Mirror Opposite

I am what I am?  What am I?  Hedonist, Activist, Devil, Bodhi, Perverse Geek?  I am what I am.  

I am violent tempered but always happy. I am sickened by the worlds decay but delight in the cause of the infections that lead to that same decay.  Opposite ends of the same slide rule.  I ask myself daily; “Self, what are you today?’  The response is never the same and always confusing. I am what I am.

I AM, isn’t that what God said in Genesis?  Was God indecisive too?  Fool, you are not a god!  But, I do believe a god rest in each one of us.  

I am pleasure.  Who doesn’t like to find pleasure?  Come to me.  The sweet, sweet embrace of another, the moisture of the kiss, the exhilaration of the something new, dangerous and palpable, that causes an alkali sensation to rise from your throat.  

I am what I am and that’s all that I am.  Are my forearms as big as Popeye’s?  And, just what caused that deformity anyway?  Surely not *******, as the midnight comics suggest or we would all be his brothers.  

I am Buddha.  My inner being screams in disgust at being reborn again and again and again.  I know how to break the wheel of karma but, that Ferris wheel holds wondrous deprivations along the way and who am I to not try on one or two of those hungry ghosts.  

I am Fey.  My wings clipped and banality killing me slowly.  Where is my golden acorn to plant under a full moon to renew my magic?  I am attracted to hell and repelled by a chorus of angels.  If there is really nothing better then cloud-sitting in heaven then why bother, Give me Valhalla.  At least in Valhalla  you could get good tickets to a fight.  I am a mirror.  

I reflect what society tells me while struggling against the media-ocricy that streams into my sensory organs like polluted waves from the Valdez.  A elephant seal of anarchy covered and drowning in my own conservative opinions.  

I am female hear me roar.  If for no other reason then being told that, however in touch, I can not be a feminist.  I pay homage to Aphrodite upon her shell, Dianna by her stag?  O.K. Maybe not a feminist.  How about sexist, or racist, or bigot or xenophobe?  Maybe.  

I am  Worm fodder.  I wish to believe in another world after this but hide behind science and its violently anonymous creator.  When dead will we all lie quiet as the grave in out grave as the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms get in my guts no doubt.  Would that be so bad?

I am the shade of Inubus and Quatezecotyl, Crowly and Repoche.  Lapping up their words and making a **** pile of their experiences.  What am I?  

I am what I am.  Silent when I should be loud, and an abomination when I need to be beautiful.  Polar opposite made flesh with a grin.  

What am I?  I am a Questioner.  There is no knowledge that can withstand time.  Every question is correct and every answer is wrong.  How do I know what is truth.  Is there really TRUTH or just Memorex.  

I am a Seeker of arcane thoughts and novel philosophies.  Everything has been said.  But, can it be said in a manner that makes sense at this point at this time grasshopper?  How many licks does it take to get to the center of the tootsie pop?  I want to know!  

I am the Thinker. Elbow on knee, hand on chin.  Why did they **** Copernicus?  Was it really just for a heliocentric universe or something much more political?  ROY G BIV are the colors of the rainbow but what if we could see ultraviolet and infrared?  What if I stood inside the rainbow would it be back as all the colors mixed?  I am what I am.  

I am the Adventurer.  Sword in hand and cod piece attached correctly.  I head out in search of what I question and seek and think about.  How else would you find your own truths.  Truth, not beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.  If every grain of sand is an universe unto itself then I wish to explore each and every one to delve into their faceted trivialities and pillage the knowledge from them.  

I am an organic being content to take over a new world each night in my dreams and complacently ignore my biological clock counting down to unknown oblivion.


Wolff

You've had the world turn against you.
In a heliocentric universe,
you'd think people would turn towards the sun
but instead you're doused in twilight.
As the one you love pours whiskey over the poems
you wrote for her.
As your friends shake your shoulders,
trying to wake you up
until they realize -

you can't dream anymore without thinking of her.

You could be a garden flower growing
on the forest floor
but instead you're trying to grow in her shadow.

But you are an artist,
a collector,
a lover,
a poet,
a person
and you cannot keep waiting in the shade for the sun to come.

~
stationary now
duct tape loves
mouth and hands

inside removable interiors
heliocentric discontinuities:

the racket club
and the backstroke
the rabid club
and the hallucinogenic backchannels

swallowing too many placebos
on his balcony
facing away from the sun
blank diary entry
open on the table
'from despair to where?'

stationary in the trunk now
he says it will all
make sense soon
~

I turned eighteen, and the floor dropped out.

The summer before, the clean-shaven men
at concerts, the ocean, at grimy
gas stations, would gaze at me
with their sallow eyes and creep
closer, stuffing their tarnished
wedding rings into their pockets. I pretend
I don't notice the approach.

