Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Beachcombers Episode: ReUnion of Beachcombers addicts

RCMP officer: Hi Molly, how's you're "reach"
Molly: I could clobber you on the head, you're an idiot, but a nice idiot, plus I cant say anything cause you're also (and I dont know how this ever happened) any RCMP police officer
RCMP officer: That would be prudent of you Molly
Bruno Grusi: Hey Aren't I dead?
RCMP Officer: Hey, We're all dead, this is an old shoe and we were all suffering from liver malfunction due to excess drinking
Relic: You're not talkin' me are ya? I gave up the drink after I went into it after Mollie tried to drown me! She didnt like the pass I made at her I guess
RCMP: let me put that in writing Relic
Molly; You can git the hell out of my restaurant, it's infested with rats anyway, that and users trying to find a SIS (safe injection site)
RCMP: hahaha Molly you're so funny!
Relic: burp
Bruno: Dont you think we should all just get along
RCMP: only in the movies Bruno, I guess you did get your angel wings? That's a nice bike you have
Bruno: What bike?
RCMP: Isnt that your bike parked outside
Bruno: Nope
RCMP: Then who's is it?
Entrance of a big fat Hell's Angel
Hell's Angel: Got any beer?
Molly How much?
Hell's Angel: a couple of keggers
Molly: I'll order them, be 1/2 hour, in the meantime, here's a couple of cases of Molly Brewsky
Hell's Angel: Mmmm good bootleg
RCMP: what did I just hear
Hell's Angel: Mmmm good for my boot leg, it gets tired on those long journeys from Ontario
RCMP: you're right there!
Hell's Angel: Hey Molly you dont mind if a few of my friends come over tonight?
Molly: About how many Angel?
Hell's Angel: Oh about a couple of thousand
REMP: what did I just hear
Hell's Angel: Oh about a couple of thousand black flies out there, eh Molly?
Molly: Yah, I hear they're thick this time of year
RCMP: It isnt black fly season
Hell's Angel: Did I say blackflies, I meant mosquitoes!
RCHP: yah, those little zappers seem to be everywhere, they sound like engines there's so many of them
Hell's Angel: that wasnt the sound of mosquitos?
Hell: No! That was the sound of my pose coming to take over Molly's Reach
RCMP: what did I just hear?
Hell: Oh it's just a couple of friends!
RCMP: We always like tourists! Here have my key to the city!
Hell: Isnt this Molly's apt key
RCMP: dont say I never gave ya nothing, haha!
Hell: wink wink
Bruno: what did I just hear?
Hell's Angel and RCMP in unison: P-A-R-T-Y
Bruno: Now you're talkin'!


Dr. Felicia Phillips dressed in her perennial white lab coat with the gold twenty year service badge on the lapel had taken her premed student Matthew Templeton into the back of the lab after class. Dr Feelgood as her students secretly referred to her was a highly qualitied, open and caring teacher and doctor. Today Felicia had noticed one of her students test results seemed inconsistent. Dr. Phillips began to explain to the young premed about her concerns wthout seeming to directly attack the students personal sensibilities. "Perceptions don't lie, people do, in all imperical testing methods we don't trust our instincts trust we trust in the results; the strict adhesion to the scientific principals. This is an absolutle, Matthew, there is absolutely no room for error here. It seemed that Matthew was listening to Dr. Felicia as if in a cloud because he knew the final results this conversation was going to have on his immediate future.
Dr. Feliicia continued ad infinitum. "Matthew, I have read your paper. I am going to ask that you resubmit. Normally, I do not allow the resubmission of papers at this late stage; however, Matthew, I know of your potential. You are going to be a great doctor. You just need to focus and find the cause of the problem in Test Three of your results. There are some obvious inconsistencies here. The results that you submitted had the benchmark of imperical until the third testing. What happened? Matthew, why do you believe that imperical testing methods are important here at Harvard? I'll tell you why; it is because the scientific method does not stray from the strict formulative guidelines of the scientific method employed by all good science worldwide. Matthew was beginning to feel that Dr. Felicia was never going to start going on and on. "That which has been continually proven to be tried and true time after time is not accidental. These methods are always used to promote the safety protocols for new medicines and treatment."

Matthew felt that Dr. Felicia was not being fair with him, he wanted to explain the usual results of the test 3 but he felt he could not, it would take too long and time was always a premium. Results although rigorous to obtain were obtained and then once accepted, unquestioned. This happened many times to other students, Matthew witness the conclusive results that were sometimes the results of following rather than the actual data being used. In other words many students cheated to get the scholastically desired results. Matthew would never discuss these unwanted imperical glitches with anyone as the students learned from day one that these anomalies were considered off-topic, to breech this unwritten law would be academic suicide for a student or doctor for that matter. To tell her these new found facts would mean he could loose everything. He could not, in his mind, afford to throw away everything his parents had hoped for him. His future was the glint in their eyes, and they only wanted to see Matthew succeed.

