Darwin did not tell us

About men in the off hours
Their hearts want to move, their hearts want a father
How really to forget something you have to forget you have forgotten it
But I did learn from that, how dependable the unknown is and to take notes on the horror while it's happening, and the pleasure, and the wing stabbing me in the clavicle like happiness is what you can get at outlasting the forest, the see-through walrus of practicality, the tactful exasperation, the bait and tabernacle choiresque women who pace it looking for good neighborhoods to raise their wade it the water wade in the water children-- hearts want to stay, hearts want walk off the filth of love like pills falling up in a commercial for rugged subtlety and tentative addiction is what I love most about men in the off hours-- it's not that I think evolution is a gimmick or bitter veteran or even relevant as one by one we walk into clear glass windows we pretend not to see and of the bleeding tendency our   heals are touching, the broken souls of our feet compacting like that scene in Cat's Cradle I love so much I didn't finish. Appreciation is so civilized. Just stay in the preacher's eyes. Invisible and irresistible.

Neon Falls

An Angel Moves Too Fast To See

Ecology

Even if the infinite comes up lacking
or the word colleague leaks from us all
weakness is unapologetic
I love my people too much to be around them

Slow like that

What causes purple?
/It approaches
What is the cure?
Who said I wanted to cure it.
It's on purpose.
It's psychosomatic--
Like that heat is--trapped in the teetering baptism passing its rift moist as baskets and
even the habit of thinking it is soaks us in closeups and faith is so stuffy it yields a supper club, heedless, seven seeds in a disc of me growing so many peaches in a row of slingshots/ I'd shop and get disappointed when I couldn't buy my own fruit from a stranger-- so capitalism is working its emptiness into the searchlight hues, its crippled nuclear brightness made it here from Japan and is on its way back with urgent messages and slow food/ is all anything is/the tender/tortured illusion of urgency that whisks all hunger to the color of weeping when you reach the peaks--

Why drink for a whole summer to find that yellow
Let's just be so; just get me into that beautiful darkness with the soft wind

Everybody Wants to be a Fascist

Playboy: Why did you become a house negro?

Lennon: It was a matter of 'heal thyself'

Ono: You'll find that it's full of miracles. And we both love Egyptian art

Playboy: You make your relationship with Yoko sound like a teacher/pupil relationship

Lennon: It is a teacher/pupil relationship. That's why people don't understand. She's the teacher and I'm the pupil. I'm the famous one, the one who's supposed to know everything, but she's my teacher. She's taught me everything I fucking know. She's my Don Juan. That's why people don't understand. I'm with a fucking Don Juan, that's the hardship of it.

Ono: It's both ways

Interrogation for Big House Dances

Deeply hurt, but you go on smiling in a child's wings, why?
I begin with parody and imitation
And then mocking the misunderstood imitation of an imitation
And we hear the mask. So we wear one. For purposes of aggression as well as self-defense
Behind it we get our work done--
And don't you keep a syncopated dance band around for propaganda purposes?
Like Hitler did?
Is it true his propaganda chief studied romantic literature to get unreasonable?
How did you get so unreasonable?
How did I get so unreasonable?
My father loved Duke Ellington, he listened in sudden ways. Abandonment blocks the exits. Especially the accidental kind. Do you believe in death?    
I don't either.  The opposite of life is life, you see, I mean, you lookin' kinda famous in these recent opinions. Do you wanna smoke some trees? Wanna be needed like numbness in the ghetto? I lost my concentration and it got real, when I wasn't paying attention, I was falling in love again. With the changing same man. I thought this was just a dance. Is this another ceremonial moment? Whatever.  I fanned an old polaroid of us practicing the lindy hop in our wobbly sepia living room, hoping it would smear again, like possibility, but it just got clearer

I had the craziest dream

Jimmy's Black and White Guide to Local Entertainers

Do you have difficulty turning real characters into fiction?

You mean: you, the guitar, the bull, the daggers, the women with shawls veils and mirrors, their petty primal envy when you don't need them-- gun fire, neighing horses, etc.?

I think you missed the point. Or you couldn't manipulate yourself fast enough to realize you invented all of them. You're as subjective as an infant crying in your crib.

