Author: admin

~ admin

HISTORY

2.18.20

They say only the the most righteous hold the keys to the after life during Rosh Hashana.
How fitting for you, who spent her life opening doors where M’s could meet W’s.
The Rider-Waite’s Justisia is blindfold-less. She know we advance according to our ability to understand the past, and that depends on seeing truth about life and ourselves.
This Justice knows. No.
Demands wisdom and it’s subsequent responsibility.
The knowledge that the vision of the underlying nature of things is meaningless if it does not produce and active response.

She knows the difference between doing things and action. Real action (as opposed to pointless movement), the one arising from self knowledge; That’s the spice in the meaning of life.

The Giant, the Powerful, the Notorious;
Queen of Justicia.
We will carry your legacy of Peace.
Rest in Power.

“All the “not readies,” all the “I need time,” are understandable, but only for a short while. The truth is that there is never a “completely ready,” there is never a really “right time.” As with any descent to the unconscious, there comes a time when one simply hopes for the best, pinches one’s nose, and jumps into the abyss. If this were not so, we would not have needed to create the words heroine, hero, or courage.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés


~ admin

HISTORY

9.17.20
I read somewhere that weeping in-front of a mirror
Was less about inflaming self-pity
and more about wanting to feel witnessed in our despair

Sixty four bodies will never hug their families again
That’s the price they pay for going to work.

This jagged mirror cuts light the way prisms cut rainbows
the way ICE cuts body parts
how my nose cuts my eyes in
half and I see only the faces of
women who are less women staring back

~ admin

Datura

9.9.20
I
Datura must be a sommelier. They must assimilate with, and seek smell. The wine is entirely optional in this theoretic.
Why is smell so important? Because smell is the prodigal son of breath, and without breath you’ll find yourself in a bit of a bind there.

Smell can cook a meal (more on this later.) A good sense of smell is the highway between the head and the heart. You can taste the difference between the pesto who made love to the pine nut, and the one who fucked your plastic tupperware.

A passion… no, not even a passion. an awareness of smell indicates passion for invisible enthusiasms. Not the obvious ones, the hidden ones, the ones that define a moment without ever giving it a name.

In the mornings, my armpits smell of desert heat and jungle floor – in fact, all day I exude different varietals of Musk. My rebellious resistance to “Lavender Vanilla – All Day Protection!” reminds me that your essence, whatever that may be, is never something to be protected against. On days when we loose our senses, go blind to one another, let go of each others hand – let the smell of my shirt remind you of warmth and the joy of swinging on jungle vines.

People have alienated scent the way we’ve alienated nature. It is somehow other, outside of us. We treat it like something to use and mold, we ignore its world map and draw boundary lines across its olfactory relevance. Datura, you’ll know the smell of moist, the smell of sweat. You’ll think back on Italy’s olives and say “let’s dance in the rain.”

~ admin

HISTORY

9.9.20
THE WORLD IS FUCKING BURNING. WHY IS NO ONE SCREAMING. WHY AREN’T MORE PEOPLE CRYING.
THIS is the stay in bed type cry your eyes out style throw up your shame kind scream into a pillow grief. Fuck punctuation, fuck your grammar and the rest of your made up spread jelly on bruchetta, you’ve burned down every avocado tree North of Mexico, but I bet you’re a proud papi now that your blues and pinks taint the Western sky red. Just another red amber in ashtray of gas station smoke trauma – except this time you took a quarter country down with you.
fuck you people
fuck you emotionally flatlined parasites.
and i don’t just mean California and Colorado. I mean you too, you with your reusable grossery bags and compostable forks. Stop passively remediating with the shame of people who damn rivers and tame horses by using compostable toothbrushes. I want your tounge coated in pipe-line filth, I want words thicker than Pacific Ocean oil spills. I want your outrage, I want your grief, I want to know you give a shit.
Or has the fire dried out your tears too?

You leeches give me migranes.

~ admin

DATURA

9.9.20
My therapist likes to throw shade.
She has a way with words, that woman. She’ll say things like “untapped subservience,” and “pathologically secretive.”

that last one stung a bit.

During our most recent exercise, she’s asked me to write down a list of traits I seek in partners.

I tell her how stupid that is. No one can know what they want in a partner if they haven’t met them yet.

“It’s like painting O’Keeffe’s Jimson Weed and asking her to jump rope with the Stary Night.” Is what I tell her. She doesn’t respond, either not picking up the reference or simply deciding to ignore it. She knows not to play tug-o-war with my foolishness. Instead I start writing things down like “compassionate, honest, independent, creative.” A list of ten demands seeming more commandments – the standard bullshit you find on every over 40s match.com profile.

There are things I want to write down, but don’t say (probably not doing much to contradict my tight-lipped pathology diagnosis). The substance of a person you can’t dial for in yellow pages. What separates mannequin from nectarine.

I’m still not sure if this exercise will be good for me, but like any good lamb to slaughter, I’ll baa.



~ admin

DREAMS

9.6.20
Foxes are more spider than dog
weaving about fate’s web when she’s out for dinner
it’s that magic that sets us apart from Coyotes
the mischief giggle from Hyena’s cackle
go ahead, let the old Jaguars roar, let them bear their teeth, and show off their claws
i’lll bathe them in confidence,
highlight their spots and whiskers
I’ll comb out their fur, polish their canines

and when i’ve made you feel
bigger than the character based on you
you’ll purr into my chest “friend”
using it like a punctuation mark
we both know, i’m not the one who needs telling
like the last ditch effort to hold on to the laws youve made for yourself
like pictures aren’t dignified without their frame

like you’ve realized the fragility of the mirror
is not a weakness
but a finess

that can, and will
cut you.





~ admin

MIRROR

9.5.20
code switching, he calls it
Like Samba to Salsa
Like Rumba to Mapale
Like yes, to si
and somehow nos cambiamos en la mitad

like left brain and right brain hold hands and play red rover
like now you see me, now you see me again
but where the fuck did we put the parts you don’t?

~ admin

GARFIELD

9.4.20 | P.M
to illustrate
put on your best tie for me, cook me your best dinner
I’ll sample these two variables, assign you an average
Mean? No. Bias? Yes.
You’ve got a wide margin of error
so relax
your odds have been predetermined

at prima facie
we are all prairie girls and doe eyes
all the modes we operate within
so
let’s talk about rice
scatter-plot of time and skepticism, the type you scoff at
the slow burn kind, build up in under your skin kind
Prairie girl flashing Daddy’s more stratum then outlier kind.

let this be a lesson
my dearest, Empirical King;
control deviated from the group,
and is breaking bread with the sum of my power.

Your crown matches your tie, looking handsome as ever
on your knees,
from your throne.