120508 18:28
    I write to make sense of the chaos surrounding me in ordinary time.
The theft of time by those who purport to serve, not just me but us, who attack with negatives imperiously prejudging us guilty. Ask me for a shirt and I’ve give you mine plus pants shoes and socks. Steal them and it is a different matter.
    Throughout these events, both the treat of being homeless and the ravishing attack by the IRS I came to wonder not ‘why me’ but what is this happening for? And eventually what can I learn from them--the event and players; to game the system? I don’t think so.
    In freewill, skewed by love versus fear, it is encumbent upon us individually to adapt, improvise and prevail. If not triumphant to survive with dignity and respect for our personal souls. And at that I remember the Jew who mooned his executioners in contempt for their presumption to kill him, his family, his community for being Jews. How alike we’ve become in our export of greed and terrorism imperially self-righteous; not democracy since in reality we have none but the illusion.
    Yet this applies equally to religion, governance, science all of which are mirror mazes experienced by our expectations in which experience proves the reflections to be distorted, the mirrors untrue, one small, the other fat, another invisible with no way out.save the faux Messiah purporting to give us reprieve and succor should only we consume this or that remedy in blind belief. Justice? There is none! Save within the kernel of God inherent in all life. And ‘it’ is in essence TRUTH transparent not sequestered for the few who grow fat in conceit that they alone know it.
    I judge myself as harshly as those who have led us to become terrorist to the world. I could name names but it is pointless to irk the ire of the unjust lest I be buried in sand alive or buried in red tape. Suffocated either way.
    I am not now nor have I ever been “A True Believer” in Eric Hoffer’s definition in any one or thing institutional and in sincere confession asked God to be true and God is truth, all else falling far beneath that bar. To be true to one self is to embrace all of it, the good, the bad, the ugly and divine then chose which center to live from. I fail this again and again yet fallen face forward in the dreck I get up and keep moving the goal always beyond my grasp yet the journey is the goal in itself, love life. Be here now.

--Dag Hammarskjold (Statesman)
“Is life so wretched? Isn't it rather your hands which are too small, your vision which is muddled? You are the one who must grow up.”
“It is when we all play safe that we create a world of utmost insecurity.”
"Life only demands from you the strength that you possess. Only one feat is possible; not to run away."
"There is a point at which everything becomes simple and there is no longer any question of choice, because all you have staked will be lost if you look back. Life's point of no return."
“Time goes by: reputation increases, ability declines.”
“You wake from dreams of doom and--for a moment--you know: beyond all the noise and the gestures, the only real thing, love's calm unwavering flame in the half-light of an early dawn.”

--Horace
“He has not lived badly whose birth and death has been unnoticed by the world.”

. . . and in the end I will never forget being led to read Kafka’s “IN THE PENAL COLONY” previously read at age fourteen then lost but too well remembered save for the title.

120508 06:55
pardon me while I disappear
the landlord threatened me with eviction
the tax man is weighing my genitals with one hand my purse with another a meat cleaver front and center in her belt
bureaucrats attempting to measure my competency in cost benefit bean counter ways the immeasurable profit of a cup of water given to the dying imprisoned in a glide path as I too wend my way towards where they go a superfluous man like they like all of life eventually like politicians who join the parade stepping like geese lock kneed because they can exercise power in only one way by raping the poor for their benefit simply because they can

I too was and remain a rapacious bastard filled with longing for power yet fundamentally altered by “The first will be last and the last first” and now sense in the end we will be measured by our treasury of how we treated the poor and unholy washed in our time and place death become my goal in learning that when we learn to die we learn to live each and every moment prized

I wonder why I take these few moments in peace to steal what is mine sacrosanct peace absent fear of being sodomized by them kneeling naked upon the dark cold cement floor naked as they prance and shout gloat and smirk their right to be as they are to me thieves of my right to exist as I am and will eternally remain

essentially I do so in honor and reverence for those who did so before me loving and forgiving their assassination justified in order to keep the peace their control by terror those who disagree and in whatever wisdom tradition conscious that the choice is mine to elect the highest power versus their faux fear mongering lip service avoiding the draft the wars they send other peoples children to fight for their profit in some small innocuous way remembering In Flanders Field, Red Badge of Courage, All Quiet on the Western Front and James Jones and on-and-on who in ‘deathless prose’ told another version vision of what lay beneath all the hype and vainglory

there are the few against the many who like smoke taint the mass of greed gone mad wreathed not in glory but in plain flesh and blood willing to love despite the insanity since those who kill are just like they killed bearing a kernel of grace choosing not but to disdain in addiction to obtain some other reason to glorify institutionalized law-of-land imperious unclothed rapacious bastards regardless of gender just like me who chooses to be otherwise power to the 99% the six million and the sixty million who were but a few victims of greed.

