WALKING ANTS

MR SINJI-GAN: “Oh, Mr Scott, Mr Scott, happy-glad to see you, my friend, Lordy goodness.

 

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… Mr. SINJI-GAN lost his entire family from the US dropping of an atomic bomb near a breathtakingly beautiful pedestrian bridge at the center of Hiroshima. He was sick with flu so he survived  that entire summer of the ‘Walking Ants’ made zombie-like by the “false sunrise & great wind”.

 

He was at his grandmother’s home recuperating. Her home was far enough outside the radius of the giant mushroom stem with its power to evaporate human souls en mass.

 

He says his friend told him about a man who lurched forward many steps trying to flee the bomb but his feet were amputated. He was running of the stubs of his knees until he fell; dying right where he fell. The Walking Ants could not do anything for him if they could.

 

Yet he remains a happy man. He was so cute today; a little old man who does nothing but smile with laughter, loving life. He is a gentle man. His name is a MANTRA which may open the hearts of the most heartless among us. 

 

 

SHE’S MERCY – HE’S KIND

I’m your lady in waiting. You’re my man on the moon. I’m Magda. You’re Anjum. We’ve Indigo eyes. I’m Mosena. You’re Sallie. We’re two of a kind. You’re Marty. I’m Moses; We never chose love, it is love that chose us. We’re sisters & brothers, spiritual lovers … 

… I was an innocent in the time of the great plague. I survived while all of the giants raptured around me. I believe I was meant to live before and after the great deluge. I believe we were all meant to live before and after the rapture. The most merciful and kind were the first to go. Only the good die young. We’re still alive. Only the strong survive. It is the meek who shall inherit the earth.

Life is short but terribly eternal. Regardless the seconds or decades we are gifted with, the remaining moments of our journey will be mercy and kindness incarnate. We are sisters and brothers. We’re opened windows without any walls. If one of us trips, all of us fall.

 

RING OF FIRE

 

I walk briskly at first.

Shuffling sacred boulders between each foot,

I teeter on the edge of humanity.

I skirt  the jagged precipice of earth’s flaming lips.

I am stunned by this porcelain cup 

brimming over with exquisite insanity;

a wondrous mathematical equation, 

all of earth’s treasures scattered before me.

I jump high-I rise-sail and I soar up & over,  

down south into the west then over & over,

under again, about face and up I jump.

I take a high-dive, I skydive into the heart

of our miraculous breathtaking mothership.

I am a skimming stone on a great pon, a ring of fire 

 
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FANTASTIC DANCE

His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.

We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.

Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust an ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.

Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~ pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.

There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?

This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.

Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.

ALEXANDER M JOHNS

1966-2010

MY NAME IS PROPHET

My name is ‘Prophet’ but they call me, ‘Hey, you!’ I am a penniless drifter shod poorly. I’m diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love; the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light has never me down. My huckster mind tries to convince me otherwise yet to the joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real.

Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place are the very same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster called dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up for in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchbacked, just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of an incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders.

Sometimes I wonder if being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land & cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to god. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.

 

 

 

 

 

 

TOPEKA ‘PREACHA

 

He says he loves Jesus and Jesus loves him.
He’s a modern day prophet forgiving your sins.
He’s a radio pirate with a cable show too,
A mistress in Paris, an eye out for you.

His brand of religion breeds heartbreak and pain.
He’s a born again Christian with something to gain.
Deceitfully convincing his flock of salvation,
In return he receives a standing ovation.

His glorious sermons preach schemes of division,
Exquisitely crafted to prevent any schism.
Triumphantly pitting his will against right,
He lusts after money & covets your wife.

An unnatural affection for boys under ten,
He’s drugged quite a few on his couch in the den.
He’s suspicious of women and fearful of men.
There’s a gun by his bed marked ‘specially’ for them.

He’s a beast. He’s a monster. It’s sad but it’s true.
His secret agenda keeps Jesus from you.
He’s afraid you’ll rise up if you find out the truth,
Afraid you’ll tip off your wife & your youth.

He’s a huckster, a shyster, and the devil disguised.
He’s a freak who insists only his god is wise.
This prince of invective is consumed by desire.
While preaching forgiveness he’s stoking his fire.

 

 

MOON BEING

Part of my face is an immense crater. It is here I spend all my free time, sitting beside myself sipping tea on the lips of my cheek bones. I talk endlessly about your perfection; what a profound  defect of character that is. I then respond ad infinitum. We compare notes. We laugh, cry, and wistfully whine, sitting beside ourselves, sipping tea, watching you.

PERFECT FROM THE START

 

I am the wind that churns. I am a young bird weeping. I am the center of the hawk’s red eye and … it’s hard to believe it has been perfect from the start.  Is it any wonder I cry so hard?  Is it any wonder I laugh so loud?

I was raised up from the cracks of skyscrapers. I could run before I could walk. I’ve seen the world in flames. I’ve heard my mother sobbing. I know your pain because I am an old man dying. I am the newborn’s breath. So is it any wonder?

I am a towering tree. I am a shooting star. I am the ocean I swim in, the mountains I climb, the lovers I’ve known, the light & the dark & the child at play. I am the song of souls singing this song called joy. This is living. This is Life. I do hardly believe I’ve always known how to sing. I had simply forgot the song until now.

I am the newborn universe born once more, over & over again.  I am an old woman speaking her wisdom to the universe. I am a young bird singing. I am its Mother weeping. I am the sun laughing all the way, every single day. It is hard to believe it’s been perfect from the start, but it has, perfect from the start.

 

 

DIAMOND EYES (LOVE) LOVE LOVE LOVE ~ OF MONSTERS AND MEN

This life is amazing. It really sucks though. Sometimes. It is like Rosemary’s baby. Her head is spinning in circles in a movie called Psycho. She is screaming out 3-D green vomit into your mind (which was already pretty darn fractured from being alive in the time of plagues), yet still it shatter-cracks like blown glass murals on the day Pompeii died. Right? I know. Life’s a bitch, then you die. I think that is called a cynical statement. Who cares? But  … other times it doesn’t feel like that all all. It is a glorious joy-ride through the heavens of a very beautiful sky of emeralds & diamond eyes that are even more beautiful than that. That is what life really is, the rest is bullshit.

 

 

THE SKY GOES ON FOREVER

 

In this dream, I am falling free without fear. Suddenly, my descent is intercepted by swift moving clouds. Each one has a distinct face yet they all share the same radiant smile. They carry me along for thousands of miles, pointing out strange and wonderful lands. The spectacular sight below of fantastic creatures roaming free upon a paradise found makes my heart tremble like fine rice paper. In this super world unfolding, predators are never triumphant because predators are never born. Without warning, the cloud faces are gone. I continue gliding along the path of the rising sun in the company of a thousand golden eagles. I soar around our mother earth sailing effortlessly on a grand solar wind in the company of a thousand beautifully plumed golden eagles, and the sky goes on forever

MORNING AGAIN

My body rises before the sun.  My eyes flutter just as filament in a clear light bulb does. Dark and alone with myself, I fantasize the universe. Just for a moment, my filament eyes become beacons illuminating my life; All my sorrows, shame, thrills, love, loves and fears It will be several hours before the sun pitches her amber shards into the heart of this silent morning twilight. Silent if I don’t heed the frenetic beauty, voice of a madman. Songs of love and precision’d chaos ~ my mind on this fine day. I am strummed tight like the bow of a Stradivarius.  I am a finely tuned instrument ready to play this song called life.

 

ISN’T THAT THE TRUTH?

 

A spiraling orb of sea-green-blue burst into a ball of fire-red flames, leaving nothing in its wake but silence wrapped in an inky black coat of inner knowing. You beside me smiling that smile only you can smile said loud and clear, “Everything will be just fine”.

Isn’t that the truth? Isn’t it

Our feathered wings were royal purple newly sprouted.Dancing with joy from one cloud to another, we flew into our future with our unconquerable souls, and our unshakable faith in glory and the arresting beauty of perfect faith.

We both smiled that smile that only knowing God can bring. Pure joy! We filled the world with pure joy!

That’s the truth! Isn’t it though.

momo

COMMAND THYSELF

 

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“Command thyself to be healed, to be loved, to love, to forgive, to be forgiven, command thyself.” A preacher man taught me that last night in a parking lot after the sunset … somewhere near Reseda on Magnolia Avenue in San Fernando Valley. Bingo howled at every passing dog from the rear window of my car. Joel & I ignored him until I finally commanded Bingo to stop that XXXX! 

Let me tell you, there is something true and all-powerful in the words of that young man. I listened to him without effort. I knew what he was going to say before he even spoke. I’ve heard it all before. I listened anyway with kindness.

He held up a tattered Bible when he wanted to drive home a point.  I always thought I could rewrite that book. I’m certain I could have made it more accessible to youth (I was well on my way.), but I was young, just 14, and my F.O.S. (FRIENDS of SAPHO) sponsor said, “No way.  What are ‘ya, nuts?” Turns out it was the other way around. It’s always like that. Do you not agree?  

I was not nuts, not then or ever. I was as sane as you are now. My F.O.S. sponsor was crazier than a bed bug. It is neither here nor there but he was also loaded all the time. It’s just not fair. Anyone can dish out profound advice high on an eight ball. It just goes to show you. Sponsors of anything are nuts by nature, or haven’t you heard?

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? 

It’s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind as she races past,, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go but I am happy they stayed as long as they did.”

Now you know the reason why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.

blackjesus

DISCOURSE AT OJAI

HE SAID:

I am only human. My voice is powerful so I never shout. We share many of the same thoughts. We come from the same womb. The source of all our inspiration never cries but laughs a lot.

HE SAID:

If you abort a child whose heart has begun to beat then that is murder. If you have not, do not worry or force your views, for The Great Source of Our Belonging will see to a loving rectification. If you have then remember this: I have seen the light of forgiveness in the eyes of eternity & your story must be told. Your wisdom must find its home, so speak your longing.

