little girl blue v3

little girl blue come back to the dance.
the storms are all passing so now is the chance
to step up and smite all those calling u down,
soiling your cloak and denying your crown.
teach them the meaning of righteous regret.
invade their dreams and replace them with fret.
shine definitions of vengeance and ire.
come dance; they are ash; devoured by your fire

Little girl blue v4

Little girl blue with eyes of dusk
And wit skull dry, pierce like a tusk
Through every silly sad disguise.
unmask the charlatans. Their lies
Of soured honey drip from lips
Twist valentines to arrow tips.
And all the while they sing, 'adore.
My heart, my soul, tis yours!' Implore to bury one inside another.
Makes grave of one and corpse the other.
So wind up not gilded in cage.
Hath single passion and be that rage.

tap tap...(return of the girl who wasn't there)

the girl who wasn't there came back, tap, tap.
sitting there, she wasn't there with a puppy in her lap.
with the hood from her hoodie pulled down over her face,
tap, tap, in her lap, was no puppy in it's place

there was no wind whipping round
to spoon up rubbish from the ground.
the things she did, they couldn't charm
protecting puppy with walls of arms

so you see, as i said, once before, when i'd seen
she wasn't there,with no puppy, arms and charms
had never been...

...ye might be

Fair maiden, hear these words for they are wise.
Hide not your beauty in disguise.

Close not your roses away from eyes

to save for but one's single prize.

Don’t wither, tither nor lament with sighs.

Think not so low whilst oh so high.

But allow your glories to sing the skies

and by fellow gardeners ye might be surprised...

Gastronthropologist.

Gastronthropologist. Look it up. You won’t find it in any dictionary or any google search, but believe me, the do exist. Even with out any web presence whatsoever, they find each other. And they have formed a well-maintained ungroup or dis-society. I call it that because even though they are the only ones like themselves in the world, they are the most elitist of all elitists. They focus all of their mental powers and financial fortitude upon a most singular of passions. This is to completely accurately recreate all recipes specifically indigenous to their geographical origin. And I don’t mean they use Mexican rice in Mexican dishes. Ha! They’d scoff at such a concept. ‘Amateur clowns’ they’d call somebody who spoke of such. These are people who have wept openly at episodes of Iron Chef and consider “those sorts” to be culinary rapists.

Y’adonna found her way into this mis-collective after she found a hand written recipe in the back of a copy of Marqis De Sade’s ‘Justine’. The recipe had addresses of shops in and around France where the exact ingredients were to be purchased in order to make ‘THIS’ particular soup and not just a soup very similar to it.

She was intrigued by why somebody would go thru such trouble over soup. But as I said, she was intrigued; so she tried to make the soup. She headed off to her local whole foods and gathered ingredients. She sauntered home to finish out her meal. And when it was time she had a bowl…’not impressive’ was an understatement. She thought, …maybe there is something to getting fresher ingredients so she went to local farmers markets and tried again….still no magic.

‘What am I doing wrong?’ she pondered. Then she decided that she was going to try the soup the way she saw it in the book. She’d contact these addresses and see what could be done to get the soup worthy to be hand written in the back of a book of such repute. She began to research on the internet and soon found some of the ingredients easily and had them shipped to her from France. However some of the more rural addresses had no web locale and she had to begin communications via post. Over the course of time she found that there were other recipes like this and other people like her who sought out specific components for such foods. She began to network as best she could. Some people were more helpful than others. They told her how to recreate weather conditions for specific climates of the world and who to ask in order to get somebody to send her soil from a particular locale in order to grow her own spices or produce if it couldn't handle being shipped or if it was not in season or no longer produced by a certain grower. Over time she became well (rather widely) known in this un-group because, as u will often see with the ultra elite, these elitists were super specific in their tastes. Basque gastros only dealt with Basque recipes. Aleutian experts only dealt with Aleutian dishes. Yet Y’adonna so loved the experience that she sampled recipes from all over the world. And because of this she acquired the nickname “T.T.” For some it stood for ‘tourist tongue’; some for ‘taste-bud traveler’ and others it was even ‘tainted tongs.’ She didn't really care either way what she was called. She’d gotten over that when she was younger. Nobody ever pronounced her name correctly and so she was used to being called all sorts of things. In her opinion ‘T.T.’ was one of the more tame titles.  Ha, she thought, that could be another one… anyway it took years to get all of the ingredients together for that very first recipe she’d found hand written in that book. Some she had to have shipped at a certain time in order for them to arrive at her abode at the same time as other components and some things she had to grow on her own after having local soil and even local rain water bottled and shipped to her. But she finally had it all and in her post simmering. She had her favorite soup bowl and spoon also shipped from France for this most special of occasion. And when it was all cooked and all ready ready rich with butter, broth, and onions, the luscious, unctuous soup slithered down her throat. At last she had created ‘THIS’ particular soup and not just a soup very similar to it. At last she had tasted De Sade’s Justine soup and at last knew without a doubt that it had been worth…it…all.

