Friday, September 11th, 2009... This great date of significance that rings aloud in our ears, when we say the numbers aloud '911' Catastrophe turned war ploy- and now seven years into our new wars and eight years past the said date, where are we as a country? Schools filing up with kids and emptied of teachers. Prison systems bursting at the seams, a war on drugs that puts millions of our nations' poor youth behind bars pretty much preparing them for nothing more than a life in crime, what soldiers would there be to fight against if we did not create them?
How long will our blindness endure? How long will we take what they feed us with a spoonful of sugar and lie down as their medicine does its work?
Is life not worth fighting for? Is love no longer true? Or is it all some virtual message we can experience vicariously from the comfort of our own couch?

on being part of everyday

I sometimes forget the world around me when I am lost to creating. The powerful force which tells me to emit! And yet forgets the essential needs of my nearest and dearest. Perhaps I was not designed for a world of stereotypes and latitudes and longitudes. Perhaps, those of us who feel their ever present constraints are made for breaking them and shaping new realizations. Why must we plod along and follow all of the road signs? Ah yes, because there would be terrible traffic accidents everywhere, that is why. in a world of one this would not matter, if I where to shatter the illusion of reality and live there, what would I be? Solipsist, Nihilist, sociopath, or dreamer?
Anyway, tomorrow is Sunday. I met a woman priest yesterday, I don't know that that is yet enough to make me visit God's house. As I imagine I am already in it if that God actually has a house of sorts. But I do like the company and the earnestness one feels when trying to save herself. God has already forgiven me all my sins and knows all the idiotic wonderful things my existence as Sonia entails. Thank God!
Good night friends of the stars.

hmmmm

Friday night in September, Gulf Coast of America. The time turns forwards and leaves behind the weary, blue skies fade a little earlier this time of year. The moon is still full in bloom and the winter will not touch us with icy hands until it is almost time for springs Majesty to bless us once again. Lovely breath, lovely hairs that brush past me, never knowing or ever so? I don't know the words, fall far from my mouth and seek the floor, they lie there until I can remember to find them again. What is the reason for hearts aching and breaking, they never can be still. No matter what kind of chaos the mighty will of them will instill? is there some lesson to be garnered in this? Beside being lost like a feather on the wind...time makes the world wider, distances between spaces grow farther, the sun will rise and the moon will stay in the same place for every day until the end of time. But it doesn't matter as long as there is you unfolding minutes into days and days into hours and confusing time in my mind in the sweet melancholic melody of impossibility.

what is the matter of me?
Striking chords across the universe
ripples of our actions which disperse and are never reversed!
The eyes are water to the dehydrated soul
blue and bottomless
descending
across brows no one knows
beneath the sheets
the message keeps
while all the world moves onward
ever marching

here we two are lost in the space between time

Friday

Why is the easel empty, the grass un-mowed, the heat encroaching? August is swift around the corner and once again the cycle of fall and schools returning begins. The tourists will all go home, the traffic will be better and perhaps by January this southern winter will chill us just enough to force us to wear our sweaters.
But for now the days are long and hot and outside chores are unlikely to be completed. We shall all sit inside and suck up the air conditioning while we can.
Inspiration:
it comes unannounced, it leaves without saying goodbye.
If you don't make it yours while it's in your head it will find another head.
The sounds and smells can stir her and invite her in like a ghost through mental halls and walls,
leaving no trace but a subtle shiver saying: 'create!'

Thursday morning I think? I am lost in the mix-up between sleep and dreams, work and life. Altogether not a bad thing, I don't have some quaterly figure to meet, I walk away from my job cash in hand, yes I sweat for that cash but it's the kind of clean, liquor coated sweating that makes me sleep well and deep and dream.