///RAIN///

when it rains it never pours

it only nourishes

the orifice

it's all in your mind, love

all in your mind

it colors the temple

it greens the ground
it grins the frown
cos when it rains it never pours
it might influence a cloud
make it influenza cold
freeze the dew, create the mold
the leaking might make you livid
and i could tell your crib was lived in
drownin' in shadows
while i sat in my cave
curtains drawn, i caved in
to solitude
but you're a solid dude
not like that crude one i met in thai town
who never mentioned he was tied down
that was oh-six
before i met you
doin' skate tricks
in high street wit' my ex
we got to know each other through text
i liked what you were
i liked who you were
i dug how you stared
both silent but neither us cared
we took it slow
i'd neva' done that before
livin' far apart
only made me covet you more
i got your back
and you covered my soul

when it rains it never pours

it only nourishes

the orifice

it's all in your mind, love

all in your mind

whenever my plane landed
always felt like the first time, granted
we're apart for months at a time
relyin' on digital pantomime
we did long distance without reason or rhyme
just that it was love
but fights were explosive
insecurity corrosive
would rather die than be without you and live
even when we were pushed to our limits
and almost had enough
we taught each other how to trust
decided infinity or bust
jealousy and paranoia hushed
when we chose us over lust
us, till infinity or bust

when it rains it never pours

it only nourishes

the orifice

it's all in your mind, love

all in your mind

///MA-TWO-OD///

island spliff

yoga stiff

local weed

transparent seed

sphere is turnin'

tsinelas burnin'

dragonfly on skinny stalk

balisong boys on the sidewalk

feets our ride

sugarcane sides

juice it

plant it

squeeze it

cleanse

famers divide

geometry's gems

pointed lids

line green grids

herb on herb

basura absurd

barefoot knocks

on muddy earth

silence walks

for what it's worth

buffalo local

seldom vocal

carabao springfield

clouds as shields

spring to the sea

'squito bites bee

sun over tree

rays within me

& we, smoke with thee

///KINDRED///

seed sowing

plants growing

people shrinking

un-thinking

eyes that feel

moving stills

tummy churning

soul yearning

lights splaying

beats swaying

voices echo

fears let go

prism seeing

peaceful being

kindred spirit

i feel you feel it

gulp that jam

shoulder stand

sipping tea

prickly greens

crystal hearts

magic cards

velvet pants

freedom dance

shy discussion

pizza percussion

cozy cocoon

rainbow room

smoking hill

water spill

brother bear

rollie air

woven family

thursday fantasy

love on stage

incense sage

dilapidated room

bud and shroom

full moon glow

truman show

she is here

nothing to fear

prism seeing

peaceful being

kindred spirit

i feel you feel it

///020814///

It felt like a music festival; an immense, heaving, sprawling festival. It felt like Woodstock. We were on stage with Santana, naturally, but you were the one playing lead guitar. Your solo seemed eternal, and I could feel the crowd hanging on to your every expression. The length was of no concern to them, they wanted more more more. All the while, you were kissing me, also for some infinite stretch of time. It was a world wherein time and space were limitless, absolutely limitless. Detaching from your lips, I turned my head ever so slowly it almost creaked and took in the crowd for the first time since getting on stage. You did the same, and the silence that fell upon both our minds told me you could not believe the vision before us either. It was more of a population than a crowd, and I was utterly positive it was made up of billions of people. My eyes strained themselves attempting to traverse from the very front to the non-existent back which seemed to hit the horizon then go far beyond it.

When we could sense sunset tiptoeing nearby, we made our way to the seven-bedroom, two-story house where some of the bands stayed. The front yard was more like a national park than a lawn, and it was sprinkled with a handful of families, all who looked indigenous somehow. Their skin was as brown or browner than mine, but they had dark markings on their faces, surely done with some natural paint they concocted from the earth. They emanated a certain kindness, and I felt like a part of their tribe at once.

A strange emergency erupted at the house, all the musicians were evacuating. It was twenty past four in the afternoon. I watched as people came outside, not running but definitely in some sort of rush. Three elderly ladies sitting beneath a white canopy gestured me over in a peaceful manner, they told me this is the hour when evil spirits run throughout the mansion. "Only the children are safe. Many things get broken and even more things go missing." When the words 'broken' and 'missing' reached my ears, I instantly sprinted toward the house, dropping my black canvas backpack in the process.

Running as fast as I could up the stairs to the second floor where our bedroom was, I passed a few children wandering around the house. They looked like little Mowgli clones and were holding very slim, long knives about eight inches in length, slightly curved at the end, but I got the notion it wasn't me they were after. The door of our room was ajar, I pushed it open with a fragile middle finger and allowed my eyes to scan every corner, nook, and cranny quickly before I stepped in. Everything seemed untouched, so I rushed toward the underside of the bed to grab the dilapidated shoe box I came for. Prize in hand, I hurried back downstairs and out to the lawn.

