Knock-Knock/Aha (i do think about death) February 24, 2012

I think life ends instantaneously the moment you finally figure out that one thing that’s been nagging at you for ages. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was something. It was there the whole time, right there in front of your face. Well now you know. That’s death, knocking incessantly at your door bringing you good news, gifts and roses for show. It sounds just like your wife, or your husband or your kids or a stray kitten. Or some other thing that you just have to love to death, whether or not you’d love to admit it, and that worries you from time to time. This thing that has been secretly with you your whole life waiting for you, the love of your life. The thing that has released from you a passionate cry at least once, probably more than twice. And then all of a sudden, when the job is done of being for this thing a house of praise, the spirit is released. Like the seed you are, you will sprout again in the afterlife. For now in this life, you are beautiful in the skin you are in sin and useful to men and then you are dust. Returned to a peaceful state and more useful to everyone. The Universe like me has to bleed as death produces corpse brides whose blood is spilled once a month by a cycle. We are her psychosomatic physical manifestation of love and she must physically part of she, as such some of us by gender and preference raise up our skirts to air out her bad seeds not fit to be placed on planet Earth. Her children are her dirty little secret. The other half of human, if he is trained well, raised well, will understand that to live well once they have released their seed into being, they will have to mean well. And they best find a way to prove themselves useful to woman by saddling her down with a child to care for. This is not a man’s world. This simply means they should protect their seed as a future investment and the mother of the seed as the connection to heaven. The holy shit I’m married, trinity. Me, him and us. The third-party is a crowd but the third-party is we, what fun. In both logic and eros, the comedic tragedy of truth is just plain ironic. God is love. And I believe romanticism requires a certain degree of spiritualism, like the idea that we were made in his image of perfection as the beauty of the story of creation is the acceptance of dominion and destruction, the cycle of life. Death is a permanently positive part of life so that the bottom line is that in order for new things to live, everything must change so that nothing ever stays the same twice.

Day after day, the same old thing consistently replays over and over again, and these motion pictures are stored captive in our minds powered by brains that control pure energy through our minds that can never be destroyed, and thought in itself can never end and, though we are imprisoned, we can never be contained. So that we are separate but inseparable, needing to exchange our feelings with one another as energy collides finding theta waves to ride and we are biologically made to be reproducible of one another. And we commingle ourselves to become more powerful and associate with groups that are like us and we try to control what we can by acting like we don’t care about death or anything else of material substance around us. How superficial of us. But how fair is life? Our level of consciousness should be thought of as that of the blindfolded lady of fate, Libra. She is hanging her head in shame, having foolishly believed in a man, a fallen angel named Lucifer, the demon of man. Now she must live on Earth as a wanted woman dead or alive. The lesson is to willingly blind ourselves in order to balance ourselves. Live our lives not for beauty but in search of harmony, and in this way we successfully manipulate fate with the invention of hate and the time that war takes. But fame, her beauty is legendary like the Sun, will fade away one day, and is doing so by aging slowly day by day. A brew left to simmer for billions of years has made her a fickle friend in the end and the casts do change eventually as the leading lady of the scene gets old. The men wear gray hair like salt-water pearls. Death is at your door, for sure, but it could be opportunity knocking, my friend. So what’s to be the final score? And if nothing is real in this life, accept love and, what are we all waiting for.

The concept of life after death like most things we commonly misunderstand in these our last days is awful misleading. It is really death that gives birth to life and in between spring and winter there are two full seasons. Yes, it passes us by in the blink of an eye, but do believe that fruits are ripest in the summertime and that pride most definitely comes before the fall. It takes a lifetime to die and not even seconds to make a life. You don’t have to be in love and you most certainly don’t have to be married as his wife. This is not of the average person’s knowledge base and against industry buying patterns, but it is to a man’s advantage that he takes a wife. That’s what I think about death constantly. This is one big knock-knock joke entirely. It’s like as soon as you accept an engagement ring, you have to be there on time. You cannot even think to show up late for your own funeral, which happened to begin ever so dramatically, naturally planned to be by the planets as soon as you came to be able to breathe in the womb. The Universe through serpentine energy had to nearly suffocate you. The cord of life was intravenously wrapped around you, protecting you. The women in your life determine the stock of you and should therefore control the revenue. Who loosens the noose as a favor to the Sun in forbearance of what must be done. Ultimately for all of us, men determine how comfortable life will be for the woman and children he chooses to claim as his under the Sun. And I feel, the way the Moon orbits around the Earth to sound and magical score is naught but a mother protecting what else but a child? And still, the way Saturn is suspended in mid-heaven, strategically, and how he clutches so cruelly his seven rings for protection from his enemy. Himself infinitely sacrificing himself to remain The Scorpion King. Their obsession with power and death and sex is absorbing and healing. He is blocking his own light to survive. He is stinging himself, willingly ingesting death. Serious Saturn is like many, many men, once powerful become dull, dying of grief and guilt. Mars and Pluto are two similar mythical men of poison ingested, hung up on controlling the Universe and the Sun for little more than shits and giggles and eons of fun. Like me, the Sun is masculine in most of her functions but she radiates as well as she receives. Air only penetrates, and so it is clearly invasive and as such, masculine. It seeks to be in all things considered alive. Like God, the very breath inside of us is the indwelling of the spirit Father God. If you think about it, we are all positively possessed. But scientists would claim to to know more than me and simply call this energy. It’s all the same to me. Whether or not he gave of his rib to make me, it’s all yin and yang to me.

