8.11.09
01/00/01
Stainless sky, openly doomed to the sun, the coffee maker makes its ticks and twitches. Magnets hold pictures. Fully programmable window, all window, outside that window a sky of stainless window. A comforter tangled on a bed, a cat on the pillow. Bath towels balled up in a hamper. Ambrosia, deep roast of fog leading into morning noses. A touch screen mind, fluorescent in the memory. Horizontal rays…cramping shadows, smooth roots of loving growth.
7.11.09
01/05/05
My eyes escape the petals of my face…my vision pushes out towards the glow and pulls in the glow. Distances fold, early morning softness, a large ship from the ocean sounds herself. Her deep bells ring and the ring hops up and past the hillside. My shirt flaps and folds in the air. I hum from my deep insides, I kick my legs furiously and a million threads weave through me and at the end of those threads is an empty prism. Faces veining on faces,
Sweat condenses under my neck. I drown my eyes in sleep.
Sweat condenses under my neck. I drown my eyes in sleep.
25.9.09
--/--/----
A million steps down the hill…two laughing bodies groping each other with legs crossed under skirts…long dark hairs cross hatched into the others hair…I pass by them delicately with our eyes greeting informally together and they giggle…one of the girls touch my leg inconspicuously….I step down a few steps and turn back and look up at them and they giggle...and in that giggle I could smell their ocean…saltine and wet…
I asked, “what are your names?”
One girl said, “Our names have no ring to you.”
“what do you mean?’
“come here and sit with us”
As I sat next to these girls our thighs touched and one of them put their arm around me and pulled me closer. They giggled again and the smell of the ocean grew stronger. It was then that all three of us were united in the coastal wind that whipped and wrapped all our hair around each others hair, and their beautiful smiles combined to make a double face of attraction....I wanted both of the girls at the same time.
So I asked, “I want both of you”
And they said together, “you can have both of us, but we must have you all at once”
I asked, “what are your names?”
One girl said, “Our names have no ring to you.”
“what do you mean?’
“come here and sit with us”
As I sat next to these girls our thighs touched and one of them put their arm around me and pulled me closer. They giggled again and the smell of the ocean grew stronger. It was then that all three of us were united in the coastal wind that whipped and wrapped all our hair around each others hair, and their beautiful smiles combined to make a double face of attraction....I wanted both of the girls at the same time.
So I asked, “I want both of you”
And they said together, “you can have both of us, but we must have you all at once”
01/04/05
She is there, I know …her soft touch, palm to finger tip, recording my skin with her skin…caves along the cliff by the shore….small girl plays…energetic one moment the next collapsed and sprawling on the ground…mesmerized by the ebb and flow…only her me and my open sky…I know she is there…so close….
I remember all his faces the amount of hair that covered all of his bodies…the size of his vexing…I remember his blood shot holes…zombie addictive and dead like……they all remember me at a distance …but I’m too strange to interrupt any of their lives…they want the power…the pretending death grip power…they will have their hell in time…enough to crack their hearts and dry up their veins and ache…ache…ache…and suffer eternally…and when my mother puts her warm skin on my skin and records me back into the infinite round….I will still whisper in his genocide.
I remember all his faces the amount of hair that covered all of his bodies…the size of his vexing…I remember his blood shot holes…zombie addictive and dead like……they all remember me at a distance …but I’m too strange to interrupt any of their lives…they want the power…the pretending death grip power…they will have their hell in time…enough to crack their hearts and dry up their veins and ache…ache…ache…and suffer eternally…and when my mother puts her warm skin on my skin and records me back into the infinite round….I will still whisper in his genocide.
31.7.09
--/--/----
She says, “Como se llama?” and he replies, “I have no name, what do you wish to call me?”
Questions weighing on questions, she wraps her legs around his waste like a partial womb. His eyes squint and readjust focus. Weaving his fingers in the hair that is behind her neck, he clenches it teeth and pulls her face close. His breath touches her before the kiss. Moistness mixes and dreams drown the light, the chair he sat in, the soldiers with the guns outside, everything drowned in one humming ecstasy.