HE SAID:

Our Bible has sharp & angry claws yet great & wonderful truths are alive & found everywhere across its pages. Stay aware of deception concealed with stunning craft. There are lies stitched into the timeless fabric of a clarion call to salvation. They are scattered seemingly without rhyme or reason by infiltrated minds who hate love. There is nothing random or unintentional about these untruths. Do not allow the haters of this world to keep you from loving life; loving god; loving me loving you.

HE SAID:

Judas is my brother. He loves me very much as I do him. Judas was not a traitor. In truth, my beloved Judas gave the ultimate sacrifice for me. A fox may outfox a fox but never can a fox outfox our Father. If you buy into that deceit, silly you. Without Judas, our Father’s plan could never have come to be. Love Judas as you do me. I care only for lovers. I love only those who strive to be kind.

HE SAID:

Do not take it upon yourself to sit in judgment of your fellow man. A man takes the life of one man & then you punish him by taking his life. Who will punish you for that very same offense? Compassion makes me happy. Forgiveness gets me high.

HE SAID:

Sift through pages of The Word. Discard that which your heart says is untrue. Listen to your heart for it is there I dwell forever. Everything I am is within you. Go there now. Ask if these words I speak are true or not. Feel if what I tell you resonates with the piercing sound of truth. Either way I am the light, I am the way.

HE SAID:

Be happy. It is your birthright to know joy forever. When pain comes & come it shall, embrace it rather than run away. You will never be able to hide. Sharpen your courage. Be kind. Love life. Kiss the ground you walk on. Take the path your heart desires. This is my devout wish & hope & plan for you. Let there be light.

He smiled ecstasy as he turned into a ruby-red mist scattered within with blue and yellow diamonds. He was no longer there to see. I now know He never left at all; ever again, before or after. Let there be light. Let there be light. Let there be light. And then there was light.

 

 

 

 

CELESTIAL ORCHESTRATIONS~WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY SCOTT UTLEY

I once witnessed

A brilliant platinum galaxy

Abruptly vanish

Into a hovering cloud

Of dense

Erotic black

*

I saw a stunning world

Hanging on a mid-night sky

Like a black pearl

A world

Just as ravishing

As our very own cobalt orb

Explode

Into lava-red flames

Then cease to exist

*

I was once

A butterfly who loved

To dance in circles

To the beat of the sun

*

I’’ve been charmed

By the ruby-red eyes

Of dusk’s

Swollen sky

*

Suspended

Mesmerized

I’’ve been hypnotized

By defiant stars

Pelting Hercules’ sky

Over an Aegean Sea

*

An infant

Opens her eyes

For the very first time

And the Universe is born

Once again

*

Truly

Every face

Is the face of God

The lovely face of God

*

But

Never

Have I ever

Laid eyes

On one so beautiful

As you

BECOMING A MAN 

I am shocked to learn of the passing of a man who would be the only guy in my life who’d ever come close to being a role model to me. I may have pretended sometimes not to understand or even hear what he had to say, but I never missed his meaning or his message. I grieve his loss, along with my closest family members & so many other great people made greater for having known him.

Dear Michael, a wonderful father and brilliant husband to my beautiful sister, Johanna. Michael Spoljaric … his greatest gift, among many, was his ability to make us laugh. More than that for me, from early on in my life he taught me the most essential qualities of what is required to become a man; walk tall, hold my head up in pride, be true to who I am, never forget where I come from. To know that a real man isn’t afraid to cry … and of course, when the going gt tough, run like hell knowing he would always have my back.

I hold these truths to be self evident to this very day ~ over half a century later. What more could a kid who was going his own way long before that notion became popular among rebellious youth ask for? He certainly didn’t have to, yet he did because he cared.

A rare breed is the man whose powerful inner bravado is made of the courage & faith of a ”man’s man”. He never lost sight of who he was; the real deal-a take no prisoners straight-shooting from the hip no-bull man when it came to telling it the way he saw it. He was a king of tough love. Only a prince with a gentle soul can become such a man. There is no irony here, one is the prerequisite of the other.

He found himself when he found the love of his life, an everlasting love in the heart & soul of my remarkable sister, Johanna. With his guidance, we all watched in awe as Johanna stepped into her own power. With his patience and deep love, we also saw her bloom into the woman she is today, a woman who has strength of character so finely etched unto the history of all our lives, who is loved so much by those who are also blessed to be brushed by her gentle heart.

It is a new world dawning, fast becoming a woman’s world. Thanks to the trailblazers & such a one is Johanna. I wonder if Johanna knows this is how we feel about her? To marvel at the two of them together is fitting. There is no Michael as we know him without Johanna. The two are forever one fierce force & fiercely loved in the eyes & divine mind of our beloved creator.

Michael was the rock in our family. He held the demons at bay which at one time had tried their best to get the best of us kids and my beloved mother. How does anyone say thank you enough to a towering figure of such profound impact? I love you? We all did, and not just for the reasons I say above. It bears repeating: Michael was a wonderful father to his children, my niece and nephew, Christina & Michael Jr., and his beautiful grandchildren. He was a brilliant husband to his equally brilliant wife decade after decade, my beautiful and compassionate sister, Johanna.

I am there along side all of those who loved him for being a true human being. “Life is short but terribly eternal.” Some of us are mortal, some of us are gifted immortality. We do not choose one or the other.

Dear Father, who art in heaven, the ball is in your court. Michael has achieved that which cannot be gained without you, dear loving creator, holding his hands from the moment he was born until now, as Michael is born once again. Some people are just lucky that way.

A MODEST TRIBUTE TO A GREAT MAN …

MICHAEL SPOLJARIC 

FOREVER YOUNG 


MY PROPHET RISING

My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusked across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion. 

My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.

My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.

gggb

 

HARP OF THE GODS

If you’re mystic, 

come this way & play for me. 

Tune your strings sharp & clear 

with all the pressure I can bare. 

If you’re mystic, 

stroke my hair & kiss my lips. 

Take me to your mother ship. 

Rifle me with your tough grip. 

Anchor me to your bright blue. 

Show  myself to me through you. 

Your platinum strings are clear & true. 

Play your harp, this is your cue. 

I know you’re mystic, I am too.

Say the word, I’ll play for you.

 

BENAZIR BHUTTO: Flores para los muertos.

—– IF THIS HAD BEEN A REAL EMERGENCY    ——-

Blanch! Darling, another mint…. feel my left breast. It’s not normal, is it? Is it?  How would you know? Poor dear. I did not mean it like that.

—- WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES  —-

It isn’t enough to be soft. You’ve got to be soft and attractive. And I- I’m fading now! – Have you been listening to me ? – I never listen to you when you are being morbid!

———— DON’T TOUCH YOUR DIAL ————-

BLANCHE: Gracious! STELLA: And when he comes back I cry on his lap like a baby… [She smiles to herself.]
BLANCHE: I guess that is what is meant by being in love….
[Stella looks up with a radiant smile.]
Stella–STELLA: What?

———    DO NOT ADJUST YOUR SCREEN  ——–

BLANCHE [in an uneasy rush]: I haven’t asked you the things you probably thought I was going to ask. And so I’ll expect you to be understanding about what I have to tell you.

…. IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU …

STELLA:What, Blanche? [Her face turns anxious.] 

BLANCHE:Well, Stella–you’re going to reproach me, I know that you’re bound to reproach me–but before you do–take into consideration–you left! I stayed and struggled! You came to New Orleans and looked out for yourself. I stayed at Belle Reve and tried to hold it together! I’m not meaning this in any reproachful way, but all the burden descended on my shoulders.

STELLA: The best I could do was make my own living, Blanche.
[Blanche begins to shake again with intensity.]

BLANCHE: I know, I know. But you are the one that abandoned Belle Reve, not I! I stayed and fought for it, bled for it, almost died for it!

— YOU TOUCH THAT DIAL AND YOU DIE -DO YOU HEAR ME? —

The Tarantula arms, That’s where I brought all my lovers. So many victims.

———     SORRY TO INTERRUPT THIS SHOW    ————-

Do not look that way. No, no, your other left.  Ignore this. Go away. Go, go away, it is bad.

—– IF THIS HAD BEEN A REAL EMERGENCY    ——-

 OH NO! Not here again! 

 Flores por las muertes.

Flores por las muertes. 

STELLA! STELLA!

——-    DO NOT ADJUST YOUR SCREEN  ———–

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What is about to come forth from my pen is not in my power to halt. Another nail into the coffin of Islam. This must stop.

The great spirit warriors are gathered together on the ether in this moment. The whispers are heavy. The vibe does not bode well for Muhammad’s beast-masters. The Holy ones speak with each other & to The Great Muhammad, himself. He is devastated.

Jesus, Mary, Mother of God, doesn’t anybody speak love with a Muslim tongue? The only God there is, is God. God sings a joyful song. 

Hey you! Yeah, you!  You can heal this. Lay hands over our wounds…

… The dark turned into black pitch of tarred souls unfed, when suddenly, ruby-rose fluorescent rays pierced the make-believe heavens. And then there was light

Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes …

 

HIS NAME IS PROPHET by APRILIA ZANK: MUNICH

 

I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
 
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
 
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
 
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
 
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
homeless
restless
waiting for translation.

Galaktika Poetike "ATUNIS"

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Poem by Aprilia Zank
 
his name is prophet
inspired by a fellow poet’s verse
 
I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
 
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
 
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
 
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
 
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
homeless
restless
waiting for translation.

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NE TOUCHÉ PAS

 

If you were to touch me now,  you would electrocute the both of us. I am highly charged & you are gifted with devouring receptivity. The hair along the arc of my forearms stand tall as devoted warriors do. Goosebumps from solar flares tinge the organ covering my being. I feel chill although it’ is 110 in the shade. My body takes a high dive into the center of your heavenly eyes. I ascend, then glide into the nexus of a perfect tear; a black pearl choosing its own path under the emerald eyes of an enchantress. I fall free empty-handed. I’m stripped bare to the core of my being. With perfect faith in your perfect love, I land heart first onto your wonder world. The truth of your love amazes me. I am speechless. I am stunned.