Lustrate: interim - i, the breeze

standing, gazing, blinking away the sun and salt. i feel the cool waves rush across my arches dampening the silt between my toes then slide back out into the blue-green expanse. back again it rushes. this time to my ankles. i kneel, but there is no prayer that comes. i wish to sink, but the waves rush out as if they know. flat on my back now i feel whole.waves rush to my shoulders and then to my ears. i listen for their whispers,hopeful... but they won't console me. rush and slide again and again until i must hold my breath against the creeping advance. yet i lay there soaking in the sand; soaking in self awareness and soaking in the truth that neither this break nor the entire great wet that hurls it at this shore will ever be enough to wash away the things that have come to be. lady Macbeth got off easy. i fear i will not.

Lustrate:Chapter 1: Oh, What a Beautiful Day

Inhale, exhale, pain…

I have never been more aware of my body then I am right now.



Inhale, exhale, pain…

I can tell you the exact circumference of my right pinkie toe and the depth of my left ear canal.



Inhale, exhale, pain…

I can feel it all; everything and what I feel is…



Inhale, exhale, pain…



I can hear hushed voices and struggle to open my eyes…or rather use my eyelashes to drag away the bricks someone has left sitting on my pupils.

This was a mistake.



Inhale, exhale, pain…

Now my eyeballs hurt as well.

The pain has erased my ability to focus. So I zoom in, zoom out, zoom in until like grandpa’s hunting binoculars the images get less fuzzy.

I hear the beeps and see the white coats.



Inhale, exhale, pain…

I think ‘hospital’. I must have thought it out loud because a taller white coat moved towards me and confirmed, “Yes Ms. Darwal, you are in a hospital.”

I ask, “Why?”

The coat begins again, “Well, I can tell you why you are here but now ‘why’ you are here.” He said ‘why’ differently each time.

“Any why.” I say.

“Simplest answer;” he states, “allergies.”



Inhale, exhale, pain…

“Hurts more than allergies.” I kinda gurgle out. The white coat chuckles. “funny?” I ask.

“No, not funny.” He apologizes, ”But you are becoming a medical legend Ms. Darwal. You are currently presenting symptoms of every non-lethal allergic reaction ever recorded by medicine. How you are not dead is, in itself, unfathomable. However, we do think that you are improving. You are no longer experiencing the projectile vomiting and diarrhea that you were earlier. The swelling of your eyes have lessened and the blisters on your palm and the bottoms of your feet have all stopped weeping.”

“Everything…all…pain” my voice is not much more than a grunting hiss at this point. I hoped he was able to hear the question through it all.

“yes, well…”he began as he flipped through the charts in his hand, “you do still currently have dry, oozing cracking skin and lesions covering about 97% of your body. So, yeah you might feel a little discomfort. So the less you move the better. Also there has been some hair loss as well I'm afraid.”

