weapons of mass construction

i need my gum, my cigaretttes, my bobby pins, my simone de beauvoir,
my selective memory, my rich, dark chocolate, my dreams, every one
of them,and a few more. i need my lover to love me even when she does,
my massive assault on social injustice timed just right to make an impact,
that element of surprise, no backlash just flashbacks, the good ones,
no enemy, just cause and justice. a glass of fine wine or two or three, a friend i
haven't seen in years, and then i don't need much of anything really. just to be.
at home. in love. ya' know?

End of the Line

Brother, sister, where art thou?

The streets are slick with rain and I keep wondering where we went wrong.
Not when or why, because the when, the why, doesn’t matter any more. The why is why not?

I drive the snowy roads and remember that wintry day, the white out,
our photograph on the front page of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. Barely daylight,
there we were throwing snowballs, in the front yard on Highland Avenue. Happy. Our lives on fire. We were one.

12-1-07

THE GREEN ROOM

Grateful

To those whom I love and who loved me through all kinds of adversity, I am grateful. I thank you for being there and for showing me what it is to love. Takes a lifetime. And now it is my turn.

This is Life

I have this thing going on in my head about what’s happening to our minds. What we expect from life, based on the transfer. What we relate to, based on exposure. What we communicate. We’re not inside our heads anymore. It’s as if we’ve been taken outside of ourselves and have to conform to something more palatable because what could be less appetizing than one’s own limitations. This is the world we live in. This is today. This is life.

the new new

always questioning this need to be new when we have the same old problems, right? but i'm not talking about boring or unimaginative. i'm talkingabout that layer underneath. the one you have to look for. why is looking such a bad thing?

Untitled No.2

Untitled No.1

This series of photographs are works in progress.
I am too in it I can't talk about it yet.

$$

Grant. Sounds so religious, so unattainable.

"the dark is always at the top"

At 104

Run mind run
Over and around in color
Talk about truth
He never lies and that's why he took his own life
Kinship with nothingness, the wu chi
Oh how we miss your blue integrity.

Another Not So Happy Birthday, Rothko!

Yom Kippur

Today, I mourn the loss of humanity. I realize there is so much more to deal with than my own personal accountability; however, I will remain accountable but want to expand the scope of consciousness that will lead us all out of our own narcissistic entrapments.

MoneyTalks

another excerpt from September 10th

Doubling over with cramps he gasps for air, clean air, struggles to rid the poison from his lungs, the bile from the complimentary meal, his stomach rebelling. This time heaving uncontrollably he’s unable to make it to the bathroom. With the sleeve of his shirt he wipes off his mouth, stands up and leans against the cool wall of windows for support. Pushing the curtains aside he looks down at Times Square. Must be hallucinating, he thinks. It is vacant, empty of pedestrians. Then again he’s unsure that he is capable of distinguishing between reality and nightmare. Is he awake or asleep? Has he been asleep all this time? Did this really happen? With the plastic Marriott pen he punctures the flesh on his forearm. No, he is not asleep; this is definitely not a dream.

The paper in the vinyl folder with the embossed logo is so clean and crisp. He pages through the Welcome book and looks at the lists—restaurants, shopping, attractions, room service, places of worship. Flashing back to the plaza downtown it appears as an altar of human sacrifice. Like the toxic dump of humanity, mangled among the remains of the supreme excesses of architecture, the World Trade Center. Man created it. Man takes it away. There is no god to blame here. Not that he ever thought there was one but now he’s sure and strangely takes comfort in the fact.