"Want to wear words,
like clothing, a tailor and an editor,
am I not stitching,
threads into a finest tapestry,
then the very thought to blog,
bogs and constipates desire,
leaving me to log the frustration
on paper pages to cook up ideas of which
the Best of Which,
have simmered away...
but I taste the air above this write of yours;
it restores the delight,
to write for others,
briefly log my take and give on life,
thanks for the encouragement,
ha ha, more, more"...
Ottar

why write praise of others,
when their own words
do all the work

bring your pen and quill,
he says,
and the hands
by them employed,
perform on the Pantages Theater
in Tacoma

put your toys aboard a
kayak
peddle paddle the Columbia,
blade one in Washington,
the other, propulsion oriented to the Oregon side,

he in the cockpit,
wonder wandering reflecting
what is the life story of a
beggar man
with so many, already,
steve-adore friends
in ore-gun,
who all can carry words
from their ships into shared knapsacks,
all for breaking
the fast
that men's soul
sometime suffer

words given each of us,
free and given freely

better have the wisdom to hear the best,
finery
in them
and this man's soul work, simple,
record, record...record
and share

the finer, better,
finery of yours*
free

You tuck your tummy
You wish it is flat
You neglect its wishes
All she wants is listen
And give her dire attention


Your belly
The seat of creation
Find the chakra of passion
Expanding to the universe so designed
Feed her with nurturance

It gives you butterflies
It constipates with unease

Ditch the girdle
The belly jeans
That which constricts its breath
Celebrate its roundedness

Walk and be proud as tall as a tree
Honor thy Womb.

well....
  (enter a pseudo-nervous laugh,
ever so shy on paranoia)....
if you're going to play
that sort of game...
        better meat, yes, meat
me, not meet me in my local
bastions...
                 see you in the thick
of night, in the forest,
                        rummaging
your way through a lurch of
fallen, autumn leaves
you get to equate to perfume?
come over here,
come these parts!
    what, you're ***** whipping
me out of the "contest"?
you think i haven't walked
these parts?!
             two squirrels fair way...
what?
  you tell me...
i'm done explaining what
is better explained by *******...
and firemen...
     and a Promethean concept
of fire...
               riddled down
by a most confusing role
of the minor role of being employed...
no wonder why i write..
videos...
   the hey-day,
of the rental days...
Godzilla...
      VCR... and the equipment that
came with it... JVC...
Blockbusters'?
**** me...
                        they still exist
at the dead-end of
the Central Line...
  Loughton...
                  i can't even comprehend...
how you can write a history,
with such immediacy of
nostalgia being intact...
you can't write a history
with such an impeding nostalgia,
a nostalgia,
that's trans-historiological -
a nostalgia that's less about the times,
but more about the technology,
of the times...
a hammer is a hammer is a hammer
is a nail...
         that doesn't change,
unless... well... originating it with
a bird's beak, and pecking...
different story...
  history has become revamped,
escalated,
expediently escalated from the birth
of Nintendo...
      even earlier, Atari...
manga cartoons overtook the point
of Disney...
we don't live in times
of post-history...
we've already had out atheistic phase...
atheism was the 20th century...
what we've inherited from
20th century's atheism
is... ahistoricity of the 21st century...
after all...
history was the romance
of the concept of time...
so before the romancing of space dies...
before all the tourists
settle the ****, down...
tell me what's on the bucket list of
"things" to die?
in the 19th century philosophers
and poets were nostalgic about
Ancient Greece (Nietzsche,
  Hölderlin)...
                     me?
vaguely nostalgic of Kant...
  but... **** me...
1990s music...
          i'm nostalgic about the time-frame
that constipates a lifespan...
the past 30 years...
and come to think of it...
by reducing history to a nostalgia...
i'm dragging time along with
me, ushering in a phase
of the most competent advent of
a fusion of mortality with death...
i am...
   seemingly...
   a perfected chapter,
within the confines of an imperfect book;
and i am not alone in
perfecting the crass craft,
also considered, life.
- but that's beside the point...
can you imagine people prior to us,
being nostalgic,
of their own selves,
just years prior?
no other people have been
nostalgic of, "themselves"...
not in their lifetime...
    in the 19th century the Germans
were "nostalgic" succumbing
to Ancient Greece reminder "psychosis"...
but we're the people...
who, with all the progress,
are nostalgic, concerning
only 10 years prior...
   which means...
    for whatever advancements...
we're basically hitting our heads
against a cul de sac...
since, by now...
it's a claustrophobia's worth
of history...
   19th century America?
it's no longer a nostalgia...
it's a fantasy...
                   i can't believe i am nostalgic
about what was circa 25 years ago...
then again i'm not
that much nostalgic...
       but at the same time i cannot
enforce a faking of dementia,
i can't synthesize an amnesia;
the kiddy element isn't there...
but sure as **** the technology
wasn't there to begin with...
we dug holes in the ground,
and threw marbles around,
we played hide and seek...
while the girls chalked the pavement
and "danced" the tic-tac-toe!
and the girls would jump the skip-rope!
and we would actually watch
MTV for the Queen videos...
and the Shakespeare's Sisters video...
now...
   this sort of ******* should be
written by someone aged 70...
i'm 32...
                    so... go figure what's up.

an era where: orange man bad...
and there's a sieve
of all possible commentary....
that it tows:
a congested scrap on the heap:
of... bias for bacon...
it's hardly a: awakening...

metaphors metaphors is all
this is, really:
      perhaps a tease a troll-    -ing
a fishing:
a "spiritual awakening"
of transcendent subjectivity:

otherwise i hear: verbiage!
custard brains toad tongue word
salad -
and it's all fine since:
this is hardly a conversation
or a linear narrative..

peacocking with an anemic /
anorexic strut on a catwalk -
but literally!
it's this persistent admiration
for a people in love
with their acronyms
and their politics -
                hardly ever politics
outside of
'am-myrrh-y-c'ah...
            a  yodeling yanky  -
not that it's some joke -
              vox unum, populus unum
(elsewhere) -

a plethora as much as a democracy
a living envy of
spaghetti bureaucracy dead-paper-weight
mountains and mountains of it!

it's hardly an english scone dried
up - elitism, classical liberalism,
  some other: -ism
                           a rigidity of
monarch: but one ought to suppose:
not a bunch of senile republicans
knitty-picking a char a cherry
a chinese whisper...

                 in alphabetical
order contra rhyme:
i know there's a technical name for it...
alliteration:
                  yes:
just the sort of bone and marrow
for this palette -
not the sweetness or rhyme
or rather: a saltiness -
          not the bitterness of a maxim
or the sourness of 10 years
and 1 blue moon later...
a drunk chinese poet
                   constipates out
a haiku meditation...

          a promenade into grey:
repeating a single word in my mind
in 7 languages
looking at an etymological tree:

- - - crow - - - krähe - - - kruk - - -
corvus - - - frân - - - κόραξ - - - karga

and then 7 languages back:

- - - taç - - - στέμμα - - - goron - - -
corona - - - korona - - - krone - - - crown

and this last: eighth:
         taҗ - һәм - каргалар

seems a day can pass and i can
meditate so very little -
rather than live toward some
categorical imperative -

             this contemplation
of a silence of a mind -
   or rather - the tongue's buttered
up fluster come a deafening
                       "crescendo"...
a waterfall at noon -
                         because that doesn't
make it anything more
or therefore less -
                            
                  perhaps enough to
reach a palette popper: umami -
         but at best: an abandoned poo'em...
which i don't suppose this is...