I DONT' GET IT

If one was well enough to do everything that one needed to do to get the relief that one needed, then one wouldn’t need the help that one was attempting to get in the first place, would he?
Life is a Catch 22 of the universe.
He said, “I don’t understand why you keep on helping him.”
“I want to,” I said, “It’s a feeling I have to want to. What difference does it make to you?”
Meanwhile we waste time on bullshit. Suddenly it hits me how controlled our lives are. What served as warnings years ago has now come into play. We ignored the critics of our forefathers back in the day.
We’re tracked by GPS. Our cell phones and our credit cards are tracked. Their usage tallied and compiled daily. We’re forced to pay more than our share of taxes while the Masonry lead our government, their symbols lurking everywhere. Taxes were never meant for the small working class man like you and me, yet we pay our taxes every day, day after day.
Some refuse to see the small insidious ways we’re controlled by society and our jobs our families, our conscience which finally takes their place.
Now even Facebook and MySpace take charge and overwhelm me with enough rules to spin my head. Either I add too many or too little friends. They have trouble deciding. I’d think that adding friends would be a boon but Facebook and MySpace employees become dictators in another virtual reality.
It becomes more and more difficult to understand the world I’m living in.

INFATUATION

He’s an infaturation
a soft warm breeze
blowing by and maybe
now my husband blurts out
you want to hear
everything he says

then continues in his
rapid staccato speech
maybe now it all
seems so interesting
an interruption
in the flow of your life

Later, my husband adds
on to his diatribe, and tells
me I will tire of all the new
things my new love confides
which now make me feel so good

After all, he said, you’re tired
of your best friend’s shit
and everyone else’s
I replied, yeah I guess so
So I’ll probably get tired
of him too after 30 years or so

You know what I mean
he says, smirking in
response to my smirk
you’d be happy too
if Billy Collins made
you his protege

Yes I would I said
But I’m not Billy Collins

TWO MINDS, ONE HEART by Joy & DubbleX

I don’t have my own mind I said
Whaddaya’ mean he asked
You inhabit my mind I said
That’s a really good line he said

You inhabit my mind
All the time Joy thought up this line
Joy thought up this line so I typed it in
This computer of mine

It’s not just a line I said
You inhabit the deeper regions inside my head
How do you say that word, hypothalamus
I’ll look it up in the dictionary

My thoughts of you are extraordinary
Because you’re extra-more than ordinary
I want to lick you like a strawberry
A love like this longs for poetry

Our love breaks the laws of humanity
Humility and sanity creating a whole
New meaning for the word boundaries
As we dance through our life in poetry

Your life is my idea I say
I show him my tits in play & say
This is performance poetry at its best
I’m here at your behest
This is only the beginning test
Our lives have become an unfinished poem
Put your worries to rest he replies
We’re here today as mother earth’s guests

Not Everything Fits

We need a small plastic bin to fit all those loose wires in
The loose wires of our lives; how we live in sin
According to the laws of some men
Hey take ten, who made you fit to judge
I’m not in your league and your pledge to change humanity into fixed little square or round pegs doesn't slide with me
You can't make me fit your dimensions
I'm not an item of suspicion to be under investigation for a crime I didn't commit

One size for all, none fit me
I 'm not under your regulations

sorry I'm not part of those guidelines
I know who I am I am who I am I know who I am do you
I’m not bootleg, I'm for real

Don't try to make me fit one of your square or round pegs
I’m not under your domination
Seek another nomination to fit your criteria
Don’t pretend I’m inferior

I'm good, I'm good...

I know who I am who I am who I am

Nearby Sprain Park

view from my window

SPREADING WILDCAT FIRE

Caught on fire ~ sizzle with desire
Cause havoc when I prance cross city streets
Barely escape slaughter as I
suddenly appear out of nowhere,
the sun gleaming in my hair
You barely miss me as I spin past your fender
You smile and wave goodbye
And are glad for I
Suspend the silver gloom around you
Momentarily the
Sunshine of my heart beats
Scarlet on top purple beneath
My true colors
For you I throw in some sunset red
I tattoo myself on you
Winged fairy of time
Imprinted on your soul & memory
I raise your energy
The twitter stops
Nervous laughter
I speak my first line
Only fool falls asunder
Lightening strikes twice
And Jill came tumbling after
Jack fell down
It's beyond the fruits of my labor
She probably meant to save him
Either that or she wanted his crown
I surrender…
I learn to connect to unconnected to survive to live
In ways I couldn’t see how to before this

STORM SEASON

I’m in the rainy season of my life
Each day storm clouds gather
threateningly in the dark sky above

Rainfall in light misting then heavy sheets fall,
Big snowflakes appear midair and disappear on the wet pavement
This is the beginning of my winter of content, I’m not sure yet

The sky simmers red in between imminent storms
then mingles with purple after sundown
Upheaval seems the norm today

Tomorrow brings warm southern winds
leaving again a shimmering steel gray sky
bringing calm in its wake as I begin the winter of my content

Double Helix & Ira Lightman's public art works

Ira Lightman made an initial text art for a sheet of glass, then Dan Civico remade it as a wave of glass, and oak to get the 3D of it all. Dan took Ira's acetate printout, literally cut that up with scissors and made a much LESS symmetrical shape that Ira had then to rework the text into...

Turns out water in a river makes just this double-helix motion. Uncanny.

Photos by Eddie Galvin

Lost Landscape by Nabina Das

Bamboo flutes
That my father had played once
The leather-jacketed book
That had always been a prop on my table
The Borgeets from the Namghar
In sticky caramel noons
My teacher’s voice across the blackboard
That death silenced and
My mother’s rosebushes of hope.
What remains when blue hills weep
Or the red river goes into hiding?
Even the goddess watches from the hilltop
Squirming at slow blood oozing from
Deep coves of deathliness that
Neelachal never for once has known.
What dies when new words are born?
Not the wounds, not the burning shame.
I wonder if I still should paint
Those paddy fields, peacocks and skies
With my brush of golden taint.


I don't usually post other people's stuff but for some reason felt like deviating from that pattern, so I did.
Dunno just did? Click on title will lead to more of Nabina Das' work.