alas a furious joy!

Remains of the day include a snuggie, a marbled snail of Arabian decent and  a yellow feathered turtle bus. Reduced to a shimmer, the fuzzy spreckled con man entered the swamp arena underneath the groung. The party had begun three nights earlier but it continued underneath the confines of swere sewer systems and caves. One could hear the band from three miles away but I didn’t actually see them until I passed by the pillards underneath the freeway where stampedes of unseen cars flew by sounding more like a train than a car. But the band screamed into microphones hailing the demons of our time and looked at the black haired mongoose who was dressed as a pirate and he looked back at me and winced. What? I didn’t think that anyone could be the one to talk. After all, the pirate was holding a jug of jin and in the other lanky fingers a jug of smelly old wine. A woman who had been talking to a portrait on the wall that had been spray painted in cans of fumey fumes. Oh to be able to describe the walls of the interior space of those sewers. We couldn’t see. It was too dark and the night blanket was around everything but the other side of the world, which was certainly warm enough from the sun. “abandon all hope ye who enter here” was markered on the curvature of the tower beam, and I held my phone up to the paint to ssee the details and I thought of American psycho first and how the book begins… but then dante and his little masterpiece, which by the way, was taught in a circular classroom where desks were not separate but attached as an elongated table where chair met next chair next door. An Italian man talked with a heavy berry rico bacon accent with the I’s and the ahhhh… I couldn’t understand most of the words that came out of his class, so of course, I dropped it. And danta can wait for another day when an Italian man doesn’t have a blazer with an orange sticker with an upside down smiley face. I wondered about that sticker and what it meant, and I wondered that night as I passed through the first of four caves of the sewer . this was a new inferno. It was an inferno of younger people with cans of spray paint and eyeliner, drums, and screeching voices echoing through the underearth... I miss the tunnels. But it stank. Someone said that we needed to be careful of our steop in other words to follow the path of the papercard stock stepping bores and the slippers of suede and sheep skin were wet and crapped on and I thought I heard the scratching meat sucking of a large mouse rat canoon. Oh a canoo would have been very appropriate for me. There is nothing more appropriate than appearing at the band within the depths of the sewer in a green canoe.  Make the cameo with a canoe with its markings on the side KCUF 999 oh but that would be cliché I must say. Drumming hip dip and swing a rythym, trashing the trashed thrashing the thrashings of society, where only the blackened eyes of the boys can see what’s coming . And really there is only one thing coming and that is the wave of silence that happens when time stop momentarily like in the matrix where neo is slip sliding bending backwards with the devils demon trickster pollywoop gymnaccrostics. Silver streak of starlight where the 3^rd rock from the sun comes tumbling down to a place where there will be a gentle divot in the land of the kutra people. Within the trees within the vines the old ruins of falling stones and lakes that are deep within the bark and brush thick with lime. A colorful bird with twitching wings cocks his head and cries,  “there are no more people left to imitate.” The crow, thought it is not a crow but an imitation of a crow dressed in the featheres of the cockadoodle doo to you parrot dice. I wonder with a shake of the wrist with the paradice stike midnight where the sound begins again screeching drumming beats through past roar and helter skelter. And I hold my camera against the walls where someone has painted a name that I don’t recognize. Sydney Marinus. And for the first time I remember the boy who stood staring at something and thinking everything and not aware of the thoughts but comepletely lost in the bliss of lost consciousness. Painting the bloom red, Sydney cuffed the back of the railing. A small rain bagan to fall inside the “crossroads” colored walls where everything is clay and the ashes of the buried bones. Those were the only ones left that anselm could use. How could he use anything but these. These were the stories, layers and layers, foundation