Kinderheldin Cut-up Iteration I
wake though I’ve slept more than there are rivers of sand
swirling about my yesterdays, sea shells, sleeping
I wane in and out of focus, like a camera’s ghost,
a spirit leaving the salty water of Humboldt Bay, farther
a dream? Am I in the midst of a trance? I don't
think these times when we are not ourselves are
They come down and give us love, pour into our hearts
lives. And the people you see out in the world who are
the Grey Faces are the ones who won't let in when I had
to find my way home from that party and of course this strange
place, Eureka! energies of their massacre. As I walked
past the new image of the Capitol there, nothing. Then,
almost heavy darkness of evening, whole forms
reflected here in thinking the sun hit us like hell
we felt despite humanity's ardent desire such a thing I'm afraid.
Above, everything is as one, picayune, of minor pleasantries, minutiae.
Beneath, it's the bacchanalia. Take last weekend as case in point:
The day was Personality A, World A. The "ordinary" world.
superior in their ineluctable human nature I was driven
and loitered with a few drinks. I didn't know or
care. I was enjoying the relaxation of it. One hitch: three
had already entered the subterranean realm. We went to
where it exploded into a paroxysm of flames.
Patrick all night and totally dug him, but then, strangely,
I barely gnew. I had to ask his name (Paul). I guess we had sex.
from Patrick to Paul-- maybe it was the whole shirt
keep me on the subterrranean side of my personality
Patrick's, whose house the location of I have no idea)
I decided to make the best of things, and since Paul
sex with him again in the morning or I'd wake up
to the absurdity of it all. Light sensitive, I’m not afraid
of nightmares as much as I’m cautious of surprises in the light.
If we knew our dreams, our night terrors would be real to us.
awake. If we are not afraid, then we are asleep. Or not.
the dream. Perspective I thought of the real
enough. I dream I’m awake. Awake, I’m dreaming.
I talked with a button-down shirt and threw it into the fireplace,
mind, an hourglass, pills, and salt. Image Plane
eye that can't adjust to see the scene.
body. I am floating above the roof of my apartment and I can
beyond it, the Pacific Ocean and I fall into it. Is this all
quite feel myself at the moment, but that is nothing new, I
just sharing time with space aliens from the future/past.
the necessary love we require to move along with our
grey, and I gnow you see them, some of you are them, no
the love of the visiting angels, aliens. Last week
was guided by St. Bernard, I was so tuned into the alien
Old, full of the collective Indian energies, and the
skylights, water cascading over, gushing - I looked for
WWI film, King and Country, on the way back, in the
heart-of-hearts... I don't mind, it's an unhelpable, inescapable,
glossy in the wet mirror. Microprism It’s a dying
I employ for escape. Shutter And who am I now? I sit
of my consciousness, like Halloween masks, ghoulish
the pavement stones no reflection falls where
of nature. In ordinary nature there is no
thinking, thinking in the frameworks of my
sole's flap and flip, flitter slit creates
I guess I must have not been on that particular A-list. I
would think, it is as you see, the world of the
carnivalesque, an underground, a world which I
place, and a party ensued-- a party filled with
capitalism and kissing up to people who believe
a coworker, a local, many people there, but I didn't
particularly care. cab driver stop at a liquore store?) and
at one point I ripped off my light blue short-sleeved
I don't really gnow how I got switched into the fire thing.
drank champagne in the hot tub, and wine in the room,
If our night terrors are real, we are afraid,
If we are awake then we are ready to sleep, to enter
swirling about my yesterdays, sea shells, sleeping
I wane in and out of focus, like a camera’s ghost,
a spirit leaving the salty water of Humboldt Bay, farther
a dream? Am I in the midst of a trance? I don't
think these times when we are not ourselves are
They come down and give us love, pour into our hearts
lives. And the people you see out in the world who are
the Grey Faces are the ones who won't let in when I had
to find my way home from that party and of course this strange
place, Eureka! energies of their massacre. As I walked
past the new image of the Capitol there, nothing. Then,
almost heavy darkness of evening, whole forms
reflected here in thinking the sun hit us like hell
we felt despite humanity's ardent desire such a thing I'm afraid.
Above, everything is as one, picayune, of minor pleasantries, minutiae.
Beneath, it's the bacchanalia. Take last weekend as case in point:
The day was Personality A, World A. The "ordinary" world.
superior in their ineluctable human nature I was driven
and loitered with a few drinks. I didn't know or
care. I was enjoying the relaxation of it. One hitch: three
had already entered the subterranean realm. We went to
where it exploded into a paroxysm of flames.
Patrick all night and totally dug him, but then, strangely,
I barely gnew. I had to ask his name (Paul). I guess we had sex.
from Patrick to Paul-- maybe it was the whole shirt
keep me on the subterrranean side of my personality
Patrick's, whose house the location of I have no idea)
I decided to make the best of things, and since Paul
sex with him again in the morning or I'd wake up
to the absurdity of it all. Light sensitive, I’m not afraid
of nightmares as much as I’m cautious of surprises in the light.
If we knew our dreams, our night terrors would be real to us.
awake. If we are not afraid, then we are asleep. Or not.
the dream. Perspective I thought of the real
enough. I dream I’m awake. Awake, I’m dreaming.
I talked with a button-down shirt and threw it into the fireplace,
mind, an hourglass, pills, and salt. Image Plane
eye that can't adjust to see the scene.
body. I am floating above the roof of my apartment and I can
beyond it, the Pacific Ocean and I fall into it. Is this all
quite feel myself at the moment, but that is nothing new, I
just sharing time with space aliens from the future/past.
the necessary love we require to move along with our
grey, and I gnow you see them, some of you are them, no
the love of the visiting angels, aliens. Last week
was guided by St. Bernard, I was so tuned into the alien
Old, full of the collective Indian energies, and the
skylights, water cascading over, gushing - I looked for
WWI film, King and Country, on the way back, in the
heart-of-hearts... I don't mind, it's an unhelpable, inescapable,
glossy in the wet mirror. Microprism It’s a dying
I employ for escape. Shutter And who am I now? I sit
of my consciousness, like Halloween masks, ghoulish
the pavement stones no reflection falls where
of nature. In ordinary nature there is no
thinking, thinking in the frameworks of my
sole's flap and flip, flitter slit creates
I guess I must have not been on that particular A-list. I
would think, it is as you see, the world of the
carnivalesque, an underground, a world which I
place, and a party ensued-- a party filled with
capitalism and kissing up to people who believe
a coworker, a local, many people there, but I didn't
particularly care. cab driver stop at a liquore store?) and
at one point I ripped off my light blue short-sleeved
I don't really gnow how I got switched into the fire thing.
drank champagne in the hot tub, and wine in the room,
If our night terrors are real, we are afraid,
If we are awake then we are ready to sleep, to enter