homeland strikes

startling this morning.

Readying rope and bent up guitar strings salvaged from last month's trip to Ontario.

Steadily decreasing exposure.

Wrappiong tightly around the last cavernous moment when I lifted the case over the border

expunging delight from the oranges I smuggled back from California.

My time keeps decreasing with certainty.

Like when I spun through the night last year

Like when I over exposed my sister's children to the city streets

Before they had grown any protective skin over their suburban autumn leaf isolation

Trumpet section

So I took the E-string, the sixth and not the first-
And I tied it around my forearm nine times
And tucked it under itself
And let it cut through the circulation.
rumbling red ripping through compressed veins
sitting soaked and undeniably attentive.

On november nights
dark as frost
dessicated last leaves flapping steadfastly on the edges of barren branches
whipping frozen stars
I can still feel the bleacher slats
meat table cold
through the scratch
of the polyester hitched band uniform.
your cheek pressed against mine
cold flash
bloodhot below
And me turning my lips to kiss edge of your lips while you brushed me away.
Lush breath saturating
The quick divide.

Cutting me out in honduras

when I lost the space between us
by telling you that i couldn't be with you in the way that you wanted
you stopped and began to tear
softly coagulating beneath your wide tender cheeks
that were scented like cherry honey
but I felt nothing
as much as I wanted
and only a week later was I gutted when I knew that I lost you
I wasn't ready yet to lose you
not ready for us to cut sharp divisions between sleet and overcast
but I couldn't stop you
and I couldn't pull you back beyond me

flat earth theory

the world is flatter than we ate told. we know this because of the way gravity works in the inverse in certain areas of the world. and not like in the amazon, although maybe there too. but in places like massapequa long island, where there is a spot about 3x4 meters. I know this because my cousin found it when we were little and showed it to me. but you might ask, and i might ask as well, what does inverse gravity have to do with flatness of the earth.  well, the earth isn't flat. that's just silly. but the earth is a little flatter than the round perfect sphere that we believe it to be.
here's the connection: when gravity acts in the inverse, it doesn't act as if there is no gravity and you float around a little bit. instead, you 

caterpillar skin

did you know that when caterpillars grow up, they leave behind their shells in perfect working order? its like a caterpillar suit that any insect can step into and take over and become a caterpillar. they have sudden abilities to chew leaves loudly and gross out children (unless of course those children take delight in stomping the caterpillars or blowing them up with firecrackers in a cup. i, of course, never knew those children. nor was i one. but the rumors exist and persist). i wonder what happens when the moth or butterfly or whatever the caterpillar has transformed into suddenly stars its former caterpillar self functioning. can it be in two places at once! does the now butterfly have an instinctual knowledge that oh yes, that's my former self and it goes on without me if another steps into the skin. or is there a sudden moment of self-revelation and reflection about how it is to exist in two forms at once the splitting of the former self. the direction inhabited by another. and what type of other insect would find itself or decide to take over and hide away in the disguise, chomping away and tenting up. or if not hiding away, then the excitement of being a newfound other - exploring the vision and abilities and limitations. after awhile the insect inside the caterpillar skin begins to weave a cocoon and gestate the transformation into the moth or butterfly. then the insect that crawled into the skin becomes a third creature and gets to face the shell of itself that it in habited before. but it never gets to be itself in original form again. 

my walk home.

       I've been busy at work over the past few days.  At least busier than I've been for awhile.  Or at least I've made more of an effort than in awhile to busy myself with the work that I have. Whenever I get busy, I start to lose some regular perspective.  It comes with siting in my head in front of a computer all day without moving around too much.  Lots of brain activity, lots of eye activity, but very little body activity to balance. So when I actually leave in the night, my rolling through the rotating doors and bursting onto the street is a revelation.   
     No matter how many days I go through this, I have the same reaction and almost always let out a loud "Fuck Yeah" when I feel the air hit my face and brain.  My mind reinvigorates, and the pressurized swelling decreases. And I walk. I can take a cab, and do on occasion, but a great pleasure of living only 34 blocks from the office is that I can hoof it home in under 40 minutes.
    Along the way I cruise through the neighborhoods and note the shifts.  The Japanese take-over territory of the East 50s trend with the after-work suits and partying upper eastsiders into the upper 40s with the steak house obese out-of-towners on business and the stragglers heading out to the trains at Grand Central. There's some desolation between Third and Lex around 39th to 44th in the blown out streets littered with corporate salad containers and torn bags. An Irish bar on Third which stinks of stale smoke, pouring off the always ruddy patrons out on the sidewalk.  Random pizza shops that never appear open or are otherwise unnoticeable during the day, suddenly become prominent attractions. I keep going. 
   