Matthew knew he must become humble and accept without question her qualified opinion. Students must not question the sterling rule; it would mean certain expulsion from the esteemed school. Matthew knew how long, and how hard he worked to get his foot in the door at Harvard Medical school. He was definitely not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His entrance to Harvard came from his extraordinary natural gifts and a few scholarships, and one anonymous benefactor. Without the correct system we might as well be witch doctors or snakeoil salespersons. To a doctor, the scientific method is god. No other system can give the consistency needed to arrive at the truth. The truth of consistent fact, facts that never waiver never lie. These imperical facts are no longer questioned, as for all intents and purposes, they are forever etched in stone; no need to worry about their efficacy. Facts are never questioned here; we dont have time to requestion old imperical data for its efficacy. If we did that, Matthew, we'd never inch forward in science. Science takes time to arrive at this imperical data, not just twenty years, but hundreds if not thousands of years.

The rigorousness of our testing methods is second to none. The Harvard Medical School has established these guidelines to best conduct the testing protocols. have transpired to create these givens we need to establish baselines have been tried, tested and true. The facts never lie. They stick out bold-faced from the data, the outcome from years of strict testing protocol. If one sways from these methods they are no longer scientists, they are charlatans, and have no place in the scientific community. Matthew Emery felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he had batched up the last batch of protein regeneration studies in his fourth year of med school. He was certain his errors would be screamingly obvious to all scrutinzing eyes in the biology department at Harvard. Matthew continued to remain c. If you want to become part of the team, you're going to have to bend to the rules. The rules will not bend for you. The scientific method is never compromised, repeat, never. This you must learn. Start again." Matthew rolled his eyes as he turned a bright red. He had already taken too long to do this test. It meant he would have to spend another weekend by himself in the lab while the rest of his friends were going to Florida on March break. Maybe he could get some help from his friend at the hospital Dr.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

You Defeated My Girlish Dreams

Cowboy glitch
I'm stuck in the old west
with a dry canteen
and memories of you
and me
when you were my cowboy
and i was wannabe
dont forget
to take me out to the ballgame
the only game in town
which came with the price of admission

admit one
human being
humbly bumbly bee
shaky lady
rocknroll heaven
waits for no one

time goes by
you can catch up
only ride besides
you didnt really know me
too well
my well runs deeper than
what you cared to fish
werent you interested
in other than
less than deep
on the shallow lake
so much was missed

as I change
the change of life
what is it i am changing into
since i was a monster
i should become a raving beauty

so what ever is fair
in this yin and yang existence
let me tell you
dont get me started
as i start i stop
stuck in a rut
rutted like those moose
i use to call
to be my friend
when i wasnt sure
if they wanted to ride me
to save the walking
some times well spent
by the many miles of space
between us now
which is just great for you

didnt aye
just see you
walking by
i said hi
you said hi i think
or held your breath
at the garbage i was putting out
trying to clean out the old garbage
from years of neglecting
a need to maintain
a certain quality of noncluttered
free flow
the way it should go
but doesnt
cause i'm rutted
in garbage past
holding onto those things
i really should have let go of years ago
and yet
i hold onto to because
i believe
i really really really like you
and i really really wanted
those dreams I was making to come true
but they didnt
or wouldnt
or wont
not now
not ever
not on your life
or mine

would you
did you
could you
at least pretend
like you did then
that you
really really liked me
even when
you probably didnt
since proof in the pudding
you're not here
so you must have thought
i wasnt good enough
but then why then
did you string me along for so long
only to slowly close
the emotive door
grow cold slowly
sputtering sputnik
couldnt you have just
made me crash n burn
and get over you just as quick
when i think
there may have been
some hold out
some hope
something anyway
which would have said
but i get this pitiful pit in my stomach
those just knows
it wasnt at all like the way i thought it was
and i wanted it to go up
to the sky
and fly high
with promises
and fulfilled dreams
stamped and sealed
not to be
not to be
how could i let it be
when i felt so let down
why would you do that
was i really that bad?

jj 22 09 09

Escape To High Country

"Chandler, you know I don't like liars." Mutt succinctly told his best friend and confident "and I don't want ot go out west e'er agin". Chandler T. Harris was not in the mood to discuss the possibility of moving out west ever again. To cross five state lines, fighting tooth and nail, each day facing life and death in outlaw country. "Look Mutt, maybe it is time to say, you go your way, I'll go mine. I don't like liars, them thar snakeoil salesmen brought me to ruin! Them thar are snakes y'all". Mutt looked at his dusty old cowboy boots. "Dang it Chanddy, yer right as rain agin. No use to go through that agin. We could just lay low here in Georgia for awhile. Thars no way Sheriff Brewster is gonna find us tonight, it's at least a day's journey over the Colorados. What d'ya thank? I got no notion to git back thar meself. And thars no way I wanna git back to that dang varmit snakepit either. Truth be known, I'd rather die now with my boots on, knowing I didn't give in to them thar slitherin' lyin' beasts. But what hell of a choice do I have, Chandy? Sooner or later thay'll be on our tail like a rooster on a hen. It won't be long before the posey catches up with us, maybe a day as the crow flies. I'm tired of runnin' Chandy".

