Archive for the Opinion Category

plans askew, more to come…

Posted in afternoon requiem, JL Stories, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on October 2, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

greed of the suck-fish

gettin’ bombed watching sunday
untangle the last of her hours,
smoking cigarettes that go down
like water. rainfall outside fights
a rear-guard action keeping the
cloudy sky in place. the only
forward movement is in time.

whomever wanted it badly enough
could feel the electricity; inherent
in swallowed ovoid capsules.
transformational acrobats are all
the rage in this delicate town.
almost nobody watches the slow moving
grass waving in the foot-breeze.
short attention spans virtually
guarantee this misdemeanor attraction
generates moderate success.

by varying account, autonomics rule
the day as it constricts the loose
hours spilled out over the afternoon.
tomorrow is already given over
to a celebration of the old days;
today is the pocket the key must
pass through before being inserted
into the lock. pandoras box will
spring open on its own.

late in the day considerations…

Posted in Cigarette, Descartes, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

& what are you, anyway?

if i laugh too openly whenever
the razor closes in on one of
those mainline highway tours
it’s only because i’m holding
out hope that someday i’ll
grow up & be a cigar-store indian.
i test myself for sanity every
time i wake-up having watching
myself catch river-water in a net
under semi-dark skies.
everything is plural here.

next to the impossibly blooming
cigarette flower were palm trees
lining a riverbank illustrating a
pretense toward chalice duty
had the the sky not been so cloudy.
forgetting such experiences is
one of my chief preoccupations
& the way i spend most of my
starting into space time.

it fades to a regress of half
captured images memorable only
for the gaping holes in each frame;
the rest is mist, something about
the sun god apollo, maybe a
pattern in the camel smoke drifting
past my eyes. everything dissipates
into the same extirpated landscapes
& actions as actual rainfall
weighs on everything trying to stand
straighter tomorrow than was
possible today. cigar-store indian
training continues apace.

————————————–

Dedicated to normality. It’s more unique (at times) than one might think or expect.

warped fields & gravitational theory…

Posted in Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , , on September 17, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

& why & why

twisted out straightened lines
tying the asphalt to the dirt,
holding it all back from strangulation.
all kinds of extractions stick
to evening hours already stretched
past endurance final strand. at an
unknown time it’ll break free from
formulaics presupposed by theory
when honest-to-life experience
disembowels already parsed possibilities
spit into discussions held at all the
finest institutions & asylum.

success in the aftermath of birth or
death played as desire for the non-
possessed. it won’t make sense
in time or space. we’ll do it
anyway mostly because of declining
potentialities.

holy shit that’s an ugly hooker…

Posted in Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, JL Stories, Laughter, Opinion, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

i was gonna ask but didn’t

didn’t take much day-dreaming
to arrive at a suitable explanation
of such sudden desire;
those types are bad credit risks
& walk around with bruised knuckles
without ever knowing why.

still playing a game learned
at the foot of the mountain
under watchful gaze & rotten luck.
i’d say it was sad, but it almost
never is. regardless of the correlations
staring back from a coincidental lion
racing to cash in his meal ticket
by ripping out the throat of
weaker prey, everyone needs a
hobby & we all gotta eat.

back on earth relaxed movements of
momentary possibility surround
copernican predictions about
situational reality. patterns like
this would make mandelbrot blush.
i guess after you see the pin
pulled enough times, you stop asking
why & just get to running.

unfair to blame soft shell turtles
for failing to invent mirrors. at least
naked mole rats have sense enough
to stay blind. then again,
there’s always more under
than over.

——————————————-

Ever seen something & laughed? If not, you should try it. Really soothes the ego & builds confidence.

the other end of the rope…

Posted in Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Marisol, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

zany antics

it was easy as listening,
developmentally capable of
debating pascals wager until
ease of passage overwhelmed
the refractions of short-timer
echoes as strings & reeds
vibrated their way from M-
theory into popular conscience.

passing out cookies to a large
crowd of heretics displaying
his generosity; stunning yet
too easy to imply real sacrifice.
verdict passed on via the
jealously wrathful, late to the scene
carrying its own semi-translucent
luck.

miracle kilter sounds like
hooves rhythmically tapping
cobblestone streets in some
forgotten era. even
without horses the sounds
come to life born again
on the backs of draft animals
pulling their weight &
a few pounds that rightfully
belong to a rider.

all of the signs & most of the
veterans agree on some
obvious equivalence. past that
i wake up hoping for luck
& the kindness of marisol. poly-
synthetic luck responding to
desperation if not prayer. aesthetics
aside, she’s holding air signs
in the water while i stand
on solid earth. copernican logic
in Linnaeus’ world.

we speak different languages
with equal precision & talk for
hours about anything but
everything.

—————————————–

During tough times it is necessary to find even the small synchronizations of hope for better days to come. Johnny Cash sings again from the iron house, & in this fucked up world, even the hurricanes end up unimpressive. Not so for the eyes of the girl looking to the past for a map of the future. Dedicated to my own sleeping beauty. Where words fail trust is the coin of the realm.

thinking of the time…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, JL Stories, Learning About Life, Opinion, Poetry with tags , , , , , on June 22, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“playin’ possum”

lightning threatened,
steeped behind furnace quality
heat. i was
sweating serrated ninja stars
& scared of what probably
wouldn’t happen post flood,
music & all.

normality is an everyday
commitment. well
intentioned cloud cover
joins us on the surface of
the sphere; important pitches
will be thrown, just not
the kind that’ll put the game
out of reach one way
or the other.
not yet anyway.

i haven’t got any proper
identification & nobody
believes a word i say.
metaphysical capitalism turns
all the stories about ridin’ the
pine into something fiercely heroic
& occasionally beautiful.
the whole picture is one of
disillusionment with aesthetics.

feed the prayers to the
hungry, divine the water
from the rock; following along
a shoreline half of something
& partially somewhere else,
the only constant is my repetitious
drags on cigarettes that all
taste the same & arrive in
the same box.

sometimes the smoke makes
pictures in the wind. some-
times not, & it dissipates easily
either way. free agent
destiny inks a secret deal;
somehow we raised up with
all the righteousness we could
assemble & smiled under weak light
from a cigarette lighter giving
everything it had to pass
along the flame.

it was time to move.

———————————————–

Just something I’ve been toying with for a while. More later, for now off to impersonate Nick Drake & see where the day takes me. I would guess big box store, but there is always hope. To the cigarette man, and of course mt

adherent sensorialists…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Descartes, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, One Shot Wednesday, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 6, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

adherent sensorialists

cigarette smoke with my
benzinated morning coffee over
linoleum lined floors good for
pacing feet. deep thought in
the kitchen while around me only
asinine reality; isaak’s balloons
carried on the wind across the
window over the parking lot
while barking dogs sing the
breeze to sleep.

i’ve got it on the good authority
of a fanciful ground based sky-pilot
there’s a reason for everything
but my faith wanes. an apolitical
sensorialist leads morning congre-
gents in something resembling
prayer without any appeal to
divinity. they’re all dancing similar
steps, echoing the sensorialist
pleading for help from anyone that
might be listening to the gathered
folk.

nothing happens. always maybe
later but my faith wanes. after
my cigarette is crushed into the
ashtray & the last dregs of coffee
mix with in an acidified stomach,
skunk plant imprints impose their
own additional demands. thought
drifts from familiar sensorialist
congregations to the sensorialist
himself & the magic he weaves.