S.B.T. 366

stretch

you're holding your face too tight, miss lee whispered

scent of jasmine breezing past 

one won

ders if a compassion like that could be

organic or occupational 

or thespian - sigh, 

2013 is the year of expectations and so 

in yoga-ing whatever

i want to 

pass past 

threads treads

   thru a sieve

see if any residue will burn 

like incense or like coal

and it's a fluid backbone i'm after

to bend in skins and breathe exhaling 
more-ons and less-ons

for goodness sake

and a back ache

happy 2013! yay!

S.B.T. 365

why she left japan

"isn't it the rest of the world, not me, that is so stupid all the time? 

forget it, it's so crazy, so i did 

this 

and that 

and the other thing" 

an overlong story follows

my communication style 

a tender mix of culture, perception and past experience

apologetic fastfood salad somewhat healthy served through a window,

driving away, a prim white bag crinkled on the chassey,

the headlights beam on shiny sparkles in the road, dew-kissed diamonds 

set in coaltar a nourishing resin of mother's womb over silver wiring

carefully hammered 

hexagonal treads

embossments

"since diamond is extremely dense, shouldn't it be used for making windows and bridges? can anyone please just invent something that percolates perlicates replicates diamond?  sheesh-b'geezuss (and other not so pretty words)" spoken doe-eyed and convincingly

ribbon curls of dark hair hold her face in a tilted frame, her chicago russian lips and the sounds that come out of them - the way they create an abstract sculpture-in-motion to zero in upon as they speak with their story while they are the story.

mobile statuary not like miro, a marble madonna from the vatican in a tiny apartment  .

yonder marly kurosaki, jamaican on the maternal side and son of a highborn though fallen educated man whose clan lives in the country up north where there isn't a lot of public transportation.

"2 begin with i had a defensive bias on numerous issues related to city/countryside pros and cons and went over the list several times but i moved with him anyway and then deliciously engineered another spectacular disaster that i couldn't be blamed for, my usual 'i love lucy on overdrive' sort of escapade for the 21st century"

'if i can get back to tokyo

all-of-a-sudden-fast and take refuge

with the bf, and or the other guy

find another job teaching

english, baseball, nature, fingerpainting

(a bruised exotic fruit in a polyglass bowl)

this kind of s**t happens a lot'

"i just havent gotten it yet even though i know

 these things are importantly interwoven i still

can't see how anyone would resist twisting the threads

of fate

for -  i dunno -  a good glass of champagne or something

like a bathtub full of it maybe haha

ha ha ha

"i'm thinking about going to law school," she says about midway into the story. a gold threaded tassle, tossed to drift and swirl in slow motion over her dramatic soliloquy full of vibrant spirit and too smart,  an acceptance and pisshurt cocktail is served throughout and all in all, remarkable.

"i couldnt even get a bed in shinjuku" she laughed so in a blink and because his mother was driving her nuts about certain charms the old geisha section had abandoned, and her own mother was calling her overly often about the tsunami even though she was hundreds of miles away from where it happened,

she packed up, left her furniture, and got on a plane the next day

she left japan

S.B.T. 364

some ideas shoot like comets 
you cannot miss them the burst is sudden
and the tail long  
with forever arc memory - 
but they sweep the atmosphere
in just a few seconds

people still talk about when halley came in 1910


 

S.B.T. 363

Holiday Mood 

- Music by The Apples In Stereo -

animation by tipota

S.B.T. 362

north south east and/or west

you can do it, 

i tell myself 

while in black and white

a peter lawford 

scene

is centered 

on the screen
frrrossssty

pinacolada,

sweet and tasty 

nice and mean

(jewelled luxury
in the chatter

morrison-huxley-

yes, no 
matter...)

S.B.T. 361

activate

"just click there'" he says, pointing to a yellow banner. ear to ear we sit, the screen is oversize, it's 'buddy system' in more ways than one. partly because we have our feet here and our brains elsewhere. and partly because the more the merrier, two can eat as cheaply as one, and so on. one person combing their hair is one thing, two doing the same is entirely different

'masked and anonymous' is on tv in the next room, but as i said, we aren't in the real world any more, so here we are. and this thing is all about binaural beats, and brainwave entrainment, and it is being offered for free. hmmm. but what the heck, i want to see what it is, so i click.

a space with the phrase 'enter full name' above materializes. it feels weird but i enter the name. it feels peculiar, like i'm signing a paper that drafts me into the navy or something. most of the time you can type in a nickname but this one wants the full scroll stretched out. now, in the navy, i'm commissioned to do highly sensitive data retrieval, and I have to deliver these proprietary materials to uberpowerful luminaries whose names I can't repeat or I will be dismissed. from the planet, i mean. because it's too easy for them to get away with murder or whatever. it's midnight on a bridge in the valley. the moon shines over the river. i hold my camera up close to my trenchcoat, and ask that "i wonder who else is looking at the moon?" question, but only in my head because if a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, did it really fall? ha what a question. a surefire A-plus on the test if they're all that way. a question even squirrels and night birds could answer if you knew how to ask. this is an example of what the space of perception has in store when you have a job like mine, a navy-data-liaison job. there are stakeouts on lonely bridges and docks, in random parking lots and isolated warehouses always on the blackest echoing nights 

below that bar is another required info box with a "your primary email address here" salutation. this is really getting bizarre. cuz that is like a repeat of all that i just typed. and it's also an affirmation of identity. the same accident rarely happens twice, statistically, to one individual that is. i mean forget about war and politics. this is just me here, with my buddy, acting as one. we are giving up the ghost, we are entering a mysterious realm, we are stuck on the top of the ferris wheel in a little red swinging bucket

blink. 

"Thank you!" it says "You will be receiving a confirmation email. Please check your mailbox shortly."

damn creepy if you ask me. which you didnt.

S.B.T. 360

mint chips

"just hope everything is ok" she said sweetly smiling, glancing downward. 

the cash drawer pings open, "a typical spring-loaded function," i thought, as she wrapped my 'all natural' bittersweet chocolate bar in brown paper. as if anything could possibly be unnatural. 

inside the drawer, rumpled and flattened in dark corridors the cash is segregated by denomination, separated by walls. the hundred dollar bill, benjamin greenback, cries out to his son, "50 clams bill! where are you son?" "i'm here, pap! i'm ok, the restraining bar is loose. there's just two of us in here, me and this guy jack" "i'm alone here, son, i'm fine too, i just wish we could be together" and so on, all the way down to tiny wailing baby dollars. squeezed together like sardines, shoved thoughtlessly into seedy orphan housing, never seeing their mothers again. and they are given new names, such as 'buck' and 'moolah'. a 20 dollar bill is almost always a mother with at least one teenager in the house and a few toddlers.

she has to make dreadful sacrifices every day.

the change boxes at front are jingling. house pets and roaming creatures. it's tragic.

what a system, i thought. inside a child's piggy bank, a money clan can stay for years in familial commune, until the walls crack open one day, and someone ends up in another drawer, at a candy store with a bunch of strangers, crammed together in a temporary holding bin. sometimes they are jailed, without any offense, in locked boxes in a vault. it's terrible the way it happens. and nobody even cares.

"oh yes, it's fine, i mean the chocolate-covered samples were wonderful. mint chips. pineapple. coconut. all very tasty, thanks."