Is it niggas is redundant or niggas is superfluous? What's the difference? It's here comes the whistle man.  Hear his call to chaos?  You say he enacted a series of reversals, turned his rage orderly, bossy, sloppy wannabe mafia hush? Is it what the hero refuses to do in each situation that leads to further action? There is no hero. The hero is the experience. One woman's willingness to trust her own experience even if it seems at first like a weakness, a series of provocative situations negated by the calling up of conventional emotions. Fake sonorities. Glee as it fumbles into too much leadership. We soon discover that the central question is who are we and what are we doing to ourselves? It takes years and years to turn the men real again. What causes it to rain when there are no clouds? Do they disappear to become permanent? And sometimes they become permanent to disappear? And all the middle men show up in love with her willingness to trust her own experience? Yes, and they all say the same patient, let's open our own club someday. But can't we forget all that for now and just play?

How to lead a bird

Machinedrum - New Beats Teaser 2012

People in me

I remember one time a lady came up to me on the beach, and asked me if I wanted to be in a beauty contest. I cursed her out. For the first time in history, the winner is not a foregone conclusion. They promise on the news, of the election in Egypt. The casts' sonnets are glib and rigged, reciting them will make you typical-- anchor, crowbar, hopelessly in charge of hope. Who is a castle made of sand? Let's study the pyramids and the mass disappearance of rap groups, one orignal at a time, until it's true what they say

Tell a Friend

Do you know Shame

Let's go to bad movie, where they have a lot of fog, people walking around in the fog, and the men cry. In that theater we'll be alone together

But you're still trying to remember what you have to tell you master

while I'm trying to pretend again like play house with my Hungarian friends after school and I'm the mammy and the waif, safe symbol, sex symbol, schoolgirl, father, mother, dancer, babe, grand scheme-- I'm everyone in the family, like meek smiles that hide their meekness like men like it.... sike... tripartite psych moves... I'm not even trying I just have all his dreams for him  and wake up two times a day, feeling mighty fine, and feeling fine is alarming, binary, the grind and the grind and grenadine... repetition til the seams blend... do you mean it... or is it just part of this prolonged preemptive accusation that begins with I will not be tortured, I will not be punished I will not be guilty, and never ends?

Endurance

At first I was afraid; this familiar music had demanded action, the kind of which I was incapable and yet had I lingered there beneath the surface I might have attempted to act. Nevertheless I know now that few really listen to this music. .. It was exhausting, as though I had held my breath for an hour under the terrifying serenity that comes from intense hunger. I haven't smoked a reefer since, however, not because they're illegal, but because to see around corners is enough (that's not unusual when you're invisible). But to hear around them... it inhabits action And despite Brother Jack and all that sad, lost period of the Brotherhood, I believe in nothing if not in action.

We have no guilt, we are ungovernable

You're trying to remember what you have to tell your master

Maybe it's, don't ask me who I am and don't ask me to remain the same.

Yeah, that's it.

Do you really mean it or is it just what you have to tell your master... part of this prolonged preemptive accusation that begins I will not be punished, I will not be tortured, I will not be guilty and never ends ?

The imperious strangeness

Do you blame Christianity for your crimes?

Are you beginning to feel that bleeding should be reciprocal?
What is practical?
What words rhyme with orange and the red bornagain feeling? Okay? Reject them? I'm torn. What is property? What is propaganda? What mourning? Wet morning? Weather seems to end somewhere? Well you just said... is tragedy the highest form of art? Fuck that. True. But it is pretty mutual, beautiful. This storm is. This blues troop. I can go for that. Ruthlessly. 'Til the real thing comes along

Our personal private vanishing evocations

Vertigo of the infinite

Act so there is no use in a center. Compassion, diplomacy. Tender gangster. It's been very vague, the specificity has, a cage within a cage, crossfade after self-conscious crossfade. When we break out it's impatient like sirens and everyone's in his prime and nameless, a dime piece, meridian-- to write these long songs as a means of wresting yourself from the plot of them is a nice mutilated wait-a-minute pace of fearless or surpassing all your own hints with evidence that it don't matter if your black or white... cause I get to be both and everything they both mean and don't mean. I'm gonna brag about it hopelessly in love with myself from now on, act so there's no use in acting like there's no use. It's meaningful to do so. It's how we grow the truth off a cactusrose and cut holes in our latitude and peek at the approaching meaning like natural soldiers til the goal retreats into the game again

Have you ever sold anything to a child?