Chandler looked woefully at his longtime saloon buddy "Look Mutts, there's ne'er bin a time when I's a couldnt git outta any sticky sitiation, you know that! And you know that this is not near as tacky as it has bin in the past old friend, dont give up on me jist yet. City folk folk don't know nothin' bout how to cattle rustle. So bet ya, they don't know nothin' bout shootin' neither. Hey, Mutz, old pal, we've jist gitta get outta here tonight, gitta put on the saddle bags on old Nellie and Meanie and get the heck out of Savanah. If ya see it my way, or else sure as high to that thar grasshoppers eye, we'll be hangin' from that sycamore tree by sundown."Chandler pointed to the insect on the dirt floor of the saloon where they were weighing their options.

Mutt Langfield with his sad hounddog 60 year old haggard yet wisened face. Mutt's look could be best described as quintessential cowboy circa 1880. The year was 1886. Mutt had, from years of endless dusty range roads and piercing desert sun begun to slowly mummify. Mutt's tough skin, a burnished brown, leathered like the cowhide left in the desert for too many years, consumed like the cowboy steaks he'd enjoy over the cowboy campfires each night. He was a part of the landscape as much as the canyons and red granite rocks, and he was, beneath it all, just as tough. Mutt was a sensitive man for a cowboy, he enjoyed reading the classics when he got a chance and would recite poetry on the long lonely journeys on horseback. Mutt was never bored in the hot Texan sun seeing images in the rocks, he thought were his guardian angels who protected him from the many hazards there. His strong hands looked made by the red rocks of Arizona, they looked like a Najavo hands; wise and earthy. Indeed, Mutt was part native, having a native grandfather he use to visit on the reservation twice a year. With his strong hands, he had saved many a cowboy who had fallen off their horse or were rivetted by a stray bullet or whipped by a cruel boss. Always Mutt showed strength when the worst was upon him, but tonight was different; he felt trapped with no way out. He felt like the raccoon when he felt the snare around his leg holding him from escape. Even Mutt's hand now did not hold the power they use to and tonignt they just looked like tobacco stained fingers from a has-been cowboy cowpolk.

Saddle-worn and as rough as the hemp rope used to lasso longhorn cattle in the many western states where they laid their black and white cowboy hats. Chandler's was the rebellious cowboy who donned a black stetson to show he could ride and hang with the worst gang of outlaws. Most was just for effect, as Chandler was not as mean as he let others believe, but as long as they believed it, Chandler kept providing the toughest of tough cowboy imagery. Mutt's adornment was the well-worn white straw cowboy/farmer hat, often tilted slightly to the left so his head was shaded by the midday sun. Today the tilt on his hat was to disguise his appearance from the eyes of persons of interest who maybe just too quick to recognize him. Ever prepared for a gunfight, Mutt's finger never far from his trigger hidden under his oilcoat.

Chandler and Mutt had been cowboys all their lives, both growing up as first generation Gold Rush fever pioneers. Texas-bred, Chandler and Mutt were always finding themselves at the end of a shotgun, barely running away from being made, or laid waste, to return to the hot desert dust to find hidden caves in rocks to hole up for a time. Always the two were in the wrong place at the wrong time, always victims of circumstance they were too dumb to be real criminals. To survive, Mutt and Chandler had to learn the way of the enemy, learning every trick in the book to escape capture. As cowboys, each had the unique opportunity of living life to the fullest, raw and hardy, they were no strangers when it came to escaping death's talons.

It was during the wild west days when Chandler and Mutt were full of themselves, young guns waiting to go off that the first unfortunate incident occurred to them. Almost every day, after the doggies were rounded up, and the cowboy campfire was ragingly bright,the moon illuminating the desert cactus in odd ways. Always smoke would get into the eye of one bored cowboy waiting too long for his bi-monthly trip into town, often to visit the saloon ladies. During these nights of passion under pressure and during the height of summer heat, the cowboys could get restless after their long day of cattle rustling. Fights would often break out after the wieners and beans and usually for the craziest of reasons. Sometimes somebody spoke out too loud or out of turn, someone was disrespectful of the other, whatever reason or nonreason prevailed and caused the cowboys to get the fight into them. It was hard to say. If you put thirty men into a small bunker for months on end with endless work and not much pay and hardly any play, something would be bound to explode, and it usually did.

Chandler usually the first to be taking the first punch after some untowards comment about his black cowboy hat. Luckily it never did end up in bloody gunfights. The cattlemen owners were aware of how out of hand these dolldrum times of turmoil for the men could become, and usually, the owners would haul the men enmasse on a huge wagon and drag them into town for the evening. Hoping the diversion would quell the fight in them, and there they could do whatever they'd like, and the owners would not be responsible for any incidents. They'd be on their own then. The men could then enjoy the many sins of the city. Mutt could often play low key, as he hated more than anything to fight, being smaller and weaker than the others, secretly he was just as tough as any of them and could and did hold his own many times in the past. Tonight would test his mettle once more.