Latter they are found lying lazily in a room, like all other rooms, dark, dimly lited, and thick with a subtle sent of sage. She says, “I think I have something en mey eye”. He moves close to see what it is that is. A small hair of an eyelash is wetly laid against the moist white skin of the outer iris. He gently rubs his finger against her eye and slides the small hair out. She winks, fast and intensely to see if it worked. She looks up with eyes still watery and says, “Thanks”.
Sitting across the room she picks at the residual of her badly painted toe nails. She looks up to him and asks, “Por que viniste to mey apartment?”
He says, “You asked me to.”
“verdad”
“Didn’t you?”
“Supango maybe I did”
Silence strands itself for a few seconds and then he stares into her eyes a little longer, she smiles, and the drowning begins again. The broken windows of her apartment let just the right amount of air move in from the ocean. She says, “I love you...usted tiene una bonita...mmm...smile”. She continues to smile, and returns back to the picking of the nail polish. He tells her, “You act like a child in bed”. "Que dijo?", she stills her actions and waits and then begins to crawl on her hands and knees slowly across the room, while he stands in absolute stillness. She slowly puts her lips to his ear, breaths, and then recoils away from the ear, and forcefully bits his lower lip and lets goes.
She says, “You are my codero, pacífica” She grabs a flash light from under the pile of clothes in the corner of her room and says, “sígueme”. They head out the back, there are lambs wandering towards the setting light of the moon. She turns to him and reaches down below his waste line while he calmly admires the hills in the moon light; she touches with her slightly cold hand, exchanging heat with the temperature of that which lies below.
The pale moonlight coated what was beginning to be the fog of dawn. She held him in her hand, and in her mouth, and her motherhood beamed. Being next to his side and knowing that she will always be his guide is what caused them both to strip naked in the open field. The haze danced and twisted above their bodies. All the songs that they will have to sing will be sung alone with that foretold breakdown. But this story is not about him, but me, Ella the Mother with all the god stirring children.
Questions weighing on questions, she wraps her legs around his waste like a partial womb. His eyes squint and readjust focus. Weaving his fingers in the hair that is behind her neck, he clenches it teeth and pulls her face close. His breath touches her before the kiss. Moistness mixes and dreams drown the light, the chair he sat in, the soldiers with the guns outside, everything drowned in one humming ecstasy.
Latter they are found lying lazily in a room, like all other rooms, dark, dimly lited, and thick with a subtle sent of sage. She says, “I think I have something en mey eye”. He moves close to see what it is that is. A small hair of an eyelash is wetly laid against the moist white skin of the outer iris. He gently rubs his finger against her eye and slides the small hair out. She winks, fast and intensely to see if it worked. She looks up with eyes still watery and says, “Thanks”.
Sitting across the room she picks at the residual of her badly painted toe nails. She looks up to him and asks, “Por que viniste to mey apartment?”
He says, “You asked me to.”
“verdad”
“Didn’t you?”
“Supango maybe I did”
Silence strands itself for a few seconds and then he stares into her eyes a little longer, she smiles, and the drowning begins again. The broken windows of her apartment let just the right amount of air move in from the ocean. She says, “I love you...usted tiene una bonita...mmm...smile”. She continues to smile, and returns back to the picking of the nail polish. He tells her, “You act like a child in bed”. "Que dijo?", she stills her actions and waits and then begins to crawl on her hands and knees slowly across the room, while he stands in absolute stillness. She slowly puts her lips to his ear, breaths, and then recoils away from the ear, and forcefully bits his lower lip and lets goes.
She says, “You are my codero, pacífica” She grabs a flash light from under the pile of clothes in the corner of her room and says, “sígueme”. They head out the back, there are lambs wandering towards the setting light of the moon. She turns to him and reaches down below his waste line while he calmly admires the hills in the moon light; she touches with her slightly cold hand, exchanging heat with the temperature of that which lies below.
