any- where.
I feel inspired to thrust forward (violently, if that is the only way to get your attention) ideas that help us redeisgn our perameters, our boxes too small, our channels exhausted by toxic fumes. Here is an image: Two cognitive adults having a conversation about whether or not they should put feed in the birdfeeder at home.
The wife complains that she wants it to be spring and to set out feed so that while she is sipping on her morning tea, she can be in the company of some feathery friends. The husband insists that winter is still among us with her crisp mornings and desires to stay in bed all day. Birds are in no way ready to take on these colder months. Wait, feed the birds when June comes around.
The conversation gets heated: to feed or not to feed the birds in the backyard- they fight all the way home. So angered is the husband that he takes the shotgun (which is loaded and set to shoot passing children that accidently grab it or the bullets flying away to smack the thirteen-year-old across the street with stray bullets) off the mantle and shoots his wife. The police make it in time (due to the old lady next door hearing the shots) to say goodbye to this woman- flashback to bird feeders in the backyard.
Does this scenario seem the best way to deal with such an argument? If you think so, stop reading this book. If you like or can put yourself in the shoes of this man, then pack your things up and leave this poor piece alone. If, however, you feel a twinge (of any kind) that there is a fundamentally wrong action taken in this scenario, stick around.
Let me try to explain my feelings about this sort of behavior. First, anger hits. I find myself disgusted by this man. Death is everywhere. I made it a few meager pages without voicing ideas on death. As well, it was meant to be discussed, I suppose.
Throughout these pages martyrdom and death- war and significance will pop up to say hello, in a raspy Tom Waits sort- of voice. It is in the order of the cosmos to discourse on such topics. Let me be clear. This powerful engine, this beast of humanity, this hypothesis of philanthropy is a call to action. Actions seeped into a system that, hopefully, will not see us coming down the trial of this multi-verse. Actions such as: art, poet-ness, mystical experiences of all non-brands and non-labels.
My caveat to these actions, however, is that I will voice till death that sacrifice should go only as far as madness of one’s self- not war, not violence, blood washed libraries and homes of children.
This Chapter is supposed to be before the Red Queen Speaks.
The queen in her trial of alice was set to music by Louis Armstrong and Charlie Parker in a midst of a thunderstorm. The queen was waiting with her heals up on the bar and waits and waits and is getting in impatient! Ahh! She howls and the king, small and feisty.
Alice, thrashing about, trying to leave this cauldron of freaks and geeks. I have extra teeth, I have extra says the mad hatter, hats and hats and hats among them. The mad hatter appears in red font and is extra annoyed today. You are leaving us without saying goodbye? Are you mad? I think not. You are not going to leave us today from this earthen-ish place. We love you. Miss you much love and wish you could stay awhile. Would you have another cup of tea? Stay a minute? Please?
Alice says to the court, I will stay through the trial and then go home.
The queen screams, the sentence, the sentence! Alice replies in disdain, verdict first... '
sentence after.... The queen turns red and says off with his head! The king says, ahh queen now, be patient... can’t we have a trial? a little one? And the queen replies ahh yes, well get on with it, I have shoes to buy and lunches to attend to. The king calls for first witness. The mad hatter approaches the stand, as he is want to do on many occasions. Through good and the bad and the bit ugly....
The march hare goes first. The rabbit asks what do you know about this horrible event. And to this the march hare replies: nothing what-s o –ever. Whell, that is very important then. Jury write that down.
The mad hatter steps up next to the scene to perform a most magical and serpent-like game with the queen. I am a hatter, sayth he, and to this the queen replies: Oh, goodness well, I did not mean to turn you from your duties. The Mad Hatter replies, “oh, no harm done... we will just have a spot of tea before we all get on our going ways”. Out comes the cups and saucers, the cakes and teas, the fruit and pie and wonder of all wonders of food.
So they all sit awhile and dine, they talk on the weather and whether the weather man would be joining us anytime this evening. We discuss politics and the economy, from androgyny shows to masquerades and games that reminded us of home. It was fun once again in the land of wonder, for a short time, which seemed a long time and a short amount of time together.
You dance and trot about and sprain your ligaments, you drink and improv crash through ceilings. It was really the same, you and I, on this weird and awkward winding road (here we break out into the Beatles with their song... “the long and winding road, that leads...dum dum dum....that leads to your door.....”) So we relax, and chill it out and write a memoir and do wel,l ok in everything else. But we like this sort-of daydream state.