“Discomfort?” I ask. He begins to speak again, but all I know is…



Inhale, exhale, pain… …pass out.

from the wake pt3

flitter, twitter, pitter, pat...a slow soft rain begins to fall. at last a break from the bake of the sky and just the ever so slake in his thirst. falling rain and nothing to catch it with besides his trembling fingers. he gets enuff onto his cracking tongue to cease it's burning and seconds after the coolness reaches his throat he passes out again. this is his cycle for days. no shade from heat; only enough rain to keep him alive until the next day. on the dusk of the 4th day of this, he contemplated sliding off his board and letting the sea take him. in his heart, he always thought that it would anyway. 'I am sooo tired" he thought to himself as he curled aboard the makeshift raft. the last rain he'd been so weak that he could only lick water from the board as it pooled near his face. "death, i am yours" he whispered as the sun sank.

from the wake pt2

Usually what woke him from these floating naps was cold spray on his face or sliding back into shore. not this time. it was the bright heat. Lazlu cracked open his right eye and turned his head that way...open water. now to the left...open water. slowly he sat up on his board and looked around him. all he saw was vastness and emptiness. it had been barely sundown when he had done his great paddle out and now the sun was fully up. instead of a 20 minute nap, he'd slept the night away and instead of waves coasting him back towards the shore, the currents had slipped him farther out to sea.
it seems that his innate desire to test limits goes too far even in his dreams.

from the wake pt1

As a young boy Lazlu always had a problem with limits. Pushing them; testing them; crossing them until there were repercussions. He’d tell one too many jokes and get into a fight with the neighbor kids. He’d swipe 2 more cakies than mum had allowed and wind up with a day’s worth of tummy aches. But to him these were just simple fees he’d gladly pay to purchase a life that, in his mind, was a living adventure and far better than the next poor blokes lot. His whole life he pushed things even until it made him face death. Which he did; And continued to push; now even harder.
Lazlu Bonnicup fell stones for apples in love with the ocean. Well the tides anyway and even more specifically the waves the tides brought with them. It’s said that he could swim before walking and learned to run chasing out the breaks. By the time he was 2o he was a master boardsman and could paddle out faster than a team could row as far. As in all other things in his life, Lazlu shoved against the boundaries even in the ocean. He’d paddle out farther and farther each day looking for a beast he could ride miles back into shore. He’d do all of this for himself alone, so sun or moon was fine by him. As long as the waves were willing to show up, so was he. One night after paddling all day he went out until his arms grew sore. So he climbed up onto his board to rest for a bit. It was a large wide board and fit him like a perfect seaborne hammock.

little girl blue v2

little girl blue, fingernails red
lips fake a smile, eyes truely dead
hums a little tune, notes don't sound right
and it thorns all through your mind, like a rusty rail road spike
always on the hunt, always gets her prey
once she has your scent, you'll never get away.
whistle and a blink, finger snap and clap
you stumble and you tumble, perfect into her trap.

little girl blue v1

Little girl blue, all dressed in black.
Smile on her face, blade near her back.
A hop and a skip, all sunny in the rain,
Slickers on her feet all crimson from the maimed.
Siren as she stares, twinkle in her eye
Blows a single kiss as she wishes you goodbye.
You offer her your heart, she takes your soul and skin
And makes the devil shiver ev’ry time she gives a grin.

Paths - episode 1: virgin or vixen

there you stood the girl perplexed.
 at crossroads split; too scared to test
the waters there stretched out before you
 which will you choose? they both implore you.
 passion's torrents? familiar safety's shallows?
 sacred? profane? cursed? halloweds?
 toe in here and finger there.
yield to passion, do you dare?
pick a path and stroll a mile.
 outshine demons with just a smile,
a nod, a giggle, and then a wink.
will you prosper? who's to think?
 i can't answer. the choice is yours.
 missionary? on all fours?
halo, horns, or in between,
nightmare or a pleasant dream,
 either way it's up to you...
 there is no more that i can do.

Rest Assured

If today I didn’t say that I loved you,
rest assured I do, I do so dear.
If today I didn’t say that I adore you,
rest assured I do, I do so dear.