against foundation where plaster, rock, limestone, rock, twigs, teeth and bone-dust complemnt an elephant skin fooring. Looking down at his pumps, he releases the founding fathers bones bones bones everywhere bones with no more land to roam but the land of the stolen fathers. Complacent in his moment, Sydney attempts the impossible; he is reclining back, straight backed and head 45 degrees against the graine. There he stays momentarily where he is allowed to stare at the movement of ceiling and floor, rain and muddlewords slipping down painting lane. It looks like the drippings of water plugs slipping sliding down shower glass, and sometimes, when one cries, a water-wet sticky-proof skin of many shades. Many different feet will touch this ground. If not another like it. Oh Sydney don’t stop your brigade. there are flags to be posted on moons and planets, stars and the pink stones of the kaleidoscope.backwards falling, the lids of the eyes- his thinnest skin – lower lash downwards. Look up look up the great work begins mr. marinusss. This is his epiphany. What is the great work? You  see it in front of you. You have seen it in front of you all your life, but the eyes weren’t able to tell the brain the right signals and so the feet just kept walking, the arms kept moving and over the years, you learned to do what you do best; imitate life. There is none other than imitation is there mr. marinus yourself? What is happening the 45 degree angle where his  heels connect the floor point laser-like a light the weeping paint rain. A guard pulls a flashlight from his belt. A skylight pours a gritty glow patch and sends a flash of camera blink against the higher jaw bone of the temple. Lightning. My denim is wet and wild. A Diesel would like to be a truck, but no, now a pair of American pants important from italy I mean imported from italy. What is the shirt you wear mr. Marinus does not move he is a photograph in time a quake of consciousness. Seagulls, caught in the blister, wings pulled down and some pulled heavenward nearly collapse with the power of the lens. Surveillence. From which eye am I going to be seen today?  The third eye, perhaps? The one we don’t know enough about but marunis today has painted in read against the top of his nose where the creases have appeared aafter worrying about the morning milk and cream for the cat, the afternoon lunch our when ther is never enough time to finish the clockwrk. But somehow there is still that prity of thought where the river of flow just goies and doges goes and dgoes, and goes, folling a carres of the shirt when the wings of the tail collar used to blow, a shuttle now takes the a passenger to the scene of the crime. Awake AAwake AwakeAwake. Back to the canoe hwhere we will paddle hard against the river against the lapping pools. There wwe will watch a the walls painted graffitteid clowns and battle cries, monster mash, lettered hearts with initials plus other initials. The walls become the heart ad the the eart becomes the walls but they are concave and splendid in their low brow kind of way. And now one can say , not even the king of Frankfurt, no one cn say that the lowest of the low are exempt form the crime. Because there we were, and if nto a can a paint, a brush with oils, a finger spread with the metallic of sea shor e mercury. Dripipping and it continues to drip drip drip . the bones wit the bones will soak into the elephant skin earth and will regenerate the m color ful monkeyblume hanging from the stem. Upside down upside dow. Falling still, Sydney inwardly pulls, browns like butter in tephloon pans. Pulls in, browns pulls in, he disappears. The guard turns to the moa lisa emblam, the wing of the griffin coming out from her shoulder blades. I will not be albe to let this slide says the officer of the law that watches the paitings day and someof the night looksback towards the e entrance where the glass revolving doors are being replace with new ly aquired hanging beads. Hanging beads. As the arm ofas the arm of the yellow black parking woodie collapses, so too does the meter, the kisok itself. Crumbling like the cities only revealed to some under earth under sand water bearing worlds where the green of life can breeed freely, where the green of life can make what it need to make. The seed. . and the guard, tas the guard the guard, as the placeholder in time – Gettyperceptuman—collapses. At last the gaurds  stands above a pair of sneakers and pima cotton, where all that’s left is the seed.