making espresso.

steps 1+

roll sleeves. place portafilter into bell. place demitasse underneath. lift lever and let some hot water pour through. lower lever. place cup on base to retain heat. remove portafilter. take .5 steps back and dance for the approximation of 12 seconds. while still slightly gyrating, take paper towel and clean grounds remains from portafilter and spout. place portafilter on base.

steps 2+

turn on grinder and let lingering beans grind out. they have sat for up to 24 hours and can't be trusted to mingle with the beans which have been safely locked away, rolled in a foil bag inside a sealed plastic bag, and living inside a dark cabinet. shake the grinder slightly for a secure check that all beans have been dislodged. take short chopstick (with back and white alternating square chessboard pattern, purchased in a store from a mall attached to the train station in kyoto) and stick it up the spout of the grinder to ensure all remains have been cleared. turn off grinder. place chopstick into grounds metal bin container, which is underneath the spout. take down beans from cabinet and open plastic bag. remove foil bag. unfurl foil bag and shake some beans into the grinder hopper. not too many, but an ample amount approximated for 2 cups of espresso. place bag in any free space available.

ink

summer oh summer oh summer where have you gone
away with the lasting tastes of honey-melon and dewy moon soaked leaves
ragged hair unkempt knotting and grass and weeds like savage sets
yellow smears from black-eyed susans
from smelling much too hard

we went swimming on those nights
in the pond beyond the meadow and broken fence
we were trying to be quiet when we drove down the hardened dirt,
paranoid that someone, anyone would find out about the place
and show up unexpectedly
where we only wanted to be quiet and let go of our clothes
and close our eyes in the dark and be in the tiny space smelling our skin and sweat and dirt
falling half-mostly-asleep with stars lurking overhead and across the horizon
noses in each others arms
lips pressed against ribs
until much too late
until we pushed each other awake against our protesting murmured moans
and rambled
back to your truck
exhausted tumbling over the uneven road
making it home
falling inside
into bed
blanket somewhere else
forgetting to brush our teeth
biting each other instead

Was it Auster or Ames

I went out to Cobble Hill recently to look at an apartment. Actually I went out there that day to check out the street the apartment was on. I was going to check out the apartment the following day. Also, it was a beautiful day and I was hoping to read a bit in cobble hill park and absorb the presence of a few literary minded young females who were always out there. as i was standing on the block in fron tof my potential apartment building, I glimpsed a coveed up figure lurching himself down the street opposite me. immediately i had hte instinct it was Ames. the writer Ames, with whom i was somewhat obsessed. my newest literary hero. i knew he lived in the area, and from a novel of his that he wore sports jackets daily. and the newsboy cap. all in the heat of early june. ao i hougt i'd follow him. i had a raymond chandler book with me--inspired to read through a marlowe story by Ames in his latest novel I finished. The same one with the sports jacket story! I had to tail him. I managed to stay a good 15' beyond him at least. down we went over to clinton from amity and took a left. i stayed close but not too close, a good 15' away. he made it a block or so down amity until he turned into cobble hill park. conveniently, my destination as well.

34th Street

Did you know about the instrument at the 34th St. station - N/R/Q platform? No neither did I. It's what happens when you don't read. Or in this instance when you do read. Or when I read. about the middle of the platform, you can find a small plaque which describes an instrument installation. In a green metallic bay aove your head, embedded into the steel. The bay has a series of opening with sensors inside, so when you pass your hand over the sensors, whatever pre-programmed sound is emitted. The theme is rainforest. I think it was built in the mid-90s when saving the rainforests was still a popular cause.

I haven't heard many people talking about the rainforests in awhile. I guess they're a lower priority. or maybe people just gave up. or the generation concerned with the saving of the rainforests were never able to pass the importance to the next generation. They were busy becoming irate with the gulf war II and the destruction of other people. 9/11 changed alot. the destruction of people by people seems more immediately pertinent than the destruction of trees by people. but each generation has their own causes, their own need to strike their independence from the last generation who fucked everything up somehow and is still fucking everything up. and we get new noise daily. and the media blasting from every conceivable open window.