The pale moonlight coated what was beginning to be the fog of dawn. She held him in her hand, and in her mouth, and her motherhood beamed. Being next to his side and knowing that she will always be his guide is what caused them both to strip naked in the open field. The haze danced and twisted above their bodies. All the songs that they will have to sing will be sung alone with that foretold breakdown. But this story is not about him, but me, Ella the Mother with all the god stirring children.
26.7.09
24.7.09
December 23, 1998
A hand can cup my shiver when I can’t sit still. A pinch of a kiss in my dreams with a mind that has no personality, if anything it is an extension of my mind, for all these men want to fuck me when I don’t’ want to be fucked, and I’m so much better than they think, with their stupid sticks, they get dizzy on blood with those throbbing filled up sticks, I could give a fuck, I’ll snap those fucking sticks. Along with their red blood eyes…cancerous with their hands on their sticks…a deadly tree that never shades…men I eat whole when they think they have me…I bite through them deadly…giant storm I AM and I rob them of their soul, and snip their little fuckers off…
December 22, 1989 or 1898
The crowned fire settles on the mountain. Ornaments of the future…ELLA is laying new weight for all our longings. Groups of elder women corralled in a room playing pretend for the sake of filling their time with something other than nothingness. Loneliness is the culprit for our need to pretend …young aerial being with thin soles on her feet, stumbles through these landings…alien …mundane…purely normal…fostering additives to personalities…lasting lonely though…store front gigantic in the distance…she looks at those illuminated crowns of fire…adverting the night clouds…where can her longing go from here, but into our pockets, down the drain after a shower…after a wipe, a scrape, a dent,, that young dancing girl without family, I am her and she is me…existing after all these things…but we all must go and so must she and so must I…where….forward walking backwards…crippled in the gaze of the saints and their laws…but she is breathing and in that breathing her breath finds air and in a finding there is a pursuit…getting back to the home …that really was only a home in moments…spinning into sleep she faces her mother…golden. ELLA why do I bleed from the INSIDE?
16.7.09
October 16, 2006
A quick rise of my body…someone picks me up with giant hands. That is all I remember. The evidence left around is a glass tube that is not mine, butane lighter that is not mine, and a napkin smudged with lipstick. I think I’ll get new shoes today. Maybe sandals, because the ones I have, cut the inside of my big toe. I tried wrapping tape around the sliding thong that purposively is cutting into my toe. I’m sweating a lot today, more than I usually do.
October 16, 1999
A black square hovering in the black night, a baby dreams of a silent square silently floating…hovering. Hidden guns in the hidden mind, the mind hidden in the aim of the gun shooting its line across the sky into the floating black square in the floating black night.
21.6.09
September 16, 2005
Friday night and I’m going nowhere…situations running through my head…old memories running through my head…the light is changing from red to green…the bus has passed me already three times tonight…the city is covered in shine from the small drizzle of ubiquitous clouds…all the reflection of the dim lights of the city cover me…I look down at my small toes…my small ankles…I love my feet for there childlike shape…they are the only part of my body I keep innocent…I take off my sandals to lay them directly on the wet clay between broken cement...so many of my thoughts began playing in the watery night…there was no wind…there was no chill…there was just a vacuum that comforted my skin…like the wardrobe of night…I took off everything to lay down directly with her…the smell of soil in the night smells so different…I laid there in a damp wonderment cloaked in darkness and changing traffic lights. I felt my body…I felt the ground…my eyes felt the sky and the slivered moon. I rolled over on my stomach and then again on my back and laughed away my mind…I laughed away my mind.
September 17, 2005
The smell of stale carpet, being cupped in humid saltine air…the nightclub lays in a air of filth gilded in lysol. Sweat from the dance….perspiring pours sliding skin on skin …lost boys and girls collapse into my crotch…zombie eyes pull them magnetically…in the night the earth turns on the sun and I’m left in the strobe light. Tongues on foreskins, lips made to create the bond for future families, create the bond to extract pent up juices…is this the life lived in lust…losing oneself in the energy that pulses into flesh…flesh into flesh…coddle, cuddle, suffocated, choke, hold and stretch…pulling on me…spiting on me, defecating on me…I still dream of that explored love…that long traveled love…the mystery enveloping love…that constant new love that is all in me.
