Friday, April 29, 2005

I was online reading declassified (but censored) presidential memos and CIA reports concerning the capture and murder of revolutionary Che Guevera and something made me laugh in spite of the horror of reading orders from so called sane intelligent leaders for another man's death, on the bottom of the documents are the stamps "secret".
It just made me laugh about the human condition. Stamp some inkpad ink on a piece of paper with the word "classified" or "secret" or even more than secret "top secret" and what? Everyone just heeds? Oh hey that's secret, don't read that.... it's funny what simple move makes an inanimate thing uber important to our species. If stamping some ink on paper makes it somes kind of doctrine then no wonder in this way of thinking a CIA ordered murder isn't criminal. This species is just too easily led.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

the room is warm small wooden
wooden walls and warm blankets
fresh fire infusing the quilts with natural aroma
no lights - no lights necessary
evening fallen long ago
warm wine flavored like homemade burning acidic on the tongue soft in the belly
keys and chords singing quietly from a chair in the corner
time is quiet
pressureless
nowhere to be
noone to call
nothing to follow up
only to be
small crackles- pop and spark
the smell of you in the background - you made the fire
everything is close, the pulse of blood
nearness of now and the smell of your sweat
sound of your breath
you could hear the night outside with its chill if you weren't listening so closely to the heart
nothing to avoid nothing to heed
picture the table dim in the light of the fire covered in crumbs of bread made with hands hours ago
recall how it changed the mood from a day of work and activity - preparation for the soothing night
flavor falling down the throat softening crumbs of nourishment
wine corks broken to ease the mind and bring the soul alive
wrapped in the warmth
fires and quilts made with hands
time will pass slow and quiet then you will tire and come to wrap beside in this makeshift bed
these planks covered in foam and pillows, wrapped in quilts made with hands by fire made with hands
small words will escape into the surface and find the heart to resound with natural love forever
words will melt into awareness of aroma, sweat of the day, the making of food and fire
first a hand will caress a brow followed by a wave of gratitude and familiarity
maybe almost a tear because joy brings such things
tiredness of the body from work earned is different than tiredness of the mind
if there was awareness of the perfection of this here and now that would be it
this is home here
this is home now
this is love
forever

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

beautiful with your eyes like that
beautiful with your skin like that
you moved and moved and moved
searching for the elusive

the elusive with its aches of yearning
the elusive with its untold promises
and lack of desire to grant mercy

and delved in

plans thoughts and rosters
laid out
layed out
staid in side
stayed inside

beautiful with your eyes like that
beautiful with your skin like that
that small of the back
that arm relaxed

relaxed over the music
not the servant nor the lord it promised to be
and even then ceasing to offer relief
for the numbing

but

beautiful with your eyes like that
and beautiful with your skin like that
the arm all relaxed
leading to the small of the back

it was in the private places love was learned
the armpit
the tail of the spine
about 5 hours in a lifetime

growing beautiful by the day
packed in boxes under the bed
old shoes
rightful place
rightful time