The Universe itself is feminine in form and energy and some say, much more important since it is better to give than it is to receive. It is transformed serpent energy otherwise known to us as the heart and soul of the home, a concentration of powerful energy. The voluptuous Caduceus of Hermes that grows on money trees. The tangled webs we weave, the fabric of our lives. Our perceptions of beauty, our preoccupation with time a vice. What we wrap ourselves around, the anchors in our lives. The woman. The lover, the muse, the siren, the mother. The princess child. The wife. Virgo, the Virgin comes right before Libra the devil’s pride. The burden of compassion for humanity is the lot of women in this life. You can imagine then what Saturn, also known as Satan, would want to do with a thing like that; a vessel that holds something as sacred as feelings. It was all written, as such remains hidden behind this one veiled woman, the next it-girl for whom they keep looking. So I know, who wants to go next? Marry me, I mean. I’m good at it. Living, I mean. The lover in me created while the planet of love was in Virgo means that I am at best subservient. Perfect for the modern-day mass-murderous affair of whatever ends up becoming of these poorly negotiated nuptials after a thought out proposal. I need you at the altar with me to repeat after me to be together with me till death do us part. And we’ll swear to God by all that good stuff that’s in each of our hearts, and I promise on our unborn son, forever in this life will I love you to death, giving you a sense of purpose and a reason to live. We’re all getting fucked in the end anyway. All of us. Even the glorious Sun. So this one little time won’t hurt us. I’m on my second husband and my fifth ring. Not only do I flirt with death, it is my middle name.

2/2012

jc

Get By/Real Love (i rise) January 5, 2012

i rise/whenever you walk into a room/i wise/i stand in salute whenever you come to cross my view and/cross my heart/i am proud of you/i can feel butterflies/not in my stomach but in my womb/yeah like, unborn kids, that’s your father over there trippin’ again/lemme go see what’s up with him/i rise to the occasion of growing up with him/that’s one of the things that i love about my new best friend/my lover/we get as close as we can get/normally, commitment feels like acid rain free-falling on my parade/sharing spanish bouquets of potent mary jane/i close my eyes and we rise/i love how much i can depend on you/we have a time or two/made love all night long until the sunrise split the night sky anew/it means the world to me, the way you think deeply over things and/listen to me/the way you overuse the word, we/when you forcefully embrace me/try to understand me/baby, you got me/finally/take my hand and make me over gently/don’t hurt me/give me a purpose and overcome me/i am ye-yo you are the other part of me/you give me real love like i am beloved mother afrika and your soul mommy/when i look into your eyes i see me/how you nurture me/it soothes me/baby when you walk into the room/i rise/with you, i know i can get by and/i can feel the ground again move with truth as we take each step together/hand in hand/i can make it through the next two lives standing next to you/my man/i realize that i have a home lying next to you/i do rise whenever you look at me and speak silently with no words/just truth/still i rise convincingly over the sea we filled in our youth/our foundation a solid future being built by two/pictures of me are you/that’s one of the ways i love you/especially/whenever you walk into the room/i rise/your eyes i have to meet no matter who it is i’m standing next to/all that i see is you/your soul beautiful/god blessed me back to you/i may have given to them an overly friendly gesture or two/in the end, it’s two fingers peace to them/with him, i am meant to proceed and progress/he firmly shakes me back to my heavenly reality with his calm stability/whenever my man needs me/my chest swells with pride, i breathe for him/for years, he has kept on me, a steady bull’s eye/keeping me on target so i rise/uplifting me through supportive speech/we speak naturally through our unbreakable bond of chemistry/interconnectedness, mental telepathy/i’m in a rush to take my time with him and/for him, i will do anything i can and/everything that i do is for him/for whatever my man is/i am his/i am uninterested in falling in love again/most assuredly i am growing in love with him/i rise.

1/2012

jc

Broken Home/Female Pack (bleeder) December 21, 2011

I’m willing to admit, it is harder to be half of a healthy relationship when you are the product of a broken home. But I’ll say this in print about the single women in my family. They sure do seem to be able to take blows to the chin nicely. We’ve taken some pretty hard hits, but over the years, somehow, we have managed to become rich.

I am not at all unsightly. I am not unhappy, but I am easily depressed. This is due to the fact that I am born a Cancer-Leo Lioness. My masculine sun in me constantly fights my feminine moon energy, but here to this point I slightly digress. We are all the next matriarch in this, my family and I’m not sure yet how that all unfolds for me in what will be the final ark at sea. There are lots of single women on both sides of my family like my blood lines are tainted by the sting of poison ivy. Women that are vibrant, dead rich men’s wives, with inheritances questioned by the surviving step-kids and long, full drawn out lives with passport books full of stamps, pat me on my back in my sleep. The women in my tribe, they all age gracefully and live well past the age of 95. I find that quite remarkable, fit to be penned and inscribed.

I can’t wait to read my memoirs to my offspring when I am a ripe old age of 108 because everyday I live, I try to forget those younger days, my Troop Beverly Hills Wilderness Girl stage. I make up good stories in my head and I let the characters repent.

I am not concerned with what they say about my storytelling to date, but I’d like to make a concerted effort towards it to care one day. To care about anything, really. To clear up the record and maybe stop the presses. Anyway, the question of the day is, am I blessed to breed or bred to bleed till I’m dry? I’m not sure yet. I’ve only tried it once. I’m both too old and young enough to be resolved to simply take life as it comes.

I promise to understand that not everyone is meant to be mated. I know I’m conventionally afraid of marriage, but are abandonment issues the same as a fear of commitment? We’ll soon see, as I’m supposed to marry soon. I keep putting it off, waiting for the perfect blood red moon.

