like diamonds from Chinatown flooding in rivers of despair
A glimpse of light I feel life Heed a warning Before moving on
Was it with merit or foreboding in a mythological way?
Wise old crone the Hermit High Priestess share this cup
It’s a glorious sabbath if marine layer’s your thing
A day to take stock Pay heed to ominous warning
Without playing with dire threat Not just yet
Through the long lens of time ashes strewn so much dust
Disappeared the day you went away Never stay
The pain just won’t Go away Give you up
Your guilt such a snitch Your brain *secret weapon *
of mass instruction play-by-play compunction
a way to go on knowing the truth
The language is designed to be Simple, Small, Flexible and Fast.
“Bretton Woods was a highly politicized system that was prone to crisis and required constant intervention and controls to continue functioning.
“More importantly*, postwar monetary relations were not a salve to political tensions, as is often contended. In fact, the politicization of the global payments system allowed nations to use monetary coercion to achieve political and security ends, causing deep conflicts within the Western Alliance.
“For the first time, Gavin reveals how these rifts dramatically affected U.S. political and military strategy during a dangerous period of the Cold War.”
Today is my 54th birthday. On this day, a Friday in 1965, my mother gave birth to me, the records say, at the Cleveland Clinic in the holy hour (3-4 a.m.).
She was 16, my birth father, 17.
From what I could tell from the “non-identifying” information I was charged $50 for when I was 23,
Seemingly, I had more in common with my father. Height, basketball, class president, a penchant for trains. My mother, who sacrificed a semester to deal with me, was fond of camping and played a musical instrument.
The Children Services letterhead, since the Red Feather agency (I think that was the name) had long since disbanded adding yet another level of erasure to my already amorphous existential origin- the letterhead and contents of this letter are all I have of my heritage, my genealogy, my DNA. Who you would say I am.
Always watched but never seen
Records of our days, cataloged with no sentiment allowed to obscure the meta data (subjective conjecture need not apply) dot the landscape, forming an infinite grid of mortality.
Mortal implies limits, so an infinite grid of solely self-aware beings, our qualia, in particular, not involving anyone or anything else, carries each individual’s uniqueness, believing we are the onliestas our way of coping with the fact that as far as we know, this existence is finite.
I tell you bout the onliest man I knowed come from Virginia.
There are two broad categories of self-awareness: internal self-awareness and external self-awareness.
External self v Internal self
These mean very different things to you and me.
You see, by our society’s standards, I have no reference for the internal kind. Everything I got I learned without the leg up of familiar tradition, unspoken understanding and qualifying acceptance. In a way, I’ve always had to prove I am not amistake even though clearly that is all I amounted to in the end, a foolish mistake for my mother to regret.
For some adoptees, particularly those who’ve experienced early childhood trauma such as neglect or abuse, it may be difficult to form emotional bonds. Some studies suggest that adoptees may also be at higher risk for depression, anxiety, learning disabilities, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), or substance abuse.
This started as a very different piece but between the narcissist showing me his drawing without caring about my writing kind of interrupted the flow.
The fact that I can’t really ever relax or do something mildly extravagant because I can never seem to get ahead, I’m terrible at getting reimbursed and in general, there are a million things I want to do, see, hear, and learn and chasing down the ability to just survive (it’s been that way for 20 years in the film and television industry) isn’t really my thing-the fact that I can’t really celebrate isn’t where I had hoped to be by now.
I’m tired. Tired of this particular existence that, the longer I live, seems more and more futile. Everything we were told was either a lie or a myth and now I’m in no position to take on the world as I once was, having been severely beaten, tortured and most recrntly mugged and stabbed in the past three years.
That’s not even the half of it. That’s not even what makes me sad. It’s the lack of friends I find myself enduring these days. The sadness just never goes away.
That much I expected. But then a third officer, whose name was Villarreal, carefully read every page of my 2019 journal, including copious notes to self on work, relationships, friends, family, and all sorts of private reflections I had happened to write down. I told him, “Sir, I know there’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I want to tell you, as one human being to another, that you’re invading my privacy right now, and I don’t appreciate it.” Villarreal acknowledged the statement and went back to reading.
That was just the beginning. The real abuse of power was a warrantless search of my phone and laptop. This is the part that affects everyone, not just reporters and people who keep journals.
Off the shelf She was straight out of biologically
packaging Eva, The blow up woman
by There’s Something about Earnest
She was always a delight
My good man,
Said Arthur of
delta (phi) dawn
the blow up
who inadvertently got passed around
like nobody’s business
From the shores of kitschy koombaya
to the morning after pill from Ralph’s
EVA bore. The emblem.
(lettered monogram to look like E-R-A )
“equal rights ass!” emblazoned across
the made in China Badonkedonk
of a plastic fantastic
In with the in-Crowd
From Sigma Wink and a Nod
to the Delta Phi Episolon Explosion
at St. Nate’s palettes
Covering for chaotic order
of secret societies
From the raging hormone set
Disturbed initiations leave indelible marks
get a load of that broad
what do you do
She’d been the goody-two-shoes, role played her brain transmogrified, pretended to be anyone she was NOT, behind darkness, just to survive,
Everyone must accept one or face prison time. She had a “choice,” and after that anthrax shelter stint, she decided the Rutger Hauer lookalike would be best for her “needs” as an aging, not quite ailing, sometimes failing but rarely falling, just hurtling headlong trying to escape this dimension of nonsensical pain, needless suffering – as if there is an acceptable form, the need full suffering – oh fuck off maker, the great ether, send me your meteors!
I am but a woman
entreating the sky
to break open
once in a while
Abraham was a hologram. The woman’s perfect companion.
We live in such Cyborg times what will become of love