hippiemantra

ooh!
hey
pretty moon, pretty planet-up-there
I was reading about you, and about
what the earth mothers are thinking of you
and about how this is a time for bringing loving care to myself
to let my emotions
come up like waves
because they're water
and I'm wet.
I am a wetone, always, and
why do I feel so calm & serene? I mean, for me?
Molly Merrill Stoddard?
fucking serene queen

the palm fronds framing it
this mini-moon
guiding those wild dogs out
on their traipses
they got the trots
and so do I!
the drip
      drip
       drips

I'm calm in my love, there's an understanding in it
an acceptance of it
an abundance of it
 that I'm comfy in
I'm blanketed by how I feel
  is the right way
it's feeeel feeeeeel feeeeeeeeeeel!
    feel away!

I moved my goodnight

I moved my bed so it's parallel to the wall, between the two windows, still. I thought I would go to sleep with the red notebook, the one without lines. I used to write in it round my birthday last may when I lived at kari's club, and I was drawing pictures of flowers dying every day, and I was really stoned all of the time & I'd go to bed alone because I wasn't allowed guests. I would read kafka's blue notebooks until I got too bored or distracted or tired and then I would write a little something in the book and I would fall asleep. An example:

   19 May, bed

      You've a lot of work to do. Read    deal   finish/throw away  your library         move to New Orleans

I started again, writing in the red notebook, and it produces similarly, only I am not the devastated one I was in may. I am still sad to report that may of 2013 was historically one of the worst months in my recent years. it remains cloudy and dismal in my memory, and it has cracked something of my view of idaho or of impending summer or of love or hopefulness or something of those natures. I am still sad that I can't laugh at that. I had the sweet depressant in my skeleton. so many questions. I had begun to see luke and he knew me enough, made me come in the park, screams echoing and I snuck him in kari's club afterward but then in the morning I wanted him so gone. I was like that guy, we all know. I felt like the truest broken thing. it was late may by then. I was a dead finish. r

I made some apologies to them. I was sorry that I wasn't going to fall in love anymore. I was sorry that a whole, flat bland vacuum of the country was off limits to my wandering brain heart fingers breath. my best friend moved away, I moved away. I haven't smoked a real american cigarette in days, just the herbs of the world, it seems better for your health and for your pocketbook and for your roommates and for the smell of the world, right. I like to smoke while I cook, like while cooking things like chicken noodle soup for my boyfriend because I want to reach out to him, and he is sick, and I want to prove that I am good & careful & capable. there is science in the chicken soup thing, and I believe usually what I hear right away as the truth. why lie?

which reminds me I wish I had a cigarette paper. I would roll one of these good smokes. I have these little butts, but I, too, am ill. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be smoking, I almost almost even considered quitting smoking for someone this spring. may2013 killed notions of that, so I must have smoked 100,000 smokes over the last 6 months.

I liked smoking and cooking. I spent four hours in the kitchen, four hours at least maybe more. we have a nice big kitchen, and a table ben secured from a house where he was working, it came from someone who overdosed, he told us. it in the sorry for him, lucky for us voice. it's nice to sit at a table. I watched project runway and I ate sweet potatoes and rice from louisiana, and arugula from louisiana. I asked ben & colette to get me some rosemary from the store, and kayla looked at the show with me and we all tried my smoking blend. dan came in and he tried the soup and he told me not to overdo it with the parsley. we don't like to fight but somehow we are fighters.

I'm listening to rumours, which I'm waiting to remind me. ever listen to music expecting it to shock you back into something? after justin left boise I listened to all of the music he sent to me. he sent me music over the internet, and he sent me flowers once, which he probably purchased over the internet. we had an internet relationship & so I listened to rumours on the internet. it wasn't ruined for me, I keep waiting for that. I don't feel anything about it either way, the sting is gone. somehow that's a little disappointing to me, like it felt like so much back then and now it's almost as though nothing ever happened. like it should remain important? sometimes I'm such a dreamer.