HEAVEN KNOWS

Hollywood Boulevard & Vine Street erupts with volcanic fireworks like fireflies; over & over, again & again,ooo, ahh, ooh. They bring the western & eastern worlds closer. The rockets red glare, the blue dragonflies, the flying glow-worms bring us together again. Gaze high, higher now, higher … there! Juvenile shooting stars from Orion’s belt jet-race for first place. Kids, what can you do? Even angels with  countless flight time on their wings are mad-hopping like grasshoppers in a late spring rain. This has been going on since your arrival. This is the way I have been feeling for years, many lifetimes, ever since I first fell into your eyes then reemerged a man more compassionate. I have been blessed by Fortuna to have walked the landscape of your beautiful face. You have performed many miracles, I’m one of them. Some fools have all the luck. Speak with the animals for me. Tell them I’m still here. I’m doing well, I’m hanging in, hanging on … & I’m coming home first chance I get. I live for that moment. May take a while but I’ll be there. Heaven is lucky to have you. Heaven knows it.

JOHANNA HINTING

 

Was Johanna hinting… Johanna my sister… warn me in her own special way… her gentle, caring way? She posted a poem a few days ago… or has it been weeks? I can’t keep track of time anymore … it doesn’t matter… time … anymore …to a guy like me. She called it, “To Edith Failing”; Edith our Mom.
I am standing naked, drenched. My is head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pouring into my eyes. The cobra skinned clouds & the moon are playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part revealing a blue crystalised moon.
 
Blue dot-light stars splash across the night sky. It dawns on me that maybe Johanna is preparing ime and the world I know for the saddest moment of my life… lives really…hundreds…maybe more.
 
Edith is my favorite mother of all time The first mother walked out of Africa. Edith was that mother. I am grateful she chose me for a son. I guess she was looking for a challenge. Is Edith Failing? If so … will she return?
 

DIAMOND EYES

This life is amazing. It really sucks though. Sometimes. It is like Rosemary’s baby. Her head is spinning in circles in a movie called Psycho. She is screaming out 3-D green vomit into your mind (which was already pretty darn fractured from being alive in the time of plagues), yet still it shatter-cracks like blown glass murals on the day Pompeii died. Right? I know. Life’s a bitch, then you die. I think that is called a cynical statement. Who cares? But  … other times it doesn’t feel like that all all. It is a glorious joy-ride through the heavens of a very beautiful sky of emeralds & diamond eyes that are even more beautiful than that. That is what life really is, the rest is bullshit.

 

UNTIL THE RAIN CAME

The raven caws five times, then the rain falls. Heaven’s sky tears down with a beautiful viciousness. Above my head, I study the layers of silt & dust on the avocado leaves. I think, “This is the accumulated detritus of this past summer’s Icelandic volcanic eruptions.” It was a summer deadened by the horror of war scattered without rhyme or reason upon this pristine cobalt orb we call home. It was a summer of threats against one nation or another by one nation or another… a summer of soccer Moms down on hope but high on Crank, cruising Meth Street USA. It was a summer with Blacks living more & more in their world, while Whites are living more & more in theirs & they never kiss anymore! It was a summer of Polar Bears without homes, Coyotes lying motionless on the side of the road & giant Blue Whales washing up lifeless upon California’s shores. I confess, I confess, I confess, my spine had almost fused with futility … until the rain came.

COMMAND THYSELF

 

 

“Command thyself to be healed, to be loved, to love, to forgive, to be forgiven, command thyself.” A preacher man taught me that last night in a parking lot after the sunset … somewhere near Valley Village on Magnolia Boulevard n the San Fernando Valley.

Bingo howled at every passing dog from the rear window of my car. Joel & I ignored him until I finally commanded Bingo to stop that XXXX! 

There is something true and all-powerful in the words of that young man. I listened to him without effort. I knew what he was going to say before he even spoke. I’ve heard it all before. I listened anyway. Kindness is king.

He held up a tattered bible when he wanted to drive home a point.  I always thought I could rewrite that book. I’m certain I could have made it more accessible to youth (I was well on my way.), but I was young, just 14, and my F.O.S. (FRIENDS of SAPHO) sponsor said, “No way.  What are ‘ya, nuts?” Turns out it was the other way around. It’s always like that. Do you not agree?  

I was as sane as you are now. My F.O.S. sponsor was crazier than a bed bug. It is neither here nor there but he was also loaded all the time. It’s just not fair. Anyone can dish out profound advice high on an eight ball. It just goes to show you. Sponsors of anything are insane by nature, or haven’t you heard?

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? 

It’s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind as she races past,, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go but I am happy they stayed as long as they did.”

Now you know the reason why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.

 

 

MEMORY of YOUR FACE

Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history, is the story of our love; a spiritual decree. Penned onto the memory of my simple, fleeting life, is the epic of our union, quite beautifully described. I am stunned by the depth of your soul. Shall I be forever mystified? And this evening, brazenly confetti’d up on a Hollywood freeway overpass, I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart. While my soul bleeds adoration in silence, I wonder, “Is this loves crucifixion? Is this how Mary felt in the garden?” An answer is of no consequence, for what I shall remember long after I have died, is the memory of your face, indelibly inscribed.

UP ON LACHLAN DERRY HILL

I

We remain a beacon of light up on the hill, yet we must never let loose the reigns of power to those who would be kings or queens. Do not abandon your mighty domain for the fruitless terrain of perverting robber-barons.

We together, cannot stand here today, breathing the air of a real, true, manifested destiny, nor feel it rising swiftly through our hearts & minds without the great sacrifices ‌of untold millions of souls just as you & I.

Think about what you want. Think about what you have. Think about what you deserve. The wisdom of many a great sage directs us to be grateful for what we do have & be here now. Nowhere will you find any great thinker admonishing you to relinquish, relent or let the winds of empty promises impale your dreams of a greater longing.

By your understanding of your own ultimate authority, which is the source of all power, you will achieve-without the burden of a anxious attachment-that which some call your destiny fulfilled. 

Your dreams are the fuel which propels our collective spirit to greater heights. I call this state of being,”Perpetual Blossoming”; a frequency of light so finely tuned into the spiraling universes we have inherited, it is a thrilling euphoria which we call, “a happy sound”.

Will you ‘cave’ into the blighted whims of nefarious wills, thus shaming you & your ancestors? Then get up & fight the good fight. Who cares how many times you must fall. Rise up & fight the good fight. If you believe we have already lost the battle, you are delusional. Never let them win. Never forget where you come from. Never forget who you are.

II

AFTER the war was over, and we were certain our truth had triumphed, we returned to the scene of the killing field where we had staggered home from, bloody messes, less than one full moon before. We searched until sunset. Baffled but relieved, there were no casualties to be found.

It was mid-day when we arrived. The clouds were playing ‘tag’ above our heads. The only sounds we heard were the soothing soulful songs of Yellow Orioles.

This was all there was left behind after the war was over. It is a new day. William Styron, the great American novelist, says it best in his breathtaking novel, “Sophie’s Choice” (1979), when, as the curtain falls, he says, “It is not judgement day. It is morning, excellent and fair”.

THIS MAGIC MOMENT

The crescent moon rises sheepishly; the slightest breeze might dim it’s shimmer.  Whispering palms hum in unison a melody taught them by traveling winter winds long before our time. San Jacinto Mountains cloak their sun-baked weariness with a cool, dew drenched, silver-platinum compress. Early evening owls hoot desert rats to sleep. Bats yawn. They can see for miles on parachute wings. The desert wind  glides upon a sand-dune lunar landscape. Night begins anew. I think of you.

BRIGHT EYES

 

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? 

It’s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind as she races past,, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go but I am happy they stayed as long as they did.”

Now you know the reason why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.

MORE THAN THIS

My body is your sacred chalice. Pour your hungry heart into my thirsty soul. Swim in the warm waters of my mind. More than this, there’s nothing. Wash your wounds in the sea of me. Nourish the beast inside the belly of my heart with succulents from the bounty of your harvest. More than that, there’s nothing.

BEFORE THE DELUGE ~ JACKSON BROWNE ~ ПРЕЖДЕ ЧЕМ ДЕРЖАТЬ ~ ДЖЕКСОН БРОН

I believe I was meant to live after the deluge. I was an innocent in the time of the great plague, yet I survived where all others fell. I believe I was meant to live before & after the great plague. That is the reason why you are here; we were meant to live after the fall; before & after the great deluge.

These, our final hours (regardless how many seconds or decades we are gifted with), no matter how brief or ephemeral the rest of our visit here on Mother Ship Earth will be (It’s her call, after all.), these, our final hours, will be spent loving life with those who love as you & I, or spent in solitude. It’s your call, after all. Love is all that is left after the deluge. “Let the music keep our spirits high.”

Я считаю, что я должен был жить после потопа. Я был невиновным во время великой чумы, но я выжил там, где все остальные упали. Я считаю, что я должен был жить до и после великой чумы. Вот почему вы здесь; мы должны были жить после падения; до и после великого потопа.

Эти, наши последние часы (независимо от того, сколько секунд или десятилетий мы одарены), независимо от того, насколько коротким или эфемерным остальная часть нашего визита здесь на Mother Ship Earth будет (это ее призыв, в конце концов.), Это, наш окончательный часов, будет проводиться любящей жизнью с теми, кто любит, как вы, я или проводил в одиночестве. В конце концов, это ваш звонок. Любовь – это все, что осталось после потопа. «Пусть музыка держит наше настроение высоко».

Brenne (Burn) Translated from English By Ms. Claudia Cologne, Germany

Verbrenne meine wilde Seele
Ich bin Papier, das an all seinen Ecken brennt.
Du bist der Rauch, zu dem ich werde.
*
Translated from English By Ms. Claudia Beine
Cologne, Germany
rr
BURN 
INCINERATE MY SAVAGE SOUL
I AM PAPER BURNING AT ALL MY EDGES
YOU ARE THE SMOKE I BECOME

 

RING of FIRE

I walk briskly at first, shuffling sacred boulders between each foot, I teeter on the edge of humanity. I skirt  the precipice of earth’s flaming lips. My cup brims over with exquisite insanity; a wondrous mathematical equation, All the earth’s treasures lay scattered before me. I jump high on a trampoline sky.  I  rise, sail, I soar face to face a grand southern wind. Towards the west I go, again & again. I high dive, I skydive into the heart of a miraculous world. I am a skimming stone on an ocean of ruby red lava; a great pond we call … the ring of fire 

 

COME PLAY MY GUITAR

I tossed and turned throughout the night. I felt something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by like comets, fast. I wondered if this night would pass? I prayed to God this would not last.