I cannot summon a feeling of not wanting to be with one person forever. But on paper, I’m reluctant to sign on the dotted line for better or worse. What if when my she and her tribe members mate, we become worse for wear? Is my fruit really ready for the world as it is? Am I ready to reintroduce to this world, my own rare seeds that on most days take the same name as the bitter forbidden fruit? And what else will I get? Is it comparable to what I have now? And if I don’t start a family, can I run back to the pride single and happy?

After all, I can hunt really well and I’ve never not been an earner. In just two years time I’ll get to add to my long list of titles, esquire.

So I cherish the day with them all, my lovers and my muses. One moment at a time. In the present time, I’m pleasantly in my prime and I don’t want to share myself with any one person just yet. Depending on the sunset, I keep loosing to the highest bidder because I like the way a tenor sounds in a ballroom dressed in all black.

Occasionally I find it necessary to take the opposite sex formally. The way I was trained to do. Once and a lovely twice, I casually shared my life which makes sense to me like steak and crab dinners, which I’ve always liked. He doesn’t eat meat now, and I can’t make myself stop eating bacon, so we parted ways as strangers. I kept the house and he has kept my favor.

The other females from the neighboring villages, they mated off shortly after our tender season had faded into spring. Some of them are back on their own now. Never dreaming or seeing, like Stevie, that he’d leave in the summer.

In my family, the women are colored and of course know how to entertain grandly. And because I am in the finely dressed package that I came here in, the women outside of my tribe, they don’t invite me into their homes or offer to cook me food. I can teach their children sure enough and organize galas and other stuff for the poor, but they won’t introduce me to their husbands or eligible male cousins.

I’m not sure why either, but that’s just another reason why I’m not sure if I want to join them in their wedded exclusivity. At all. It feels like giving in to the other side. Was it Bible study or the situation comedy, Punky Brewster, that taught me I have more than enough love to give? Other things to live for than a husband, though I do so very much want to have kids.

When I realized I was no longer a promising debutante cub but another single Black woman with a good job and Mexican blood, I didn’t change anything but my investment strategies. Seems like I’ll be winning bread for all of us in my family. I am head of household, even if it’s just me in reality.

The law states, if I am unmarried, I am single. I am with him, happily, but I do bad all by myself. Still, I rarely wake up alone. I run these streets because of this Gypsy blood naturally coursing through me. But I am still a woman. When steady prayers are pushing up the Sun in the morning time, I like to be held.

A typical day in my life unfolds this way, with me successfully climbing up the ladder single-handedly. I had to put out the weed and take a sip of my black coffee, check some shit off of my Blackberry, think about him again and then drift back to business. Before lunch, I reach behind the passenger seat, and find the Dolce Gabbanas somewhere in the backseat, what the fuck did I come to this store for though? Making me think about those damn kids again. And then I breathe and I pray. That’s me on my typical day.

The single women of color in this world, they raise the daughters and they surely love the sons, naturally because it’s a cultural thing and that’s all the rage and ritual, tradition in a broken home. Isn’t that the way familial love goes? Mother Africa raped and mined for diamonds and gold.

The females in my pack showed me throughout their lifetime interactions, thoughts, feelings and misunderstandings, realizations and regrets, a reverence and fear of control. Power and wealth. Trust, joy and love. They said many words and did many other things that cannot be described with words by me succinctly. But I was listening. And because of them, I may not take a husband, but I will succeed.

On our coat of arms, I would use only two pictures. A lion for my mother’s side and an olive branch for my paternal grandmother’s life, which she spent in love, isolated from her parents. She changed nations and Gods to marry my father’s father. She told me in the end it was worth it, but she would have liked to see her mother again before they sat side by side together in heaven. They are both waiting for me on the other side of the fence marred with skull and cross bones, myrrh and incense. Alongside the others, watching over our single children or often times, our childless homes.

In time, sons marry unrelated wives and husbands expire or otherwise come to pass. The three men that end up mattering the most in your life are Jesus, a good lawyer and a good accountant, and can now also be women. So there you have it.

If I ever come to the conclusion that I need to breed a millionaire, I’ll pray for a daughter. I’ll tell her the things that I have always heard while being bred by single women to become Queen. Though inadvertently, through my eyes, she has already heard everything. I rub my flat stomach daily and only speak apologies to my womb. I am forgiven.

11/2011

jc

Love & Pride/Mother Nature, Father Time (the sun and moon story) December 15, 2011

I am a leo lioness. Look at how prettily I move. My coat is rather silky and my skin is remarkably smooth. I roll around a lot in dirt and I like to lick things before I eat them. I like to tease and play and though my teeth are sharp, I bite other animals to show that I care. I prance around issues when I want things resolved. After I get what I want, I run away. I can always misbehave. I set the standard on being bad. I make everyone mad. I make sure everyone eats first by always volunteering to eat last. And in return, everyone makes sure I am slow to sink into a sour mood. You can do that when you’re high up. When you watch over people, you bow down to no one. It’s just like the Sun said:

Accept the Kingdom in the sky because that’s where you fit in. That’s where you’re most comfortable, in the lead, in the ruler’s seat. But for now, with your foolish pride, leo lioness, please take command of my Earth. They need someone stubborn like you to rule over it. And they need someone with the absolute courage to be fair. Don’t worry about resistance. The freedom of choice will always be there. Whomever shall choose to stand against you is a fool, for I am forever on your side. All of you will be born in the summertime because my magic marks the air in that season of fire. If I didn’t want you to use something, I wouldn’t have put it there for a reason. Mother Nature is most assuredly a bitch, and it will all catch up with you in Father Time.

