The mark of one man talking

Any good magic man can cure the sick sometimes,
and many of them can cast out devils, especially if they've installed the devils in the first place
And I've seen a good bit of weather magic

love your enemies and all that    

He wanted to continue by saying that the war on terror has been a failure              
                                                            so no one puts it into practice              And that about solves   the absolute  tyranny of abstract   gods

Thank you very  much.      'Pleasure.

A Vision Against Philistines

Do we imply future action when we use the present tense?
And urge our pure mystery / to send/ sent/censor/sensory, to be touched, there it is
Are you addicted to chaos?
Do you pay the cost to be the boss?
Do you know your beauty?
Does it speak through you?
Do you cough when you lie or sniffle or cry backwards, or not at all
Is truth abiding so soft in you every step is a caress, lewd, almost pornographic, a surplus of velvet wit from a prophet, never superfluous, is it like that? 

There are 250,0000 people here and 400,000 sheep, and we're not sure what to do with them.

Do you find your dead father's friends and ask what he was like, to them?
But I don't believe in death. In english. We live in a new language
Do you go into a trance of likelihoods and come out good or God?
Is he like a drug? 
Does he weep inwardly too like Walcott, like must not want to be seen inventing water?
Had he forgotten like twins at birth, the difference, and then had to learn it more acutely?
Does he show up at rehearsal?
Does this water give back those images?
Which images? Which ones are ours and which ones paint the hours as windows?
Who knows? What's the purpose of all these riddles?
To have distracted the fakers from themselves and their quiet auto-surveillance, valence, not valiance, and then?
Do we imply present action when we use the future tense?
Who cares. The answer is always yes. We get better and better at contradiction. The eyes relax on their own essence and turn against it in order to view it, and then they know it

I love this movie

And it's still thrilling to me to see... that we don't fake it

The blessing of expressing oneself, you know

Because almost everyone wants to be funny

Almost everyone wants to be dramatic

Almost everyone wants to be, better than everyone else...

Trajectories whose essential points are passed through in a silence only the occasion justifies

It's an incredible movie

Thirteen ways of being your immortality (3)

There came over me the most terrific sense of purpose and focus.  It rose up in me like my father's ghost. I saw the book in it. The sametime passions for exile and belonging. Yeah, I was some high yellow bohemian liberal living in hedonism heaven, winning. And the prize raised up in me this absolutely authentic and heartfelt desire to speak/what should be spoken for all of us. I knew the bullshit of my own life, its twists and flipouts, yet I felt now some heavy responsibility. If these bastards were gonna raise me up, for any reason, then they would pay for it. I would pay these motherfuckers back in kind, I'd be strong enough to s p e a k what had to be said for all of us, for black people, yes particularly black people, because they were the root and origin of my conviction, but also for anyone, anywhere, who wanted justice. Is this a man imitating a movie star? In a quarantine of lights. Marvelous scandal: We are reborn.

No Slavery Above this Latitude

And you don't have to be anybody's sleeping beauty

Are you a member of an elite?

Has the civil war really ended?

It's still so disorienting/liberty? 

Who are we?  Again, this morning?

In the evening whole families play and sing for fun

It's miscellaneous in a deliberate way. We have fewer and fewer real heroes with the illusion of less and less to resist, but they don't shoot us when we're singing.

We sing in pursuit of phantoms and call it hip... and what is hip? It used mean a kind of ease and moral authority in the face of all sorts of bullshit... Therefore the coolest dude in the room was like a Miles Davis... he's black, he dresses really well, he knows what the shit is, he's not into the bullshit, he has soul and clout, a dance intelligence, a music intelligence, the most explicit silence--- broken and shredded by sirens          and the sound of his bloodied woman running naked into the yard to greet them /when blame is obsolete/falling in love again           She didn't even blame him as her knees buckled toward the dewy morning, lights the color of the flag reflecting in her golden skin,

she didn't even know him til then

Any Drum

...no not any drum, most any drum, can be used for talking and for not talking. One drum giving the pulse and one drum speaking.  One talking drum and one to the dancing. And sometimes... a second drum is repeating what the first drum is saying. And there's a muted beat and a free beat and something deluded in between to keep them needing one another, a clairvoyant child or psychic puppy rescued from being a clairvoyant child. And when I'm easy on the shield the piano is a drum too. And we all get together under a blue jungle moon and wait for the calendar to unlearn its own shallow riddles and drop 'em off in the stars like we were all single mothers with no fear of jupiter or jesus no more.  Wait, wait, wait... you mean to tell me you can be so sensitive that you go numb, become a channel, know your whole self again, all that beautiful dissonance, mystical and never typical. Why was that not in the movie

Privacy

Frantic privacy
Why do you do so many
Jazz poems?