Inside this box is where I kept all my most cherished photographs along with their negatives, ones I had taken over a span of however many years I'd had my camera. They were visual memoirs I knew for sure could never be relived or recreated, no matter how hard I tripped or how deeply I dreamed. In my backpack was the camera that birthed all of these photographic chronicles, but where was my backpack? I looked all across the lawn, nowhere. I looked at every person's hands and backs, nowhere. The three elderly ladies I was speaking to earlier motioned me over in the very same manner as before, peacefully, but this time they were grinning hyper-pierced ear to hyper-pierced ear. One of them grabbed my backpack from beside her chair, "We knew it was yours, so we took care of it for you." A huge, inner sigh of relief sent a flow of relaxation to every muscle in my body. Despite the 4:20 haunting, the camera my brother had given me for Christmas years ago was still in my hands.

///CHILLS///

trends of chills

and wind willing to pull

hairs from their roots

roots that ground you to earth

the worst is the worth of your soul

when it's colder than cold

the sun feels awry

and you're lying

in greens

that have all gone gray

///AYKSTAHSEE///

Still buzzing from what seemed to me like a job interview that concluded with silent astounding cheers from imaginary businessfolk telling me "You got it! You got the job!" I turned my windshield wipers on to do their shitty job of clearing away the rare but welcomed L.A. rain drops. I headed toward the opposite end of Sunset Boulevard, always accelerating too fast when red turned to green and skidding as a result. No one is used to the rain here, the triply slow traffic was a tell tale sign. Beside my fifteen dollar handbag that I got at an H&M sale when my mother visited last year, was a small paper bag I'd stuffed in double speed before leaving the house that afternoon. In it was a midget pile of CDs I no longer cared for and some that I don't think I ever cared for. That morning I fully envisioned going into Amoeba, the music head at the counter accepting all of my CDs with a smile, and handing me enough money to buy at least four veggie plates at Merkato. That moment was just a two-second-graffiti-elevator-ride away. In front of me in line was a Japanese couple, grandparent age, clad in soft, pastel colored pullovers. They were selling what looked like every single vinyl they had ever collected over their seventy year life span. A giant part of me wanted to dig through them all, but I reminded myself of why I was there: bills stole all my money, and I was hungry. My turn came, and the music head from my morning's imagining materialized before me in the form of a tall white dude with brown, reasonably trimmed facial hair. It was obvious he had just gotten off break because a Jack in the Box wrapper was being smashed between his hand and the counter. While finishing chewing his last bite, he asked me how I was and motioned for me to come forward. With my buzz still high, I told him the absolute truth, "Excellent." He started going through my CDs, sorting them into piles I couldn't quite figure out. One case he opened had a burnt CD in it, he smirked and put it aside without saying anything. When I glanced down to see what it was, my reflex to grab it was so instant I had to laugh for a good ten seconds; five out of embarrassment and five out of amusement. There it was, an artifact of my once insane past. Creative since fo'evah, of course I had blessed this musical summary of my life-once-lived with my very own album art: pills, shrooms, and lightning bolts. GODDD, I thought to myself, I don't even want to think about what's on this CD because I know the first track is probably by ATB and it's probably called Ecstasy. My inner monologue shut up when homeboy hit me with, "Ok, so you've got $16 store credit or $12 cash." My buzz from earlier melted and wept a little. I took my golden CD and the equivalent of one and a half veggie plates and headed home.

///DRESSURREAL///

 

She asked me what I did with mine, did I take shots or mix it with juice or what? Mesmerized by the miscellaneous spectrum of groceries piling up, seeming to compress like crushed aluminum cans, I found myself confused about what exactly she was referring to. Finally I pointed to the medium sized glass bottle, "Oh, the apple cider vinegar? I mix it with my water in the mornings sometimes, but I mostly use it in my hair. It's also good for your skin." Weirded the fuck out she almost coughed, "Your hair???" "Yeh. It can be used in place of conditioner. I mix it with some water & spray it on, leave it for a bit, then rinse it out really well." She didn't seem too keen on the concept and continued to tell me how her hairdresser is making her use coconut oil as a conditioning mask. I think to myself how moisturizing that sounds, but whenever I tried to use coconut oil in the past, it just ended up with me looking like I hadn't washed my hair in a week: greasy as shit. She finished ringing me up, and I helped her pack the items into my psychedelic sundry reusable bags. Stepping out from behind the counter, I maneuvered my cart toward the exit ever so clumsily, and the torso of a person she saw me as evolved into a full bodied human. The chatty, kind, 40-something-year-old cashier shouted after me, "That dress is perfect!!!" And I smiled as I stepped back into the chilly, bright afternoon sun.