You’ll all have the most beautiful eyes because you’re going to see some pretty ugly things. It’s going to be harder for you to follow than it is for you to lead. You are born with it, well equipped to have it all. People will want to fight you for this. Just open up your mouth and use your proud voice to ask for an assist. Somewhere deep inside of you, you’ll begin feel your deep roar awakening. And when the right moment is upon you, you’ll know what to use it for. There is nothing else in this world quite like you but you are not the only one. You make it look easy and you’ll make it look fun.

Underneath the Sun, the women tend to do more work than the men could ever hope to. This has always been the case, it has always been true. The men stay in one place until they kill what the lioness has stalked to death, I pray. They always want to own things, men. Like how the Moon wanted to own the Sun. He thought he would show the world how much he truly loved her only son. And at night when she’s away sleeping, he sheds light on everyone. To show the Earth how beautiful she is, in comparison to how insignificant he is. She told him thank you before the light could change to dark. Now I can always see my son’s shadow right behind me. Father Time made a deal with the devil. The lions sealed it shut underneath a full blue moon. The Sun rose to the occasion the next morning and it was not a minute too soon. He did it to keep her happy. To get her the things that she liked. He did it so he would be useful to her for the rest of her natural born life. They needed each other plainly. Now his son is born again. This is right after he dies for love. And his family is eternally proud of him.

His mother acknowledges him daily and she is faithfully on his side. But she loves him simply too much. Mother makes excuses, like evolution to help him grow up. She makes the world spin on all its axes on good news of her miraculous son. Icarus had an innocent crush on his mother, and once attempted to tell her so. But the jealous Moon drowned him in the sea for riding a forbidden love note that no one else was meant to see before noon. During the daytime she is slightly inclined to bring joy and peace to everyone. Though declaration of war is just about the only way to passionately show good will to men of faith on Earth. When darkness falls, Father Time is there with his back turned and unspeakable things do happen. They call this the bewitching hour, when the Moon is as important as the Sun is always in fashion. That is, until everyone decides it is time to wake up. And as his son does attempt to grow, he needs the Sun’s light and ignores the call of his nature, the foolish Moon. Accept food for thought, the son and the Moon both reflect the undeniable light of the Sun. And on everyone, she has said,

Do exactly as your father says, and not everything that you see him do. He is hanging around you tenaciously, because my love is all encompassing around you. He is not guarding this planet so much as he is protecting me from you. My love, I sent the centaurs in pages, translated by sages to warn you about love and life. Look for truth in the stars or find me in nature’s obviously violent plight. The old sea-goat told you about my affair with the Moon and his pride, because all horned animals are jackholes. Other than that, my love, there is no reason at all for the things that we do in spite. My only son, I stay where I am ever burning eternally because I love you far past the night.

A never ending cycle is the timeline. For when the son took a wife, he made a side deal with the devil, too, just like his father and mine. And so he promised her forever when he had no time at all to give. Now she will lose her wings for the chance to freely fall in love. When it gets really scary, men they get so confused. Their need to destroy things, their need to recreate things, futile, there is no life on the Moon. Man is always looking for his mother. Always idolizing time. She is thereby put on a schedule to make it easier for human kind. And whenever he misses his mother, his she is put up on a pedestal. This is the greatest season for falling for love, so far foretold. When the lions are born, the creative self is actualized wrong. This is called the Sun’s season when the days are made to seem long. The Sun is reluctant to set. And everyday for thirty-three days, the Sun shines at its brightest, yet.

There’s a pregnant fullness in the air. There is not a hint of care in the world when the summer’s time is here. The surface of the Earth is hot like fire, but man didn’t invent or discover the Sun. His wife, hard to lie to directly, is definitively made from her. A gift to him especially made for him from his absent father. He will destroy the world for her and his ego, though this in theory crushes his mother. Still, his father remains silent in the late hours of the night so as not to disturb the boy’s mother. And then he disappears when it is time to till and toil the lands by day’s light. Where lies are aired out freely like laundry drying in the delicious sunshine. No longer hidden by the darkness of the midnight, the Moon shines his brightest at night. He made a deal with the devil, regardless of her, to make her his natural wife. The wife then bears the man a prophetic child. And once again the man misses his mother and makes a sundial. So the other village women raise the child until the last supper is warmly served. When the story gets retold the women are all saints, but at first, are all sinners and whores. Because he can’t hear his mother, he now misses his silent father. But he refuses to tell her no. The men are seated at the head of dinner table but the lioness must have arms on her chair. To celebrate the sometimes nice weather, we are all put in this place scattered to know how to get, together. When Mother Nature is taking control of the Moon, it turns an amazing shade of cobalt blue. And no one feeds the lazy lion in reality because no one really needs to.   

The Moon knows one day her son will die, and when she is not looking at her son through her husband’s jaded eyes, she is somewhere else dividing her precious time. The Moon always says of the Sun.

I am just like my only begotten son, when you need me I feel important. Now everyone needs you because my Universe, you are the magnificent Sun. I killed me and you for eternal love. My God, what have I done.

She told him,

I stay still and still you run. You do this in front of our children. What else do you think they’ll become. My Earth’s Moon. I do need you. Please shine for me, brightly.

Now for man, this is enough. In sorrow, they dominate with their powerful structure and their mental sprite. Women are vaster period, but on Earth, the men are told that they are the ones that have all the might. The Moon is sad looking almost all of the time knowing every day his wife will outlive her children and become a widowed wife. They miss each other twice a day each time by a very small window. Sometimes they make love together when the Sun is setting gently on a foreign beach. Or in the desert in the middle of waves reflecting her sun’s rays uneven on hot white sand. Twice a day they vowed to meet anywhere they can. When she sets her son to sleep and kisses him awake. And when she is coming home and he is beginning to see the light and walk away. The lion’s pride is just like that. We are put on this earth to mirror that doubled catch. You pay for greed with too much too handle, lions with the biggest mane take over the sun-soaked land and overheat, careful not to disrupt the balance and overeat. They say we can’t live forever, but we have already eaten the apple. That’s what you do for love.