20.6.09
September 18, 2005
I’m writing alone…next to pebbles…dust…small eminences of photographs from purse…cold stone…moss on brick…my head lays against smooth stone…..my home is outside everyone’s home….I sleep alone waiting for better and all along I am outside sleeping on the smooth stone…alone…but in the mist…in the damp approaching morning…the still night breaking into dawn…the cool wind….the moving night life rhythm settles…
I think how children could only be children. We smooth each others rough edges…even the devil…I kiss to forgive. I finally evaporated in a direction that leaves me in stillness with the one and only...my mother …Ella...so innocent to forgive me because I only wanted to… I only wanted to sleep…sleep slowly into what she blessed ….on altars…and baptisms by sacred rivers….I breath deeply…falling…I collapse in her love shivering alone in a warm envelope of hugs…
September 15, 2005
Floating along the night …dark skyline…my eyelashes glide along the street lights…my voice hummmmmmms through my archaic streets…Ella’s waves are crashing off in the dark…I turn to look at dimly lit windows…I turn to hear the rumbling of feral cats, cling lids of trash cans and metal beer cans with paper thrashing against plastic bottles…I see used condoms shrivled up behind the building, a bent tube of spermicide smeared with muddy dirt…I feel a subtle humidity roll in with the coastal fog….all my memories of those nights get washes into one memory of stillness, my heart is still kept in suspension…with delicate moments my dreams cause a draft upon my reality…a million landscapes drape upon my every emotion that I can remember…how long will this last…this dream…this fog…this haze…these not so real vivid moments…abandonment and all is rolling stones rolling to who knows where….I whistle, hum into the night while every one else was sleeping or having a all night sport fuck….how often my solitude brings an eternity to conquer gods and reconcile my arrogance, but only in my arrogance could my heaven be forced down to earth and lived….the slow breeze pushing the plants around….the loose door hinged to the backyard fence swings with a creek and a howl and dinggggg, squeak, grind slide, slap, dinggggg….wind blowing the tarp tacked to the shabby roof of the abandoned house in the distance….black birds flying in the dead of night aimlessly.
Work was tough…the gazes of my city annihilated me and I must have drank something from the bar that was stronger than usual because I found myself left off at a park bench a couple of streets away from my work. I remember a man, and someone hiding behind my back, and a groan, a growl. I noticed my top button had disappeared on my jeans, and the zipper was broken off. I remember Ella, and her saying that haunts me, “you must forgive the devil with the man …you must forgive the world that has been raped in one hormonal flush of man with that devil….you must forgive the boy who subconsciously rapes every symbol of his mother without knowing…you must forgive the best of boys who are slapping the whole world into death…forgive their loneliness and embrace in them the cloud that is their heart beat…forgive…forgive…forgive...the worlds breath….”
Work was tough…the gazes of my city annihilated me and I must have drank something from the bar that was stronger than usual because I found myself left off at a park bench a couple of streets away from my work. I remember a man, and someone hiding behind my back, and a groan, a growl. I noticed my top button had disappeared on my jeans, and the zipper was broken off. I remember Ella, and her saying that haunts me, “you must forgive the devil with the man …you must forgive the world that has been raped in one hormonal flush of man with that devil….you must forgive the boy who subconsciously rapes every symbol of his mother without knowing…you must forgive the best of boys who are slapping the whole world into death…forgive their loneliness and embrace in them the cloud that is their heart beat…forgive…forgive…forgive...the worlds breath….”
19.6.09
02/14/1977
This is how I began, all was in suspense… silence was hidden with my moist lips and a penetrating stare that narrowed and darkened dimensions and intensified a singularity of ejaculating light waves, color curves, rainbow in-prismed, exiting, entering, simultaneously.
