'and a cross, never rose before me' by Tasha Klein

Devoid of the Lord I crawl along in my survivalist suit & I smell terrible things -- pale dead fish the soup kitchen's only truth -- steel upon steel another day here recreant thin as the ocean's last spray -- Welcome To The Perpetual Kind living under the Fulton Bridge or in an abandoned Pay-by-Day I never got sister's re- union invites or the news about how Uncle Welter's flatfish prostrate flatfished. No I was in the between not the moving along and up only pre tending to swing on God's slippery silvery branches my marooned breath drawn as I reached that felt gate -- the Everyone-Eye pointing to the barren earth: the remembered neighborhood where cars once filled with noisy youth 'Your weight is mine' that ancient snare still scrawled across the old water tower & somewhere deep in the posioned foliage She - the ancient one eats fake chorizo & levitates near her clustered mad the new gorey the spiritless grim relics in broken chant turning greyer into something even greyer and a sun lights me up and I become as calm, as I am tall and the eleven, slyly, becomes the seven hymns like coral curling around the dark solace of a dead tree's trunk hollow as the stray pond yonder a bone for your arid garden of rouged mid-day angels their cracked wings no longer supple enough to unfurl nightly the minds that glow hot a chemical reaction to this distorted pinball of twilight spiraling down from the temple in the sky not that one that Mary built there in the middle of all God's dead logs and stumps and before that a sea had been kind once with its endless offerings there was peace in the water beneath the re painted stars and in each footstep a gladness as we gently spooled through groves of petals eddies of roots still growing all the way to the Center our necks chaff in starched collars the hustlers the local tossers fallen wizards the dealers & the wheelers a new parade to stand before the altar altered by the sheer weight of earth's newest Sky Prophet, his childlike expression as fresh as his red-tinged whiskers he promised to cut sin and sorrow right out of our hearts through some rediculously over-glorified revival speaker who drew with great fervor a seven of swords as the official start of another year the Sky Prophet remained seated like a holy scarab on a greasy spoon until finally the band started with Bound Subs in the Jungle formerly Welcome to the Jungle only the green jungle would soon be gone up in smoke-clouds that tumbled morbid colors across that lush treeline animals cornered by the spreading fires leaving behind a poisonous residue that continuously snakes to what remains of the forgotten concrete jungles we call home

Dancing In Dreams Past Pale Trees, Surface The Butterflies

"Debussy is the sea." She said, in the voice of his favorite watercolor (if it had a voice), her make-up, all Krishna hues. The bottom of her T- shirt, tied up, her stomach full baroque of VENUS DOES NOIR, the poems on her skin -- and suddenly the garden-party turned into -- just the shadows of people ~ their conversations un-important and far away. Her sister took a picture of them. Years later, he found the photo and was struck by the color of her hair -- like the color of earth, twined together in rain ~ her eyes, the color of golden shores, circled with sky , as the dawn behind them, appeared to shift against the trees. ~ Shoegaze, he thought. Not the music but the actual sandals she wore. Just a boat-girl nonchalantly sharing her herb as his inner voice screamed, turn around, and GO! LEAVE! NOW! But he stood frozen, a blooming loon, in some, weird, outside, green-wax museum. Her eyes strummed the lines tied around him < --- a small salamander trapped in her magnificent stare. ~ How he had loved the sleepy simplicity of her hipless skirt's silk whisper / pausing / to invite knees / living legs / feet stuck in those ridiculous sandals. Ferocious, the bleeding edges. The want. The hidden hurt. ~ And Later, Smoking More Fat Numbers In A Motel Room: her hair her kiss the deep trigger of all that was / corners falling / away / always-butterflies / needles / on go / hold the fatality. Like a rocky path, she trampled definition; a trail floating as the corridor stumbled. ~ We Were. As Windows gathered, packaged, and sold our fears. Yes! I remember: the pinot. kisses. depth. teeth. then. sour. tongues. drew. away. We became the monsters. The head in the swamp, the body of all rivers, in a Somebody World. And in a city, built on cracks - we coded the castle out, but kept the royal map, tattered and shopworn as angel trivia.

Skintall/Skintell/Skinfall (tweaked)

Veranda-smirk
wave-length
tube-dart,
how have you been?

Time has no even taste

Pull your mouth off
the gloss, muppethead.

Death is:

satiny & birdless

.....................breathless

We did die ---
in delicate threads of light,
our hands full of cut shadows.

Messy-eyes
backbump-fiend
attic-doll
syrette of rosy,
hope you've been well.
I been combing empty dimensions &
need to come down
for some real funzz.

Submarine-brain
drop-whisper
sleep-tone
affixed ..

