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Ridgewood, New York, United States

Monday, October 31, 2011

Again and again and again.....hipstirr suprastarz

The Fox and the hound, wolf Mama ladybird, the butcher and a tiny spider vampire. Cutting Clouds with swords and poking a hole straight to the sky. When she said that girl could do whatever she wanted, boy was she right. The Antithesis of the halloweekend drove us into a warm cozy cave with stews and brews and song dust in our eyes. Ladybird has always welcomed the strays, gays and silly douchery into her house in hopes of brewing up a pack of ferocious warriors. What is all this? What is it really.....you ask. I am merely a flesh conduit typitty type type typing away. This all sounds vague because it is.....what? And then I count my days slowly, again fast forward flash and there again they are, the whole lot of them family, lovers, kings and queens. Every era is the same and man and cat never change. Only those rare heavy coated creatures who soar above the mist can scratch the newness and re-write the stars. Blah, blech, down into the hole you go silly words. Disguised tongues, serpented split pea soup. For Eva young babbling from the womb about how beautifully formed your hands were in the last life and NOW, now what? These creatures are no man I know, no flesh I've smelled or tasted, no eyes I've stared into. They move in shadows and transform the aurovisio. The fallen heavy light. On this earth I am full of dirt and sorrow, if only for brief sparks in time to imagine beautiful crystalline memories in the ocean, across the sky and feel every bit of the crushing. The pieces are forming and the house is getting stronger. The arrows pointing in all directions, yours pointing at yourself.  Sheathed in warm woolly wombs. The conscious ooze has arrived, has been arriving for centuries will keep drooling like lava off the side of a volcano. I am going to safely say that in my lifetime we will see the likes of angels only a few have been able to conjure. What then.....when the angels cum? Will it all be set again, to shatter and mourn, to capture in words to spell out a song? Of course it will. Pass  me the porridge ladybird, this little spider is hungry. I cast a light into the world and find you wide eyed goggled hero and open. I still hear you over fermented rice water and nautical delights. My lighthouse is yours, when your path turns right. I am wish, swish rattle and roll, cause the harbor lights are calling.


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