Ella’s voice comes to me again, “they are allowed to smell your privacy, I have acknowledge your rite of passage…virginity…..”,
My first account, my first narrative…motionless in the mirror, still, static, my heartbeat traveled infinitely in a smooth caress through my body…butterflies flew in my veins in those primordial dark skies of my reverie, carousel patterns…round and round they went. It was in Ella’s gypsy eyes that the world started, fucking the neighbor, neighbors fucking neighbors, she gave birth to the tonal and the naugal…dream and dream death. Before Ella, there was neither man nor woman, but Ella…my mother. The atma, Brahma mama caught alone, negated, and left out of this script in the editing room…all there was, was Ella. And never ask…I repeat never ask me if Ella ever existed prior to Ella…for if you are ever found questioning the initial patterns of the sex drive before the hetero and the homo you will be caught in a curse and that curse will curve into your offspring, infinitely. Your children will forever be stuck in an eternal consumptive pattern of constantly changing fabrics, so that the many wolves of the world can fuck, yea, properly fuck, mean while the only thing that changes between them is the fashions between their hard parts and soft parts.
Is there nothing anymore
Celebrities naked, we are cellophane…behind the glass…naked…hair stubbles all around, disguised cactus……(glitch)
(nothing)
(no power)
(off)
Ella’s voice comes to me again, “they are allowed to smell your privacy, I have acknowledge your rite of passage…virginity…..”,
My first account, my first narrative…motionless in the mirror, still, static, my heartbeat traveled infinitely in a smooth caress through my body…butterflies flew in my veins in those primordial dark skies of my reverie, carousel patterns…round and round they went. It was in Ella’s gypsy eyes that the world started, fucking the neighbor, neighbors fucking neighbors, she gave birth to the tonal and the naugal…dream and dream death. Before Ella, there was neither man nor woman, but Ella…my mother. The atma, Brahma mama caught alone, negated, and left out of this script in the editing room…all there was, was Ella. And never ask…I repeat never ask me if Ella ever existed prior to Ella…for if you are ever found questioning the initial patterns of the sex drive before the hetero and the homo you will be caught in a curse and that curse will curve into your offspring, infinitely. Your children will forever be stuck in an eternal consumptive pattern of constantly changing fabrics, so that the many wolves of the world can fuck, yea, properly fuck, mean while the only thing that changes between them is the fashions between their hard parts and soft parts.
Is there nothing anymore
Celebrities naked, we are cellophane…behind the glass…naked…hair stubbles all around, disguised cactus……(glitch)
(nothing)
(no power)
(off)
March 4, 2007
In the beginning Ella said to me, “Let me tickle your sides, please your box, open and shut it, open and shut:…she contiued, "here is my golden embryo thats been awaiting in the darkness”… I shivered while these beaming lights flew all around me. I felt like they were searching for my hidden sensations. They began to fully engulf me. Ella continued, “Luna you are ready to be born, the embryo is in you” I then noticed that this room that I felt imprisoned in turned into more rooms and all those rooms could be entered and ignited and than left for another room and ignited …the whole world turned into something waiting for me...every living thing was in line outside on the street waiting for me. They no longer want to see the naked Xerox of my skin…they want to be copied themselves through me. They all have hard-ons out, even the women became restless…
I told my Ella they wanted me to come out of the spaceship…
Ella said, “you will come out, just be patient”
Daughters of the moon, mother sees me waiting to worship the barbarians of the beach. Ella looks through the eye of the moon at me and echoes down her vibrations saying, “you flirt your way to the altar, only to be abused and thrown back to the wolves and night owls. There is more out there”.
My memories reemerged and moaned in the climate of my eyelid…how far my visions had travel, and lost their power from lack of light…musical, map-able cross currents of my heat…I slither in wish…gravity against the ancestry, helium in my birth. Seeds drop from my eyelash.