Flesh-tunnel
blue-foam
glow-ruffle
shaved-wing
bent-pillow,

see ya around,

x

Calexico covering Arthur Lee & Love's - 'ALONE AGAIN, OR..'

stupid

this one always makes me laugh

Beautiful Hell

day / nite

day

....................................... nite

I revamped. the old look was too heavy.

an 'interesting' and a 'keep tabs on'

Neil Young Opens Up About Sobriety

&

Donald Fagen to release Sunken Condos, October 16 Donald Fagen's fourth solo album, Sunken Condos, will be released on Tuesday, October 16 2012. The nine tracks on Sunken Condos were co-produced by Michael Leonhart and Donald. All but one track, an Ashkenazi recasting of Isaac Hayes' Out of the Ghetto, are new Fagen originals. Pre order Sunken Condos online now at iTunes and Amazon. Visit Donald's Official Store and get Sunken Condos in CD Softpak, or for the true audiophile, get the 2-LP set pressed on 180 Gram / High Performance clear vinyl. Listen to the premiere of the new track "I'm Not the Same Without You" from Sunken Condos, now on Rolling Stone. Get the single on iTunes.

New research shows a possible explanation for the link between mental health and creativity..

By studying receptors in the brain, researchers at Karolinska Institutet have managed to show that the dopamine system in healthy, highly creative people is similar in some respects to that seen in people with schizophrenia. “Thinking outside the box might be facilitated by having a somewhat less intact box.”

temple of love

Carpe Noctem?

spill and chill? truth or dare?

i think my doctor is trying to kill me. for the second time.. 2 new meds and i passed out at work. couldn't even drive myself home, sister sweetness had to come pick me up. i should probably shop around for a new doc but i guess i just don't care enough. in fact, after thinking about it, very, very, long and hard, i have come to the conclusion that the only reason i keep 'walking the line' is for hailey and ash-ah-lee (that is how hailey pronounces her little sister's name.. ash-AH-LEE .. so cute.

i work very closely with the elderly and let me tell you, there is no such thing as, 'the golden years' unless you are talking, piss. okay, .. back to my new addiction, pinterest.com. i already have, 29 boards! you can even set up a board to be one giant 'group' effort. i hear there are several pinterest copycat sites, i may have to check them out. i should start shopping for a new laptop. i want a larger screen. i pay $70 a month for my, mostly slow ISP, might as well get all the satisfaction i can. i mean what else do i do on my days off? i did practically zero yard work this spring and summer except for some raking of the leaves. everything i planted last year came back the way it should BUT the deer eat everything that tries to bloom! the only thing they turn up their noses up at, are the native ferns. i am however, going to buy more colored glass to pour in between the rocks that are the path to the front door.

The pillow that makes long-distance relationships less lonely

A Scottish inventor devises interactive pillows that allow lovers to sleep together — even if they're separated by continents or oceans..

corset .. eh.

Anya ~ searching for the lost

lullabies.

Midnight

Genre- Country / Down-tempo / Electro
Location- DE
Website- www.slackwax.de
Record Label- MODERNSOUL
Type of Label- Indie

baby baby, baby..

how horrible is it to have your muse vanish? so.. a repeat ~ I Don't Suppose There Is Room Service

back on the bed
I feel like a roxy ruby

in my velvet movie

not sick
not partial

a tumble of the heart

a secret map without corners

a flower full of fire

ha, the hole in your ocean

nah, the star on my moon

when your fingers
glide across my skin
& I start to breathe diamonds

I pull from your eyes
a new expression

3x2 and later we'll go strolling

-swimming-

love-flesh. reckless curl. coconut lotion.

I'll be your ship
you'll sit on the deck
luminous & wet
and when the last wave
is over you'll lean
forward til our
eyelashes touch and
whisper -

the sigh
of a million
snowflakes

falling

wooden shjips ~

^my new favorite group, u would like them too.^
and add to these people to my list ~
The Black Angels

...

who are, Terminal Twilight?

Back in August, news broke that director Ridley Scott

Entertainment Tonight, Thursday, May 17, 2012, 4:41pm (PDT) Entertainment Tonight Back in August, news broke that director Ridley Scott had signed on to direct and produce a new installment of his iconic sci-fi film "Blade Runner," but no further details were revealed. Now it can be told that the project will be a sequel, and the original film's screenwriter, Hampton Fancher, has been recruited to develop the film. Bing: 'Blade Runner' sequel "He still speaks the speak. He's right there," Scott told Entertainment Weekly back in February about "Blade Runner" discussions with Fancher, who is in talks to develop the idea for the original screenplay.

* highway star *

read tonite..

a good poem.

