a late draft

hellow, fellow nomads, travelers, stationaries, lovers, dancers, etc.
my current existence is a little miraculous, as az and i got a ride back from the psytrance festival with some kids from brasilia on acid and we thought we would never make it (over huge roadcrevasses, music angst, stories about cows in half english and half portuguese)

but ahem, ahem,
i have been living on the farm miles from nowhere, watching highways of ants and huge termite skyscraperbuildings (the things you can build with dirt and spit!) and finally working here, trying through language and politeness and manners to communicate my enthusiasm to take on tasks too big for me. i fear being an overzealous weeder.
reading about permaculture (this book by david holmgren) and it's a funny meeting of
echoes of my mother (the worms are good, no really) and the force of anarcholove for self-reliance, resistance to organized subversion, metaphors of pods and ants and cells. it's a good book, and better lived.
also, let's see, i've been bonding with gustavo (marcos' three year old son), accepting his male pronouns and in turn flying him around like an airplane, creating songs of syllables, wiping his ass when he turns around and the body language is clear, dancing and dancing to the sounds of crickets and frogs (they compete nightly)...the lizards that live on the kitchen wall, the rat, the few frogs that venture into the house, join in quietly and i watch and wonder at their thoughts. z, you said you could get into the thinking of horses, maybe potentially understand cows....i am listening and learning and working to understand ants and bugs, termites and birds and trees most of all,

this is a vomit of sensations and things, a week spent in near-solitude with az. everyday i take some time to think of people i miss and all that i've learned from them.

-------------------------->
now i'm in brasilia at an internet cafe, this place is wrong wrong wrong (i do like the anarchists but not the air-water-smoke-sounds, where are the trees?). have you heard about clean city laws? that outlaw visual pollution? look it up yo, sao paulo is on top of it apparently.
love to you all, more later.

j in mexico

after first civ class finished we were suddened off to mexico city where it seems i went to become the epitome of poop. i smell like it, i look like it, i live it. i must have eaten something fucked up at the beach. just started taking antibiotics because i think pooping like this is not supposed to go on for too long. i sit in the hotel for days, high up, watching the chilangos being fed. none of us earn our food around here except in the typical way of spending money on it. this city is too large for the senses, overwhelming sounds, smells and such.

i can no longer see my life in my body, it's looking like a stranger to me.

and

all the people on this program are sex and body starved

i have an empty hotel room, mundane sterility

but still

when the outlet in the wall winked at me i knew things had changed for the better

i take my clothes off and my form celebrates itself. my ass is round and soft, my legs hang off the bed and the eyes roll over. i fall asleep as i am, as what i am. i dont have to know anything to be anything.

i do a lot of sleeping.

we leave on friday, back on the neon stenciled bus to oaxaca through the golden cacti mountains

so empty days standing before me to be filled like baskets

what a task to fill a life like a cup with something sweet and important

in my own place this hard work and harder in mexico.

a short note on people and animals

so im one of those lucky people who never gets a hang over, or jet lag, and apparently i don't reallly get culture shock either. maybe I will when i get back to the states. who knows.

i've been in britain, oh, 2 or 3 days now and i have a funny feeling similar to one I had on the farm. we had two cows there, and every day they were to be milked twice. sometimes I helped out in the evening milking. after a couple of days it sort of hit me that i don't get cows...after years of working with horses, I acted the same way with the cows as I do with horses, (an animal whose instincts and perspectives on the world i more or less understand) and it just wasn't sort of..fitting.

so I asked daniel (another wwoofer who'd grown up on a dairy farm) millions of questions: are they social? if you put one alone does it moo to the other cows? is there a noise which you can make to calm them down? what do they want? do they consider humans as reasonable companions or do they just ignore us?

and so on.

so now after 4 months of getting accustomed to horses, suddenly being surrounded by cows is just confusing ("where are they going? why are they going there? why are they in this place at this time? i don't understand the trajectory of your life!!")

life seems just vaguely emptier here, more machinated(?), more routine, or less fluid...i dunno. hm.

sucking on the toy guitar

Reprise Roo

see——
http://swastikovich.blogspot.com/2009/12/now-u-r-6.html

i feel it in the static

I AM DOUBLE-FISTING!
hot coffee and cold (well isH) tea
and honestly
i'm ready to go

what a mind burp! the imperceptible mutabilities of my brain have shifted - suddenly my perception is altered so i can see the threads of interlocking connection and of association and CHOOSE which thought to follow. every thought has six or seven other thoughts twined round it by dint of the bridge's collapse and now since yesterday i can choose which ones to follow instead of being pulled down the estuary by my subconscious' fell force. what luck to have stumbled upon my own capabilities! and in the bath no less, mechanically moving to wash my hair, my nose, the back of my knees, but my mind spinning at a speed that says...you won't remember this in the morning.