I haven't been drinking or doing drugs or anything. I am trying to drink tea & lemon & ginger from louisiana. I have never lived in a place where I could eat ginger grown from my earth here. it feels lucky, but also like an of course kind of lucky.

I think the cigarette paper is the toughness I appreciate. I really shouldn't be smoking, but I feel justified. I still wonder. I met someone in florida named justice and I told him about things a little. I'm glad I love the south, and even though it bums me a little to feel so little, I'm glad to not feel the pull sting anymore.  goodnight

treasures

what are we
if not jewels
little faceted gems, shining dully in the sunlight
  grubby precious delights
     stoned by rushes
        of water wear
            water tear
        like a tear-us-down
        like a tear-up-now
      worn at the edges
     all of the boring rivers
       and the boring earth
  were trying to wash us away
but we're
   bedazzled
      and through the skin haze
you can see our glow-worth
like old patinad coinage
    in some boring blue fountain

let's be humans

drop me off
who really figured out the earth isn't a plane
I mean, it's plains
but I don't know
I mean, it wasn't columbus in his three speedboats, I mean of course before he got his boats
christopher columbus was going along in his three boats
with his slaves
when he discovered that the people whose land he'd discovered
were also darker than he
so they could be his slaves, too
#extraslaves
drop me off
the flat plain earth
so I can float in space
upsidedownless
rightsideupless
bodiless, totally Mister Onlymind, here
     Cassavetes & Bergman & Fassbinder etc made a lot of films
in which the losing of one's mind, or the journey into a woman's spangled neurosis, is chronicled
  I've always loved watching stuff like that
watching someone crumble into the mind-abyss
lose a self in another, or a loss, or an absense or something emptier than that
it puts it into perspective
because I sometimes feel like I'm teetering on the edge
of some similar plains
just wondering if I'll ever tumble
but we've to remember that we're just human beings, here
like columbus
like his captivated
like Cassavetes & Bergman & Fassbinder
we're just rediscovering what's never been discovered by us
or discovering what has been, already
traipsing the sinews of a brokenmind
floating on the new eternal sea
or in new eternal space
to find someone with whom to hold hands
to clutch on tenderly
till the infinite brings us round again

yearn at the corn moon

In the tempts of maize, I attempt to weave around. Maze around in brightest-lit coldergrowing night. Chicha de jora, milk substance, strawlike color. In the americas of the opposite, tantalizing hemisphere it is drunk from a maize fermented by mine and your own ptylin enzymes in our open mouths, our readiest salivas. How it is true, then! The wild yeasts yes, but how forgettable is that of you, of us! Our own bubbling, budding abilities. We have within us, the powers of the distillation. Mine in yours, and mine in mine. My saliva in the fruits of earth, my burbling beings in the taste of a large white moon.

champagne tragedy temptation of sighs

pretty little, 49 to 52

A large hallowed kissing might slightly scale thy name. Gently just love guilty and violent come unpredictably. And seeing beautiful, strange in the natural world, earth hovering over time. Feel guilty sudden violent heaven touched barely.

Longer sounded, upheaval give us this. My flesh for him, I need badly disaster. And forgive a rib as well. My head, I met calamity; forgive a breast with me.

Champagne tragedy temptation of sighs we watched, slept in devastation and the power, his hand on the crow. To kiss him, the wonderful upheaval and the glory. I thought he wanted desire, convulsion, apocalypse for ever and ever. Bored, he said he was unsure to kiss excessive. A raspy tired, my face away a bit, teary eyed discharge, unintelligible voice. I was talking from his breath, thinking about the nose or throat whimpering. Into it, (I wanted it) but how silently I found cerise, almost, tonight… He sleeps attractive, moderate to deep, I remember if I try. How nice to have him still, red at an adventure. Touch my back repulsed early now.

An unlikely morning, an idea used typically I think. Feel pressed against, kissing for pleasure I remember, vague and erotic. But my love trips, chicanery was already existent just the slightest. Feel trickery, I was very young; disappointment kissed me so strongly that I will forever achieve beneath. Disappointment is a good kisser. And I remain true to purpose; deception begins. Receive sex sad and lonely and artful to eat.