If Texas taught them anything, it taught them how to be survivors in a world full of cut-throat extortionists, liars, theives, and cold-blooded killers. Chandler and Mutt were a good team, both on the range and off. Both knew how to support the other to survive, and like a pack of wolves the two of them had had avoided or won many fistfights and shootouts. The men were seasoned Texans after all!

It was unlike Mutt tonight, his cold beer getting warm from his sweaty palms. And with a tear in his eyes he had a sad and moanful intonation to his voice tonight. He said to Chandler "It's ne'r bin this bad Chandy, yous and me, we've bin through a lot of cow pies, but we've ne'r bin through what we're goin' through tonite. I'm scared Chandy, we're cornered in this dolled-up town. If we don't git by sundown we're jist as good dead".Mutt pointed to a passed out sailor in the corner of the fetid smokey bar. Chandler slowly shook his head up and down as he leaned over his beer extinguishing his hand-rolled cornsilk stoogie with a sizzle from the beads of sweat that consumed every inch of Alanta Georgia downtown, thick with city slickers trying to find reprieve from the heat which hung like a weighted bird around their collective necks.

"Finally!" Chandler thought to himself. A cool autumn breeze could be felt every now and again skipping over the Colorado mountains and through the desert plains of the midwest. Nobody could believe that this night would make two grown men cry in their beer when everything was so peaceful and pretty in Georgia. The humidity and hung around like a wet fur rug around the populace, everyone was fanning themselves from the inordinate heat, but nothing could take away the massive closeness of the city during a heat wave. Tonight had ushered in a new breeze and a new way out for Chandler and Mutt. Tonight they would leave the pretty city and head off into the sunset once more. Finding gold definitely not the major priority, but finding an escape from the Sherriff who was closing in on their trail. Posters were slathered all over signposts, near waterholes of both two legged and four legged variety. No escape for the men on the lam. They would have to leave by nightfall to escape the Sherriff's posey. No amount of convincing would ever win this vigilante group to their innocence.

Belle McGuire had just decided to take an apres diner walkabout, but mostly she wanted to display her amazing figure in her brand new outfit. Papa had just returned from Paris with the latest fashion; bright crimson satin and lace. With her glorious mane of auburn hair atop her head in chignon gibson girl fashion, Belle was epitome of womanly wiles. Her coquettish step in tiny ivory-coloured silk lace up shoes was all the rage on the streets of Paris. Here in Georgia Belle turned many a suitors eye her way as she strutted her powerful presence through the antebellum city. No one could advert their gaze now Belle thought to herself.

Suddenly where Chandler and Mutt had been sitting at the down and out downtown bar, used mainly by displaced cowboys like themselves from the west and the odd sailor, a shot rang out in the stillness of the evening. It was exactly 7:31 pm.

"Oh my grawsh Chandler, their here already! I'll meet you at pier 21" Chandler and Mutt ran out of the sidedoor of the bar where they always would sit to ready ease of escape if ever anyone should be interested in finding them before they figured. Chandler went around the back of the bar and escaped down the long narrow alleyway of the city. He followed all the darkest routes he could to the ocean pier 21. Mutt

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Get It Together 99

When you dream
What you dream!
what a schemer

struck down by ten
only one left
to clean up the mess

Awoke once more
only to forget
that remote memory

so soon so soon
the time becomes us
as the space between us
wriggles through toes
like new sensations
frog feet and some legs
lily-legged frog
grasping me toes
holding me down

resplendent dream
as leaps through the air
never bring me down
gravity's bitch
never to fly again
but in my dreams
oh well

as i take up too much
into my sinus cavities
from too deep inhalations
of heady spring dream
flings me back to reality
to realize
how whack
am I

you may want a linear chick
you wont get that with
up and down
in and out
here to there
far too graphic
how'd ya do
once more

circuits shortened
maybe too long
too stretched out
to be much of a
punch for judy
you really think i didnt
know what
you thought
about me
before the
proving grounds?

awareness can come without a pedigree
or a high iq
when i thought of you
and how you'd like it
do you really
could you really
feel like me
when you think like that?

sorry that i didnt prefigure
your predestination for greatness
Napoleon would be so proud
you come off as flippant
as you give me the middle finger
on that old
dusty photo
on the

snakes y'all?