Take me away, my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in G-d’s name will loved ones say?

Morning came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. The day turned into early eve while deep within my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscious broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs.

I looked around for someone to share this miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon the chair, someone to play that old guitar driving by in her yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me, alone again, just me who sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?

PRAYING MANTIS WIDOWED BLACK

She, a diva doused in deep scarlet, diamonds, glitterati eyes, black sable & hair electric blue, held her place before me as our elevator fell free from the top of the World Trade Tower. Between heaven & hell I fell in love. This much I could feel. This much I was sure of. I felt shame at being nothing & nobody she could love. I flashed back to the ghetto I was branded by. Blank-eyed, my head tilted forward, out & down, my perspective was a hawk’s eye view of Hades. Fifty-Third & Third … mine, mine, mine … used to be mine … my corner … I was fourteen.

Upon the littered streets of Chelsea, Sheridan Square, Christopher Street, the pier, the trucks & my old neighborhood over off Bank street by H. B. Studios lay debris & detriment & minced miniature genitalia of yesterday’s used up action figures greeting good morning through hazed, petrol glassed, excremental eyes. That was yesterday. Today? Well, today … I felt her. She felt it. Damn it! Oh, oh…truth hurts. I hurt. It hurt. Immediately. Yet my fantasies still flew wild just as the hawks on Fifth Avenue do when the pigeons fly their loops.

As her black satin heels hit the curb I found the courage to raise my head. She had glee’d me into submission with her eyes & then she tore my heart to shreds. A praying Mantis widowed black is unbearably attractive. A trickster out tricked by a trickster! That’s a switch. I was sure she was the one. I felt it. She made me feel that way. This must be what it feels like to be an old whore after Mardi Gras.

In the first moment, being mortal, I suffered profoundly. In the next, my blank stare turned starry as I gazed in wonder. Her eyes darted to and fro as her gold leafed head turned circles, I wondered just how she did that? I wondered if she even knew. And then those eyes, those eyes, those oscillating glitter-opticals illuminating my barren heart … what could I do? I simply turned to dust & blew away as she shimmered towards the fading light.

praying
http://extremecapture.deviantart.com/

ELECTRIC LOVE ~ BØRNS

 

 

Divine mind is electrical. That may sound as if it is coming out of left field unless it does not, yet to come to this fabulous place where there is no ‘NO’ to fathom (because the universe spirals with a joyous sound), is not something frivolous or sacrilegious nor does it entail separation of any sort. 

It lacks friction ~  because ~ although there is an opposite of yes in the cosmos, G-d sees to it that going against ‘the grain’ of a ‘Sojourner’s Truth’, is fraught with pain … yet … who is anyone to judge the will of the one whose will is at a different wavelength, or frequency, than yours or mine?

Life on Earth: It is actually a beautiful spiritual mathematical equation. I believe a dunce in math-such as I-can see clearer for not knowing the rules, therefore only possibilities. I think words are tools to lead but no matter the language, even one of the four ancient tongues, can never be the end of a journey which does not use language at all.

The universe communicates with itself and other universes using numbers. This is reason why the science of numerology is a holy & sacred way of communicating. If not for the Jewish fathers who seized and ran off with the ancient texts regarding numerology, astronomy, physics, astrology, as well as other texts of excruciating beauty and palpable truths, which were encased in secrecracy at the famed library of Alexandria, Egypt, just before this grand and world renown edifice was burned and ransacked by Roman marauders, we would be a poorer people than we are now.Even to this day, there are innumerable texts of great wisdom hidden quite well in the deserts of north Africa and beyond that will be revealed once humanity sees the truth of its ‘oneness’.

To these people who risked all to save all, to such a people with such passion, love and foresight to protect our legacy as human beings of any epoch, saying thank you is frivolous, moot and not enough. To deny them the glory of their holiness is a sin in the eyes of all God’s children. Feel free to ask me why I know this or how is it the truth. I would not answer that question if I could. You have all you need  at your disposal to discover the truth for yourselves.

 

 

  

www dot god hates you dot com

Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your flight attendant speaking: Please fasten your seat belts. The captain has asked me to remind you, there is no smoking permitted in the lavatories, and to tell you we are going down!

Down!

Down!

Our fiery crash landing into the snow-capped mountain below should be painless… but one never knows. The temperature at the site our destination is uncomfortable. Should you require assistance upon our arrival, do not hesitate to call upon your flight attendant. Beverages & continental breakfast shall be served at Heaven’s Gate, located in the main concourse compliments of our lord, Jesus Christ. Everyone is welcome except for Reverend Fred Phelps of the Hillsborough Community Baptist Church, Topeka, Kansas, sitting in aisle 2, seat 2, you are going to hell.

Hell!

Hell!

Because Freddy,  www dot god hates you dot com. 

Thank you for flying our friendly skies. And have a nice day.

www god

HAWK & THE RAVEN

Full  moon silver frosted leaves, glacine dew robed sycamore sleeves. Sagacious spiders (masters of weave), slept snug & warm beneath my eaves. The creek roared fierce with a late spring rain. All things full must surely wane. Perpetual blossoms should not be sad, but I can’t sing when I’m feeling mad.

Atomic beats drove me insane. The sight I saw played on my brain. I wondered if the sky felt pain? Raven soar’d in for his attack. The Hawk’s quick eye did catch the beast but not before the Raven’s feast. The Hawk chick fell from the sycamore to the rocky banks of this canyon floor. The rest, of course, is etched in lore: 

An Angel garbed in feathered dress descended from her perch of rest. The battered babe, his blood now cold, rose from the dead on wings of gold. Miraculous in the Phoenix mold; fell from the sky then resurrected: A God-shot is quite unexpected for when the Reaper comes it’s time to go. Since earth’s first dawn this has been so, but then again, how would I know?

Heart returned to our beloveds’ sky, then the sweetest glint in our dear chick’s eye. The babe ascended his lofty nest to the greatest comfort, a mother’s breast. Successful in her Angel quest, our heroine in feathered dress returned to where all Angels rest. To this day this lore I’ve told delights all children, both young & old.

hawk ss

 

 

WANDERING ALBATROSS

Throw caution to the wind. She knows what to do with it. Follow me. We’ll have fun playing under the desert sun. As you, I need to feel free. I am. That’s why I am so fond of you. I see me in you and love what I see. You have wings that never stop flapping. You are a great wandering royal albatross.

As dusk turns its cover,  the rising moon will extend an olive branch. It is a great honor for us. Grateful, bedazzled, with euphorica brimming over our trembling lips, we shall graciously accept. Over the oceanic river of our ineffable mind, a starry domed astrolabe will sparkle ovations. You have never seen anything like it. I promise you. Shooting stars from inner space circle thrice. They’ll then take their dive kissing heaven on the other side. We’ll watch holy coyotes yelping shouts, throw cactus darts at cunning hares. Life being lived without dark imagining is life being lived.

Have you ever met a kit fox? The last time I was there, it was a full moon past midnight, silence & solitude with no one anywhere in sight. Appearing from as if thin air, a kit fox trots a few meters ahead of my car. She just as mysteriously stops to stare at me with a smile. What a smile. What a night. Come this way, she beckoned me. I was enchanted. 

All along her pathway to surrender, she searched for specks of gold. Almighty God, she found plenty, too. Her mischievous smile seemed awfully bold for such a tiny thing. She, the kit fox; nothing at all but her luminous smile & two of the biggest ears you will ever see. She tripped me out. You’ll trip out too, I promise you. I promise, you won’t be afraid {as I am now}. I promise you, if you follow your heart’s desire, I’ll run away with you. I promise you. I can’t promise you tomorrow, but I can promise you that.

Fire Island Pines: On The Pulse of The Morning

My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I’m thinking, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, (paid for twice over, but never to be owned), will not subdue the bestial morning’s sadistic appetite. The secret is out; Fire Island tragedies are lurking under star-crossed pines in paradise. My eyes are held in place midst the wreckage of my face by shear will. I think, perhaps one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab paid for twice over, but never to be owned, will obliterate a debauched morning hangover. What about an aspirin or a bloody Mary? Maybe if I take a dive into the raging blue Atlantic waters of forget me nows, my sins will be erased along with yesterday and my inhuman slurs and beat you down puns. Even if the divine in divine mind could muster mercy for my soul, yes, even if I acquiesce and bow to their Latin liturgies, and I finally see that all my prescriptions are merely the fleeting tonics of a foolish mind, I will never find repose. Consequently, (I will not deny this) a loaded Colt 45’s horsepower is my medicine of choice. What other elixir will suffice when you wake early on a brand new day and your mirror is exclaiming, “You’re old, decrepit, and to boot you’re gay? These are but the rage-dreams of a narcissist’s self-absorbed preoccupation. In ephemeral brevity, my spirits rise high as the sun glides its way into mid-day. I take a second look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I’m a silly man. I think I look dashing as my life and times and face decay. I think, “Oh, what’s another cocktail, or a line of coke or two, with this blue-eyed prince of a man; paid for twice over?” The fine print says ‘on loan, never to be owned.’ Nowhere does the contract state ‘this stud, despite his sublime stature cannot subdue another debauched mornings’ hangover revenge.’ On Fire Island, ghosts lurk scarecrow, screw-faced under littered dreams. Theirs is an insatiable hunger for any soul so predisposed to join their twisted spirits in a ritual of howls. Paradise Lost Paradise Found Over The Rainbow Smashed To The Ground. My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face as I slowly turn to ashes. Please, just one more cocktail with you, my beloved, blue-eyed Aphrodite! I’ve handsomely paid for you twice over, could you love me for any fee? No. Not he or any living mortal can subdue this debauched morning hangover. Finally, I take yet another look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I think, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, paid for twice over, but never to be owned, leased but never mine for evermore, will not change the fact that no mere mortal will ever subdue my demoralized mornings spent between heaven and hell. You see, here on Fire Island, ghosts lurk screw-faced under star-crossed pines howling without sound

SOUL HAS YOUR EYES

I’m standing at my kitchen window. The dusk is passing into early eve. There is a wind storm going on. I’m concerned about a hummingbird nest that is in a young ficus tree raised from the dead itself; a stick two years ago in the backyard of my neighbor who had neglected it. I thought I’d just water it and see what happens. It grew. Now I am worried the wind will blow the nest away. I just saw some photos of baby hummingbirds in a similar tree across the street. They are so beautiful. That was earlier today. I won’t venture close enough to these here in my yard… just in case. But I think …

If all animals feel, and they do… how often have we seen the pitiful agony of struggle in their eyes against that which they know intend harm? If they fear they must know joy, they must love life. Instinct just doesn’t cut it. In fact, dismissing such behavior as reflexology is near-devious. It is verging … no, it is ignorant … it must be another form of crime against life.You see fear in all god’s creatures.

