delivered to the city, a new beginning, not power and the glory in the name of the enemy

i'm not yer fuckin' boy
this is a story
about seven eleven at seven in the morning
they barely stand or talk
maybe they're made of the same plastic
that goes into the fucking bagging system
well i aint red white and blue
because my heart had a say every day
why don't you walk on through?

email

so you know, there's ultimate ugly truth i feel and there's also the beautiful truths. 

if we can be kind to each other without feeling that we owe each other anything, i'll make some music with you once i figure out the perameters of recording on my cheap ass laptop

hope you have an alright day. 

ya know, some of those disintigrating addicts are actually "dead."  i wouldn't invest too much love or time in them either way.  it's heartbreaking.  all they want is more dope.  maybe just tell them the truth, even if it comes out as "your fucking dead."

your generation, your whole damned generation, is you

where''s my generation, where's my generation, my whole generation?

your whole generation is you.  dead generation, blank generation, aint Hue

where's my generation?  where's my generation?  its sick...

Second Installment

And I made it to White Chapel Hill again
none of you are welcome to come over again
so please
meet me where Saint Monica lay one day
when they were lying to her about love
amid the Glass War in the Sand
but not there again precisely in time
rather when the clocks settle themselves into their natural pressures
and the church chimes on the coast
avail themselves of old fabrics.

If you didn't act like morons
I'd be your friend
and listen to your stories
and maybe give you more than one cup of coffee
on days when the winter coast sky filtered sunlight through the sparse clouds.
If you didn't act like devils
I'd give you a gift
like a leather belt for the hips of your pants
and maybe a rose to carry in yer holster
but to tell you the plain and quiet truth
I am done with human beings for a time
since some of them did so many drugs
and tried to force me too
that those addicts turned into fiberglass
that will not float on the sea
but will just carry rays of sunlight
in the moving pictures
of the end of the race.

You can call me Hellcat
You can call me dear
don't think that I'm from the Junkers
don't think that I don't feel or overhear
I'm delivering a message
to the future with a poem
all it says is watch out for lying lovers
all it says is to watch out for their cold dead fingers
that try to play with your insides
because those people
were too dumb to know that the heart is not dinner
that where the heart lay there is sometimes
only dreams, beauty, and hope.

Installment One

I figured I could just talk
and sort out the submerged undertow of buried History
that hadn't yet witnessed pause for the written word in English
and presumes that corporate history books sold for a price in bookstores
constitute contemplative gibberish mingled with falsifications
like how Austrian royalty would have paid in the seventeenth century
for some flattering paintings of themselves
when causing chaos through lack of diplomacy, war, violence and general piggishness
so I will piece together these half sewn scraps of old flags
that glimmered in the night tides
to decant where all the color came from
besides this onus of Life's stilted brevity
as delineated by textbook theory of a Lucy in Africa
and some uncertain land bridge crap occurring during the Ice Age
and weird gaps in radiocarbon dating
and etc.

The human race, according to me
began a trillion years ago
with the introduction of wooden plank buildings
made on former estuaries by the coast
and spread inland from the stars,
where most of the beings came from and settled
whether their stories were based in horror, luck, gambles, love affairs, family tradition, or slavery
the seeds of their lifeboats landed in the oceans first
and spread to the shores
where the races of immortals became acclimated to the Earth's ecosystem
and errantly adopted customs such as sexual reproduction or mortality
sometimes based on the packages they had brought with them
items such as thimbles for sewing on porches
hourglasses to curse the underclass or the guilty
or works of art that fled into the saline ocean waves before steel starred daybreak. 
I remember growing up first on Mango Street in Australia
before traveling to the present day Falklands
and meandering up the West Coast of the Americas
where I knew you in that now famous city of Los Angeles
only our ages were flipped somehow
you were say fourteen when I was sixteen
and rode around on a bicycle with red tassles on the handlebars
before some town based episode
of people trying to factory infuse aesthetics into products
that led towards some general artistic confusion
before some insane creature planted all the trees on Earth
which is now seen as sanity instead of as totems seeded for power
and other such legends

there were awful trevails at times
a council from space
trying to use the planet as a kind of evolutionary zoo or prison
(and maybe they somehow won)
but for whatever the reason
I was whisked away by a Family Project
to the city of San Dimas all those billions of years ago
where I fell in love with a Sister in Training
who gave me drinks of beer at apartment parties
before I met Samantha who owned the house down the block
who I became fast friends with after saving my first kiss from interstellar drug zombism
and I can see now on her porch above a white brick wall laughing at what happened
to my first car that I crashed on purpose because it got locked up in some gauge credit system
that is not unlike having to pay for gasoline or electricity.

Then they changed the name of San Dimas
to Beverly Hills
or something
but there were lush forests back then
before the first Atomic wars
that created present day deserts across the map of America
along with the general amnesias people now have
and perhaps a sense of oppression and confusion
when trying to look back at the past
without seeing themselves as a part of it.

Well a lot of things happened there with silly Samantha
who held parties with invitations
and got really upset with me one summer day in the white and light blue kitchen
for making her a pitcher of lemonade
and I figured it was because she thought I had slipped in some poison
but later
all it amounted to was that it reminded her of the color of urine that day
when she had been hoping for a reconciliation with the cosmos
which would impart a gnostic understanding in revelations
about how all of Existance and Beinghood came to exist
so in retrospect
I guess the lemonade seemed a negligent gesture
but that was before all these hideous evolutionary class disputes
and before I left to go to Illinois where I fell in love with a Siberian criminal
who wouldn't leave a prison ghetto through the sewer, he was that proud
and so I left him through tears
until I got correspondence through a refugee mail bag from Samantha
saying that San Dimas turned into some forlorn brackish backwater prison shack too
and that I should travel out there so that we could live out our last days.