I'm sweetheart now, and the world is dying
to know about my day. The artless
small talk ******
my cheeks a shameful red--
always this crass, unsolicited
acupuncture.  

Now, I'm darling. I'm baby-- my
age the next delicate question laid
across their taste buds.

A year ago, I could blush and remind
them of my mere seventeen trips around
the sun, and off they'd retreat as if
the law were the only thing keeping
my clothes on my body.

The eighteenth trip has come and
past; from here on out
I fly alone, braving the flocks of
pitiful predators.

Cal-i-fornia (verb) the state of being golden.
                                                                                                                                                    
Can you see the way the sand sparkles on the shore?
Golden shards of glass, or broken dreams.
Who possesses the Midas touch now?
The crushed gates of Atlantis on our shores.
Aphroditic bronze goddess of the sea,
Hair blown by the breeze.
Sea air & salty &
more than anyone could need, or was used to.
                                                                                                                                         Giant sequoias stand
                                                                                                                     As mighty and proud protectors
                                                                                                                             Behemoths of lifetimes past.
                                                                                                                                 Explosion of seeds inside
                                                                                                                           Fireworks waiting to explode
                                                                                                                      Pinecones, little grenades of life.
Ghost towns reminiscent of the Wild West
Mining camps from the Gold rush days.
Tumbleweeds & reptiles & powder fine dust.
Some say the earth is red from the natives’ blood spilt, and sunk in,
Reality – Oxidation turns iron in the dirt to rust.
So that’s why Mars is red.
                                                                                                                          After a bad storm in San Diego
                                                                                                    Dollars lie broken & shattered on the shore
                                                                                                               A bankruptcy of marine proportions!
                                                                                                                                       Just go see for yourself,
                                                                                                                              The sand dollar apocalypse.
                                                                                                                              We were echinoderms too.
Life gone dormant, and violent beginnings.
As if Calliope’s harp needed to be retuned,
Sun god, Apollo & Helios with his chariot in the sky
When did we become so heliocentric?                                            
                                                                                                                         Solitary white cross on the hill.
                                                                           Never did anything to harm anyone, yet they fear you so
                                                                                          Enough to try to remove you from our presence.
                                                                                              Mount Soledad, or their SOLEs-are-DeAD.    
- You know San Onofre is a power plant right?
- Radiation, is that a problem?
- Only if you want to have kids or stay cancer free.                        
- 25 foot sea wall -- To keep the waves out, or the kraken in?
- 4,000 tons of nuclear waste, who’s gonna get rid of that?
Ghostly tendrils of death
Blown fifty miles down the coast.
They call it SONGS, how quaint.
A symphony of catastrophe.
The greatest arias of death and destruction.

You pose as my sun
In my synchronous orbit.
When my life becomes dark
The night begins to fall along with my leaves.
The sun appears
Transcending it's light down.

Warmth and happiness radiate off the sun.
The flowers grow to meet your beautiful gaze.
My eyes glisten in adoration every time I look up at you.

Lost in my world of leaves and roots,
The sun still rises every morning.
Waiting for me to wander outside.
Without the sun my life would be a barren sky.
The world would be a bleak and ominous place.

I shall always know you're waiting outside,
Shining down on me.
My world shall always revolve around the sun.
There is no brighter star in the galaxy than thee.
I shall always look up to you, my sun.

I am heliocentric and you are the sun.

I think of you all the time until I believe we are one.

I love your flaming hair,

your chocolate brown eyes.

I love how they shine when you look at the sky but even without they still are so bright.

Your eyes are the sun and I am heliocentric.

can I gaze in them for forever until I'm blinded?

heliocentric; life abound & abundant too

it stretches far beond its reaches

who dared to say that light could not

exist in the trenches of “empty” frontiers?

-

it was not I, nor so the sun…

it is those; who can only absorb, who

can not reflect ( or at the very least

refract…)

-

heliocentric; I am, as well as utterly

transparent. & when you are blinded

by the inverse; I will cast shadows

where there once were none

-

& in the brand new silhouettes;

I hope you will see the outlines

of what has always been,

of what will continue to be

-

you shall not be alone

you shall not remain unknown

sing to me the harmonies
of your resounding truth

teach me how to live with the light
of your heliocentric life

mend my messy human heart with
your strong yet gentle hands

show me how to fight like a god
with your bow of silver

strum me the way you play your golden lyre
on starlit evenings by the sea

let me kneel before you and worship you
in the ruins of your temple

and every morning
when your trot along the clouds on your chariot
to bring the sun across the sky
look down and find me,

and know that i will be waiting.