If all creatures feel fear, love life, know pain and sorrow then they have soul – if you consume soul – you must be an animal without one – or perhaps an animal who has yet to open their eyes wide enough to see – so – I ask, think upon this. I could be wrong – I know I’m not. 

hum min

WE CAN ONLY SPEAK of HOPE ~ ANGELINA JORDAN ~ FLY ME TO THE MOON

 
Here is Angelina Jordan … she just turned age twelve. This clip is directed by the same woman who did the illustrations on Angelina’s book. She is the grandmother of Angelina… from Oslo, Norway, but her grandmother lives and produces in northern Iran. These are two stellar talents, to be sure. Imagine how poor our world would be if we did not fulfill our true manifested destiny? We are here to be of service and laugh as much as we can. Make someone happy. Fear has nowhere to hide. If we rebelled against the tablet’s call which Lady Liberty holds with fierce compassion and pride (just a stone’s throw away from Battery Park, Manhattan), we would be the poorest people on this planet. Many of us are, regardless how much liquid assets we drip onto an ever changing canvass.  Must I repeat those words? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”*  Open your arms, your hearts, your homes to all people who wish for a greater future today. If you give respect, you will foster respect … and hope. All there is worthy to speak of is hope. You want to live? Then you must learn how to think.  Scott Utley LA CA USA 1 17 2018 4:04 PM PST.

In 2015, Angelina published the book Mellom to hjerter (Between two hearts) illustrated by her grandmother Mery Zamani. The book tells the story of Angelina’s meeting with a poor motherless girl in Asia to whom Angelina gives her shoes. In return the girl promises to always pray for Angelina. It is allegedly based on a true story which Angelina cites as reason for always performing barefoot.[11] In 2016, Angelina launched her own YouTube Channel. After Angelina’s debut Christmas EP My Christmas released in 2014, she’s working on her first album for release in 2018.

Photo: Tore Sætre / Wikimedia

PER ELISA

 

I am sitting on a filthy floor in an emptied room in front of a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I silently marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. For a flicker of a moment I think this is not the war I fought. The war here is so much bigger & far more brutal than the lonely war I fought. A moment passes backwards until I remember this is the place & I am the lone survivor. Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior.

I wonder at the emotions & the crack-hearted questions splattered all over these wounded walls. There is blood on the floor leading into a darkened hallway. I thought I knew where that hallway lead to but I don’t remember now.  As hard as I try to recall, all I see is a blank screen. I am a television turned to mute with thunderous static. If I were not deaf I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I do not get the signal.

I vaguely recall a man’s heart dripping a trail of tears; tears of blood from a shattered heart. That is what these stains in my eyes are. I see that much. I remember that much. I remember a man squatting in the corner of this room, his eyes shut blind & his ears with no sound to hear. He looks like me. I turn my head away as fast as I can. In that moment I am afraid.  I am almost too frightened to breathe, but not afraid enough not to cry. It passes. The moment passes into eternity.

In the next moment, war is over. I am alive. I am crippled, but I’m not lame. I have been forever scarred by razor blades deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but now I hear a song. War is over. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing again.

This is a bittersweet farewell. I see these snapshots of your mind & I wonder why I even wondered how this debris on these walls and that floor ever came to be. I don’t remember now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. These soul creatures are quite beautiful. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter. You are the most kind. 

You of the many muses remind me that all I have to do is turn the television off. It is as simple as that. That is what I have just done. I hadn’t noticed that the songbirds outside my window are singing as if their lives depended on it. They are so happy to be alive. That must be why they sing as they do.

I suddenly feel like humming a tune. PER ELISA. You loved PER ELISA but you never told me that. I only know it because I saw you in a window early one morning dancing your heart out to PER ELISA. I had to smile. Alicia sings like an angel from inner space. She came to us from the peerless library of our dear friend, Marty Lont, in Amsterdam. Remember? I know you do. I also remember, it is the simple things that matter most. Farewell my beloved. I will sing for the both of us until we meet again.

 

 

 

MY PROPHET RISING written by SCOTT UTLEY featuring The Music of MAESTRO ELECTRONICO; LACHLAN E HILL

My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusked across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion.
My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride. 
My Prophet rises.  I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.
 

gggb

 

THANK YOU ~ DIDO ~ THE WOODSIDE BLUE-HEADED YELLOW-BELLIED BLISS STREET NUT CRACKING NIGHT SQUAWKER-TALKER PARROT

This beautiful parrot is native to the street I grew up on. A very rare and near extinct species, the Woodside Blue Headed Yellow Bellied Bliss Street Nut Eating Squawker Talker Parrot once roamed the entire borough of Queens, all the way from Long Island City to Far Rockaway, from the shores of Jamaica Bay to the dunes of Fire Island. Because of hunting by unknown suspects of the Second Court (THE METS SECOND BUILDING of FIVE on one ‘very long’ block’ which includes 48-25 46th Street), along with glue-sniffing hippie pot farmers of Sunnyside, this lovely, once  ubiquitous (albeit obnoxious) parrot has been reduced to just a very small section of its former habitat. To be exact, the courtyard and fifth floor roof of 48-25 46th Street, Woodside, Queens, NYC, NY.

There are an estimated three left but the Bronx Zoo is leading the way in bringing this gorgeous nut eating bird back from the brink of extinction. (They think.) I happen to know both specimens are naturally homosexuel males. Neither one shows any interest in conversion therapy. Researchers are enthralled. That very fact bodes well for the species. Researchers world wide believe that gay parents are the only parents worthy and smart enough …  overflowing with enlightened enlightened compassion to save the Universe. Good luck with that.

*This is referenced from the 1972, December issue of Reader’s Digest. [Father : Unknown historical US military man; BATTLE FOR GUADALCANAL, BRONZE and PURPLE HEART as a MARINE, then as a US ARMY man, served in KOREA and then four tours of duty in VIETNAM. The children of BLISS STREET  except (four half brothers and sisters of VIETNAMESE origin still in Hanoi), are suspected of actually being ‘love children’ of EDWARD III of THE UNITED KINGDOM.

WOODSIDE SQUAWKERS DID NOT ALWAYS INHABIT THE ALLEYWAYS OF BLISS STREET
THEY HAVE THEIR ORIGINS IN AUSTRALIA WHERE THEY CONTINUE TO MULTIPLY LIKE RABBITS

African Watoto Choir UGANDA

MOSENA SEBOLA ~ SOUTH AFRICA ~ Abstracting Truth For The Mass # *1 by SCOTT UTLEY LA CA USA 01.01.2018 11:11 AM PST # *1 of 21 …

MOSENA SEBOLA ~ SOUTH AFRICA ~ Abstracting Truth For The Mass # 1 by SCOTT UTLEY LA CA USA 12 31 2017 912 PM PST Mosena is one of 21 people I searched out while horribly disfigured and confined to one room for three years. I found people I admired for what they give this world. I’m doing these abstracts of each … they all still remain my friends … true, real friends …. loyal and loving ~ courageous and always questing for good.

MOSENA SEBOLA ~ SOUTH AFRICA Abstracting Truth For The Mass # 1 by SCOTT UTLEY LA CA USA 12 31 2017 912 PM PST bbbbb

GOD IS THE GENIUS IN YOU

 

DEBBIE GUILLIAM POSTED ON HER FACEBOOK PAGE AUGUST 14, 2017:

[For those of you who still have your parents in your lives: You are so blessed. But some of you are too blind to realize how precious time is & that your parents won’t be around forever. You should really try to be patient with your parents so that you can enjoy their final years with them because once both your parents are gone. they won’t be back.  You will not be able to make up those days you choose not to spend with them. Since I lost both my parents I feel like I have nobody. Sometimes I wish G-d would call me home because my heart feels so empty anymore. Nobody in the family really talks to me, or my beloved friend, Ronda Wade. We pretty much have just each other, our husbands and our kids (when they feel like being around us, otherwise, most of our family wrote us off when we were little, tiny girls … except for a few loving family members.]
 
mantis
 
DEBBIE GUILLIAM: G-D MUST BE MISSING AN ANGEL, BECAUSE YOUR POST IS MORE VALUABLE THAN ALL THE TEA IN CHINA. IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE ME, ASK MY FRIEND, GONG LI.
 

GONG LI 8 5 2017 SU LA CA USA # 2

GONG: Oh, yes.Debbie, your intrinsic value is only surpassed by this post you gave our world.

SCOTT: Ms. Li, why do you say that?

GONG: From personal experience.

SCOTT: Can you, or will you clarify that statement?

GONG: Yes, I can and I will. It pleases me to be of service. In my life and in the place where I was raised, it was matter of fact to honor your mother and father. It is tradition, but it is also much more by extension; all those who have come and passed away. This is our way in rural China, not so much in the great cities. Sadly, not so much anywhere anymore.

SCOTT: Do you believe that humanity can return to that state of being where the elders are respected?

GONG: Of course.

SCOTT: Honor thy mother and father. These are beautiful words. Must they be taken literally?