I told my Ella they wanted me to come out of the spaceship…
Ella said, “you will come out, just be patient”
Daughters of the moon, mother sees me waiting to worship the barbarians of the beach. Ella looks through the eye of the moon at me and echoes down her vibrations saying, “you flirt your way to the altar, only to be abused and thrown back to the wolves and night owls. There is more out there”.
My memories reemerged and moaned in the climate of my eyelid…how far my visions had travel, and lost their power from lack of light…musical, map-able cross currents of my heat…I slither in wish…gravity against the ancestry, helium in my birth. Seeds drop from my eyelash.
June 5, 1094 bce
Mother the curved gates are coarse in the cave. Mother the children are in tears…crawling to the primordial place from which they entered. They find themselves too big to fit back inside; the only thing that will fit is the key. The key that curves especially into the grooved chambers of your yoni…bursting feelings that mature every one in the instant of their instinctual performance…to mount, and ride the fear, and collapse in due time in some forgotten Celtic garden…they tried to run, tried to hide, but break, (a break)(a cut) (a rip) (something was left and never finished) (back online) //////*&?//$#/??//////////////// aaaaaaareeeeeee…are but rhyming recall, in the caracal. The animal ailment, curling up to lick wounds in the next incarnation…seeds, sounds from the dark, derangement, fashionable grace, yet torn from the barb wire of the prisoners. They took the material that shackled them and rearranged that and used that against the whole subtle Victorian world
(Ella winks at me)
(the eggs are ready)
(the seeds are still in the ground).
Turning words, turning whips into pleasure instruments (Ella smirks). Perfumed the future in orbit(sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss)(glitch)(back online) The smell of empty space, next to the moon, she moans in orbit.
(Ella winks at me)
(the eggs are ready)
(the seeds are still in the ground).
Turning words, turning whips into pleasure instruments (Ella smirks). Perfumed the future in orbit(sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss)(glitch)(back online) The smell of empty space, next to the moon, she moans in orbit.
July 1, 1998 - September 35, 1998
I live and die, between the tides, that crash against the eye.>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>I came to conclude that none of us really die, we just loose sense.>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Live and let die, die and let live, being sensible is all a matter of just posturing between.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Living, loving, I step out of my seat, small denim wraps around my small giraffes. I put small ear phones in my ear hole…living loving I strut, pushing my junk in the rise and fall of a caboose on hills, freshly pepperminted…>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
”no one hears a single word”, Ella says to me, “they just collapse in your shadows Luna, the shadows between your legs, under your chin, your dark crescent shadows that cup under your breasts, those men over there just want you as long as they know that something is happening”.
I yell to the open chasm above me, “Does anyone hear her?”
Ella replies, “No, you are the only one. The rest just play in their empty rooms, behind their windows. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
(glitch)////////////////@#?@?/////////343>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
My head hurts….eeeeerrrrrrllllllllly…early, llllll.lllllll.late, the obsidian god, will fuck us all, in time, or out of time, all corners will be rounded, all cement will explode and dust clouds will be our vision, all straits will find curves, all radioactive clouds will cloud in the crowd, crowned with a cloud, heaven in the head. Atom tonic.>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> (glitch)>>>>>>>>>>>>>It was just the other day that I remembered>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> yesterday>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>unafraid to show>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> it>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>you take me higher
////###///??$%#?/#?//$////////$5#@/111
People come from all around to burry themselves in me, they weep behind their orgasm. Partly in the after life, partly during the infinite moment of the climaxing shiver, partly in the mundane solar curve…so many weeping yet so many turning the whole thing around, through the eating of the whole plate, and not giving a tip to the waitress because tomorrow we all die, and in these four walls, the only escape is below the ground or winged flight above. Mama, Ella, the estrella currents of the gods, constellations, in constancy, firm faced angel, stoned in granite, I call to you, “can this be the only impossible escape, only ecstasy or ultimate implosion…swallowing from which we came?”