Jane Jones
Sep 19/09

Day I: In the Beginning The Time Has Come

I have fallen
lately tripping
over and over
a sense of myself
myself always in the way
of myself
wanting to be
more than just the pain
that this fall has recalled
from the day I was born
pain became me
What are you telling me
are You telling me
the time is now
not then, not when
you win the 21 million
not when you got it all together
(you never will have it altogeher)
maybe a fanciful facsimile
"Yes Lord?"
"You aren't alone in what you cannot handle"
"I will never leave or forsake you".
"Oh my Lord God, thank-you Jesus!"
"You have answered my prayers!"
You are neglecting something
listen to you soul
there is an emptiness inside
a wanting, a desire for more than is here
so I am showing you
and standing by the door
and I knock
(this is the pain)
and I say
"Let me in"
"Will you open the door"
"Do not fear going through to the other side"
"I am there"
"Waiting for You"
"Where you will always be with me"
"NO more longing, desires gone in a flash"
Now that heaven is waiting"
I can go at last
What is there is what you were meant to be"
"Come to the Supper I have prepared for you"
Drink in the spiritual gifts,
absorb the fruits of your labour
take in the air of heaven
purely exhilarating
longlingly remember
the cool crisp salt air

to the very place
where you place
your feet
your steps are measured
one by one

On this earth
you've been there
you've been here
you're everywhere and nowhere
when I fell
it reminded me
of those earlier pains
and then i can remember
and remember
the time before pain
was nothing more than love
and pain is the separation
my imperfect being
crying for perfection yet again
trying to be
made into the mold
putty in the hands
of the creator
who wants me
back again

Like Jesus
picked me up

ever so gently
With Love

from the pain I was experiencing
this world's borders a bitter hell
With your Tender healer's hands touch
my body, my flesh, my being here
my soul flies up to heaven
as I recall
the drum-beater's heart
of the only known constant in the universe
You're Love Is so strong!
Thank-you for this!

so much
you gave
and you gave
and you gave
yourself away
to me
I swallowed you up

when the pain
seared through my innocent flesh
flesh that was waiting only for love
flesh that was wanting maybe too much
flesh is heir to those slings and arrows
from being temporarl
as pain is really the sentry
to another world we cant cross yet

flesh that could in a flash
bring the most pleasure
bring the most pain
the two world's
our desire for the former
when we were closer to the door
as it slowly closes on life
to open into energies
that are more sustaining
more nuturing
more pleasurable
all the doors
all the veils
all the walls
flesh dissolves
flesh disabled
flesh without a thousand
tingly spines to tell us
of lurking danger
no more flee
no more fight
only set right
the thing we were
always meant to be
pure universal spirit
of the purest love kind
mother earth soul
goddess of sooth
love divine

the universe's
spirit's resolve
to bring back
all that was lost
at the side of the road
behind memories curtains
the last call
drink it all in
for in a flash
our flesh is gone
and we're spirit once more
maybe we can then see
with a thousand eyes
not used for defense purposes anymore
but to see the many world's where we've been
and where we may be going next
as I leave this bit of me
behind here
don't fear
there were there is no fear
only divine eternal love
and a knowing of all that is
is the endless flow of love
from chocolate lava fountains
pouring and floating
like whipped cream on a forever Sundae
eat it all in
soon we'll be so full
of the glory to come

as to come
to be
the eternity
our souls melt into
as what was once
the entity
the being
the now
of the Tao

freeze away
that pain
warm up
cold numb fingers
by the fire of love's
only desire
the powerhouse
of a place
that we can find
deep within our mind
that began us
as we begot
from much more than
the rot we've become
we polish
we buff
we wax
but we'll never be
shiny enough
for the sparkling
ferries on
on a slow boat
to lost shores
we know so well

in that place
the inner sanctum
the holy altar
where we meet our fate
great comfort there
knowing love
meets us
where the door
turns into forever
and you will never
go away againbetween
the two worlds
of this n that
the ouch goes away
as your love balm
sooths the day

in a minute
God can take away
what man has made
what man has done
what man can dream
in a minute
God can put back
all that was forgotten
all that was no where
all that was lost
your love
your mine
in this time
which is now
i want to tell you
all there is
i have for you
this has been told
from Day I

this little heaven
this little life lesson
i learned something here
pain says no
love says yes
pain like a sentry
a centurion of brutality
diminishes our resolve
to stay here
when we can take no more
meets us there
at the door
and we are never left behind
as we become
one with love
and the real
raison d'etre
to be

so no fear the reaper
the pain of the flesh, mind and spirit
the sentry who stops us
from hurdling that wall
Mr. S. Entry
no more magnetic convergence shocks
from the nitty gritty
unrouted, skipping record
our lives memorex'd
that S. Entry
removed from his post
by a blast
on the triumpant trumpet
of the league of thousands
of celestial angels
coming to take us home
where we really belong
we don't belong here
our we'd be right here
like a stone
we're just passing through child
we're just passing through
to get to
the other side
of the door
that closed
behind us
when we were born

Friday, September 18, 2009

Poetry is Power in Purge-atory

The Compound eyed Fly on the Wall

The compounded thousand eyed fly on the wall
scurries to make sure I'm not watching him
with my two
big globes
as soon as he is spotted
by my moted sensors
I whack the heck out of him
and send him to where he may
begin again
in some form or other

Today I have no fear of flys
or flying
or being bit by the fly
who already did
when I was 5