GONG: Nothing should be literally taken without contemplation. You may extrapolate this “saying” to mean much more or even much less. In general though, I believe it is a metaphor for honoring all those who come before us. By doing so, and listening to what our elders have to say, with all their wisdom, is a great source of direction along the way to fulfilling our own true path. Do you understand me?

SCOTT: Ms Li, I do. I understand completely with clarity because you speak that way. Thank you for your time. We appreciate you so very, very much.

GONG: Thank you. May you always remain blessed.

龚:哦,是的,拜拜,你的内在价值只有你给我们这个世界的这个帖子才被超越。

SCOTT:李女士,你为什么这么说?

龚:从个人经验。

SCOTT:你能或者你会澄清这个说法吗?

龚:是的,我能和我会的。我很乐意为我服务。在我的生活和我所在的地方,尊重你的母亲和父亲是事实。这是传统,但更多的是延伸;所有来过的人都去了。这是我们在中国农村的方式,而不是在大城市。可悲的是,不再是任何地方了。

苏格兰:你相信人类可以回到长老尊重的地步吗?

龚:当然。

SCOTT:尊敬你的母亲和父亲。这些都是美丽的话。他们必须从字面上看吗?

龚:没有什么事情应该没有考虑。你可以推断这个“说”意味着更多甚至更少。总的来说,我相信这是一个比喻来尊重所有来到我们面前的人。通过这样做,听着我们老人所说的话,用自己的智慧,是实现自己真正道路的重要方向。你明白我说的吗?

SCOTT:李议员,我做。我完全理解,因为你这样说。感谢您的时间。非常非常感谢你。

龚:谢谢愿你永远保持祝福。

MY PARENTS (I’M FIFTH OF SIX CHILDREN-MAY 20-AS ART N ART & CHER-TWO MY MY FAVORITE ARTISTS OF ALL TIME). MY BABY SISTER, APRIL CARNEGIE-CANNON-MURDOCH. AND I SHARE A 10 & 13 YEAR GAP OF AGE DIFFERENCE FROM THE ORIGINAL GANG OF FOUR).

MY PARENTS WOULD BE APPROACHING 100 YEARS OF AGE IF THEY NOT BOTH DID AT 87 FROM COMPLICATIONS of ALZHEIMER’S. MY FATHER, A REVERED, MUCH LOVED MILITARY WARRIOR ICON (USA, MULTI-DECORATED MARINE FOR THE BATTLE OF GUADALCANAL DURING WW II, AN ARMY OFFICER IN KOREA & FOUR TOURS OF DUTY IN VIETNAM. FEW ARE THOSE WHO CAN CLAIM SUCH FEAT.

MY TRUTH IS SIMPLE: THIS MAN, SAMUEL LUKE, MY FATHER, HELD IN SUCH GREAT ESTEEM, THAT WHEN I WALKED INTO THE BAPTIST MEMORIAL & FUNERAL, HAND IN HAND WITH ANITA SPAWN, I WAS, AS MY SISTERS, APRIL & JOHANNA WERE, EMBRACED WITH SUCH ASTOUNDING LOVE, IT SHOOK US TO OUR CORES.

IT’S NOT A SECRET THAT I HOLD MYSELF QUITE BLESSED TO HAVE BE CHOSEN AT BIRTH, OR BEFORE ACTUALLY, TO BE BORN HOMOSEXUAL. THE BAPTISTS THERE WERE AWARE OF THIS, YET IT WAS OF NO CONSEQUENCE (ALTHOUGH THEY BELIEVE THE LIES & MYTH OF THAT “PERVERSION”, WHICH IS, IN REALITY, GOD’S WAY OF SAYING, GOOD JOB, GOOD JOBS. “I HONOR YOU WITH MY MOST DEVOUT LOVE, FOR YOU ARE TRUE DESTINY’S CHILDREN.

THERE IT IS. SO IT IS, FOR IT IS WRITTEN … ANY WAY YOU LOOK AT THE LIFE & TIMES OF SAMUEL LIKE & HIS ACHIEVEMENTS, SOME OF WHICH ONLY MY SISTERS AND I ARE PRIVY TO; (OTHER MOMENTS IN US MILITARY HISTORY THAT CANNOT BE SHARED.), ANY WHICH WAY YOU LOOK AT THIS, IT IS A GRAND ACHIEVEMENT FOR A SOLDIER AT WAR.

I BELIEVE, UNSHAKABLY SO, ANY NATION AT WAR IS A FAILED STATE, NEVERTHELESS, MY DAD WAS MORE LIKELY THAN NOT TO HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE MOST CRUEL AND DEBASING, BRUTAL FATHERS UNDER HIS ALCOHOLISM THAN ANY YOU WILL EVER KNOW. MURDER AND MOLESTATION? THOSE ARE CHILD’S PLAY COMPARABLY SPEAKING. BUT HE REMAINS A PILLAR IN THE HEART OF ALL WHO WERE BLESSED TO BE GRACED BY HIS PRESENCE.

EACH ONE OF MY THREE OLDER BROTHERS, JOHN, CRAIG & RICHARD,ALL USA VETERANS, MET THE MOST GRUESOME PASSINGS, NEVERTHELESS, WHEN SAMUEL LUKE, MY FATHER, LAY IN WAKE, MY TWO SISTERS AND I FLEW FROM OUR PERSPECTIVE HOMES, AND WERE PRESENT IN FORGIVENESS, FOR HE WAS OUR FEATHER FOREMOST, AFTER ALL.

WE BELIEVE THAT,… BECAUSE OF & PRECISELY SO, WE STAND ROCK SOLID IN FAITH OF, “HONOR THY MOTHER AND FATHER”. THIS IS EXPANSION-ABLE TO THE GREATER WHOLE AS GOOD. THESE ARE NOT JUST PRETTY WORDS TO SAY.

IF ALZHEIMER’S HADN’T TAKEN OUR PARENTS “EVERYTHING’” AWAY FROM THEM & US, THEY WOULD BE DANCING IN THE STREET AT 100 YEARS OF AGE, ALBEIT, MY MOTHER IN HER HOME TOWN OF NEW YORK CITY, MY FATHER IN HIS, MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE.

PRESS HOME, PRESS HARD THE IDEA OF RAPID RECTIFICATION, WHETHER PEOPLE BELIEVE THEIR MOTHER OR FATHER WERE ANIMALS OR SAINTS BECAUSE THEY CAN AND THEY MUST IF THEY ARE STRIVING TO CONTINUE THEIR INDIVIDUAL PATHWAYS TO A HOME OF THEIR OWN; A DESTINY FULFILLED WITH HOPE… AND MOST IMPORTANT…  THE MOST IMPORTANT QUALITY OF MERCY; LOVE. DEBBIE, G-D IS THE GENIUS IN YOU.

THANK YOU FOR HELPING “WE THE  MULTITUDE” TO HEAL.

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IRENE HOLT

 

 

ART MIXED MEDIA

COURTESY OF THE ARTIST & AUTHOR : SCOTT UTLEY

SCOTT@SCOTTUTLEY.COM

INFO@NUCLEARMIND.COM

 

 

THE CHILDREN OF BLISS STREET

tn TheFallofSupermanV4

WRITTEN BY SCOTT UTLEY

“STOOPS TO NUTS”

WOODSIDE-QUEENS-NEW YORK CITY

A WARM SPRING DAY IN APRIL,1972.

BLISS STREET IS A VERITABLE BEEHIVE OF ACTIVITY. STICK BALL PLAYERS OUT CUSS EACH OTHER FOR ATTENTION. A FIRE ENGINE IN FULL THROTTLE SCREECHES UP THE STREET WHILE VARIOUS NEIGHBORS CONVERSE FROM ONE APARTMENT WINDOW TO THE OTHER. THERE IS SINGING AND LAUGHTER MIXED IN WITH THE VIOLENT RACKET OF ARGUMENTS BETWEEN ALL SORTS OF PEOPLE; OLD, CHILDREN, EVEN ANIMALS CAN BE HEARD IN EACH DIRECTION OF BEAUTIFUL 46 STREET OR ‘BLISS STREET’ AS IT IS DESIGNATED UP AT THE ‘EL’ (ELEVATED) SUBWAY STATION ON QUEENS BOULEVARD.

EDITH PASSES IDA’S GROCERY STORE ON THE CORNER AND MAKES HER WAY UP THE BLOCK TO 48-25-46 STREET; THE THIRD COURT OF THE METROPOLITAN APARTMENT COMPLEX. A GREAT BEAUTY AGING BADLY, EDITH HAS FIERY RED HAIR TEASED UP IN THE FASHION OF THE DAY. HER PIERCING, ROYAL BLUE EYES CONTRAST BOLDLY WITH HER BRIGHT, RUBY RED PAINTED LIPS. SHE IS HUMMING A POPULAR UPBEAT TUNE FROM 1942. (DON’T SIT UNDER THE APPLE TREE) HER SONG IS INFECTIOUS. EVEN THE SPARROWS JOIN IN WITH HARMONY. OUR FOCUS SEAMLESSLY SHIFTS FROM BLISS TO THE PORTAL OF THE THIRD COURT’S GRIT. EDITH SURVEYS HER NEIGHBORHOOD WITH QUICK AND WEARIED GLANCES WHICH SHE ALTERNATELY PUNCTUATES WITH BURDENED SIGHS AND THEN CAREFREE GIGGLES. EDITH IS THE SOUL AND THE DREAMER OF A HOME COURT CONGREGATION OF THREE.

EVELYN AND LORETTA STROLL ONTO THE STOOP FROM INSIDE THE COURTYARD. BOTH WOMEN ARE DRESSED IN TICKY TACKY CAFTANS. EVELYN IS A SHORT ROTUND FIGURE OF A WOMAN. SHE HAS CHILD’S EYES. HER ESSENCE IS THE COMPOSITE OF A NAIVE STURDY FRAGILITY. SHE IS LOADED WITH IDIOSYNCRASIES. SHE SQUINTS HER EYES WHEN SHE TALKS. SHE PONDERS THINGS AS A BEWILDERED CHILD MIGHT. SHE IS A PARADOX. SHE IS THE SALT OF THE EARTH. EVERYTHING IS A MYSTERY TO HER BUT SHE SOMETIMES CUTS TO THE POINT LIKE A KNIFE. SHE IS THE HEART OF THIS TRINITY.