Live and let die, die and let live, being sensible is all a matter of just posturing between.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Living, loving, I step out of my seat, small denim wraps around my small giraffes. I put small ear phones in my ear hole…living loving I strut, pushing my junk in the rise and fall of a caboose on hills, freshly pepperminted…>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
”no one hears a single word”, Ella says to me, “they just collapse in your shadows Luna, the shadows between your legs, under your chin, your dark crescent shadows that cup under your breasts, those men over there just want you as long as they know that something is happening”.
I yell to the open chasm above me, “Does anyone hear her?”
Ella replies, “No, you are the only one. The rest just play in their empty rooms, behind their windows. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
(glitch)////////////////@#?@?/////////343>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
My head hurts….eeeeerrrrrrllllllllly…early, llllll.lllllll.late, the obsidian god, will fuck us all, in time, or out of time, all corners will be rounded, all cement will explode and dust clouds will be our vision, all straits will find curves, all radioactive clouds will cloud in the crowd, crowned with a cloud, heaven in the head. Atom tonic.>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> (glitch)>>>>>>>>>>>>>It was just the other day that I remembered>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> yesterday>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>unafraid to show>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> it>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>you take me higher
////###///??$%#?/#?//$////////$5#@/111
People come from all around to burry themselves in me, they weep behind their orgasm. Partly in the after life, partly during the infinite moment of the climaxing shiver, partly in the mundane solar curve…so many weeping yet so many turning the whole thing around, through the eating of the whole plate, and not giving a tip to the waitress because tomorrow we all die, and in these four walls, the only escape is below the ground or winged flight above. Mama, Ella, the estrella currents of the gods, constellations, in constancy, firm faced angel, stoned in granite, I call to you, “can this be the only impossible escape, only ecstasy or ultimate implosion…swallowing from which we came?”
18.6.09
June 33, 1991
Me llaman Luna Lunita Lunera, I was born of no family, yet born of this world. I named myself from the songs people sing ... from sadness to gladness the sun confused the moon, yet I AM . . . . .I AM la feminina la reina de la tiera…the memories of curves...of crescents, always moving to return again…like memories . . . . . . . like memories leaving every man confused, yet I love their love for her love.
Like night, like earth, brown with black, black with brown, the white fire is all that is left in me. . . . . . . my dark obsidian eyes reminiscent of ancient temple worship, I stare out upon my city as the crypt above ground. Broken down streets and abandoned tombs and building, the only solid color is the sky at night. Everything is peeling, rusting, falling away, the earth is alive, it breaths beneath Our Lady’s feet, my mother, my heart, my Ella.
My mother's purifying waters purify us . . . . the pacifying pacific of the west coast that sweeps up the past, the sperm, the algae, the sand, the stone, the torn flags, the dead, the aborted babes…she is the ocean my mother and she pushes and pulls me . . . to conceive me . . . to morn me, her hips quiver and the people of the city smile. She quivers, for the fire that still radiates off the moon, or the dimming flames from her peoples’ hearts. Her breast the great caretaker for wandering men, for she is mi madre, tierra, estrella, luna madre of all our juices, of all our sweat, and blood. Her kisses heal the poverty that makes love so arid, concrete and rustic. Her hips swollen by the foam of salt water, and on those maternal hips fabrics hang, jeans hang, and long dresses hang, rough hands of brick layers hang. She is the fulcrum for release.
I am her daughter.
I walk down her streets in glow as if I am her and she is me . . . . . we wear the sun on our skin. Aztecan arrangements is written in cursive all over me . . . . . . with the ancient to modern souls strung to souls, I am the past of all women and the past of all futures; she is Our Lady alive, ELLA.
With out a robe, but with small tight beach shorts I walk in my huaraches along the broken down tenements of Rosarito. A town south of Tijuana, even further south of that land known for their Nordic raiders who kill in the name of lies. I know that I am alive and it is that, that matters. I sees surenos, surfers, and your regular workers who walk by and look at my waste line before they look into my eyes. But it has been that waste line, that torso that has with stood the tests of time. I am mysterious like my mother, yet as familiar as my city and friendly as a child.
