The body

   he was an environmentalist, an amateur magician and broke. he wasn't unfit, but wasn't buff either. Lean meat, but enough of it i'd say. he would walk to work every morning - a real save the world sort. Still, when he passed on, his will was, to put it mildly, a bit of a shocker. The meal was to be prepared by one of his former friends - for his culinary expertise i suppose. The recipe however, like the guest list, was quite specific. his eyes and liver were to be donated, the rest prepared in a sauce that would taste 'close to his heart'. 

     The invitees were twelve in all, although it was an open meal and any who wished could partake of it. Funnily, although one might assume that most would be queasy at the thought of eating a recently deceased dear friend, none went hungry that night. Perhaps the philosophy of not wasting the body as a foodsource was well-preached and his friends were obliged to honor his last wish..  or perhaps they discovered they liked the taste of blood. Still, when christ was resurrected, his eyes and liver did miraculously reappear. Perhaps he wasn't an amateur magician after all.

Give me a box
of paradox
a cockroach of contradiction,
termites of black and white
fucking the vermin of vermillion,
a puppet show of status Quo
with white collared decapitees
and a cup of full cream
cock sucking if you please.

Give me heads nodding agreeably
and a spot of well adjusted,
give me money, security
without the aftertaste of disgusted.
Take a stand, i don't want a stand,
take it! all yours i entrust it
Just give me sweet ambiguity
without
the aftertaste of disgusted.

tall

He was 4 feet seven inches short, which, combined with his rather dry personality, didn't get him any action. So his bed was his to do what he pleased with. He took it to a carpenter friend and asked him to make it shorter. He insisted that the bed be made 4 feet seven inches long exactly. The friend, being a friend, was comfortable enough with him to point out that that would be too short, because, um, where would one keep one's pillow? He argued that he didn't need one, and he was aware that the carpenter just assumed he was being too proud to admit his lack of foresight, but insisted anyway.
When the bed came home three days later, he slept on it with his feet sticking out, and, after a long time, had tall dreams.

:)

ok, so the last post was black. I wasn't in a good place. A long night of awakeness, much battle with pointless demons and dragons, and i was tired. Luckily though, i don't think the spark ever dies, and poetry, well, she's gonna be evoked right now...

sometimes i want to clingwrap a kiss and deepfreeze a moment and stop a stopwatch and touch it one more just once more and know it again
but cling wrap tears when you pull it too tightly
and fairies have wings that take freezers unkindly
and its meant to go as i am too
but the good news is i just found...

:/

I congratulate you, oh everyday, and applaud you mediocre, and status quo, you get a standing ovation. you've finally dragged her out of me. It's what you wanted, isn't it? it's what they meant, na? after years of fight, of hope, of tinier and tinier spark, i think you've finally done it.
My poetry is near dead.happy?

flashing my naked thoughts

In this world where everyone lives in layers, manages relationships and has versions of, i crave a space where i can be raw, honest, brutal, vulgar, vulnerable and myself without censorship.
So i guess that's my mission statement for this blog, really.
The two people who know who i am, and know i've started this, are iffy about it, saying that some things are better left personal, the world doesn't really need to know about the extremely intimate inner workings of my convoluted mind, and that this could backfire and blowup in my face, if traced back to me.
Honestly, though, i feel that, as a human race, too few people say anything close to what they really feel. Maybe i live in a space that so requires that i am not myself that i need an outlet, maybe i think that this is all i have, realness, and hopefully somewhere, someone'll relate, or maybe i'm just being an exhibitionist, flashing my naked thoughts to turn you on. Maybe all of the above, and then some.
Whatever. I'm writing this, and will continue to do so, in the hope that, here, the tongueclamp of race, gender, time, appropriacy (is that a word?), location, familial diplomacy, societal hypocracy and everything else inbetween, at least in my head, do not exist.
If you know who i am, it's (wink) our lil' secret.
Now let the pole dances begin!

dancer in the dark

the lights went out. Silence. I was alone at home. The hall of the house i live in is largish, and largely unencumbered by furniture. I felt the sinews of my body. i could hear my breath so clearly. I twitched, i followed the impulse. I moved. for ten minutes, i felt my body flow. Towards and away from an imagined flicker, every rustle distinct outside, a force inside almost audible. For ten minutes, i was floating. Just a dancer that no one saw.