It is so much easier to deal with life when you stay in the wonderland place. Who is the mad hatter in the real world? I am, but who is me. Me is someone that I am trying to remember by writing this blog. Who am I in that world?
How do I function as mad in the world of the real. I do not know, but it sure as hell has been an interesting ride. Jordan is Alice, I know for sure. The white queen being Rachel. Noah being Cheshire (also being my dad) and dog. Mom being the dormouse, etc. We need to wake up. It is time to
bond together and shot in unison. Maybe we will be heard.
The mad hatter ponders all of this in her mind as she eats another cheesecake and macaroon cookie. The storm is coming and she can feel it in her bones. But our story does not end here. There is much more to tell and dwell back and mention again and then there is just more to it then that. Here we start to learn about ourselves and what we are willing to sacrifice and for whom? How far are you willing to go? Want to keep falling with me?
Absurd prose- I hope to call this small dot on the pantheon of writing that has come before me. Just a little bit of odd me to tackle. You looked at me and pronounced that I had all answers to questions you had in the creases of your mind. Well, fortunately for you, I declare no such thing. I have seen my share of hauntings: little girl with long dark hair might be a ghost of a daughter I saw the first semester after my dad died. I was a freshman in college, and she had nothing else to do as a ghost in Ohio. She had things to say, people she wanted to see and talk to, and I was the only lone wolf who could see her, as I lay in my bed listening to the walls for weeks after the funeral.
Have you ever drowned in ice water? Rather unpleasant. I don’t know why I bring this up- I just felt it worth mentioning. There are no hands to reach out for, no rescue boat, no voices to urge you to stay awake as you drift, frozen blackbird, in a sea that does not know or care what your name is.
Alice. Alice was my name for a time when I first met my little shadowy follower. I had seen whisps of people passed on before- but never so close, so real and so impatient. I never heard her story- my ears not yet open to sounds from another world. All I know is that I missed my dad too (as I think this ghost girl did too). Things are difficult in the midst of a sandstorm and drowning in ice water. There must have been some significance because a freshman I knew killed himself two days after I came back to Ohio after burning my dad to ashes- not pretty but that is the truth.
But really, my story ends and begins and ends again before my dad, the little girl, and the freshman. It starts more across the road from my house- a cute house that spoke up and loved to yell at me through the lanterns at the end of their driveway. “This house has been condemned by the state of TN” is what the sign should have said, instead, the sign read “sold”. My high school years were taken over by the alchemist that moved in next door. We did black magic, made rain pour down on those outside lanterns, had the whole neighborhood talking about Satan’s magic, rituals, and poltergeists. It was quite the dance, it was indeed.
I suppose that it is unfortunate that I did not notice the warning signs of mercury poisoning. I got mono my senior year- close enough. Lessons were learned, new potions were consumed and the little Alice in me was raped and I know not where that girl is anymore. Pain is an odd thing- a sense of red queen anger passed over me like the god of Death stealing away your first born son- just because he can.
This particular Aleister Crowley in my life was- unexpected- as it were. I had not forseen a knave of hearts so early on in my life- ah well, the things we give up to learn about the dark arts. It was quite an opening night for the circus, I can assure you. That is enough of taste testing on that particular tea party. On to more vamps and veiled curtains.
I don’t know, maybe I should give up on writing a book. Too much time trying to find colloquial words to explain what I’ve seen. Try this image on for its profit and see where this veiled door takes you: Angry men whisper hatred to each other at the corner bar, the painted face in the window used to be a real woman- dead faced and licking her wounds she breaks out (gotta love high school acne and hormones) of her ugliness to be dolled and pasted on every teenage magazine in America. She works for someone famous now. I have often wished to just write while I sleep- easier process I would think than sitting at starbucks watching sport teams assembly and de-assemble.
My dreams, however, are a tinge bit macabre. I was offered a front row seat to watch a torture scene during the French revolution- the body was someone I might have known in ages past, or maybe it is me on that table. I shall never know. Never estimate how far you are ready to fall down the hole of rabbits- the unconscious will always surprise you.
Maybe this book will change, break, pierce, make someone cough, eat a fruit or vegetable, get your haircut: for that is all we can really hope for, am I right?