I got the transit papers through a homosexual sergeant who was apportioning different races to labor camps for insane projects, such as a radar complex in New Mexico to fend off Krauts and some kind of giant Mystic Mystic Sculpture in Old Texas, the town known for making infamous the white picket fence
though maybe this was after they blew the Moon into desolate craters
when it used to be some sister colony and a vacation area
where you could go up and see the different interplays of light, how exotically the Moonscape hung in black and white framings when plants from Earth took on almost radioactive color
but that was before
they began processing people genetically using measurements of their teeth that were based in ignorance of anything
and I wonder now
if the fleeting space missions up above
will discover anything at all
but powder and ash and dust and rubble
as the craters beam down and should frown instead of smile. 

In New San Dimas
everybody became anti art
as I worked as a mechanic on cars
before being accused of Lesbianism
which was an old word for simply "Romantic"
so I hiked out to Pasadena
where I celebrated Christmas with a flask of whiskey and few friends
before walking out to Hermosa Beach
where I found an abandoned peach house on Bell Street
that was so named for the chimes in the sidewalk
that morosely would announce the number of dead from the war in tolls
and that happened so often that the Bell System broke
but that was before all the gibberish
of GTE vs ESP
how people couldn't decide
if they wanted a telepathic telephone system or one based in wires
so a person would get paid in food if they voted either way
but soon they were getting paid in weapons as the sides partitioned
and a civil war broke out
based in gene tonics called drugs
and then I remember losing my friend with the orange hair
after she gave me a can of seven up as an insult. 

The scrambling people kept manufacturing insanity after insanity
and there were frequent phone system bombings
along with tricks with magnetic powder
that could accelerate musket balls through an apartment as twice the speed of sound
so you would never hear it coming in your easy chair
but this was before I realized
that the Sixth Great Extinction
would constitute a race that simultaneously discovered both drug intoxication and time travel
since it would be worse than drunk driving
or anything
with some stupid asshole on a fucked up phone system for instance
sending musket balls into residencies with addresses in the future
that could shoot through cribs and mattresses with armor piercing voice guided inflection rounds
but when AT and T won
and let GTE operate
I wondered what the hell happened
and understood maybe then somehow
that the fortress had crumbled along with the soldiers
when bowmen would appear on dust soaked roofs in the beating heat
firing crossbows into stained glass church windows
when all I was doing
was looking for a butter knife or something makeshift
to open a can of tomatoes for soup that could last a week
when the Armies kept coming over
and the way they would draft you then
was by giving you a pair of shoes in what they thought was your size
whether you wanted them or not
because the soldiers on the streets
would fight over them regardless
even though they were obviously extra crappy shoes.

So I tried to send mail grams
instead of using the Anarchic Postal Service
of letters and things I could procure like rose petals
before some asshole put their guitar in my bedroom
along with a soiled pair of pink slacks
and all I could figure then was
"jesus this must be worse than the Army"
but then I realized coyly
that since it was my bedroom
that I could just claim that the objects were mine
and I started a band for Peace
with a raven as my emblem
later following a sparrow in play
and that was when AT and T lapsed again
and began manufacturing suits of electrician armor that looked like Darth Vader
which would end up killing anybody inside of it
and my voice grew so hoarse from screaming while singing
that I gave up the band and hid in old passage ways that had been meant as amusement parks
but became the LA sewers like how the water in "Its a Small World" at Disneyland
probably would kill you if you drank it
but I left after I got shot at by some laser mad drunk
who didn't know how to lift his rifle
which was meant for sabotaging phone boxes anyhow
and thankfully wasn't based on magnetic principles
since a bead of lead would have gone through my heart
and thats when I got my first tattoo
har de har har. 

Samantha and the Hall of Mirrors, Skeined

Through out time immorial
and yes there has been belief
about a soul
that resided once
in the center of a forehead
as tough as a stone
that could take the whet
of eleven thousand poundings
one may say tentively
that the soul is a woman
moving through elocutions of some divinity
that has no platform
but for the tremendous Life
of a certain scurriers
who have done nothing ill in their lives/

i wish you had known her
Samantha, dear
do you still exist
or were you some made up figment
used to drive me back to sanity

The Past

About seven years in the past
some stupid asshole
was moaning about "good clean food"
being served at all their parties
and the implication there
was either that it was not clean at all
or he trafficked in a crowd
that knew bad clean non-food
or it was some stupid drug analogy
or he had enough meth crammed in his face
that he felt the phrase ::good clean food::
sounded better and more relevant than
good clean face
which i like better
as a concept
and as a something.

ancient Light
why did work your way
into my desire
ancient Truth
what ahle-hall did we know each other
and did i garb myself in you
like charnel
or did you chaff at my robe
just begging for plaintive nudity
at the expense of some reprehensive following
that used to know Poetry as the News
following the after morning aftershocks
of some damn DOS phrase
or grumbling in the bowels of Hell
that must have shot itself through the ancient human mind
leaving me here on my own
and with less friends
then a solitary anut
traversing across a concrete plane roughed by diamond particulars
and old Western nonsense of formentations. 

{port crises)

The port got shut down in LA.  I guess that means that food shipments are diminishing.