You’re the glue that keeps me together
and keeps me apart from all of my blues.
It’s you that makes so much better than
down weathered, soul battered and bruised.

If today I didn’t say that I missed you,
rest assured I do, I do so still.
If today I haven’t moved as to kiss you,
rest assured I will I will.

With you I can stand any weather,
your solace has me tethered safe from harm.
It’s you, my blaze is unfettered,
I can feel no better than when I'm in your arms.

It’s you that makes me feel like I can go on forever.
It’s with you I feel I can stand any weather.

If today I didn’t say that I loved you,
rest assured I do, I do so dear
I do, I do so dear

Ears on fire! 8.29.11 edition

Ya know how sometimes somebody will get a bit of notoriety for doing something a little glib or snarky, but then when u peel back layers you find out that there actually aren’t any layers there at all? That what you saw in that fleeting glimmer was all there was to them. That there was actually no shine and that it all was just candle light water play off a mirror? Now think about how u felt when u realized that this something that u thought was soooooo cool and soooooo whatever turned out to be dolla store electronics with a true lifespan that frizzled up in less time than it took you to find somebody to tell about it.
Can you taste that…un-goodness?
Well I’ve got your remedy, I’ve got your flavor savior and his name is WATSKY.
U may have seen his “pale white rapper” youtube video of him rapping really fast that got him a spot performing that same track on the Ellen show.
That ish wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. WATSKY runs deep and comes with a bazaam of mental hip-hop that will soon enuff land in comparative sentences with the likes of Sage Francis, MC Chris, Deltron and Aesop Rock… (amongst others).
But there is no need to take my word for it. get your free download of his new mixtape, “A New Kind of Sexy”
Listen to it and download it by visiting the following link:
http://gwatsky.bandcamp.com/album/a-new-kind-of-sexy-mixtape
Be sure to listen to the extra track, you won’t be sorry.
If this album is your gateway to underground hip-hop, then glory be to that.
Go listen now and thank me later.

that old money dance

Now here we go around and around
Shaken from shaking our souls for the town
Gospel to gutters, that wide spanning prance
Delightful and spiteful; that old money dance

Boys in their colors and girls nice in white
See nothing unseemly done by them this night
They extend a hand and a shoulder to chance
For riches to pour out; that old money dance
And after the service, they box up and roll
Enchanted, life’s granted them such bold control
And settle they down for the high of romance
No thoughts of the scatter; that old money dance

The sun blares a glaring alarm in the morn
Past dreams seems have steamed formed a thick trickly thorn
Brows now endowed seek out grands of advance
Taking shakes, staking steaks from that old money dance
Days end and out sides both the loft and the street
Oh so cold, souls patrol beating heat feats with feet
As they stand understanding the lance of demands
Resolute suits scoot boots to that old money dance

Keeping heads above water till we’re well below ground
No break from making that to which we’re bound
Traps perhaps happen, you plan; it commands
That you must… bust dust… Hustle and shuffle
do that old money dance

oh my my...

oh my my, what have we done?
we've pawned all of our bullets to buy some bigger guns
we burned all the maps so that we can plainly see
that everybody's lost; you as well as me
rather than extend a hand to share a neighborly drink
I pissed in the canteen so you have to smell it stink
cut down all the trees and hid away of their fruit
now can't seem to find them, but hey, neither can you
I plan for tomorrow by souring today
to prove that it didn't work out; not doing things OUR way
you want us to be unyielding, and so for you we stood
you all may be suffering, but it's really for your own good
and when there's nothing remaining for granddaughter and son
and they ask, "oh my my, what have you all done?"
we can just smile down upon them all like the rays of the golden sun
and tell them oh so proudly, "child, what we've done ...is won."

What? dreams may come...

The following is an incomplete list of things that comprise the major topics touched upon in my dream last night:

Screendoors

How U.S. embassies in non-combatant countries handle irrational citizens reporting low-level emergencies.