it is said that calamities come in threes, is that all there is
the measure of justice is not who wins or loses since both sides do
Solomon said divide the child in half the one who said I give up loved the child the other wanted the child alive or dead object/subject the first “proactive the second reactive”

"There is no way to peace peace is the way" –Thich Nhat Hanh

. . . in the end it is only the Buddhist who self-immolate their protest against the abuses of power and create nor fight in wars . . . perhaps this is my funeral pyre yet to be ignited; stop the world I want to get off

120508 01:13
i'm a girly boy, or go have carnal knowing of yourself Arnold
   
"Man loves little and often, woman much and rarely." --Anonymous
"Men wonder when and where, women wonder why?" --Billy Joel? . . . cannot find it for accurate attribution, not exactly a paraphrase, but if Billy didn't say it he should have.

If I choose to remain celibate it is not for the want of a man, woman or sheep
it is that a prophet in his own home is a fool to the mate, qualities lost in the quantity of mechanics sustaining a life together
& i for 1 am driven to distraction by the thesis that marriage is 'divine' or the ideation of Mary Magdalene & Jesus as an item
Yet sighting either or both together or individually I sense we miss the point: attraction, desire, contractual/covenantal consummated, children or none the goal ideally and in time is Friendship otherwise marriage is a legal real estate issue only successful if renewed daily
Or is it that we sell our lifetime for a pot of lust then buyer's remorse?
or marry because it is expected as normal
4 me the issue best told is two individuals
whole complete able to love the other
to the extent of letting them be
themselves with or without
the other
free to leave and return or not.
In point of Order women mature early accelerating into truths unimaginable to boys who lag behind and usually die at adolescence regardless age fame accomplishment or wealth otherwise -- unspeakable acts crimes against women and mankind can never be justified by custom, ethic or morals situational or institutional
in the end rushing towards us not a rogue comet but simply the fact we've been fruitful and multiplied beyond the capacity of this bus regardless who sits in front or back
nothing save God is forever we know this as fact
unknown to the tribes that established the ideals
way back when there were far fewer of us
or are we no more divine than cancer
& i 4 1 love much and rarely a few close
to me in this place and time
does this make me a pansy queer or a 'girly boy' true to the ideal of the greatest love is forgiveness and acceptance what is better qualified as tolerance
might is not right it is ridiculous

"Learn to ... be what you are, and learn to resign with a good grace all that you are not."
--Henri Frederic Amiel

"What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice."
--Charles Baudelaire

3:1 messages in bottles
suspended night becalmed sea fingers dandle
wolffish nibbling my bait for The All stars revolve
while somnambulant the tarmac sea stable as a
grave unconscious bait for the whale beneath
agape jaws ready to inhale me whole until when
if ever a cold rigid touching bottle with messages
as stars within waiting for me to read? a luciferin
small fish like plankton nothing
120505 01:29 -- 120507 19:47 -- final

120506 03:08
“NAKED BIKINI CARE WASH & WAX”
Given cutbacks in everything especially by those self-congratulatory who reward themselves with raises, lifetime security and endless measures to destroy life in other ways--Congress having congress with itself-- one should not be surprised at the extents to which we who care are driven to acquire funds to serve others

Finally found a new and only home ever for me so late in life I volunteer in an organization running 24/7/365 giving loving compassionate care for the dying who miraculously sometimes go home on their own two feet unlike the hospitals running a similar schedule who more like Midas Muffler Shops in-&-out often causing either death or worse problems for which we pay like the Chinese who send a bill for the bullet that killed your beloved

A special and personal living grief: a beautiful slip a girl a former Marine in an otherwise innocuous medical procedure had her bladder perforated and the remedy is escalating daily at this point it is only $60,000.00 promoting profits

Of Turnips Traumas & Tragedies
Agape constrains me from further details regarding the Marine yet it is axiomatic that the powers that be cannot squeeze blood from turnips and what goes around comes around. Or the Silver Standard: Do unto others as you would have done to you. . . . or is that “THE GOLDEN RULE”? or, in this Kafkaesque novel: give a bureaucrat a job and watch them serve themselves onanisticlly with not only your tax dollar but ethics and morals bought and sold by Exxon . . . oh yes, of course when you go to buy a gallon of milk you don’t think of the Africans dying of pollution extortion greed rivers of tar or your children and theirs to follow will have no air or water consumable oh well my thoughts are addressed to the too few literate and am too-well-aware my vote inconsequential yet I know the Marine stood watch to protect my right.