Now on the topic of hysterical women: I have met two or three in my clock ticking backwards part of my life. I felt haunted by a piece of myself that was hard to express in the binary times such as these. It was more of a labyrinth expression of masculinity in all of us that looked towards. A question for the insecure personalities reading this and writing this: how can androgyny work in a system that defies this word, much less its creative function.
If I can produce in myself, both masculine and feminine colors, then am I not doubling (at least) the binary means of propaganda?
There are then four categories of gender (well methinks many more than that... but who's counting the time down to zero) to watch for: the feminine, the masculine, the fusion of both and the absence of both- these last two being more interesting to me than the first two. Are there spaces (the width of butterfly wings) in which we can enjoy divine comedic relief, enlightenment in the erogenous zones and mad tea parties and perhaps my musings and shout outs to asylums (where more of our prophets end up).
A picturesque pity that we live in the move to Aquarius and I am still getting looks (even in the most liberal of spaces) for mouthing words to a song I hear in my head. Woah, happy unbirthday to me.
I frankly do not believe in long chapters because I can’t keep my attention and I know you can’t either. What is the time allotted for our generation of conservation and concentration: like 30 second attention span? We, the generation of big ideas, and no persistence longer than 30 seconds. It’s kind of a damn shame.
Chapter 3: Time has a money face and so do monkeys.
What do you call yourself? I mean, not your name, but the place that you hold- your space. I’m not always an advocate for the “naming” of spaces. But in this case, I am striving to explain a multiple universe of intricate identities, tied one to another, by string or rope from the captain’s quarters on the east Indies trade company-
floss, cake mix, timed writing exercises, bats do fly into people’s hair, the Byzantine empire, the czar of Russia, cannibals, molasses, Ginsberg, fish in their respective ponds, meat on its rotisserie. All these things make up the surroundings of my space, but not an identity or word can express this actual spatial reality in which I live.
Let me try once to explain: aura migraines are to be expected, paranoia, screams from below that make me afraid of the dark, songs descend on me as if hookah smoke pours from the ceiling and slips down her face and runs down her body to the floor. Words that have no definition, broken dishes, smell of snow...
The mad hatter (being me of sound and body) and alice ( being him of sound and body) asks you once again to afford yourself to the chessboard for a match. It is time my friends, it is time to join in our solid pursuits...
The White Queen has many declarations she would like to inform you of: first off, who will fight the jaberwocky?
The mad hatter says I will indeed fight and go mad once again for the white queen.
and the cheshire says says I will fight for you and the hatter on his head....
and the doormouse says: I will fight in the the fight with the jaberwocky till death for your side..
and then Alice turns and runs away...
She then meets the capetillpar who is just now coming into her butterfyly-ness... she is all and one and one and all and everything and she is like a god set to music on fire...
this makes alice rethink his choices and decisions, with his friend and his dad about (there were six at that table honey) and joined forces to help you as you undergo the hardest task or trial yet. We, all your loyal subjects, will follow and fight with you to the end. We do it all for Alice: the white queen, the red queen, the cheshire cat, the mad hatter, the catepillar, the dodo, the father of alice, all of us together will fight for your cause, my friend
we will help you all the way and you can just take on the jaberwocky by yourself to prove to yourself that you can do it once again....
I can be whomever you need around, for I have many faces to choose from, and the rest are, ya know, that...
I gave the white queen
a hand to hold
She gave me her
signature on ice
and wrestled the red queen
mad hatter and white queen
at last knighted and united,
chalice and blade:
together at last.
Death cards become us today,
last we met,
gave me light in the darkness,
the only queen
in the sky,
I’ve ever seen.
of all sizes and shapes,
virgins and whores,
slaves and free,
gave into magic
and beautiful horizons
yet unknown to them.
We burn together
we will burn and unite
and change into beings
in the future times,
for now, just having a bit of fun.
This is my reaction,
formally known for its brutally profane nature
of once bloodstained walls,
now white washed and shiny,
the color being gone,
thus the deed, unimportant.
The prostitution rites,
arched and heaving,
over the graves of the elite,
the last sigh of the hanged man
on the hill
that the church strung up
as a publicity stunt,
bringing in some extra cash
for the new baptismal pulpit.
I was asylumed-
that became internalized by the collective conscious,
as blasphemy and rhetoric.
The doctors come in,
white trench coats of the republic,
gave way to the revolution
over the rainbow and back again,
same shit over and over.