The bug bit
with a big fat bite
my eyes swelled up so big
I looked like a fly
I had to wear cheap sunglasses
those pink plastic kind
my mother felt sorry for me
life as I knew it was over
I was now
a fly

I can see many different things at once
in many different worlds
it comes in handy when
your a dandy fly
flying high
seeing movement's smallest detail
clearer than clear
all the way
to a clear day to Midland

As a fly
I do flybys
I can whip around town
buzz here and there
and I like to buzz a good tale
if I have time
between the zappers
that seem to inhabit
every neighbourhood

As a fly
I am not really disguised
(how would you disguise a gly?)
I am plain and simply
with a thousand eyes
the world is heir to me
as I must be able to think
with each eye
each eye hopefully
has a brain to go along
with it
eyes without brains are
pretty well

As a fly
with the thousand
multicoloured eyes
I assume I got an eye
for each collapsing big bang
from that last fly swatter
what's the matter
with that?
I am liking being
as flat as a pancake!

As a fly
time can go by and by
to the bye bye land
of betsy wetsy
and all those flys I use to watch
slowly die
on window sills
and in bay windows
during the early spring
for awhile
the fly
would spring back to life
spinning wildly on his wings
going around and around and around
silly fly
you know
you got to know
you're gonna die?

As a fly
I take life in stride
knowing at least I got to see
a lot
(and I mean a-lot!)
Can you imagine
how much stored up
information I have on my
storage banks
all those movements of things
so I could just eat
garbage anyway?
What the heck did I need all those eyes for?
I like garbage
I dont need to catch grubs
I leave that for the spiders!

Jane JOnes Sep 2009

Poetry is Purging

You predict my actions
before I make them happen
or at the same time
i type "ok"
u type "out"
but i didnt mean to say "out"
yes i meant to say "ok"
and yet...
powers that be
or glitchy typeboard keys
accumulate these dervish swirls
in my mind's aye
completely vulnerable
a victim
to your power of sway typing methods

Like a surgeon
holding a knife
over me
while i am flacating myself
telling me it's "ok"
you want something in me
Is this a ballgame
or an "ok" used camel lot?
I say to the surgeon doctor
"Do what you want"
What other option do I have
The liquidity isn't mind to
water runs thought my fingers
like the liquid under my skin
flowing everywhere my plasma
surrounding sound
surrounding you