TWIST(ED) IN MY SOBRIETY - THE COUNTS OF DRUNKEN DISCO (FREE WAV)

TWIST(ED) IN MY SOBRIETY - THE COUNTS OF DRUNKEN DISCO (FREE WAV)

groove is in the heart ~ barclay, cream ~

alexander metzger chillout mix drinking: peppermint tea by Twinnings of London ~ refreshing, hot or cold i'm off tomorrow. off off off i miss you. i could sleep for 1000 years ~ shiny shiny


&

{ }

just got home..

from Georgia. went to my sister's wedding. bride and groom first dance was to ~ Bless the Broken Road

the only good thing about today was

the oreo cookie watching - Faust - It's a Rainy Day (Sunshine Girl) 1972 i like you the thought of you the idea of doing something with you, as of yet, just one thing like picking you up for a ride in my huge pimpin gas guzzling machine (i can't believe no one has made any rude remarks about my SUV, on the stupid facehook) anyway.. i will walk in and you will be sitting in the hallway and i will say in my usual cocky way - i see you are sitting here waiting for me and you will say, with your usual eye-skit-ish fake-shy way, no but we will laugh at the same time. then i will ask, do you want to go for a ride with me? if you aren't expecting any visitors you will say yes maybe i will wear my red blouse really i just want to play that, little green bag, song, for you. i think you will like it. working on a spotify playlist called ~ Negativland as in Foto ~

the obituary i hated to find

Daniel L. Phillips July 7, 1956 - January 26, 2011 Brecksville, Ohio

last song..

a revisit

Mar 10, 2011 Nachtmusik You wear your red t-shirt like my fever, cover your eyes with sun glass.. and drive, drive, drive. I wake, only to find more snow has fallen. .. Fallen looks, that glitter in their shells .. Shells & songs. sung out loud. spaces, roll by, and pass your cursive heart. the crunch of tires on ice. Ice blue. the waitress sits down our steaks. more lemon slices in a plastic cup. your phone vibrates on the table. tattered cherubs stuck to the wall. Labels: jj kills posted by Tasha at 2:01 AM ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

,

this one is for HTC..

yeah. i bought your book. so what. ... ..

Midnite Rider

me and my dad's old truck.. the s10 .. i have my own vehicle now, a 2000, ford explorer, i'll post some sort of photo soon. xo midnite rider

*

low

2 lip

...

+

you are the perfect drug

well.. I made it. , one whole year of sobriety..

.

i'd like to climb up on the baby-sitter,

a kid stamping the pieces of broken things
at some garage sale in Iowa, almost a father in some mediocre ways and slays the next cheap-ass professor nursing a drinking life with a plastic knife
later at the Bastard's Sign he is randy and pokes this broken light of glittery squander tit tag with his broken almost soul until he thinks about how he creamed on Iowa's own Flanagan sisters, one outside each page of whiskey with jail. the lecturer at the car rental place finally placed the keys into his hand. driving, he noticed the clouds red with tears all the fears and years of nothing except being slick on how to be alone. he never needed a wet nurse to show him how to pull off/of life. headlights played on the brick of his beard. seein' his street. the clouds.. he'd feel her up tender in this, this killing of the rest of the night when he got there she was shit-faced without the same maternal look she had had at Drake's long narrow bar where they had thrown down sickly green shots of something jumpy and jello, a kid's whiskey without any kick at all.
leaning against the curved railing he watched the handsome thespian in the mirror, the one who sometimes taught himself how to play the guitar, suddenly
laugh at her enourmous forgettable mouth, easily a pool of red glee yea, that's before the match strikes the floor.

Scandiddu - The Capsule

i can't believe i'm wasting my day off, in here

a this-minute crush - on the satellite dish installer

.

~*~

not about tapeworms, smelling salts or shootouts.

12.21.2011
11:22 P.M.




when
did your tongue

become

a piracy

open ing

darkness ness




With glossy hands, Nina cups his shy
slide back





in



silt

sinking


questions

low clouds over
a clear ceiling, the long Floating heavy yourself, (or a weightless slow
in this – room
there is no breath
you are Somebody and a sorrow, the image of my heart
except I can't trace a god.








you like being my Want.
)arms(above my head) the under of them so fragile they chain
you
that is what i like
as we roll through a twisty dream -
silent temples
twined
with an
All
important ness

on
your chest
i like the slim ness
of
you ~ the way we move , smoothly around and away
from


~*~


------- ---- ----
but - later -
in the code market.. i die. Fall: to
break
how can you open me more?

......

on the white skin of Dellarina> reflections of red digits


~~~

my #?
276-233-5072
how presumptuous of me
by
semaphoring whoring

***
**
*

.

and the cool sky , slender with



.






Black Dress, White Room