I could not see
through the labyrinth of the fire queen
and the white rabbit.
Beauty so horrifically defined
as to render one blind and deaf
to the dying of mankind,
and the age of the machine and madness.
I reached out,
one shaking hand,
from the black curtain,
and found cold steel
pressed against my palm-
exchanging blood for plasma
and volcanoes burning.
We ate dirt and pills
fed to us as caviar and saturated fats,
and we had the fucking gall
to believe them
without a sound of screaming.
Supernatural became a myth.
I was told to follow behind
the stations of the cross,
a bloody tantric eulogy.
You are trying my patience.
The harlequin shaman
tries to wake up, open you up,
and ends up in a morgue
where she was born,
back to dust
to regain, what,
honor? glory? Money?
Can I step into your cell
your caffine stressed,
No, all I see
is bourbon sloshed shadows.
If you don’t know where you are,
what the fuck am I supposed to do about it.
I took crucifixes off the shelves of the saints
and wore them around my neck,
catacombs also warn like red scarves in the snow.
Rock back and forth to keep the faith
that the earth still turns on its stomach,
24-7 bellyache in my opinion.
Oh my God, Oh my God
the house is on fire! The children are home!
The woman cries into the street,
arrive on the scene,
only to find a pbs special of Jim Jones
and his kool aid transubstantiation.
The whores on bourbon street-
the same reincarnated Sabine Women,
the sphinxes of the Egyptians,
Mary Magdalene dies, again, alone and crying,
history can be unkind to those he does not understand.
It was early morning,
I left the Viper Room around 3 am,
possessed by the green fairy
I headed south as anyone in their left mind would do
to the corner where the sewer runs to the sea (rudely, and without apology).
smoked a whiskey,
slurped down a cigarette
and headed home.
I swear she was awake
when I left her in the care of the piano,
to buy her a stiff cup of coffee,
and find her a cab
with a smiley disposition.
This lifestyle was disfiguring at best,
more time swapping stories with the shower head
than with the professors at the established universities,
the mercenaries for each new fad,
Gucci purses from snakeskin
psychological warfare and suicide bombers.
Times weren’t so bad,
every story has a sideline,
an excuse for profanity,
a fatal femme fatale flawed fall guy.
I’d give my right pocket of my favorite jeans
to sink back into my dreams
and go skinny dipping
for the pleasure of the howling moon.
It seemed my deepest
I was caged by the ink pen you left on your desk,
a pinprick ever so slightly touched to the skin.
Was the beast on the left side of my brain
just you, walking from one shadow to another?
Between the cracks in the pavement,
I saw your eyes staring back at me,
shards of glass,
another tragedy that gawks at me back in the mirror.
Isn’t it funny how sensitive nightlights
wink back at you as you walk on by,
and you- not giving a damn what she’s trying to tell you.
I feel so much today
that my hands weigh me down,
shaking to the ground,
another tower to climb over
as it tumbles down.
Mad hatter becomes me well,
in this lighting,
with the windows down
and the shades drawn in
to the scene around them.
I bleed tea and gin from overseas,
Kafka on his knees
begging for antenna
and holes to dig in.
Where do candle flames go
in the daytime?
To deep forests
where the dragons still dance,
and the moon bruises easily,
and the Holy Grail slumbers,
buried in the tomb of the Vampire King
who is just awakening.
She had been fractured into just pieces of light, now, in this place of dark creepings and screams from the underworld. God give her grace in the ways that she can’t even ask for or that she even knows how to, what to say. You are not alone. I bleed and twitch in the brain just as you do. Do not laugh because there is nothing funny going on in the world that I can see. I had slipped through the cracks in the sidewalk that I skipped down when I was much younger, generations younger. In a time when there was still space to breathe, even in the dirty streets of Chicago. Please don’t distract me from the inevitable weeping and tearing of clothes. I bled ashes from the days when Christ walked the earth, so she told me.
Poor Mary to be swept up in the tempest that Shakespeare struggles with in later times. I can’t stand to see him gripping the sides of his pain and his bed. Teacups crashed to the floor on a regular basis in my family. I wanted more than anything to dance the nerves and the red energy out of the toxicity of my bones but no moves came, not even old ones that I knew by heart, walking and grinning from ear to Cheshire ear. Lies were so much easier, I love you.