Jane Jones Sep 2009

Thursday, September 17, 2009

The Meaning of Missing Dreams: A Short Story

Emerging from night's slumber, wiping away the gritty sand in the corners of my eyes like a sand dweller's dried up tears for hope the illusion, the mirage will be the missing spirit waters to sooth the soul and make all right again. My missing time piece, grandpa's gold pocket watch, a piece, a place in time. As missing time is to mainframe glitch so is that other missing(s). My missing dreams.
The only bits left are cold leftovers now. Cruddy crumbs remanants from long ago, urgent need to turn to dusty sedments, yet the sands of time and dreams remain awakening us to new dreams are not only possible but probably in the impossible world. The horrible world. The beautiful world. The dictomy is we become sandwiched or should I say "meme'd'" between the two like toejam. Ugh. All or nothing, nothing at all or something like sand with which not much can be accomplished, if at all. These fragile fractured segments of which once were whole blocks of undiscoveredness; worlds once awoke in Roanake to this state of perfection, this raison d'etre that was never questioned, never schooled in the scold mechanism of ridiculous ridicule; the place for placement. Where we, you, I, me stand in this vast expanse of universe.
It has all been left behind. For those fully engaged in the now, this supposed wake state; congratulations for toughing it out on Planet Pain. Have we, once and for all put to bed these worlds of wonders which seem to me sometimes, to be much more real than the realization of smash-face on concrete? So this world here and now is ours alone? When our Janus-faced eyes, and Jesus-faced sensibilities awakens us to these worlds left behind in the dust of our two humogous brains.
The gamma radiactive world aflush with the NEW! Gamma radiation telescope finds things not seen that may be more important than things seen which totally warps my mind when I try to think about how inside out everything can be at times. And of the here and now is your world, and welcome to it, now you better damn well get use to it, seems like one has to adapt, one must adapt to these inside out changes that come out of left field to give the old whirlygig a run for its money. Can we run out of time before we run out of money. Hold onto your cash as the universe is a cheap ass!
You just wont believe me, let me make this perfectly clear, are my ears to big to look so small? Maybe we'd have all the control you'd like, one day on Planet You, but for now, you must get use to living with significant others who push and pull you in ways you do ont want to go; much like the universe. So I say; "go with the flow" as if that has never been said before and you admire my wisdom because you never get sick of idioms. You are French after all is said and done. Done like dinner, I like the Napoleaon Boneaparte in you. It shivers me timbers!
Maybe you ordered a mail order bride or maybe you may have ordered the world on a silver platter, but somehow, even with all this ordering you still dont like the way it is going down.
The world it's natural state is a horribly brutal painfulness which never really, to my sensitvities never gives me the soothing balm of a thousand hyssop branches. The fine cedars of Lebanon could not awaken me for another day once more to realize I am shutout of this world of what I have termed "Planet Pain". Who needs this S&M pain? Really? It is always there in the background, seething like a snake on acidosis. NObody would ever hurt a snake, because they are not the culprit, the fact is there is just an imbalance in the painfreeness we want the earth to be for all. Get out the Love Balm, it is next to the chapstick
Alert to my surround-sound world of predestination, I realize I am not alone in my quest to figure all this out. Maybe that is the angst-ridden neuroses; of toss and turn, trying to figure it all out. "Let it Be, Let it Be, Let it Be, Let It Be, There will be an answer, Let It Be" ever since "Let It Be" came out in '69 I have been waiting for the answer. It is there, if you listen, observe and wonder as a child, no need to compartmentalize the whole event, let our souls do the walking, soon to do the talking, soon to do the arrangng the here and now world anyway you want, like a tourist in a come to Florida commercial!
Yes, as I did say in the last paragraph we all should just "let it be", thank-you very much Beatles. Or maybe I should just let it happen, without question, without need to control the ultimate outcome. Which is? Delusion or reality. Your choice. Your conclusion. You write the song that makes the whole world sing. Thank-you Barrie Manalow! I feel it has all been said and done before, nothing new under the sun, how creative is that? Even at my most creative I am copying someone or something that has gone before? Except ever so slightly different and one degree to the left, or right depending on the magnetic polarization of the sun.
If it is a question of truly making my world the way I want it, why does it never go the way I orginally intend? Why do I feel absolutely powerless? Whose destiny is this awake plane? What control do I have over my environment. Can I actually stop events from happening? Should I stop these gruesome events? Could I? Is it in the best interest of all? Especially if the wake state is as much as an illusion as the sleep state, only more detailed because it is right here; out there; front and centre. The pivotal place in the universe; the penultimate reality forced down our throat because it has no where else to go.
So this wake state is an illusion as much as my dreams which are also an illusion coming from some great transductive transponder, "The Conductor" who may conduct such willy nilly ouevres like John Cage music, or BDQ Bach, yes I remember, Dave, and this is our half-shelf life of misgivings, totally trapped caught in the food that food trapper, the garburator of life. Things change and stay the same.
All for naught. Or naught for all? Naughty nights of dream anything you'd like, your pleasure dome decreed. Who'd think that would ever happen, but maybe just maybe, we can and do control our dreams. Then what does this say? I can have more power in dreams than in reality? Why? Was I born on a backward magnetic day or something? Maybe that is why kids read and write backwards and maybe why there is backwards speech? An idea anyway. Better than an old pair of wholly then thou old socks.
Isn't life Grand, like the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. Oh, yes dreamy forever dreamy dear sweet Christopher Reeve, Jane Seymours forever love on that Turtle Island of Love; Somewhere In Time. Yes, does that become history when Love Never Dies? Tell me please. Can I get any more now?
It seems now thatthere is more now and what could be possibly wrong with that? The world goes right to left and I go the other way. So what? Better than right, correct as usual Prince Friday. Ms Ying and Yang the enabler of all things balanced. No blame in that. Wouldn't the YINGYANG powers of endless chi engima allow any wiggle room in my favourite Jello? Certainly I am my own worst critic. I sput the wick of the wickedly good flame that I am before I even get started. Don't get me started!