My point?
Oh yes! Of the five-hundred-or-so who came to buy clothes, furniture, televisions, et cetera, just a guesstimate, as I photographed them between lifting and  toting things, the customers would often remark, “My mother, My Father, My Child” & and-on-and-on died there at the clinic or at home; hospice was there for them

Forgive please this modestly angry screed and trespass my intention was otherwise to annotate the number of peers, friends, strangers and myself who are dedicated to avoid Hospitals, Pharmaceuticals, Doctors and Medical Insurance  CEOs who award themselves with $103,000,000.00 annual salaries + bonuses + stock options + executive isolation from the people who died because their claims were denied, mangled, malpracticed, not to mention indifferent exclusion and legalized economic slavery

Of relevance is my wish to die without aid from those who purport to serve fallaciously the cost benefit analyses doesn’t equate my grave will be the dumpster instead . . . my DNR is about to be authorized and best yet I was educated in The Greenwich Connecticut Public School System to kill people with my bare hands and many of my classmates stole all my money the kernel of which I saw my grandmother alter waist and hems of blue jeans for anyone who needed it

Since The Thought Police have access to every site, porno or otherwise, every email and telephone call and their minions ready to execute by any means but considering Black Opts I’ll probably die of either a chemically induced suicide heart attack or better yet buried alive or maybe a listing drone poisonous maybe I’m insane as they will claim just like Russia

. . . but then we’re already in the Cuckoo’s Nest aren’t we . . . pardon me while I roar off in my gigantic SUV and run over a few pedestrians or bicyclist while sexting on my cel phone if they’re lucky they will die instead of being paralyzed for life no need for hospice then

barking laughter coupling whoops of derision ricocheted caroming the baby poop beige halls
my lover knew exactly the nature of ribald photography depicting fellatio in a daily newspaper
once recalling an entire run The Sunday rotogravure cover depicting in detail the various and
many implementable mechanical modalities of preventing the birth unwanted children by 
inadvertent dalliances which sadly unused between us resulted in a foetus shred disposed in the
sewers of Manhattan with baby crocodiles flushed by parents from children’s circus trip grown
gargantuan inhaling entire school bus’ of children and their nannies drivers and keepers

retrospectively there had been one or two others women before whom I could naked stand their
recommendation: write! and before the last taboo of restraint mother who replied ‘you don’t need
my permission to write’ not then knowing either of us the consequence that impels words from my
loins through the speaking trumpet dad’s double stainless steal shot glass so like the image dreamed
of two glass funnels conjoined a modern version of Aeolian Gabriel's horn Maynard Ferguson ripping
brass High C above High C above that  ‘Yesterdays’ “Haven’t got the chops to do it again Jack” & he a
student of Gurdjieff and Miles who ignored me back stage Newport the image like us all gone soon U me 2 everything governed by Exxon meet and greet your posterior and kiss it goodbye two handed

frozen chocolate dipped with chopped peanuts covered banana she haply accepted free to pose
laughing bare midriff and succulent crop top squeaking really!?! irreverent, rude, salacious when
asked what was your intent I shrugged my shoulders kicked up black ink dust off the terra cotta tiles
twirling my eyes like a strippers tassels Alfred E Newman grin what me worry? Tom Wolf was her special
friend before me and when she said ‘my photographer’ by way of explaining my presence as her
taxi driver schlepper sho 'nuff honey child would you like to walk home i whispered into her pink shell ear
beneath gold brocade hair Lucy in the sky with diamonds reflected in owl glasses never in bed or ‘lay byes’

we double teamed Gloria Steinem two foxes and a dummy for which and others award showered then
the photo editor who though he’d given me a job otherwise sat upon my images with a glass eye his pants
around his ankles took me into a glass office where no one could hear other than the alcoholic chief
photographer who sat mute while he the cyclops artist tore me new orifices all over my body when
he ran out of things to accuse me of taking away his job winning awards the stupid copy boy didn’t know that
the majority were derived from stories discovered by me on the streets ‘have you essentially said everything
you wanted/needed to say? Silence then I suggested if he asked me the time of day that he should do so only in
the presence of a guild steward and never spoke to him again. Another photographer and I would speculate
the implantation of a cancerous prostate in rebuttal to his asinine presumptions the photog become a shrink

of the lover she who had two & i two about to lose both but not at that point in time she said ‘never change’
but that’s my secret name ‘chance’ its my nature said the scorpion to the frog both drown like the child who
would could can’t be born the affair magnificent died ever and always grieved she & all the women in my life
who inseminated me with words to come now here beloved like da Betsy G and 4m i a fucking terror with
camera and words am immolating my heart all over again here now be