Don’t bother staying around cause I was the asteroid to hit the world in the year 2012.
You felt the sigh on the back of your neck.
I pant in rhythm with you,
rock back and forth,
count the tiles on the floor,
49 cracks in history.
I missed you
like my last cigarette,
heaving to feel the smoke come back,
make toxic my lungs again.
I was in breakdown mode,
mood swings like
I fail to be the follower,
in his straight jacket drowning.
I betrayed you to the devil,
tears fall down the back side
of the clock
ticking in the hallway.
There was not enough
closet space for the creature
that hid within,
and the 64 pairs of shoes you bought.
I paint pictures,
vulgar in exhibition
imploding on the inside of the brain.
We chose to channel you,
Christ and his wounds
Stalin and his gun.
Twilight crept into bone-
you shrink away from the darkness.
You were missing
the beauty of the moment.
I gave up on reassembling
Too many sunsets on cells,
we see them all,
dying to be the martyr.
I refuse to sin
the way you want me to.
Did you think I was gonna
wave a fucking wand?
Make the pain evaporate,
displace the pain to someone else?
The game is not what you think.
Chess only had so many options.
The moon recalls your struggle
to accept the dying.
But you couldn't help but think,
you are not who we thought you were,
stranger backlit by shadows.
I took the stigmata on
and laughed in your face.
The portals have been opened,
the closets refilled with monsters,
the attics and basements of America
I came through the fog
purging T.S. Elliot,
a second chance
to live as someone else.
Crucify your own damn soul
for I will not comply again
as when I walked the streets of London,
vampire to few
that felt my rage
rush the streets,
taking your quaking soul
to the astral plane.
This mad hattering was brought to you by: Make your Own Crop Circles that can be found at Barnes and Noble booksellers.
I shall jump through the looking glass once again says the mad hatter to himself, and he took off with a flash to find alice again. Back through the mirror he climbed and into our world where masks are on tight and no one knows who none really is... They keep time here, stick to the clock and your hat and your set. The motion of the time will keep you on track. As the moon in our world sizzles up to the devil and gives him a wink and a sigh. She floats back down to the ranch and hitchikes down the road again.
This lovely mad hatterian escape was brought to you buy Luna Bars, A great snack with a lot of chocolate and peppermint on it.
The androgeny of the mad hatter and alice was so interchangable, that it was hard to tell who was whom in the world of the real plain. Both oozed out the trappings of feminine and masculine that is did not really matter which one was what or what was which one. The hatter was both as was Alice.
So, let us say, that the mad hatter ended up stuck in a female body and alice got stuff in a male body this time. It's weird, I know, but those are the cards played- you can bet your aces with was the queen of hearts that sent them.
This mad hattering escape was brought to you by Mom's Best Naturals cereal that you can by at greenlife for 7.50.
Ahh well, another time and another place, we shall see if we can get it right once more. Back to the way the shananigans used to roam around, but for now we are stuck in where we are. Too bad, so sad, and moving on. We happen to fall in the story as a three siblings. Ahh, well such as it is. So, this is a hard quest to understand the queen and all her wrath against alice. Not good they scream, not good. Thus the mad hatter asks alice again, come to the tea party and we will show you the way.
This mad hattering was brought to you by: Lucky Charms, the only Irish Cereal.
I've got my trusty doormouse, the cheshire cat, the white rabbit, and the march hare with me and they've all come to say 'ello in a very british accent. Let's have tea and cake and raspberries while we chat and discuss the hookah on the left and the disappearing act on the right. Play the piano then mistro, if you please, call the moon down with us for some tea. We shall, we shall, the gospel choir calls out to the raven and the writing desk.
This mad hattering escape was brought to you buy: The Oracle, a magazine of High Priestesses that is founded on core principles of metaphics in Chattanooga, you can get free at green life.
We sit and chat awhile, politics, space monkeys, twins, freaks, geaks, streets, new orleans, dave matthews, tom waits, lady gaga, britney spears, Kerli, A3, coldplay, kubrick, Jonny Depp, Tim Burotn, Coco rosie, Kate Winslet, CSNY, Bob Dylan, Ginsberg, T.S. Elliot, James Joyce, Helene Cixious, Justin Timberlake, Christina Auguelra, and so forth...