Watch a little how she dances

Transforms your nightmare into a quest, doesn't acquiesce--

We came here with new faces

Trying to embody an idea so clearly that it disappears, disperses, begins being how it is in the tribe

Ever notice some high yellow honeys have such high energy

Ever wonder why

What Redeems Technology?

Thinking holds to the coming of what has been, and is remembrance. 
How do you use it against itself?
How else
What does it does mean, never argue with the movies?
I was just looking for a movie to score-- A happy combination of this-worldly and other-worldly  incentives.
Did you find one?
I found every child thinks her tribe is the whole universe, until you tell her so. Proof somehow reduces trust to an idea, replaces the true subject with a concept of it.
Now I believe in the people I can't explain, and who can't explain themselves
What are their technologies?
That I want to know them. The sudden mystique of simplicity is that it doesn't need you. That's the elegance of it. The most advanced technology won't need us, but will teach us new ways to produce desire so that it wants us, and forsakes us again and again until our language re-enters indecision and our thinking holds to the coming of what has been and is remembrance

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

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?

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?

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

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

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 

I'm a fugitive, you're a fugitive

We're sitting here in Algeria on a very sunny day.

My name is Eldridge Cleaver/Timothy Leary...

And we're discussing the drug culture and the American Revolution

But we're also dealing with image/how to be very
specific about our generalizations

\

You Didn't Hear it from Me

See the blues man of course, or the blues woman, is someone who begins with the catastrophic. The blues in an autobiographical chronicle of a personal catastrophe expressed lyrically. It's a lyrical response to the monstrous. Like the first sentence of Kafka's Metamorphosis, Gregor Samson wakes up from an uneasy dreammmma. The blues responds to the catastrophic with compassion, without drinking from the cup of bitterness, not with revenge but with justice. The blues sensibility. You let that love inside of you be expressed even though it's hard for it to be translated into love or justice on the ground. That's a great lesson in this age of terrorism. What I have in mind is a tragicomic view in which compassion responds to catastrophe. By blues I don't mean just a particular art form, it's really a way of life that that art form helped popularize. That's what shaped and molded me, and I am old school to the core. Unapologetic! Motown, Stax, Philly International Sound, Curtis Mayfield, Al Green, Aretha, W.E.B. DuBois, Leroy Jones, transferring into Baraka...

Why I am a Destiny P. 1

The gallery of broken leaders blows adagio whistles into the sheer of her—hold up...

Don't insult my ignorance, she goes clear on them. Chapter four is about how Monk's shoulders crowd around his heart as a phobia I grow up on, of stillness

Assorted drunks and a singer

Cartwheel nebula slam dunk scream uncle kinda wordlessness fearless, cold enough, subtle enough, just enough, us enough for the city to comprehend the question

Will you give up your death for me?

Am I to believe... you're suggesting.. he is the first fictional nigger to control his own destiny, the reporter asked, the invocation was to present a talented free Negro, partly responsible for his own disintegration?

Yes, as I say, No secrets in Mississippi, no secrets in L.A.

Where I'm from. The break is a destiny of being in there

Your Mama Don't Wear no Draws

Words that we both know are what keeps you, on the stable floor, from the years I saw, nervously beneath you, and now we'll discover a cello with every word that we both know, in between a stunted flow, and I couldn't care less about your mother. Do you know that I couldn't have won so fair, just last year, and as a foreigner here, excuse my longing for a limelight and not a hope in hell, cause it's sad that I'm not at home. And if I change it's nice to know that soon, I'll change back to use words that we both know

(We was there when she took 'em off)