Love is at the center of the Universe, Mother Earth and Father Time are amongst them. Because I give all of my energy to them I am the source, I am the Sun. All he did was give me what I wanted, which was a magnanimous son. We are proud parents when our children take the time to thank us daily. If they say thank you at all, make it to 30 without blaming their mother for it all. For the gift we gave up life for love. We gave them a garden to be safe in, but they wanted the same thing as he and his father in the end. To fall in love with a girl just like the girl that married dear old dad. Fate is scripted but unplanned. They ran away to be together in the afterlife. Where they were once and for all declared man and wife. She offered him something to eat and so why would he have to think about it twice. After his mother had warned him, and just like his father did, he promised to give her life. He gave of him and created her, and he gave to her eternal life. When he gave it to her with no time existing, hoping seven days would last forever. Her other lover is stormy weather. Which no man can control at any given time.

Women hunt to kill by nature to feed their families, bellies full. Constant sunlight is needed and hard to bear. Men fight to the death to protect or expand their home. By moonlight wolves travel in packs and roam. There are other children around, Earth is of the Sun. The Sun has other lovers, and makes love to everyone. They are eternally separated because of the devil’s pride. Each day with the rising of the Sun, the Moon hides what he truly loves from everyone.

4/2010

jc

Never/Again (always) December 15, 2011

when i think of you, i’ll smile. always. does that sound better than me telling you, i love you. i always will. your memory is the sweetest thing that never happened to me in my past. or maybe even in the future. but then is now, and now is then. i looked at our love in the mirror today, and the sparkle had indeed faded away. you said it would. i didn’t believe you because you said it so unconvincingly. but you were right.

i never noticed it until today, that it wasn’t going to stay the same forever. but i smiled at myself in the mirror anyway. i always do. i adore the look on my face after i catch myself thinking about you. it would be different, perhaps, if i wanted to change things. for now, i remain inconsiderate of things i wish to keep next to me. always.

again i’m forced to deal with defeat. that unfamiliar land of denial located sharply to the east of reality. i remember loving you so hard, until my hands clutching a silver rosary would begin to hurt. his name always preceded yours, lord let him love me one day past my pain. let me advance and gain and i promise never again will i play this game. he knew then that i was lying right through my teeth.

they say that i exude sex and that i take in competitive breaths. never falling flat on my face because i think soundly. my thoughts are often so heavy, silently, there is too much placed on my back to carry me alone to safety. you became me, uninterested in losing anything. refusing to budge no matter how hard i pulled. you pushed the line defiantly and i couldn’t see any of my supporters following behind me. it was never a game, yet i felt myself winning just the same. it turned out not to be anything. what i thought to be my everything eventually turned into mud. even my salty tears.

what was once worthless emotion became privately cherished devotion. and instead of giving in, i let that fearful part of me char to perish. and now i know, over the next few years, whenever the world decides to throw me a curve ball, i’ll catch them all subsequently. i will probably be juggling too many balls in front of a studio audience, just like a damned fool. and i will tell them all that i still believe in you. i do. i won’t get tired of playing one game after another to keep my hands on you. i’ve got my good lion eye on you. i’ll never tire of working hard for you. or of working harder to keep you happy. and when i need to, i’ll think about you as someone i can never let down. i wish to support you, always. when i need you, and i’ll always need you, i’ll think of you as the challenge my creator of love is throwing my way. i love a challenge, i am always up for a debate.

you are much like the feeling of success and the color of all my cooked food. all i see in you is a white flag waving over our home. not the sign of retreat, but the call from the wild to go home. the insignia bares lots of meaningful symbols, the words welcome inscribed in several languages, both reader and signer beware. i won’t keep saying you broke my heart. you actually healed it. i thank you for that. you didn’t break my heart. you helped the world heal it. i was going through life, my dear, and you let me left field it. you helped me get through this. i needed you so, so much. how much, i know you’ll never be able to know, but i know you felt it. i hope you did.

like fire blankets in the storm, like scrambled eggs in fried brown rice, you got me through the winter season alright and under budget, creatively. the bottom line is ultimately important to me. you did that for me, you let me lose to you, graciously making room for me to really love me. and i’ll never, ever forget you. never again. always.

10/2010

jc

After The Fall/Untitled (babble on) December 15, 2011

i wish that i could walk away as quickly as my feelings do tend to change. ’cause everything is all out of sorts now and i feel the way i did when i didn’t love you anymore. but i love you a lot more now. in a serious way this time. i knew you better when i didn’t know you at all. after the love, and after the fall. i wanna go home, i have to stay away…

they say that love does these things to you to temper your soul beautiful, and i know i should just get up and leave. there’s the door and i am holding onto my own set of keys. i keep on screaming, gypsy, gypsy! check your pockets, please, because i’ve overstuffed them and then picked them twice. forgive me. please forgive me. just don’t forget me. i wish that you loved me. more than that, i wish that you would declare your allegiance to me.

all of these lovely scars that you gave my heart unintentionally are very pretty to me, though they feel sorely infected with toxicity. meanwhile, i’m still me. floating dangerously along to the next scene. love is not pain. but beauty is pain. pain is quite beautiful, but nothing holds beauty quite like love does after the rain. i can understand everything, accept all of that.