This mad hattering is brought to you by: The Twilight Series wrtiten By Stephanie Meyer
ya know... the family. How are the kids? How's the wife and new baby... Guess who I saw at the market, guess who was wearing prada, guess who got a divorce, a better attorney, a new and bigger house, and we laugh a bit and say, ah well, that's showbiz...
This mad hattering was brought to you buy:
Organic Milk that does not taste as good as Mayfields but still costs 8 dollars...
NO, I do not mean to imply that all the people on this list do that-at all. But there are one or two I wonder about who might have said yes a few times when they should have said no. Be careful there. I know that money and tea and raspberries and wine are great... I know it's a fun ride. But ya can't totally sell your soul to the real.
This mad hattering was brought to you buy Levi Jeans- they are durable and remind me of my friend Levi. You rock.
The real isn't hanging around that much anymore. We've moved on to another plane...of Alice and tea and torts and tortoises and griffins and turtle and beasts of all sizes and HIgh Priestesses and devils with hermit and the universe. Learn to split them apart. They do not own you my friend. You don't owe them a damn thing.
This mad hattering was brought to you buy DaSani- water that can still taste like plastics...
So you move on and you talk, breathe it out a little, you ain't hurtin nobody. You calm down your fires of inferno and you chillax a moment. Don't worry yourself for two seconds about your car phone or your gas bill or your stud earrings basking in the glow of glitz consumerism... You just chill on by for a minute and talk about matrydom and talk about androgeny. I think
This mad hattering was brought to you by: Open Mic Night Night Poetry Readings Around the great the U.S.
it is time, my fool, my alice, my Tim Burton Alice in Wonderland People, to wake up ladies and gentle pansies and stand up straight and make your choice. Where do we end and where do we begin? Which of you is me and which of you is I? I know not. I know that time is ever ticking and you wasting a lot of time on loose drinking and queens and duchesses with flushes and ruffles trying to pry your attention on the real, the now, the fool, the jump, the rabbit hole,
This mad hattering was brought to you by: Tim Burton's new movie that I am seeing tommorow: Alice in Wonderland.
time is ticking away and you are losing the battle with the queen.
It ticks away
Hypnosis to the archangel
I kept my distance
from the maze and hysteria.
Could you be wrong?
I was in the time zone
of the zodiac,
Scorpio leering over
the bed frame.
No, I have seen the change over
from the dark ages to "light".
I was born in Venice
in the year of the serpent
long before the age of reason.
We spoke in different
syllables of tree sounds
rays of religion
and the froth of
new born seas.
There was a particular violence in the air,
tasty in its own migratory patterns,
its religious undertones that drowned me to the sea.
I sweat profanity,
sex in its most basic disguise
was just humidity on a night in September.
I thumped, panted, coughed, struggled,
ended up strangled only by the dust on your shoes.
Pen to paper became its own rite,
just one pathway up the mountain.
God was a goat,
smoking a cuban cigar,
playing strip poker with a transvestite.
Why was it that only my sway on the dance floor
caught the attention of the media and clocks ticking?
I had sticky visions, illuminations of divinity,
blood soaked walls and coffin writings,
time bombs just waiting till the strike of eleven
to implode on the earth’s apathy.
The awakened non-carbon copies of humanity were the only half breeds,
angel and human perhaps,
that would feel a sudden cold chill from
the lips of hell that sucked them under.
I just needed time to wrap my legs around it,
to give in to fits of revolution,
to stare into the moon’s eye
without a shudder,
without a sound.
if I had happened to have a hammer.
Suppose looking back on it,
it would have made more sense
to have paid with whiskey
and let you roll around on the wooden floor
vomiting up every syllable
(you had ever spoken to anyone
including your own stupid head)
and that egg salad you had for dinner.
Your sighs made mountains into volcanoes.
I knocked from inside my coffin-
really just because I was bored with spiders being my only company-
and the ominous “them” let me out into the night.
I dusted off my clothes from the century before
and made my move,
foot to earth, oh god-fuck yes,
dance the Charleston and return to the moon soggy streets.
I felt the pandemic hit like a hurricane in the desert,
every silly generation having their own bubonic plague.
Baby, call it what you like-
sickness is spreading at speeds of water out of a burning kettle,
the poor mother teapot is screaming
and all we hear is a mundane hum, a lullaby for a cup and saucer.
Come in closer,
let me whisper it into your eardrum
the rhythms of the prophets of our age.
And did that candle flame just blink at me?