LORETTA POSSESSES THE SAME DEGREE OF KINDNESS AND COMPASSION EDITH AND EVELYN HAVE, BUT HER HEART IS NOT WORN ON HER SLEEVE AS IT IS WITH HER PARTNERS IN CRIME. SHE IS KEENLY PERCEPTIVE. SHE IS THE SENTINEL WHO GUARDS HER FLOCK. SHE POSSESSES A VAST INTELLECT WHICH  SEEMS QUITE OUT OF PLACE IN THE THIRD COURT. SHE IS A RATHER TALL WOMAN WITH TRUE RED HAIR AND THE FRECKLES AND OCEAN BLUE EYES OF AN IRISH LASS. SHE SEES THE FUTURE WITHOUT EFFORT BUT SHE STRUGGLES TO UNLEASH THE GHOSTS OF HER PAST. SHE IS THE PHILOSOPHER QUEEN OF THIS CABAL.

tn SunnysideShoppingCenter97

EDITH

Hi, Evelyn. Hi, Loretta. Hot today, huh?

EVELYN

86 degrees. Unusual for April. Why don’t you take your coat off?

EDITH

I’m an idiot, that’s why. Why do you think why?

EVELYN

Why? I don’t know why. It’s hot. I don’t know why it’s so hot.

EDITH

Oh, shut up, will you? (Edith indicates to the women she is concealing something under her coat. They both nod in understanding.) Have you seen Scott?

LORETTA

A couple of hours ago. Him and Patty were heading up to the cemetery.

EDITH

Oh, for Christ’s sake. I told him stay away from her. She’s trouble. (Edith arranges items in her girdle).

EVELYN

But Edie, Scott is a good looking boy. He should be on TV. Why don’t you get him on TV, huh?

EDITH

What the hell has that got to do with Patty Ann?

LORETTA

She’s just saying, Edie.

EVELYN

I’m just saying.

EDITH

That and five cents will get you a cup a coffee. Where’s other one, whatshername, numb-nuts?

EVELYN

You mean April? Why don’t you say April? Why are you so strict with her? She’s very nice. She has a beautiful figure. She’s very popular with the boys on the corner.

EDITH

What do you mean, she’s popular on the corner? Get out of here. Have you seen her?

EVELYN

She’s cute. Don’t you think so, Loretta?

LORETTA

Very cute.

EVELYN

Nice figure. Especially for her age.

EDITH

I mean, have you seen her? What the hell are you on?

EVELYN

Say what you mean.

LORETTA

She was up on the corner with one of the Kelly boys about ten minutes ago. Another bad day, huh?

EDITH

So where is she now?

EVELYN

She’s around someplace. Jeeze. Definitely a bad day.

EDITH

Ass kicker. Foreman’s a friend of mine. Black fellow, real nice. Pulls me aside this morning tells me the jig is up. Someone’s blown the whistle. So I hide my stash in the men’s toilet bowl. Five minutes later security comes in and frisks the whole assembly line. Everyone was fired except me. I feel sorry for them. What are they going to do now?

LORETTA

What a damn shame. Those poor girls. What the hell they suppose to do for a living now?

EDITH

That’s what I ask?

LORETTA

What about all the orders I got? I have them up the yin yang.

EDITH

Yeah? (Hopefully.) There’s plenty. I can’t barely breathe with all the crap I swiped today. I took extra just in case. One never knows, do one? God Bless Elizabeth Arden.

EVELYN

God bless her.

[Edith retrieves her grocery bags and climbs the stoop.]

EVELYN

What should we tell April and Scott if we see them?

EDITH

Tell em to kiss my ass! (Edie laughs.)

EVELYN

Edie!

LORETTA

Edie, you should watch your mouth around here.

EDITH

Fuck you. (All three laugh.)

EDITH

You’re both Bozos. Bye-bye. If you see Scott and Johanna, April, Jo, April, if you see them tell them to get upstairs if they want to eat. I’m tired. I’ll see you all later. Hell’s bells, I’m tired.

[Edith disappears into the dilapidated courtyard leading to her fifth floor walk-up apartment.]

EVELYN

Have a nice day.

EDITH (O.S.)

Yeah, sure, you too.

EVELYN

What do you think, Loretta? Edie hasn’t mentioned Craig in what, how many? Three weeks? It’s not natural for him to get up and disappear. Not like him.

LORETTA

Can you blame him? He was holed up over in Manhattan at the VA. Six months? They drug everyone up there until they’re zombies doing the Thorazine shuffle. That alone would drive someone nuts. I don’t blame him walking off the ward. Still, where the hell is he? You’re right. Something isn’t right.

EVELYN

I thought he was over at Creedmoor?

LORETTA

That was Mickey.

EVELYN

Oh yeah, of course, Creedmoor. Had a cousin there. I was there. I had real problems then.

LORETTA

There wasn’t nothing the matter with Craig until he joined the Army. Nothing. I read those letters he sent back from boot camp. Paris Island? Paris my ass. Make it sound like a frigging resort. They beat the shit out of him down there. Those people are assholes. They send him to Viet Nam. Only seventeen.

EVELYN

It’s a shame.

LORETTA

It’s a damn shame.

EVELYN

Sure is.

[In the distance we hear the unmistakable chimes of an ice cream truck.]

EVELYN

Mister Softy, thank god. So late today, huh? Want something?

LORETTA

No, thanks. I’m on a diet…maybe a small vanilla…with chocolate sprinkles… (Loretta gives Evelyn change from her purse.)…and some nuts if he’s got any.

END OF SCENE ONE

tn LaundromatonGreenpointAve

DISSOLVE TO: INT. HALLWAY-GREEN FRONT DOOR-APARTMENT 5B

Edith fumbles with keys. Door swings open revealing interior. There is a small built-in nook to the right with a domed adjustable lamp hanging over a white-washed built-in table. An iron gate spans the inside of a window leaving little visibility. There are several Snake plants scattered about vying for air with several formally stray cats. The fire escape beyond the window doubles as a convenient way for some of the occupants of 5B to access the roof as well as escape natural disasters. Overlooking this touching pastoral hangs a cheap Woolworth’s faux gold-framed replica of Da Vinci’s ‘The Last Supper’. Edith steps into a puddle as she enters apartment.

EDITH

Ah shit. Ginger! Did you pee on the floor again? Come out of that bathroom, you little… ah hell, it ain’t your fault, poor thing. It’s that bum’s fault, Scott.

[Edith sits down on bench in the nook. She begins removing Elizabeth Arden cosmetics from under her brazier and girdle. This task seems to go on forever.]

EDITH (CON’T)

What’s this? (She holds up an eye brow pencil for inspection.) Oh good, I forgot about that.

[Having finished with her inventory, shes sighs, removes her dentures, and then begins to sob for no apparent reason. From the direction of the street we hear the sound of April’s voice.]

APRIL (O.S.)

Teresa, you should talk, you’re the whore… (sounds of tin garbage cans crashing about).

[Edith races to the kitchen window next to the stove overlooking the alleyway below and shouts:]

EDITH

April, is that you? April? Answer me. April? Now! I’m going to come down there and knock the … April?

APRIL (O.S.)

Ow, that hurts!

EDITH

Hey Teresa, leave her alone, you hear me, Teresa?

TERESA (O.S.)

Yes, Mrs. Utley. I hear you, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

Teresa, stop picking on her.

TERESA

Yes, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

You little snot nose, how would you like it if I told your mother?

TERESA

I wouldn’t, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

Get lost, Teresa.

TERESA

I will, Mrs. Utley. Have a nice night, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

April, do you hear me?

APRIL (O.S.)

What?

EDITH

Get your ass up here. Right now!

APRIL

I’m coming, I’m coming.

[Edith moves away from the widow and grabs a few paper towels which she then uses to wipe up the puddle she had stepped into at the beginning of this scene. While stooping down to manage that task, April bursts through the front knocking Edith onto her butt.]

EDITH

Watch it, will you?

APRIL

Sorry.

EDITH

How you like me to throw you out the window?

APRIL

I said I‘m sorry. What’s that on the floor?

EDITH

Ginger peed again.

APRIL

Great, I guess I have to go walk her now?

EDITH

Why? She already peed.

[Edith gets up off the floor and forgets to finish the clean up.]

EDITH

And you’re not going anywhere. Where were you just now?

APRIL

I went to Ida’s to get a Yoo-Hoo.

EDITH

Evelyn said you were on the corner with the Kelly boys.

APRIL

She’s full of shit. She’s a liar.

EDITH

Why would she lie? And watch your dirty mouth, twinkle toes.

APRIL

She’s jealous.

EDITH

I’ll tell you one thing, if I catch you with that Marty Kelly one more time I’m going to send your ass back down to Mississippi.

APRIL

Why, you plan on having shingles again?

EDITH

You’re a pain in the ass. Where’s your dopey brother?

APRIL

How should I know? I haven’t seen him in weeks.

EDITH

Not that one, the other one.

APRIL

He’s having a nervous breakdown over at Bellevue.

EDITH

The other one.

APRIL

He’s down south someplace.

EDITH

You know damn well who I’m talking about, Mickey, Craig, Richard, whatever the hell his name is. Scott, where’s Scott?

APRIL

He went up to the Calvary to pick flowers with Patty Ann.

EDITH

He promised me he wasn’t going to do that anymore. Who in the hell would go pick flowers in the cemetery? What is he, a nut or something?

APRIL

Don’t ask me. You’re the one who had him.

EDITH

Smart ass. One of these days someone’s going to knock you on the head. I wish he wouldn’t go there. It’s so dangerous.

APRIL

Not any more dangerous than hanging out in the Village every weekend. You don’t say anything about that, do you? But me? Oh no, I can’t even go to the frigging corner store without that stupid mutt.

EDITH

He’s older than you.

APRIL

The dog?

EDITH

Your brother.

APRIL

Which one?

EDITH

Scott.

APRIL

He’s only 14.

