I don't wear red

Just finished watching a Glen Beck Jan 22 episode that dealt with Holodomor. This is an incident that has deeply affected my people.
I was raised to be unfond of communists and in fact there was time when I thought in basic idea it was theoretically equivalent to applied Christianity.... and then I became educated. Che, Mao, Stalin, Lenin, Hitler: all mass murderers, cold heartless killers using political agendas as covers for their malicious psychotic intents. The writers who espoused these philosophies, the same. Social Progressivism, Social engineering, Eugenics, whatever the cloak, the content the same.
My parents raised me not to wear red. I used the think it was odd. Now I understand and wish I could kiss their head and hands to have raised me this way-I don't wear red.

Gypsy Bacon

She lays naked and warm

Next to her purse with the things inside left to confuse the mice that come at night to visit

A swahili phrase book next to a card with

Hot rolls Dumb ass on it

 Thinking,  go ahead why don’t you take that one back to your nest and chew on that for awhile

They speak in high pitched tones

Like aliens who read from their prayer scrolls

Trying to gauge the freshness of the bacon

He bought from gypsies years ago as he sat across the fire in the desert

Fate-- he lay many nights in the cold plugged into the jacket that takes energy and makes heat in your jacket as the engine runs

After he lays many nights next to his motorcycle in the dirt at night wrapped in his Masaai robes he bought on Ebay.

He searches for the turkey bone and aluminum foil to make translators to listen to advice from the ants that crawl beneath his head so he can understand

How to get along with others as well as they do

He wonders how they manage to do their jobs for the benefit of the others

they live with while his thoughts always drift towards solo journeys

She looks over his shoulder now scribbling notes she can give to the people who buy her breakfast.

He leaves cryptic notes for help on the cafeteria tray that rides down the conveyor hoping that the kitchen staff wlll read it when they clean the dishes

He scratches the fish scales and cotton that line the roof of his mouth in the morning

Trying to taste what remains of the night air

that still lingers somewhere amongst the leaves that lay cold beneath the winter trees on the hard frozen ground

His dog barks outside tied to a tree after she does her business 

She comes in happy and panting waiting for her breakfast near her water dish

She lays then down upon her pillow

The Masaai men laugh at him when he tells the story as they sit across a fire in the night heat that keeps the lions away

Reminiscent of the time he learned from the gypsies that sold him his bacon

Sufi pants and vision

She makes peanut butter sandwiches to make our dog love her better

My dog laughs out loud at vacuum cleaner jokes

 she knows she does a better job when it comes to food.

She wears Sufi pants and dreams of large stitched canvases hung in front of museum windows with large patches of grey and charcoal and white and china red so they can be seen through windows from hillsides across from the parking lots of museums

The paintings are done in warehouses with white walls 

We sew 5 foot rolls of canvas, stitched together and gessoed 

before the paints are done on the floors and hung from the walls or ceiling in warehouses owned by the Drury’s who let him paint on the weekends in place no one has ever spoken or thought of...

The curator of the museum wants a large painting to hang on the walls

I saw it in my vision this morning after reading the Anthropologie catalogue

And I know it will happen

The Ants have thoughts too

Happy NEW YEAR!!!! You know where you go outside and listen to the fireworks and smell the night air and wonder how one arbitrary night becomes the source of a planetary event and the entire world is bound to that fact and you just go hmmmm , is that an ant on the sidewalk, what is he doing out this late at night, I though only worms come out at night??? Maybe there's a whole world out there I know absolutely nothing about, maybe there's a whole universe, all subterranean like and they have ant thoughts that sound really high pitched and you can make a little ant communicator out of some tinfoil and a turkey bone that you hold to the base of your jawbone and if you hum your thoughts they will understand...they will always understand...

The Mirror behind your head

She wears glasses so she can see her dreams better.

She’s talking to you  and You think she’s talking to you

You think she’s talking to you but she’s really talking to the mirror behind your head

She tries to tell you her dreams but she thinks she’s you

And she tells you are her and she’s you talking to the other people in the dream

So you begin to wonder if you really are necessary anymore

All you think about is how the plumber struggles to tell

You that she should stop flushing the Va J J wipes down the toilet

She goes down the stairs to talk to Ray the Plumber who’s mopping up the water from the drain that’s stopped he rips open his shirt to show you his open heart surgery scars.

She shows you the cuts she uses to tell her she

Feels herself

They walk apart he from the room sees her across the swollen river

Walking with her son’s hat in her hand

Their eyes meet, they’re not locked as they always been connected

He knows now he must come back

He couldn’t see it all he saw

Was her membership in the sexual disease association

He turns up the music so he can write

It’s the only way he can hear his words and see his thoughts

On the paper or the screen ---no one uses paper any more they use electrons

Electrons gone in an instant to go on a spin in someone else’s mind

That why they call it spin, it spins and it’s gone

Gone for a spin in someone else’s mind and on and on and on

Our Purpose - Youth for Human Rights International

If you know you rights, you will expect them and know when someone tries to take them away or lessen them...

Our Purpose
-
Youth for Human Rights International

Adjust to it...

Adjust to it...

When your mind starts to go 

I’m taking you to Africa and setting you outside my mud house

On a reed mat in the dirt and let people play invisible mind ping pong with you all day

 You listen to the water drops in the sink in a town with no potable water

And drink heat treated milk with dry biscuits

Having Zwieback dreams of your childhood 

Sitting nest to the the melamine yellow table with black geometric dot patters

Feeling the holes in the vinyl of your chair on the backs of your naked legs

 Watching Pete the Parakeet pulling strands out of your mothers hair to make a nest for his mate that he never finds

In your minds basement level small grey spiders by the windows waiting for you to feed her flies

And watch the web dance and tingle her to life

Thru the windows in the basement The Masai men hop and leave deep guttural notes as their beads bounce 

Off their dark glistening chests and the honey and red earth part as rivulets of sweat

Run down their bodies and leave long dark lines in the ashes to drip on the gourd

Like the drops in the sink that you never hear but are always there dropping

 Waiting listening for you to answer them back

The smell of bat urine descends from the nets above your head and my nose lays next to your ear smelling the damp wax and bat scent from the nights before

You lay spent beneath the scent cold beneath the damp morning sheets as

 The baboon stares hole at the sides of your head looking for the microwave beams that the government has been sending

To tell you of the red spitting cobra that fans its hood waiting at your office door 

The servants run and shriek looking for a way to make it go.

Adjust to it…..