Competitive indoor long-distance swimming

The behind-the-scenes lives of professional make-up artists working in the adult film industry

How Asian female body guards keep in shape and how their mindset can affect the emotional state of their male relatives who’re dealing with uncertainty in their current committed relationships.

Sights that might be seen if visiting a covered (yet fully vegetated) foot-ball field sized arboretum courtyard entrance to a building that is part shopping mall, part studio apartments, and part shooting range

People who hate screendoors (unrelated to prior topic)

How to choose a tire repair service technician when you’re in a town unfamiliar to you and just as you get a flat, you notice that there are 2 of these type places right across the street from one another and they seem to be operated by feuding relatives.

The step by step guide to rising in popularity by systematically disliking things that those around you speak of disliking

This is about 1/3 of the things that actually filled the dream (I just can’t clearly remember more of them at this point) and the linear timeline of the dream jumped around touching on these topics like a spastic Frogger icon.

So...what did YOU dream about?

2 issues

So today I have 2 issues on which I’d like to touch. The first is an ideological question. And the 2nd is a bit of…“hope against hope” advice. As always, responses are welcome.

Issue 1:
I can justify why the chicken crossed the road, but seriously what exactly were “ all the king’s horses” hoping to add to the Humpty Dumpty rescue effort? Were they like the 1st responders on the scene? Were they there for crowd control?
I'm not trying to incur the wrath of equine rights groups, but I'm guessing that the lack of opposable thumbs made reconstructive manipulation a bit dodgey for them. I feel a t-shirt design coming on… details to come soon.

Issue 2:
The other day I was thinking. And when I was thinking, I thought about this thing that I'm about to tell you. It may be useful to somebody at some point.
Now, I hope that this information is not something that many people would ever really HAVE to find useful, but just in case I’ll pass it on.
If (due to either some happening of your own devising or just because the fates have aligned against you) you ever find yourself in a situation where you have to best/outdo/beat/conquer the devil or some other supernatural being of malice in order to save something (your eternal soul/ your friends & family/ the planet/ a half panda-half koala bear cub or whatever) then there is only one thing I would suggest.
Say this, “I challenge to a contest to lose everything. And if you are not successful, then you have to return to me everything that I lost during the contest and in the way that I request it.”
This may seem counter-intuitive at first, but when you think it through…either the supernatural being doesn’t successfully lose everything and has to return everything to you or (for a bit) it does think that it was successful. But then u inform it that if it was successful, then it just won something, thus making it no longer successful of losing everything and therefore it has to return things to you.
It’s a risky and gutsy move, but I'm gonna image that if you’re in a situation like this, your options are probably not the most ideal.
So there ya go. I hope u never need this info, but if you do…there ya go.

ish i think is cool 7.11.11 edition

So today i've been watching the first season of a show call The Boondocks. It's been around for a while (I think they might be on season 4 now) but I've just started it. If you have any qualms about ethnicity relations being explored in a unapologetically un-PC way, then this is probably not the show for you. How ever, it is extremely funny if you can get past that. A few of the character names have made me laugh out loud; (Col. H. Stinkmeaner, Gangstalicious and A Pimp Named Slickback just to name a a couple).
It's not only the Character names that have made me laugh out loud but some of the dialog. I'd like to now share with you some of my favorites so far:

Huey: I got an idea - why don't we go to college so we don't end up like Gangstalicious? 
~~~
Riley: It's like going to heaven and finding God smoking crack. 
~~~~
Cristal: The name's Cristal, you know like the Champagne. 
Huey Freeman: Cristal, that sounds like a stripper name. Might you be a stripper, Cristal like the champagne? 
Cristal: And what would you know about strippers little man? 
Huey Freeman: Not much, but I do know they're usually named after liquor.
~~~~
Ed Wuncler: It smells like hot Armpit on wheat bread.

However the thing that made me post this...um...posting was a reading of 2 proposed “dishes” from the menu for a restaurant called “The ITIS” :
Sausage and waffles and fried chicken breakfast lasagna
and
Bacon wrapped chitlins stuffed catfish

The rest just needs to be seen.