EDITH

So what? You’re only 11. Now get out of here before I smack you.

APRIL

My pleasure.

[We hear the clamor of footsteps and inaudible voices coming from the direction of the stairwell. April races to the door and cracks it open.]

APRIL

Scott?

JOHANNA

It’s me. I got Mike with me.

APRIL

What?

JOHANNA

It’s me. Johanna. Come get these bags.

APRIL

I can’t. Ma won’t let me go out into the hallway after dark.

MIKE

Put a light bulb on, that will help the situation.

APRIL

What’s a light bulb?

JOHANNA

You think you’re funny?

APRIL

Ma think’s so.

MIKE

What’s that smell, Jo?

JOHANNA

You promised me, Michael.

MIKE

It’s killing me. I’m dying out here. Smells like something crawled up someone’s butt and died.

JOHANNA

Shush. (Johanna giggles.)

MIKE

Well, it does.

JOHANNA

You can go to hell for saying stuff like that.

MIKE

It’s got to smell better than this.

[Just before Johanna and Mike reach the landing April heads for the bathroom unbuttoning her pink blouse as she goes. Edith pulls out a compact from her brazier and deftly applies another layer of cake onto her face. Mike walks into 5B first. He is hauling several bags of groceries which he drops to the floor. He turns to Johanna and whispers:]

MIKE

Smell that?

EDITH

Hey Michael, what’s your problem?

JOHANNA

Here are some groceries for you and the kids. We left the car running. No place to park and Mike’s got bowling tonight so we have to go anyway.

EDITH

Hey Mike, what’s your problem?

JOHANNA

Nothing.

MIKE

How you doing, Mrs. Utley?

EDITH

Fine, Mike.

JOHANNA

Here, Ma.

EDITH

Jo, we don’t need your money. Keep it.

MIKE

Buy some disinfectant.

EDITH

What did you say?

MIKE

Something that smells nice.

JOHANNA

He didn’t say anything.

EDITH

What are you saying?

JOHANNA

He didn’t mean anything.

EDITH

You think this place stinks?

JOHANNA

Ma, take this twenty dollars, you can use it.

EDITH

I said I don’t want it.

JOHANNA

Have you seen that blouse of mine.

EDITH

No.

JOHANNA

The pink one.

EDITH

No, I told you.

JOHANNA

April?

APRIL

No.

JOHANNA

I love it. I want it.

EDITH

What’s it worth to you.

JOHANNA

Ma, don’t play with me. I’ll start crying.

EDITH

You’re a big baby. April, get that damn blouse, will you?

APRIL

Where?

EDITH

Right where you left it.

APRIL

I never even ever seen it.

Edith

You did.

APRIL

I did not.

EDITH

You did too

APRIL

Didn’t.

EDITH

Get it, please?

[April caves in and heads for the bathroom.]

MIKE

Let’s go, Jo, this place is making me sick.

EDITH

What did you just say?

JOHANNA

Nothing Ma, we’re going.

MIKE

This place is a dump.

JOHANNA

Michael!

EDITH

You have some nerve. You try raising six kids, you goombah!

JOHANNA

Ma, he didn’t mean anything.

MIKE

I didn’t mean anything.

EDITH

Who the hell do you think you are?

JOHANNA

Ma, please.

EDITH

Get the hell out of here, you rotten guinea.

[Edith begins throwing anything she can find at Michael.]

JOHANNA

Ma! Ma! Ma, stop!

EDITH

Get out! You hear me? Your nothing but a lousy wop!

[April comes running out from the bathroom with a balled up piece of cloth. She throws it at Johanna. Johanna catches the blouse and forgets for a moment her husband is about to be neutered. Johanna sniffs the blouse and screams out in horror.]

JOHANNA

What the hell did you do to it? You ruined it!

EDITH

(To Michael) Out! Get out! Get out of my house!

[Edith picks up a massive rococo style lamp from a table. April starts screaming. Michael heads for the door.]

JOHANNA

Ma, you’re going to hurt somebody.

APRIL

That’s the idea.

JOHANNA

April, why don’t you go cover yourself?

EDITH

Out of here. You hear me? You dumb dago!

APRIL

Yeah, you heard her, out.

JOHANNA

April, I’m going to smack your ass.

MIKE

Jo, I think Edie broke my arm.

EDITH

Good, you deserve it.

JOHANNA

This is a damn shame.

[The lamp Edith has been threatening Mike with, goes shooting through the air. It hits Michael in the back. All hell breaks loose. Johanna manages to help Michael to the door. There are words exchanged. Finally, Johanna and Mike are out the door and down the steps in a flash. Edith runs to the door. April follows after her. Edith shouts out into the void of the stairwell:]

EDITH

And don’t come back.

APRIL

You hear?

EDITH

You hear me?

APRIL

You hear her?

EDITH

Shush. Listen. Let me hear them.

[Total silence. You can hear a pin drop. After a few beats, Edith and April turn to face one another, and then they both break out in laughter.]

APRIL

What an idiot he is.

EDITH

I keep telling you.

APRIL

He’s a jerk.

EDITH

He’s stupid.

APRIL

He’s a danger to him and everything else.

EDITH

Look what he did to my lamp.

APRIL

He didn’t leave that twenty bucks either.

EDITH

He’s a cheap fuck.

APRIL

Tight ass.

EDITH

What do you want from a wop?

APRIL

Lower your voice, you don’t want Loretta hear you say that.

EDITH

Say what? Dago? Guinea?

APRIL

No, wop.

EDITH

Wop, wop, wop, wop.

APRIL

Ma, stop it.

EDITH

I’m singing. You don’t like my voice? Guinea, guinea, guinea, wop, wop, wop.

APRIL

Ma, stop with the wop, just stop. Loretta will hear.

EDITH

What are you talking about? She’s not Italian.

APRIL

Her son is.

EDITH

Who, PJ? He don’t know nothing.

APRIL

Any soda in the kitchen?

EDITH

Cool Aid.

[Scott comes running into the apartment carrying a few dozen gladiolas.]

APRIL

About time.

SCOTT

Look what I got you, Ma?

EDITH

So pretty.

APRIL

You stole them from dead people.

SCOTT

I don’t steal. They gave them to me.

[Scott goes into kitchen to find a vase.]

APRIL

Dead people gave you flowers?

SCOTT

The guards gave them to me.

APRIL

The guards are on strike.

SCOTT

So is your face.

EDITH

Don’t be funny, Scott.

APRIL

Banana face.

SCOTT

Bubble head.

EDITH

Be nice, you two.

APRIL

I know you are but what am I?

EDITH

You two aren’t funny.

SCOTT

Ma, you want to know what I heard about April today?

APRIL

Hey you.

EDITH

Hay is for horses.

[There is a hard curt knock at the front door.]

EDITH

Who is it?

VOICE

Mrs. Utley?

EDITH

Yes? Who is it?

POLICE OFFICER ONE

Police.

EDITH

Who?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

Police.

EDITH

Police?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

Police officers. We’re with the Long Island City station. Is this Mrs. Utley?

EDITH

This is she. How can I help you?

POLICE OFFICER ONE

Mrs. Utley, we need to speak with you. It’s about your son. Open the door.

EDITH

Wait, hold on.

[Edith crosses to the chair next to the couch. April and Scott sit motionless as they witness the rest of this scene unfold. Edith grabs an overcoat and fusses with her hair. She crosses back to the door. She unlocks it as she speaks.]

EDITH

Did Mrs. Writz call you about the yelling? It’s not my fault.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, Mrs. Wirtz didn’t call us.

EDITH

It’s that bum’s fault, my son in law, Michael. He’s nuts.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, this is about your son.

EDITH

My son? You mean Scott? What the hell has he got into now? I told him stay away from the cemetery.

[Scott moves closer to April. The two of them stare in dread as they watch their mother‘s countenance change from one degree of concern to the other.]

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, it’s about Craig Utley. Do you have a son named Craig?

EDITH

Yes I do, officer. He’s been missing. Is he alright? What happened to him? Did something happen to Craig?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

Yes, Mrs. Utley, something terrible has happened to your son.

EDITH

Oh no, what? Is he dead?

POLICE OFFIVER TWO

There is no easy way to tell you this. We found his body in the East River this morning. It looks as though he had been in the water a few weeks. If the weather hadn’t warmed up, we probably wouldn’t of found him. We’re sorry, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

No, you’re mistaken.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

I’m afraid not, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

You are. You are mistaken. He was fine a minute ago, just fine. He’s doing well. Ask his doctor, you’ll see. This must be some kind of a joke. It’s not funny.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, this is not funny at all.

EDITH

My son is fine, I know he is. He’s going to call here any minute, you’ll see.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I wish it would, I really do.

EDITH

He is. He will. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

[Edith runs to the phone on the wall in the kitchen and picks up the receiver.]

EDITH (CON’T)

Call damn it, call. Johanna, tell him to call.

APRIL

Johanna’s not here.

[Edith slams the receiver several times into the phone’s cradle. She finally sits on the bench in the kitchen nook and begins to sob. Scott and April rush over to her and cradle her in their arms.]

APRIL

The phone was disconnected, remember, Ma?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

April, do you have the telephone number to a relative, an adult who may be able to identify Craig’s body?

APRIL

My sister’s husband, Mike, he can do it. He is the best one to call. You want his number?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

That would be wonderful, thank you, April.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

Mrs. Utley, we’re sorry. We are very sorry. This is the saddest thing we ever have to do. God bless you and your family.

END OF SCENE TWO

calvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

JOSHUA TREE

The rising moon extends an olive branch, honored, I graciously accept. Over oceans and rivers of ineffable mind, a starry domed astrolabe sparkles ovations. A shooting star, one of many I shall see tonight, circles twice then takes a dive, kissing heaven on the other side. Holy coyotes yelping shouts throw cactus darts near cunning hares.Kit Fox looks for gold; a bold smile suits her evening wear. Come with me, if you dare. I’m joking you, no pressure, dear. You’re the brightest star we’ll see tonight. The silent roar of our planet breathing is the only sound we will hear. Come to Forgiving Rock with me tonight. Meditate under a diamond moon with me tonight.