And the stain of too much intuition is apparent or why does it hurt to win your soul back from theirs and... nevermind a rescue bid on derivatives, let's practice the incidents like surgeons until they become body and soul themselves, not flimsy or pinioned. It's young of us to understand

Tenderness, irrational

Unable to be partial

On the post colony

which raises up off we like two tall angels crooning

it ain't necessarily so and so, or, luck is not knowing. That's the class on incarceration and the paradoxically xenophobic expansionism of our modernity. Lil B is a plan and Frank Sinatra and the word 'trust' has a tantrum and becomes unnecessary to even itself for a spell we call the golden age of the apocalypse. It's fun on the weekend. My mom says 'war came into play back then so people  went away and missed one another...' when asked how her parents made it past the rate/ united, and she goes on, 'people were poor back then so they didn't understand dumb stuff,' and I say, right. We better hide like we mean it, exile from exile in an unzipped circle traditional wide eyes on the yield

Go tell the martyrs that guilt is not labor

Doneathelight

We're doing a request now       We're doing the things that we         think will please you the most

          At least for the next 4 minutes


they call it acceleration  or    Something Happens to Me by Nancy Wilson or Niggas is Reduntant                                            

            part 10, the afterparty version    the summit tension    stump of  bent stump bent over my question isn't a question        


As you know    The Animals had a hit with this tune      Get distracted   there's room in that

but we must be careful    lest we lose our faith    and become    possessed    no room for that       we're  full   like this cadillac full of fractals and shoulders rolling up on a distracted    local and asking  what is this this thing called   love?  

Sporting Life

Riveting

Black Aphrodite

(as depicted by a white actress in the film about her life)

Aphrodite in her own words

It's true I fell in love with someone bad for me but half the heroines in your literature do that: Helen, Eco, Io, Agave, all of them, it was heavensent

And you feel like an occupied territory screaming change!, father, change!

And then when he did, the reforms annoyed me

He became a sloppy analogy of himself, falling into a painting of himself, pacing the cage of his own energy, inert with goodness and so diligent about honesty the word lost its purpose, became too common to win off the ongoing carapace of irony, or leave it for territory beyond the treasonous universe we swear on our mothers we're here, because they are still real to us, the pucker of my superstition still touches the nimble womb it formed in, and I'm in church, trying to understand why I'm in church when prayer is a way of being if love seems everywhere like verses in the service of emptiness, which we have always wanted so intensely that it could never trust us with where or when-- you're an informant and I am, too. We both know about how we both know about it but being cryptic is really pretty nauseating so quick picture richard prior singing my old flame to a room full of newborns on a rainy evening under pulsating cameras that rub the tears off his cold sweat as shields, we get better and better

There is a space where you thought you would be, but which you refuse to grab hold of. You save its life every day. You love that space

Tonight will be very dignified

The television stops for new mirrors like a passenger gear in rack/cycles of ice and comeback, but don't really come back, I've had it with people I make at home, and with people who like the pacific northwest more than neon and they think in lessons but you won't learn anything from them, them black habits in a white man's trite radicalism, didactic and careful, and I've had it with the temptation to carry them on my whims like

unsymphonic pigeons  who aren't even impetuous enough to be hunted 

by their own kind and drawn into finding themselves that way, over there, the third star in the left if you go along the master's glance--- 

That's the city speaking

The city kinda crawls into you and makes you a part of it---

What are we gonna write about now, we're not working in a post office, not working in a factory, not a ferry ride to an affair to remember--  no more parodies of the yes, yessir

or pitched-down dialog under so much pressure it mutes, hogs its unions, doesn't mind indifference, you know, when it's buying something potion or restlessness-- I saw you in vice magazine wearing pink and vans with thick checkers on them  and turned away disgusted, lengthily, love's obscenity looking for the kigo, the season-word, word for springing, for hurry, the key's dream of a surfacing from an entering is brave and relentless like never 

As the dance goes faster, as the music might, maybe--

And now we hope that the weather will continue 

until we can't tell where the boundaries are, between heat and rivalry

And now just be across me, we'll wake up in the experience 

isolated, disassembled, bullshitting, hypnotic foolishness, and do the right thing some other time 

