i’m cryogenically unfrozen
being real, I could yawp, I could do what I’m talking about
“laaaaaaa savegnaaaaaaa” is how i remembered the yawp from Lion King, a stalwart construct that when i zoom in, is colored people and real tribe, land, heritage, a land and paradigm (of meeting your needs: food, housing, what to do on what day and at what time) where you’re never alone—food and work and songs you remember are linked to the land and older people, peers; there maybe aren’t mirrors. Imagine a community where there’s no need for mirrors
so I’m lookin’ back like Rothko
quality of looking back, quality of intensity of wanting to hitch, keep your days together, be taken seriously again—be respected (respect: to look again), for them to reread the day before yesterday since what you did then is eminently worthy of being made part of the current; ah, “do it again” is what being real costs: do it again, make it real, make it here, do it—and disappear, where there’s no lack, where present and ideal are together ~ ah, a career of brushstrokes and being one well-dressed and old, one carries who carries his career with him, artist as snail, carrying your shell: your comforts, habits, the thing that makes the thing you do possible—for some it’s a partner, for others, hired help. Sad to hire for the parts of life a lover fills in for others? Is it more noble because the lover wants to open your mail, book hotels and rental cars, fixes toilets at investment properties, making the boring calls anyone else could make? That is sacrifice—it’s almost important to keep some class of people ignorant about their genius; they’d refuse to do work others could do once they see themselves as unique, hear themselves. Luckily for the enlightened this takes millennia; it’s a form of inner governance
any of these stops can be pulled out; the elements are always primed to rush: hence the proliferation of media, sculpture, painting, singing, children
i’m alive and well
busy making noise in various channels and forms. per usual (just like you remember me) (now ) the work is going well, i am well and it’s impossible to know how to sustain without u
do I trust you read the word “u”? do I trust you’re there?
my finger wanted to type the word “us”
maybe “u” and “us” are the same
and this is a pome
and i finally know how to be a poet
and i forgot how to ride on my typos and trust life;
maybe, still, i’m trying to control
(oh, i hear my landlord laugh downstairs! She’s a beautiful woman ripe with love and love! life and love, i mean!
oh, could you love my typos? could my voice be one where you could rest?
feels good to write here again