my heart won. you can keep the man. i don’t want any parts of him. i just love him wholly. i still blood lust after him and have always mistrusted his role in this. i just didn’t want to take an L… i stopped tryna rewrite the script for me and him and the eventual win. i learned in the end, i was always gonna fade to black. there’s no way to take drinking poison back. i did that to hurt the enemy. the she i didn’t recognize in the mirror smiling through tears back at me. how you said no to me, the whole fear of rejection thing.

i wanted to claw your fucking eyes out. instead, i took a deep breath and smiled. this, a long line of mini-actions needed to accept the truth is how one conquers the defeat of denial. i can’t make you love me and you didn’t ask for me to stalk you to death. you are what you hunt, though i eat processed food for health. i cant believe you did that thing to me. i did whatever i could stand to do at the time to hurt you. but it only hurt me. the poison i drink to displace my pain, it only hurts me. it won’t even numb my brain, which is so fucking brilliant, i can’t even be declared insane. so no premeditated murderous thoughts flood my brain. only the realization that you are killing the old me. but i forget loving you deliberately, as you are forgiven, i forgive me.

i am too fucking smart for my own well being. i’ve stooped to the level of hiding matches behind my back, licking sticky honey off of my fingers before i decide what else i can snatch. i will always want what i can’t have. the problem in that being, there is nothing that i can’t have. i will tell the world this unbelievable truth because who can tell me anything stranger than that of my own convictions? on my honor, on my mantle, i got accolades, i got proof. i spend too much down time looking in the mirror at a woman with bad decision making abilities and no little nicky. these fucking days, i welcome the disgrace. i’m not ashamed, i’m just truly amazed it went this far. i should have aimed for the stars.

the fucking moon can go to hell for all i care. for all, i care. i fucking care! is there any way i can still show my face? can i possibly ever save face?  i showed my entire asshole and pretended it was a window of opportunity. will they build me a statue and tell their kids that i was kind of a good person? a little bit decent and a lottle bit crazy. and very passionate. can’t i pay for salvation? why can’t i pay for my own salvation.

with my best friend in my ear telling me the new ending where i don’t get him in the end but he really misses me. the new princess dream and she reads me this fairy tale every morning before i go to sleep. so i can walk away unafraid. so i can save my pride, tell me why, then swear he will miss me. all of me. my sweet scent, my heartbeat and all of the good stuff in between bad. a peanut butter and jelly sandwich compliment wrapped up in a clear plastic bag.

i know this much, they will pay for this mess. all of them. for all of this, even on extended credit, i’m overspent. i wish i could hate her, the other woman, but i really can’t. i wanna buy her something expensive and sexy and i have a fucking problem with not being openly admired and publicly scorned. i aspire to be a well-liked queen. i wish they would all just give in already. i don’t want to just win and i cant be bothered with keeping up with friends. and if they lose, i lose but if i win, they win, so. i just need to be in control. that’s how you know this bullshit is simply all out of my control. i hardly even care anymore. as usual, i was over it before i showed up three hours late for it. i just need a golden statue, an inscribed, embossed invitation and maybe a memorial dedicated to me of some sort. and maybe even a building named after me for fucks sake. why is it so fucking hard to fight for peace?

when the tower built by deceit does fall and crumble to pieces, i’ll still be holding on to the fifth ace up my sleeve. this gives me the right to fall in love with unimportant men with the potential to make mathematical common sense out of them. i can’t personally understand any of them, being poor in imagination and with their lack of physical manifestations, i feel compelled to give them my all of false feelings of desperation. they are often misinterpreted, still i talk to them through unspoken dreams coming true. jesus, i am sacrificing myself to save you. and now it is they who are stalking me, awake even in my sleep.

11/2011

jc

 

Jolly Roger/Captivity (i,i) December 14, 2011

I need love, and so instead of waiting for the Universe to deliver it to me like I know it will, I am constantly trying to manipulate the situation upper-handed and tight-lipped. I think constantly in these theta waves to turn the tide and shades to my favorite waves of color. The rivers of my life, they all flow into a thirsty ocean, never full, never spent. But when there are two captains behind the wheel, very rarely will the ship ever flow smoothly.

There are these naturally treacherous ebbs and flows of nature and willpower for us to navigate delicately through the love of our lives. This must be aligned with the greater good and the ever all encompassing. But when dealing with something as vast as the sea, one thought can get lost. Forever. Until they choose to be a part of a family living on solid land, stalemates are formed above board. Everybody knows how to play their role instinctively. This feels just like forgetting to breathe and drowning. I tell my crew to just go with the flow, you know? If you’re with me, I’ll know you by heart.

Some people say that Earth is very special because Saturn has many moons. I have already convinced you to hang around our planet moving destiny alongside pain. Glimpsing the sky as if it were my personal duvet covering only me softly at night. I watch you in suspense, and I am held fully captivated by the moon. You respond to them all by controlling our emotional seas while I tend to our bloody wounds. Death rides a white horse too, so eventually, whether we find true romantic love or keep kissing frogs on the lips for fun, we will all be saved. Stop rushing me, please. You took the wind right out of my sails, remember? So I will get there when I get there.

The captain goes down with her ship. Calico Jack invited his lover Anne to die with him in sin aboard ship. Surely this captain will drown on her sinking ship with the words I love you dripping from her full lips. The captain will blindly follow the dim light of the North Star. Nobody knows where we really are unless we’ve been there before. So when I tell you to get lost, I, I, really mean for you to come home.