coffee coffee coffee
caffeine and i have made fast friends this week
buffeting buffeting buffeting me along like a lukewarm blanket for my insides
always leaving behind that one particular aftertaste
and a feeling that my digestive tract is a sluice
but, you know, balzac starbucks dick in a cup of coffee shock and awe and (let's not pretend that we don't want to put our dicks in cups of coffeeeeeeee for a living)

Hi, I'm T'mo and this is my emotional range
dearest kitty, i am everywhere
hi ho friendo, buzz buzz buzz

a whirlygig breather-screamer-singer is ready to burst forth from me
what is the difference between nasty and erotic?
I MEAN, what is the difference between nasty and erotic?
eros
holding hands but between our palms there is peanut butter
and bananas! mashed together squishy squishy squish

forget what i said about perception BECAUSE maybe i was lying and it was all just made up and it never really happened and maybe i'm just beckoning you in so you will get close enough that i can bite you and you scream (careful don't shove your face so far into the pillow, make sure you can still breathe, pretty one little one pretty little one) but still you'll like it because you like it when i bite you and you look real nice with little red blooms all over your skin, so don't pretend

don't play coy with me
hello pretty princess
hello little girl
funny old thing, funny funny little thing, child, creature, sweetness and light
it's a fine thing
it's a fine thing to be alive

more poetry!

not only is the house noisy, now it's smelly.
it's the 2nd nite in the last 3 that i've been unable to sleep.
i didn't write any new poetry but i still have 2 left over from the other nite, so.


tracking two

hell is a farm on the brink of mythology
and a starcruiser out of gas
or ionized starfuel, as it were
linoleum classroom floors amidst cellar doors
and pacified aggression.
instead of attack and decay on a boat
they say fore and aft -
nobody knows where it started
least of all the poet
but it always ends on a farm
or a starcruiser
- so how do i know?
definitionaly, like two layers of eggbread cottagecheese ripe bellpepper dip-spread aubergine and you have yourself a sandwich,
or a stomach ache
which maybe you've never seen face to belly, as it were
but there's never a doubt
catastrophically, we were upset at being upset at being upset but the twists never turned and the iceberg never hit and then crack, who to tell first?
but there was never a doubt never
and all along it's a terrible sound, round, like smells and heart-ache which are the representations which they thing
as in meta and for and foreign ambassador
and so we didn't elope on 20th may i mother may i
crush this lifeless caucus race
and sift through garbage
another day.

cubic resentment

the final clap clears away long before i climb into bed
to wit i awoke long before i realized i was awake
an unstable arrangement of reds and recordings
resentment and betrayal
movement and shame
and life.
there i was dripping and naked, sprawled on the floor
all a ringing and spinning and movement
did i mention movement
how lewd to move muscles that are not stringy green beans
not cooked overnight in cacophonic and moral certitude
and righteous nausea
which is a dish so dense that when it cracks it explodes,
rips in thirds lengthwise
and folds along mobius rows,
unwilled and impassive and generally burnt.
but so impelled to forget all my fears, i arose and prepared
for my grand entrance outwards
steam blowing behind, born by sheer nervousness
and sickness of mind.

my belly is empty
and the house is noisy (hammers and finger nails)
and i am thinking about michael collins

who got to the moon but didn't even get out of the car

sweet Mike they called him on earth
on the army bases where his dad served
because he was unfailingly polite
and always held the door open
waiting even if you were miles away
at least now he's the director of the national air and space museum

the hammer and fingernails are ringing forth
rapping-tapping-drumming
who said to stephen, "stephen your politeness will be the death of you"
who said hamlet was a retiring book-worm?
who said the cosmos breathed in and out of that moment?
who ever said, "oh pardon me" and didn't lose the war?

so here's me joining up.
up for whatever ranks it is that we're marching in these days
sure, sure
the angel-headed hipsters
sure, sure
smeared in effluvia
sweating and stinking
please
please
please
i will be --> that
do they serve stars in the mess hall?
i hear they do
(re)assure me they do?
because i want to eat the fiery dust and purple mist of the outer reaches of the galaxy and wash them back with the drippings of trickling rings of planets i have never seen before and smear on top of my celestial toast cream cheese from so many light years away it has taken generations to bring back and i want to learn to pronounce names of foods that contain syllables i didn't know existed and have to relearn all sorts of glottal stops to grapple with

please?

am i asking too much?