It's always easy
to jump
from one line to the other
like a voice over
like gods of our stories
what's the core and what its circling atoms
i like the magic of it
the flowery edges of human creation
I really wish Dr Cameron a good good life
she deserves it
instead of pissing around ours
i speak in plural because we are plenty
big institutions require big amounts of us
wanderes, passers-by, in night gowns or quirky leggins
maybe cigarette-burnt/coffee-stained shirts
but we're not crazy
we just found life too vertiginous.
(Too beautiful /too dreadful)
And then the universal need for feedback
because we're too fragile for this world
the only one we know
but it doesn't have to be that way forever
we can change it
fuck the ruler of this land
we've seen his face too much
turning from male to female
in different squares of rational thinking
so we twist and shout
stretching for new concepts
numbers and symbols and letters and green drinks and shivers down our spines
we love them when they turn into nothing
because there is no such thing
let's say that i fell to the ground when i rushed into my room
my slippers misunderstood the meaning of stability
and i fell.
i could say that i tripped on my own steps and lost balance
it can happen to anyone, beware of the fall of the eldery
they may have been firm while young but now they're each day closer to death
(i could say that we are man and woman till the end of time
in millions of pairs, in premeditated structures
the past is the past no matter how dark; let's have a close up in present time)
or i could say that at the climax of my thoughts and the dizzyness of living
the motion screamed in the stillness of physics and collapsed
giving signs of human conventions that go further in nature -such as what they call 'gravity'.
that is my life:
i twist and shout in the hopes of finding new borders
finding them to extinct them
to go even further than gravity.
But the main issue of this doodle is
something that's been with us all along in history
and nobody should give a shit about
but my mother did.
she gave a shit
when i had to say i was going out with mates
to the movies or the club or the park or whatever
when i had to giggle and smile if they asked about the 'he' that ruled my head in homework time.
One day i told her all the men i fucked
that meant nothing to me
and i added:
"It's not a 'he'. How you wish it was makes me want to puke. Her name is Ginger and she rocks my world."
My mother's pale face. And her new boyfriend's turning red. She took a deep breath, everything's okay. But yeah, i was sent off to my room
while she would meditate
on the circus performance
starring her daughter
rubbing her hands upon Ginger's crotch.
And all the women that she knows i know
and all the things she thinks she doesn't know
And how would a plastic-square-headed town take it
if they caught me.
Rough times.
Yes, just because i couldn't deal with my past
and daddy and my brother
and the wrong men i came across
and the way i was educated
and the way the world manifests
i fell onto the knife of distort
and i loved it.
But then again because she couldn't deal with the whispers of a ghost town
and her blue-eyed TVshow called 'life'
that jokes about boys acting like queens
and tomboys are part of the black humor that should never see the light
and its definition is not found in her dictionaries
she put me in this hospital
till i get better
till i become the person she wants me to be
yes, she really thinks that's the pot of gold
poor naive woman
i love her a lot
but these white walls make me want to eat the whole world.
Maybe i will
Maybe i already did.
It's so funny that she can afford Hell's best suite
to cover her dirty daughter's existence.