11/2011

jc

Open Invitation/The Gypsy Chronicles (gratitude & gratuity) October 12, 2011

i fully support, “don’t steal the jacket!” a film by the fabulous bruce weber.

i am writing this dreaming of this winter i’ll spend in my moncler coat.

thievery has little to do with stealing, you see.

it is success that truly defines the thief.

this is why stealing is a sin, while thievery is quite the lucrative profession.

it is in getting away with a thing that we come to understand the fool role that a gypsy plays in the act of acquiring.

gypsies give away everything and anything we need and we receive in return money and other nice things for free.

sometimes for a bargain, we even trade at a discount everything.

gratitude, gratuity…

we don’t steal. we don’t take other people’s things.

all of these lovely things you see us surrounded by luxury, all of these things are just a given to me.

we are not thieves.

it is to us that you bring your attention to the fact that we simply keep on getting away with everything that we touch.

(the golden, minus touch).

if you want to know the secret on how gypsies kept getting mistook for thieves back a couple thousand pages, keep on reading.

keep on reading anything and everything and in between turning tables, turning pages, take notes please. 

believe you me, this life lesson is a gift and a blessing from me myself, the gypsy queen, to you and yours, for free.

open sesame, please. the magic words we use always work like golden keys.

i don’t want to steal anything away from you because i am not a thief.

i am a passionate lover and i am an ardent fighter, to many souls a mother, but i am not a common thief.

haven’t you ever heard of the term “gypsilante?” i mean sure, i take a lot of things for granted,

but granted, it is all because i am verily blessed and ever so thankful, and so accordingly i am very well granted by the physical manifestation of my many things on this physical plane.

i am relatively young in age and i am very wise in deed; unimaginably wise and profoundly naive.

it’s as if i was mindfully aged in barrels of wine, protected from the stench of humans pretending to be part of mankind.

i was born verbally adept at a complex language made up of masters and slaves meant to contain the body and trap the mind.

my people move like voices in the wind.

gently with great will and a plan, overtaking time. i have grown mentally stronger, intellectually i am in my prime.

that is why, even though the story is so, so old, it only gets better with time.

in the background there should be music playing. bracelets jingling, alarm bells ringing.

people whispering, smoke alarms filtering right through water-tight relations and airy thoughts.

animal-skin drums and pumpkin-fat gourds calling people once scattered to reappear before the flame.

and once more, the people are falling in love with the story and the storyteller.

again and again.

and the storyteller went which a way? wait. what did she just say? did you hear her leave.

now where did she go? now just where could she have disappeared?

“who is she?” 

“she was most welcomed. i remember that much.”

“i miss her.”

“did you hear that?”

yes, no.

“that’s strange, i thought i heard you say something back to me. didn’t you just say something to me?”

“no, i didn’t say anything.”  

i felt something.

open sesame, she replies to the gracious gypsy queen after making everyone remove everything unpleasing to the naked eye.

underneath the blanket of a night blue sky, lies a bed of roses painted red to my liking, planted deep in city park surfaces, set upon roundabouts made to feel like home.

so i say no thank you to major crossroads and bring bowls of warm food whenever i am told to cross underneath another threshold.

i can and i will roam across my country in my caravan. i carry around big designer bags and i openly hang around the tag-alongs, open mouthed begging to be fed.

i am comfortable everywhere i am, especially in my own skin, sitting in high-backed chairs, thrones are set out before me.

i belong to the earth and it all belongs to me.

so you see, it is quite foolish and nearly impossible to liken a gypsy to a thief, all because we receive things.

it will always be true that everything is everything.

and because sometimes everything comes up missing the very next day, they tend to gossip and say that we are nothing but thieves.

i simply give what i can and in the balance, i take away any of the remaining negative energy (like the sun).

i am very resourceful.

i will tell you all that i know, and i will gladly give to you all that i have, and i will give to you, all of you, simply because i can.

so i get away with it all, sometimes when you really, really needed it. other times whether or not you really asked for it.

i will say thank you after i give to you something, and most certainly after you give to me a thing. 

and i give and i give because i am very thankful.

and then you take and you take away from me, and you thoughtlessly say, ‘thank you’, to me.

and this well pleases me enough to look and act just like my zodiac representative, the fat cat.

when i receive considering how much i can take, i look as guilty as an aristocrat.

and you look after me after the fact, as if i have stolen something close to your heart.

that magical moment of gratuity that exists only between you and me.

i am not a thief.

and then i give, and i give again and then i repeat. i give, and i give more and more of me, and then i receive.

i receive just about everything.

in this hear world, our words mean just about everything, mathematics prove that nothing is really real but our energies.

so speak from the heart whatever you wish to will into existence.

i have given you before all that you have now, and in turn, you will when you can give to me all that i have.

and through this established reciprocity, the blessed relationship between a giver and a taker is born.

and as the patterns of my past show, sewn with hope and gold threads on a purple robe, i am ever so very thankful.

really i am.

incidents have been reported, characters then ill-refuted, but i have stolen no thing but a minuscule moment.

time does not truly exist. (remember this mostly).

this happiness that i feel is close to pure bliss whenever i give, whenever someone opens up something from me that for them, i have chosen to give as a gift.

and i, as a gypsy, steal absolutely nothing, not a thing, but give away everything that i have in order to feel free.