120504 00:40

120501 2322 dreams
    To expunge earnestness and reveal an essential irreverence towards myself; excluding self deprecation--my primary self defense towards the “too stupid to live” messages received, implied, or inferred. About which it was common for me to encapsulate in the phrase “preemptive damage control.” Which, later, in it’s turn become “the dance of Avoidance.” In both cases I became mute, watchful, no, hyper vigilant for I knew the boarder between order was about to be breached. I was a mini death this short circuiting of myself.
    In the cold light of sobriety sans my typical awakening with dreams, visions and dialogs--who in their turn become a sort orgiastic slow building orgasm of confluence, apparent to me, yet irrelevant to those who might read me with indifference. I can only say that even the Bible, at times, was merely defaced byproduct on dead tree flesh.
    Writing began as an attempt to heal the insanity of grief. Not merely the lost children, the unlived life abandoned as painter, sculptor musician dancer or lover. All the things that impelled me to twitch and writhe in joy since infancy. Through the agency or device of journal keeping. My consciousness becomes focused like an ice pick thrust into the night; a lightning rod through which like Frankenstein I become vivified.
    I was then and remain an ecstatic. How else can I reconcile the hammer blows as merely justified punishment. For what? Living?
    It follows that I had my love affair with the nights alone, safely cocooned in the sanctuary of my bed. And of those nights the many pets who slept with me that I could stroke awake or in my sleep, of those blest friend I model my love for everything.
    In my dreams, various and seldom populated with terror, there remained one repeated. Always initiated in a dark subterranean passage. What slowly, with repetition, became the basement of what I only came to know fully on the fifth and last occurrence.
    Paved with large flat stones arranged in various levels, ramps, mazes, odd openings in the walls through which would be screams, cries for help a full spectrum of colored lights flashing or exploding. My cowering passage, at first was short, with each reprise came a few more feet gained. Toward the latter phases I would stroll cocky and knowing . . . in some sense the phrase “crooked ways made plain.”
    Always naked I emerged through a basement bulkhead bifurcated door which I closed behind me and walked away. At some distance I turned and saw behind my course an enormous crenelated castle with banners gently waving above the battlements. Only then did I realize myself upon a trackless desert laved by moon light.
    In recent time I’ve come to correlate my ‘great dream’ with my birth as described by mother. She claimed it was 58 or 59 hours of dry labor in Christ Hospital, a Catholic Institution. No mention was made of the whereabouts of my father. He may have been playing a gig or merely otherwise absent. I’ve only shared this with an emphatically trusted friend whose knowledge, experience and birth was equally hazardous and imperiled. The reply: “Impossible she would have died!” Resonates still.
    In the not too distant pass I had my horoscope drawn and the insistence of a gay, nudist, Episcopal priest and Jungian psychologist. It too lays waste, someplace in the wake of my journey, as are most of my journals, publications in print, words and photographs--everything up to approximately 2000. Yet I retain some sense, the sight, mostly oppositions near vertical and the message I was to “speak truth to power”, had a poets mind . . . and . . . that is all, carry on.
    My friend dismisses divination of any type with the simple statement, “put in a change order.” And then later would comment some verification the position of stars and planets influencing a general disposition or predilection.
    I had from first to last, yet I live, a child’s simple faith in love. An ineluctable force that I could love people into loving themselves . . . if not ever loving me. Since it is love given without condition or hope of repayment we give to the Origin of All Things and motives and intentions. I love, nonetheless those who cannot, will not, ever love themselves.
    Love your enemy as yourself, is a stone upon which I crumple my teeth, still, and so define love at it’s base rock foundation as simple acceptance, my enemy, my self, the right to be.
    I pivot and twirl upon the spike finally convicted that the world in we which to live must have love possible. And in my leaving let me have the courage of Dietrich Bonhoeffer to, naked, thank my keeper, forgive my executioner and then have my head torn off; hanging by wire. . . .Slumped, headless and naked upon the cold, dark, stone floor--Nazi Germany very near the end of World War II--little did I know, until recently, he conspired to assassinate Adolph Hitler.
    Or Emily Dickens: “Called Back.”
    Equally: Gandhi blessed his assassin.
    These heroes of mine, of and about them I have queried, my quest answered. We can ask all we want yet God is the final arbiter thus we must do for ourselves, in love, the only thing left--Love.
    Odd conjecture: I once saw the Jews as sheep lead to slaughter shorn their dignity, yet now I see them heroic in love, their sacrifice possibly messianic for all time. Vengeance propagates vengeance. And the end of war will be the end of our species. Let their loss be not in vain . . . never to slay again.
    I need not be RIGHT of left wondering since “vengeance is Mine, said The Lord our God.”
    Of dreams, journals, ecstasy and horror, I can only say; pay attention to the height, width, breadth and depth of what you love and/or fear.
    Perhaps, possibly, maybe, maybe not, I’ll have 1 Corinthian’s 13 tattooed upon my forehead inverso to read while shaving least I lend the impression I’ve had my face in a bag filled with sugar coated jelly donuts.

"I have seen no more evident monstrosity and miracle in the world than myself." --Michel de Montaigne