my manchild; with your trenchant eyes
peel off my traveling clothes, with your teeth
and tongue tease off my skin, and carve
artfully away my muscles, lift gently apart
my ligaments, gather my bones
on the pyre.
sleep as they burn.
i’ll meet you in the morning
in my freshly laundered clothes.
green grass
in, in
deep-deeper
my dear
e
-nemy
(i know.)
…people resist freedom because they’re afraid of the unknown. But it’s ironic … that unknown was once very well known. It’s where our souls belong … The only solution is to… expose yourself to yourself to your deepest fear. After that, fear has no power…
The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your senses for an act… Some people surrender their freedom willingly—but others are are forced to surrender it. Imprisonment begins with birth. Society, parents; they refuse to allow you to keep the freedom you are born with. There are subtle ways to punish a person for daring to feel. You see that everyone around you has destroyed his true feeling nature. You imitate what you see… teachers,religious leaders-even friends, or so-called friends — take over where the parents leave off. They demand that we feel the only feelings they want and expect from us. They demand all the time that we preform feelings for them… When others demand that we become the people they want us to be, they force us to destroy the person we really are. It’s a subtle kind of murder … the most loving parents and relatives commit this murder with smiles on their faces.
Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself-and especially to feel. Or not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to — letting a person be what he really is … Most people love you for who you pretend to be … people get so used to their image — they grow attached to their masks…
A person has to be willing to give up everything — not just wealth. All the bullshit he’s been taught — all society brainwashing. You have to let go of all that to get to the other side.
-Jim Morrison
Who among us has died the Great Death?
love is- i don’t murder u | u don’t murder me
Wedlock is a Padlock - Laura Lee
A good husband is healthy and absent.
(Japanese proverb)
(of course there were supporting factors: our simple, mainstream obsessions. our androgynous wardrobes. our contempt of blandbrained female contemporaries. but the main thing was) you ambushed me at a time when that was still possible. or i ambushed you. anyway, there was an ambush, an auspicious one.
some school nights we talked on the phone. i don’t know about what, but it felt good. in the summer my index finger danced your number into the keypad and then your voice like magic, need being met through no visible mechanism – you walked to my house and I walked to yours and we missed each other then found each other and laughed.
one day i said Let’s go get water ice
you said Okay.
we walked for blocks hot under a bright sky and then turned back to my house where we drank cold tap water and were satisfied.
that was fun, you said, haha i don’t know why. anything with you is fun.
you didn’t say much but were always laughing.
i went into the wilderness and made you come with me. you were scared and then you loved it. on the scramble i placed myself below you then led you down the creek until no leader was needed. we wandered and sang and talked and dreamt aloud. that, to me, was a forever.
you went on vacation and when you came back i was no longer there. not because i willed the leaving; i just didn’t know anything about staying.
you tried to talk to me through the phone and i didn’t know why.
was it then you died? | did i?
i wondered for the longest time, and then i realized it didn’t matter:
people die, even when they stay.
i hope you are well
and that when your(and all
shell breaks; shiver yourself out
bare; rant yourself up some
sturdy friendships
ones of plywood,
brass,
stainless steel,
titanium;
love
and accept
love through all deaths.
“You gonna be here for this?”
yeah… – i nod at Sky –
yeah. yeah.
YES.
the secret to the wilderness is that once you become immersed in it, when you come back to the citysized campsites the wilderness is still all you see – in the concrete, in the eyes of people. it doesn’t go away. it’s all right here.
“if you put me in html,”
my poem said to me,
“i will strangle myself.”
it put its hands around its throat
as if to show resolve.
i leaned back, still breathless from giving birth,
amazed. [what small hands!]