Everything's Close

And what happens is very positive
Watch the stories
And call it closeness

Domestic Violence

The shift is half strategy half laziness and exactly disenchantment with anything half anything half anything half anything halves-- the shift is an amber saddled trapdoor in the back the reporter's mind when we call clairvoyance disorder because we find it and it's got no morals but the truth/Dorris Day and Lady Day induced to phases in an infomercial for lotion you're watch on the way to the coast, packing your hopes into a way of coasting all the way there on your terrible adolescent patience, more than half paced and won't give up slang for you or be any less hanging on to anger as a kind of purifying, as kind of not there but always there, natural resource thing that injures peace so it needs us... It all began with an irrational fear of the irrational, fear that it would leave unless we injured it into needing us, and it was everything you had ever loved conveniently puzzled into one living breathing human being so subtle and so blatant, hush puppies and beautiful navels, so afraid of losing us, they banned our dances and saddened our good polygamy with some shant, some shanty shitty excuse for a planet to shed its facts for business, for issues shipped from thinair and made to look like what they barely ever seen but don't like to look like an understanding of... the body, the dancer's body is a spy speaking ego like I was five egos ago spying on my hideout body and those who orbit it shiftlessly looking for an entrance got me moving the black and blue dots off their eyes in a hero-glyphic anti-nihilism stride, replacing them with semioclasms, darn that dream some, a dance set to muffled streams of the Ray Charles version of America the Beautiful and performed in a boxing ring in Vietnam with an all french speaking audience, all members of the colonies, all Senegalise men and their asain brides, they have other brides too, as many as they can afford to feed... I wake up proving it... when Ray's done singing he embraces the fighter, the gloves on his eyes make like shovels and kick the dirt off your soul but you frantically run after it from sea to shining    , so-- what the shift is/ is picking the right time to go blind and the right time to finally choke the echo tree with real questions, it's not even bold to see again, What kind of boat is this? The Ark. I told you once.

All the myths know this

Sing for things as frail as a strippin male/ Civil liberties/ these little titties' abilities riddle me--middle c-- don't expect to see the recipe/lend sympathy to limpin simple-simon-rhymin' emcees/ can it be...

Go Find Your Father

The exceptional animal
The exceptional tree
The trickster hero
The avenging angel
The realization that the evening star and the morning star are the same star,
dropping our needle in different places on the record to get a large word hooked on it, like Sun Ra saying the number one over and over while everyone numb
until consent erases consent, and it's a relief, in the wars and lost at sea, you must know your seasons perfectly, avoid parables and aimless birds-- what's that bird doing there, she could tear your  whole story to pieces and fly away singing, the self is the least of it, the self is the least of it 

Hercules after his labors

He's scribbling down a list of what it's like to play (me) for a living, of what remains vivid, behavior outside the theater, and how this lifestyle feeds on itself, what kind of parasite/felon all hunger is, and how I'm spectacular, the right thing, the rife thing, righteous and feisty and slowmo kites and the homeslice and apolitical descriptions of utopias we claim to take our distance from and all that is coherent about sunlight and sinlight and stumbling into the right meaning of when I said you don't owe me spring and all musicals are nauseating and Jesus Christ Super Star has a drug problem and rehab is larger then this room and the first Black, the certain black, the og. black President's roving Grover Washington Jr.-toned love letters about T.S. Elliot's Wasteland and his essays and his tantrums and his behavior outside the theater as if hell is 'round the corner from our most coherent Sunday, and the trite utopias we claim to take our fitness from, some quicksand pinnacle in the slum, and in the village, Slum Village/Village Slum, and how it's as if I'm his highrise and what he jumps from mumbling, I got an eye for you so why do I --socialize-- And all the black men dress up like their hits and ask the white man for forgiveness and, being both, I just hold myself (to it) and describe what remains vivid-- The way an Otis slipped me his Coolio samples and a blank map of France in October and what a let down concept is and Kant's Critique of Judgement and the stability of a want and the way trauma escapes language in order to live on, I asked him if he thought the operator who controls these puppets should herself be a dancer or at least have some idea of the beauty in the dance and the logic of sensation and what kind of motion a slave is today, and he just kept listening and listing the things I mean and represent to him, in the order I resist them in, and when I said I don't wanna get stronger, I was talking about the goatsongs of black Greece trapped in our torsos like feet, forcing us to call it classic, Hermes, hermetic running, so we recognize it before we feel it, I don't want that, and how our miracles are cruel and fast and their muscles, and their endless leisure and their nobel egos and the liars who make you focus/happy, and the truth might be the myth falling down the least like a laughed tear, maudlin and useless until it passes itself in the mirror and what remains vivid and its okay to relate to this I'm not just a rapper, I'm just a robot/act, clapping, pulling up his pants, they're baggy, too big, it's all an example of magnitude, grooming, a flag thing, as he scoots into the wings

