sidewalk cracks and in betweens / life in a web

whew how the spirits of places guide our ups downs inspirations despair! been back 2 weeks in portland, bopping around writing hammering gardening dancing petting cats drawing pictures making epic dinners telling stories giving gifts.

hey you, wearing your nihilist craziness anxious ambiguity like a crown of clover buds and yampah roots, let's walk together behind the goats and watch their buttholes open and close like portals to another world where pooping is easy for everyone and we can digest much more of this world without being poisoned!

here's a question: what do we do with the products of industrial civilization and the industrial food system?
here's a question: how do you call yourself back home?
here's another one: when was the last time you did something unpleasant or hard for someone you love?
and: what plants do you use eat interact with daily?
and: how are you feeling this shift into august in your body, rhythm, state of mind?

hum, these days for me have been some HARDCORE HANGING OUT
which is also sometimes organizing & planning for the life and world i want to live in
i want for future children to live in
that i was called into being to help make
family-making without gettin wholesome
keeping my goodness and magic woven with nastiness and perversity
dancing out rhythms of place and being and priorities
drawing out maps of desire and walks

pshaw let me suck on your liver
taste the bloody dandelion root
drink milk-blood smoothies like i don't believe in the circuitry of disgust
raw testicles like the most special and most easy to put in your mouth
activate your third eye
touch your bones to help you remember their knowing
"your body evokes my body" we danced this
we danced slapped poked spun pushed edged this into being

what comes easily is not always because it existed before
but flows into existence because everything was ripe for its birth
already known and remembered even as as the most new just-imagined

ROOTS. BONES. MOVEMENTS. REWILDING. IMAGINATION. THE aRT wORLD. DROP OUT. AT HOME. ALIGNMENT. TENDRILS. LEARNING. BREAK. BUILD. WALK. SING.

an outline for stories i'd like to tell:
i. walking delicately in a web of beloveds / polyglamory and lessons on boundaries.
ii. moving from homelessness to homefulness.
iii. after death.
iv. nihilism and goat herding.
v. lessons from the hoop / dancing between the wild and the city.
vi. faeries and witches.
to be continued.

leaving soon to be moving again, back to the woods to the olympic peninsula to wandering to revisiting. lovin y'all like summer.

more thoughts on home from the vaults

may 6th:

well i grew up in chicago
and around the southern parts of
this great lake. but am i FROM here?

my lens on truth was the lens
of hyde park racial tension
of bare muscley oaks in winter
of freezing, thawing, boiling
of mourning dove and big skies
of friendly neighbors whom you don't love
of folks makin their life for their family

but is this as removeable, as workable
as the capitalistic/patriarchal/white supremacist/sexist
world&structures that i grew up in? those were also the lenses i was raised in and am livin it and i don't have to be attached just because theyre what i know.
...and that's it. what/where do i really know? no where. my body knows and loves many places, seasons, sensations. i don't know this land.

so should i decide to move to wisconsin, it could/should be out of desire to learn here,
not to "live where I'm from"
yes, similar weather patterns to my youth, similar trees.
but those were the only things i paid attention to.

live in a place that calls to you.
calls to you where you are at.

after a few months fermenting in the crock...

the last time i wrote here i shared lew welch's chicago poem
yesterday i found some words in my journal from my time in chicago...:

wednesday may 2nd. 6:30am at sheffield and addison waiting for a craigslist ride to madison who never showed...

I have to be hard, hardened to live in this place.
if i care about others, i'll deplete myself.

in this city the poor are spat upon.
 ignored, told they are stupid
and dangerous and sick and wrong
 thrown into jail if they don't get killed in the streets first.

the sound of the el
is the sound of my ribcage cracking
tears of shock and pain leak
from the corners of my eyes
and i weep for the lost everything

for the four of us waiting in a tunnel
deep under the surface of the streets
for a monster to swallow us whole into
its belly
for the operator who spends every night

it is this cleaving
this separation
which makes us unsafe

how do you go out to dinner when so many go hungry?

------------->and Dear you, oh longtime
                 woodlawn englewood garfield park
                      lawndale west humboldt resident---
what do you dream of?
what is your tree of life?

yo
i mean
i want to stay home
gnashing on percy pigs on my bed
and getting sticky fingers
because i'm not really eating
but sucking on em like somebody's watching me
and maybe shoving my sugar digits
down into my incomprehensibly neon underoos
twisting the thought of pretty boys who call me daddy all up in a tight knot in my tum

yo
i mean
caaaaaalllll meeeeeee
let's dress up in Lisa Frank and silk and listen to Robitussin dreams aired on the radio from Atlanta
we'll challenge ourselves to not touching intoxicants til the sun goes down
because
as you know
days feel loveliest when you are up early
and nap in the mid afternoon to smoke your first cigarette around 4
let's play "everybody's watching" and act accordingly
HEELS, DIP-DYE, INSTAGRAM, FOOD FIGHTS, WHATEVER, DUCK LIPS
and then around 9
i'll take something
you'll take something
so we can see the whole night
when morning rolls around
let's pretend we get paid to eat breakfast
"any kind of work is drudgery"

i'm not going down with the rest of the downtrodden
so put on your candy-colored socialite suit
act accordingly

what remains 

the sting and stink of possibility

a vacant room after the party

the flower rotting inwardly 

devours itself mid air

starting with its edges

i try to not feel bad

afterall this is the feast of circles

a snake eating its tail

no beginning no end

i am life 

and so are you

you are death

and so am i

but

this is also the hunger

and the ache leftover

when you eat a thing

you do not want

there is at least one person in the world who thinks of you every time they look at the stars.

Sex

do i pace this life upon

the same Chasm.

that deep Nothingness of

Unconnection

The Father.

do i cast each man to be his likeness,

as a Bearded Silhouette to abuse me,

to aid me as i perform

with each orgasm

his wounds

as My Own.

Little?

Death 

indeed.