Mothers Day!

                    Ill be indecently and happily disposed over the Mothers Day weekend

                                            wishin Happy Mothers Day to all you Mothers 
                                                                   and other muthas!


posting agin Monday, May 12

Ahead of the game or gamechanger
                                      leading the way into the wilderness 

or wil'child come home to roost
                                 arguing           or augmenting

the Beatles

he wondered to-day why he hadnt written of them earlier

they had been a seismic element      

a rare occurrence in his Life

a wakeup call that aroused  and aligned him

                                                 despite him knowing full-well some kind of Alarm
had been set                                                                                                           

although he hadnt suspected when or to what extent it might render him

                                                                                                                                                                                     the Beatles shook his cobwebs loose
sprung the fabrics binding him vigorously hacksawed the chains wrapped at his wrists and ankles

they knocked down and breeched the walls that arrested or confined him

                                                                               their Helter Skelter was mansonized  

their Ob-la-di Ob-la-da rapsodized  oh-blud-in oh-blud-out

                            

yah  “Lala how the Life goes on”

indeed  “ . . . how the Life goes on” . . . shot-through by a brilliant vibrating blue white-edged bolt of honed elektricity . . . a maniac fluttering then rolling of wide-sprung eyes    

the chomping of the jaws 

                    manikins helplessly reciting and singing the words to their songs
Inhabiting them
Examining them lickin his chops John took Christ down and climbed up instead to see what he could make of the eriot and vista:

           “ . . . when I get to the bottom I go back to the top where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride till I get to the bottom and I see you again . . ." 

who wrote and sang songs like that before 

who has written and sung them since

                                                                                              

for their Time and Place they were genius

and while genius is often sparse or parsed

theirs oozed like slowflow honey

encapsulating not only their Time but like amber has congealed and endures

their endurance is refreshing successive generations

                                                                                         Beatles B.C.  –  Beatles A.D.

                                                                                     

                                                                                                  1158,  Day-Beween-Two-Ts,  7  5. 14

their conversation  briskly circling their bare wood antique table breezed to a crescendo

when she remarked Now wait  before you go semantic on me

he interrupted Better semantic than semitic  You know thats going to find its way into

my wrioting somehow

Ive no doubt

he had a way with words

a sorted way that conflagrated minimized twisted and tortured them with scarcely a

pause or thought

semantics semitics   he looked on an advertisement from CI that ralleyed (there he goes

again) a “full-bodied small-batch lovely”  and read it a full-bodied lovely small snatch

and perhaps while the majority of overhearers eyebrows might vault or furrow their

brows  take offense  -  not that he would be affected by their disdain  -  she  she would  

open her eyes widely

then smile

genuinely amused

she was beyond offense

though a good portion of her inoffensiveness was related to her open mind and

sensitivity

she learned early on in their relationship he simply divulged his curiosity without

judgment or attention or worry of how it sounded

                                                                           as a child might

he was invigorated obsessed to slight educations processes

its pedagogy to deploy a limiting discipline quelling curiosity and funneling its wards

into tamer representations of themselves

he was convinced everyones brain at the get-go was an inhibiting organ and its

inhibition was enough without the censure of education

so he dropped its rules like fresh-laid eggs and examined their broken scatterings and

spatters

he might have been a haruspex or soothsayer among his earliest lives   and returned

time and time again because he hadnt gotten it right

                                                                                 but maybe his preference was wrong

inclined to the return-trip tickets

and she   she was significantly ethereal

her wide-spaced eyes  broad nose

her sensuality

      she managed his mania

      he managed hers

      lovingly

(CI: Cigar Int’l)

1417,  Sunday,  22  9. 13

ODs do

hed have a hard time counting the ODs do he knew who didnt make the cut         

who anxiously happily spooled out all the coil they had                                                

and then clutching for more realised they had come away emptyhanded            

their limpid tailends turning lazy doublehelixes just beyond their reach 

they played out every bit they had

 

ODs do

they forgot they were the only one Inside                                                                       

who could possibly hold their scarce tether between a thumb and fingerjoint  with minimal pressure   to keep themselves from being lost

ODs do

drifted off into a warm haze 

the haze from where they had been before they were born                                               

that promising haze  deliciously lashing their senses with shimmering radiation and 

shadows quizzing of times to come   if    they didnt do what ODs did

ODs do

when crooked fingers were pointed                                                                                     

pointed with livings coddled finesse  pointed rapaciously   ignorantly        

he refused hardily to find fault with their slips

                                                                            Theres no fuckin telling where theyll end  

and he imagined them racing at lightspeed elsewhere after having shed their physical encumbrances  their chaffing frictions

ODs do

there were more than he could count                                                                               

and countless more to come                                                                     

the drug experience was scintillating                                                                                        

and only those who were experienced knew   Jimi sang it

was Jimi a casualty                                                                                                         

he didnt think so                                                                                                                     

ODs think outside the box   radically trying to change their containment

ODs do

there are worse ways to die when one is born terminal                                                                                             

1436,  Twosday,  7  1. 14