Last evening I finally was able to dream a little dream and I don't know why. Why did I have endless non-dream nights? Neon dream nights only happen during blue moons? Could it be that I am no longer in need of the angst-filled nights of my making? Could I reverse the trend and make the subsequent power of hands allow for my complete control of the world encountered here? How? I can't even get my computer keyboard to keep up with my thoughts. The sputtering sputnik! What can I do? Where can I find the power for F.R.O.Y.D.? FOR THE REALITY OF YOUR DREAMS? "Your" meaning "Mine" for now..until I make my life so damn good that you will just want to join me in this wonderful world. Wholly zealots bathmat! What do you think I am? I am just a goil? How am I suppose to be that much more than Superwoman? But I am secretly superwoman, this is my little secret that helps me when the world shoves not only the blue nasties my way but breaks my shoulderings, breaks my stride, convuludes me with mistruths and sinking sand and the end of time; my time; my demise. I am not asking for a pity party. Thrown cash my way will only expire too. What I need is a complete overhaul of the disfunctionary matrix; a way out of hell.
Jesus came to me again in my dreams. Again on the shores of some river or pond or marshy area. I followed the white robes around trying to touch them again, and then the dream changed to something else; always shifting like sand. I rarely cry out in my dreams but my feelings guide me along to the next scenario my broken soul needs to see and feel. "This is the worst coffee I have ever had, it tastes like pcb-infested by taliban coffee-makers to pollute our bodies, minds and souls for a complete takeover. Before time these battles were waged. I rarely had to taste the poison on my lips. We knew. We knew from knowing. Things were fairly straight forward. The boggieman was in the bag. Captured. The presence of the bm was not as important as...let's say..what you were going to have for breakfast. Things were fairly straight forward back then, you didnt worry at all about where the next attack and upon which shore. You didnt have the black lines under your eyes. If you did the concealer did work to make you look to you that at least the art of concealer could conceal a thousand sins of a thousand nights with Ali Baba and his, how many, why forty theives? It is better than fifty I suppose...?
As we gather, garnish and greet the great day, the sun a pop-up ball of plasma energy, so different than my plasma soul, my red corpusles sing silently when i breifly look upon her. She is glorious. She is Mary Travers of Peter Paul and Mary who died yesterday and is now with the sun. She shines upon me as I recall my first song in Kindergarten; Puff The Magic Dragon. Mary's Peace; Sunshine days with her sweet voice filling my world with all things magic with possibilities. She is me actually.
The sun; I hope she doesn't have a cold today. And today, and for the past week, I have been sick with ear pain. Very unfun. Very Planet Pain. From these lofty shores I have figured out why I get sick; I have environmental illness. Not long ago, well yes, in my twenties, I got a bad case of the sinusitus. Since then I have not been able to tolerate mold and ragweed season. I had never actually had this problem until i found out that being an adult meant acceptance of things unacceptable by pre-twenties standards. I have to accept the fact I dont like it and there may not be a lot i can do about allergies. So I suffer. I have my arsenal against the dreaded sinus inflammations but now, in retrospect I realize I have been for far too long a victim of my environment. And I don't like it. I said this. Why must I always reinterate. I feel no one is listening or gives an f of a damn. Oh well. Maybe one day my astute observations will save a soul or something. Then I will be recognized ipso facto and post humously as the person most likely to be the winner after being lost in action or MIA, missing in action. I wasnt missing, just horribly, horribly ignored for some reason. Why? If you know let me know. Probably I come off as a bore or dull or stupid or vexing. Whatever! Who the hell cares when I am posthumous and getting an award? I need to celebrate this me dead down-time! Where am I? Could you call me up? Talk to me? I may be right beside you listening and watching everything you say or do. Isnt this creepy and sort of sexy for a dead person. But in my dreams dead people are very sexy. I mean ghosts not corpses that is sick!
Yes, as I said, besides dead Jesus (who is resurrected and therefore not officially dead anymore) only in the old BC/AD calendar system. Today, my dead ghost friends, that like ghosts are hidden behind silver screens, really want to come forward into my here and now world but cannot for some odd reason of nonmenclature. That beast!
So no more old friends that just remain on the shelf until my dreams or the great beyond call them back into their image I had created for them to return to be my friend again and we have those fun dream adventures that I am so go at (poor english I realize). Yes, we were off to see the wizard on more than a few occasions, and the wizard to did not provide me with, repeat DID NOT provide me with one IOTA of quota as to what the world is really, really!
So I go on. No, I go on.
Unless the sun makes me blind from it's intense plasma rays streaming into my visual cortex as I try to type and I am like a yaqui indian I look straight at the sun (DON'T EVER LOOK DIRECTLY AT THE SUN, NOT EVEN DIRETLY NOT WITHOUT GRADE 18 GREEN WELDERS GLASSES) so say experts at NASA. Anyway, I did briefly look at the sun the other day and I notied something odd about the sun. Besides I am not encountering the extreme visions of Yaquis or the catholic coommunity at Lourdes the Fatima vision of the melting sun upon the earth but I do notice this; the sun has a light ring around it, around the outside of it. This I noticed one afternoon about a week or two ago. The sun had, this is a keen observation folks, that the sun is sloughing off something or chnging into ring like things. Amazing. And gives me reason to think about the planets in cocentric rings around the sun. The fear of the collapsing parts of things always moving always decaying and becoming; something else, eh. This is what the sun makes me think about; space and all that is in it. The sun is so unreal a reality. And yet you know this pivotal moment in time is only the touch stone to other maultiple things over and over again repeating ever so similar patterns, ever so similar but yet slightly altered in the newness of the process of decay which moves everything slightly two inches to the left thank you I Chong. It is amazing all this. And it is right now at this very moment that I am typing here writing to you happening. It is as if you can touch it the same time the sun is in y eyes and I give you the vision that the sun has placed there. Amazing and breathe a sigh a deep breathe it is all too beautiful to describe. But I willl certainly try. Yes I will. As I type this blinded by the sun, I realize, we are all blinded by the sun, or by the power that is our existence. It is too powerful to fully understand unless intuitively, buy some snake reptilian brain that knows and says nothing. Waiting for that day to leap forth into the sun to become again. and again and again. obviously there is no end to all this and our souls go on and on and on so i am sure I willl meet you one day again. As I had said I wanted to write to you one day. You were hestitate. I knew at that moment you really didnt have a life plan for me. Oh well. We can still be friends? Hopefully.