Undo the Taboo

The hypocrite and the rebel

Cannons on the Roof

Concerto for Left Handed Orchestra

I distrust moral certainty and I even distrust the sentence I distrust moral certainty


We don't have time for 'Body and Soul' and 'I've got Rhythm' 


those dipped berries from the Amazon and a refusal to be subtle won't help get the black sound into the electric keyboard so I distrust that strut they call the door to the cosmos and I even distrust calling these situations that force us to rely on instinct more than habit our music, but I can't tell you that, it's too lucid so I don't trust its understanding of itself  and it might not even exist by the time we give it a title which is what I trust most about it 

How's Everybody

And everybody knows that when you lose your codebooks you change your code
                                      That this is a how the truth reveals its taste for solitude
That this is how black youth reveals its taste for truth and for loneliness--That is how our everybody is, it's our ideal crisis, we're just so happy it's like--- remember that next time you die-- it'll all come back to the center of a greeting, undefeated, just asking for you to live again, re-stage the conflict between your two regimes of sense, there are more than two, that's the conflict, there are so many powers they wander from one another to learn the burning prowl of reunion, and all of us sense it getting itself together as the pleasure of one by one I'm stumbling home from the festivals of the future with the future you, licking the curse off your palms and spitting it like sunflower pod shells in the ghetto, the smell of relish catching up to the meat it covers us local with hope, I always mention the hope, even when it's just a fleck of deed on the concrete some days, or Gretel, and Hansel's coming, but a little behind, and gender is so 90s but be a man, I mean sweep the seeds into a pile and swallow them like a pill and be addicted to me. I won't be surreal, it'll be the actual healer crease in your fear is   steep and delirious again. I don't like you anymore, you're just my favorite person, he'd say, as I listened my way around it to today

Even if your maps are full of stages,

The stutter of behavior on a stay/       Skip that lipstick/   don't explain

I'm not afraid/ of rage/        I'm afraid of /plainness/        And politeness is lethal/ it strikes/ it don't match the ice its shadow in / nuendo /a new end to hope is hope/   poke a nuance in the bend and get me knowing/    I depend entirely on color,  but I'm not in any way, really involved in color in a love act /   except what of that fearlessness is distracting me from the nearness of you/don't explain/skip that hipness / it isn't even/   metaphysical / pause for O'Hara's metaphysical poem: 

When do you want to go

I'm not sure I want to go there

where do you want to go

any place

I think I'd fall apart any place else

well I'll go if you really want to

I don't particularly care

but you'll fall apart any place else

I can just go home

I don't really mind going there

but I don't want to force you to go there

you won't be forcing me I'd just as soon

I wouldn't be able to stay long anyway

maybe we could go somewhere nearer

I'm not wearing a jacket

just like you weren't wearing a tie

well I didn't say we had to go

I don't care whether you're wearing one

we don't really have to do anything

well all right let's not

okay I'll call you

yes call me

--

There's a pregnant woman sitting low into a plush cushion and she's so heavy she can't get up to run so I suggest a book or something to occupy the time between yawns and years have gone on like that for who hears it as a chasm opens 

The stutter of mazes on a map and us back at the hotel in our matching apathy for anywhere else is a passion as telegraph, its yellow unyellow rapture, don't yell when I yell, at the road, I'm not really involved in my own emotion, I'm just showing you you, even if your map is full of mazes, are closer than afraid to that starry place in the massa's eyes 

You Already Know

Blackness migrates for who it is

Peaceful Sit-In

It sounded like elephants, crispy phantoms, confessions that we're taken under tortue, and how truth came to be abandoned. What does it mean to act like Woody Allen, and look like Dave Chapelle or Me or Brother Weldon-- Some crap about Post-Black comes up to a museum and knocks you out. You better go now before the conversation. Actresses win the-- go, you better, now, hurry. Get loud and left-out the script