"Catch You Later"

I gave you my love and what do you do?
Wore it like a pair of really cool shoes
Then took them off when they no longer looked good.
I offered it all to you but that was not enough -
My body, my love
The sound of my heart beating in my chest,
The laughter in my smile, the tears of my soul,
The damage in my eyes as you looked down at me
One last time.

Backstage, the band played their set
And you told me I was yours,
Your own little guitar girl
Hot little rhythm chick,
Your teenage love partner.
I never told you that I heard you that night
When you laid upon Mother.
I was alone in the other room.
She wanted your seed
And that's how you made me.
In my mind we were already married, if that's possible,
Already twisted up love between my legs.

Beyond the bass drums and the audience screaming,
I heard the new sounds of our baby crying
As she left my body entering this world
Breathing her first air, waving her new arms
Reaching out for love.

When you finished my hair was all wet from our sweat
And I felt you empty inside me,
Your gift to me and this world.
You looked at me and got up
Then drank from your beer and lit a cigarette.
I knew you had to leave and that was OK.
Your band was on next and I had my future,
My own plans and more than enough to live for
From that point forward.

"You're a cutie," you said and patted my head.
"Catch you later."

11/04

A Perfect Fall And One Fine Disaster
(My Own Christmas Poem)

Here I go again
Succesfully creating one fine distaster,
Another perfect fall of Love
Quickly peaking from limited glory
Into the same old story of hope and redemption,
Where the best love can do is open its mouth
Like some angry young beast
That savagely bites the mother that bore him.

(I couldn't make her a baby so she left me.)

Everyone has an instinct
To make someone happy.
Girls gyrate in front of old men
And make lots of money.
Beer is sold and tips are made.
A heart pumps only so many times
And then one day
It stops.
Erections come and go
While faulty inseminations miss the mark of evolution.
So serious are the plans we make
To construe love sensations
Sheduling our days to maximize all meaning
Until everything
Everything eventually stops.

Bar napkins get soggy and cigarettes are smoked.
Beasts are slaughtered and packaged right up
For holiday consumption.
Drinks are finished
And somehow a baby is born out of lucky fertilization.
Stories are told and a couple of logical moons line up
So sperm can penetrate one fortunate egg.

In some biological way
Beyond the reach of mere words
Far deeper than every one of our syllables
Families construct meaning
Beyond comprehension:
So this eternal baby starts to makes sense
Living in the hearts of us adults
And all our wet children
Praying for that one mythic baby -
That savage young beast -
In hopes of receiving absolution
And at least one good Christmas season
When an important man died for no known reason
Only to come back every year as a babe
Revealing the joy of pure living.

I have come back, he says, to tell you
Relationships will start and all of our lives
Are scheduled to be ended.
People pray while old men give dollars
To half naked women.
Everyone is happy when unions are created.
Until one more time
When a baby is born
And then Love is born
So Rejoice
Rejoice
For love is born,
A beast is now born.

11/04

Mean Bean Machine Dream

When I was little (2nd grade) I had a series of recurring terrible dreams, which started from getting food poisoning from eating these funky old refried beans on a sad wilted tostada from the school cafetieria. In the dream, I was stuck inside the biggest and blackest of factories; indeed, there was nothing else to the world but this factory - and inside the factory was this huge windy twisty all encompassing machine, consisting of all manner of pipes, metal arms, winding apparatus, conveyor belts, chords, tubes, and so on - kinda something out of Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" or out of a Dickens anti industrialism novel. The horror of the dream was that I was completely trapped in this factory and could not move; it completely surrounded my whole body and being. It was as if I was a part of the whole thing. I could barely move, but even then it was only small twitches. It was like I was just merely a small inconsequential cell inside some hideously large evil organism, pulsing and vibrating with a dull, mechanical regularity, completley bound up in it all. It was horrible, depressing. When I look back on it, to me the factory is/was Time, the human condition of being trapped in this temporal world, this temporal body. I awoke from those dreams crying, melancholic, feeling hopeless - and also very much against tostadas. To this day (and I know this irrational), I still blame those mean beans.

Web Sites Insulting to the Net - Cintra Wilson Rocks!

Check out Cintra Wilson's new web site. Be sure to click on the cute little kitty. She writes for the Wave Magazine in the Bay Area and also Salon. Here's a good interview with the scribe of the lowlifes. She's also written some cool books. And she's hot.

RIP: Common Sense - Nov 3rd, 2004

Yesterday, and to-day, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty election every four years,
To the last vote of recorded pollsters;
And all our previous elections have lighted fools
The way to dubious victory. Die, die, false Democracy!
A voter is but a lame shadow of a citizen; a poor player,
That squeaks his meaningless voice upon the political stage,
And even then is not even heard: it is a tale
Told by a nation of idiots, full of sound bytes and news reports,
Signifying stupidity."