Some times I get lifted and meet short time acquaintances, and burn through them and suck their flame out . . . . in bathrooms, back streets, beach houses, and bungalows. At each residence I absorb the moment of control and releases it instantly so as the present can be lived more fully.
I am a stone that does not perish easily. I move in coarse travel through a world of sand paper, car crashes, and dust storms, but I am the stone and as a stone I am alone in this desert that stretches along the coast of the pacific.
Work starts at eight, as I slide my slim Nokia phone contently in my back pocket. Sitting at a bench alone again, but in the returning of my loneliness there is companionship and welcoming. Alive and alone again, stretching my eyes against the paint that peals off the beach front properties, only to breath a bit easier and in that breathing the sky and ocean breath against me. I shut my eyes and feel that mystic wind guide across my whole body. Finding places to funnel and make the whole thing ecstatic again. I feel it below and under, around my arms, between my legs, I smile and in that smile my mind sings. Sweetness. Succumbed, and embedded.
Like night, like earth, brown with black, black with brown, the white fire is all that is left in me. . . . . . . my dark obsidian eyes reminiscent of ancient temple worship, I stare out upon my city as the crypt above ground. Broken down streets and abandoned tombs and building, the only solid color is the sky at night. Everything is peeling, rusting, falling away, the earth is alive, it breaths beneath Our Lady’s feet, my mother, my heart, my Ella.
My mother's purifying waters purify us . . . . the pacifying pacific of the west coast that sweeps up the past, the sperm, the algae, the sand, the stone, the torn flags, the dead, the aborted babes…she is the ocean my mother and she pushes and pulls me . . . to conceive me . . . to morn me, her hips quiver and the people of the city smile. She quivers, for the fire that still radiates off the moon, or the dimming flames from her peoples’ hearts. Her breast the great caretaker for wandering men, for she is mi madre, tierra, estrella, luna madre of all our juices, of all our sweat, and blood. Her kisses heal the poverty that makes love so arid, concrete and rustic. Her hips swollen by the foam of salt water, and on those maternal hips fabrics hang, jeans hang, and long dresses hang, rough hands of brick layers hang. She is the fulcrum for release.
I am her daughter.
I walk down her streets in glow as if I am her and she is me . . . . . we wear the sun on our skin. Aztecan arrangements is written in cursive all over me . . . . . . with the ancient to modern souls strung to souls, I am the past of all women and the past of all futures; she is Our Lady alive, ELLA.
With out a robe, but with small tight beach shorts I walk in my huaraches along the broken down tenements of Rosarito. A town south of Tijuana, even further south of that land known for their Nordic raiders who kill in the name of lies. I know that I am alive and it is that, that matters. I sees surenos, surfers, and your regular workers who walk by and look at my waste line before they look into my eyes. But it has been that waste line, that torso that has with stood the tests of time. I am mysterious like my mother, yet as familiar as my city and friendly as a child.
Some times I get lifted and meet short time acquaintances, and burn through them and suck their flame out . . . . in bathrooms, back streets, beach houses, and bungalows. At each residence I absorb the moment of control and releases it instantly so as the present can be lived more fully.
I am a stone that does not perish easily. I move in coarse travel through a world of sand paper, car crashes, and dust storms, but I am the stone and as a stone I am alone in this desert that stretches along the coast of the pacific.
Work starts at eight, as I slide my slim Nokia phone contently in my back pocket. Sitting at a bench alone again, but in the returning of my loneliness there is companionship and welcoming. Alive and alone again, stretching my eyes against the paint that peals off the beach front properties, only to breath a bit easier and in that breathing the sky and ocean breath against me. I shut my eyes and feel that mystic wind guide across my whole body. Finding places to funnel and make the whole thing ecstatic again. I feel it below and under, around my arms, between my legs, I smile and in that smile my mind sings. Sweetness. Succumbed, and embedded.
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