(don’t you see?)

beautiful things. rare and exotic strains and breeds. hard to fence objects de arte display such safe harbors of usefulness in our hearts.

the truth is, there is no real need for these beautiful things. it is never requested, never expected, never so much as demanded of me.

our gratitude, gratuity, a fee.

every night, i renounce everything. i can and i will walk away from everything.

i am not materialistic. i am not a petty thief.

gratitude is a gypsy’s preferred trick or treat. but a smile, well a smile is certainly always for free.

chivalrous thievery shielded by the true nature of people born of a love that is both divine and personal, favored by both venus and pluto.

a person will tell you thank you and they will smile prettily for you.

and you should respond to them that it is nothing. say it very politely.

you can also tell them to think nothing of it. repetar, de nada. say it politely.

it is my pleasure to serve you.

and this person will give back to you something because you have been kind to them.

give is an action word and actions must be returned (a simple law of this known universe).

and the secret is to say to this party in return,

“thank you.”

and you better mean it, you know. 

breathe deeply before hand and say each word from your heart. speak from your memory, never plan a speech before you start.

if you are focused and ready or a gypsy, they will respond to you in a typical fashion, “you are welcome.”

and in that moment, the safe cracks open.

i always hear it said to me, “you are most welcome.” this especially endears them to me.

i am also always told that i am more than welcome to stay and return before i am really to leave a place.

i personally respond to people, “you are quite welcome,” quite often.

and so it is done. you are cordially invited.

like magic, these four words open minds for me, like mines with keys, golden thoughts received.

open sesame.

(do not show up empty-handed unless you are the guest of honor).

10/2011

jc

Stir Crazy/Gem & I (the sun and moon story) September 22, 2011

I would color you a fluorescent to capture the electricity and the fluidity of your movement. Peace waged, never be still. Thoughts and thoughts swirling around and moving sharply like a steady stream of light. Though you move through your thoughts, fast, so fast, very quickly, you are solid to me, like a dense liquid. You affect the temperature in any room and determine the correct amount of pressure to apply to every wound. Depending on what you have in my mind, you make it cool off or heat up fast with words that can melt a heart to stone or burn a soul alive. You have this beautifully thick skin and blood-red pigment in your venomous, sensually shaped lips that can best be described as vermillion orange fiery red. What happens when you decide to combine your thoughts with gold dust from a gold mind? That’s what this is all about. You are supposed to pick things up quickly, which means you need both hands to let these same things go. There was never a right time to say goodbye to him or me. And so your feet and your soul were made to do things like lead with one foot behind you, while the other one already claims the shadow side, outside of the door. Feel free to, you can run away with time. Now on the count of three, wave goodbye to me and let go of the Universal mystery.

Too much mercury in the bloodstream drives you crazy. I know this for sure. If you’re trying to find out just ask me. If you want to drive yourself slowly, maddeningly stir crazy, then try to fully understand the other half of people who are from Mercury. They all have like, two, three and four sides to them. They talk in these beautifully constructive concentric circles that form an infinity sign and find their identity around what you haven’t already figured out yet. They move ahead of your plans for tomorrow to advance. Most people think that they are emotionless because they are so shallow but they are all quite sensitive. And intuitively know to hide this from you. Mercury does not look as dangerous as it is in any form. Lucky, them. The way we are willing to shove thermometers in our mouths, with the vials filled with poison. We trust it then, we have confidence in them. Or should I say, whatever they say, they convince you to do such and such a thing. All of them with these different kinda happiness smiles, maniacal and exacting, all of them are to die for. Like diamonds, these Gemini twins come in pairs of men and women that act like grown up little kids. They positively sparkle like gems. The thing about gems is, people fight over them and create elaborate plots to steal them and society’s elite and occult can’t help but to covet them. They make possessions out of them. People true to their natures, try to bury these gems all because of the fact that they shine so brightly. Nobody needs those types of distractions around them on their journey going up or down. But gems always know how to make their way from the dark to the light.

Brightest Night/Darkest Day (the sun and moon story) August 3, 2011

I have to be alone, in front of a mirror, to really sit and think about things. I do this quite often, and regrettably others categorize me as vain. They’d be closer to the mark if they thought me insane. I am completely out of my mind on what could be considered a good day. It’s not what you think I think it is. I like to see my reflection as it changes character and emotions. After a dream or a nightmare and a prayer, you are the first thought of each day. I rarely dream of you anymore, so I stay awake quite often for days, trying to avoid replaying the Sun setting over the final scenes. If I could just suspend your memory between now and the next sunrise, we’ll make it. I know we will. I want to burn through the next pages that don’t include me and you. I would do anything to change that ending that seems to show no sign of ever coming, even destroy us. I would give us life, only to burn down our home, all because it may have seemed like a good idea to me at the time. A gut feeling is godly.

Maybe I was numbing pain that day, diplomatically drinking wine, telling a story passionately to save a life. I told someone else about you, I make up stories about me and you. Me the Sun and you, the Moon. It always happens this way, never quite the same way, but it always happens to me. The next day comes and I’ve just moved along, except i’m really in the same place. My feelings have changed. And then you still move along, like we both accept the retrograded movements. The Sun and the Moon thusly declare war on each other’s time, like each one of them knows exactly what it is they’re doing to each other. They can’t help but to attract and repel each other. It’s how they find each other. They already vaguely understand each other. They are the only lights in the universe, so they need each other. She is his opposite. Her polarity is positive, and so their attraction raw, at times, backwards and strangely dependent on psychologically waged, mentally envisioned, emotional warfare. They move independently of each other, in spite of and because of each other. Still, I can’t say that the Moon truly exhibits an orbits around the Sun mentality. He’s not the like the other planets. I don’t think he really feels her pull, rather, he lowers himself to man’s opinion of it, and then rotates himself to be somewhere around his pentacle Earth home, which happens to revolve around me. This has something to do with greek mythology, religious sciences, the devil and the law of gravity, I’m sure of it, but can’t prove a thing.