Farmer meets a punk, treacherous sling, put away your arrow, I put away my seed.

Away with the tunnel, the youngins of the sewer world away. 

Cherry Coffee Cake

I found this recipe from "Lifelines", a patient newsletter published by DaVita. It looks tasty, but risky.


Ingredients


1/2 c unsalted butter; softened

2 eggs

1 c granulated sugar

1 c sour cream

1 tsp vanilla (extract?)

2 c all-purpose white flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

one 20 ounce can cherry pie filling

Preparation


1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Using a mixer, cream butter, ceggs, sugar, sour cream and vanilla.

3. In separate bowl combine flour, baking powder and baking soda

4. Add dry ingredients to creamed butter misture and mix well. Pour batter into a greased 9" x 13" baking pan

5. Evenly disperse cherry pie filling over batter.

6. Bake for 40 minutes until golden brown.

Helpful Hints:


Substitute blueberry or rasberry pie filling instead of cherry if desired.

Cut into 12 servings instead of 24 if you need extra calorie.

Lower sugar options for those with diabetes include using sugar substitute for baking instead of sugar and using low-sugar cherry filling.

note from matt: you may want to have your heart checked after eating this if you don't already have heart issues.

bland steamed white rice

What if after the ultrasound I took a noodle vein and wrapped it around the round turning thing on the edgwick sinspter mobile and then took that noodle wein and spun it through the wiring where the needle goes up and down up and down so so so fast it goes it bounces and it whiiirs like a little engire engine as the fparetns foot goes down and up down and up the foot stool controls the spaghettic string oops I meant noodle but that’s the noodle there is only one so that the noole goes from the spinster to the orooof he just barked and then he did a little fart like that bee I used to think about mr pinkerton h=and how his bee wings went so quickly it only took a slow motion capturing cameria to get a glimpe of one second of the mr pinkerton looked out over the sea of waes and the fresh hives he had wanted to taste that fresh honey bunces of oats. No just honey real spun honey that reminds me of a storry said that caterpeller dressed up in a caterpeller suit. I’m thinking of a man with a mustache and bifocals that has a mustache and the lens that goes from his eye to his ear, this bifocle hass a toune aoh no wait I want it to be, I ai magically take the wand in my lef t and right hands oh no fingers I mean because the fingers are the ones that type and we go back to that man with the mustache and round brown eyes with the oracle from an ayeeye to an ear where there is a fleshy hearing aid that one has to adjust with a tiny little earglass screwdriver – the ones that are so baby cute you just want to eat them. That makes me think about how if a small corn on the cob were to mate twith the ring a ling the eyeglasses would not be there a baby ? I thiknk so what would the baby be but a little chicklet that comes in a plastic abox. You know whats funny I thnink about foood so much a strawberry a kiwi a lemon a n orange but can I thnkk abou something else? Yes, the first thing that comes to mind is a little squirrel with a befriend that carries a small acashiew in his satchel . he sings a little toon that tune that goes something like, when my cashiew was a little baby nut, it did not taste so cut. It had to grow it had to grow so that the ut left lost its leaves and dropped the leaves to the starch floor wood. And then when the ahsiew surbibed the fallDont we all! Yes survive the fall! And hand in hand they went no looking back some natural tears they wept but wiped them soon  and then said, I want to go back to the little garden. I m not goinna let that little demon angel kcik me out of my homeW this is our palenstine. You gae us a gift, jesus. Why did you want to tkake aay a good thing. Someone sometwhere is holding up the wriknkled fitty fist and thaking an index finger to indacate a motion of disapproval. And to that I say. You , I can with you certainly sympathize. I can understand that but once there were two pictures that had a crow and a cock with orchids and the like with bits of chiken snaps. But on the speaker wen about this and that about theravenous merceez beans that had been falling from the sky in april there was a dry spring… and april for sure is definitely NOT the crueles t month. In fact, I rather like april. It kind of got a little glow going on and the owls and the larks are twitterpated and su h so that the branches of sycamore trees are smiling and the painted gold yellow pink and lightitsh bluoooo hare all smiling from here to Nebraska which is a place Ib’ve never ben but when I sthink about Nebraska in the winter I think about a country place like with snow and ide and rouds and a brown wooden farmhouse with a porta potty that is definitely not attached to the house. The pillars, the pillars they are leaning the wrong way. I’ll fix that. Take the tape measurere son tand hold it up to the pillar at a nintely degreee anle so that the piller stands at a perfect ninetly u degree angle at the sound of thw whistle 

Classic Baked Chicken recipe from Simplyrecipes.com

This looks like a good chicken recipe. Since I'm diabetic I have to cut down on the salt. And my renal diet doesn't allow a lot of chicken or potatoes, so I would probably make this with steamed rice; maybe add some steamed carrots, corn and peas for a little variety.

http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/classic_baked_chicken/


This recipe was found on www.simplyrecipes.com and is under the label, "classic baked chicken." Enjoy my fellow cullinary aesthetes!

the commercial, "if you don't get help from us, get help somewhere..." (over the rainbow)

Here goes my molten mates! take a boast on the rollerride, along the coast, along the coast.

break---- real thing:

ROYGBIV glowsticks habg upside down from the cave of delirium and then the rabbit says this way and points down a staligmite hidden wardrope of opening where I think I better not go that way because a penis might fall on me. But there are times when I man was must do what a man has not done and that’s the truth of it. So the red candle is against the clock and looks like the hand that tells the time but soon that candle turns into an orage carrot that click click click tells the cseconds of time. But how can that be says the little woman with the stubborn nose. I hate that mole I hate  hate hate that mole that sticks between the flap of nose and chek of lip. OH my, I will never reveal my credentials they are non existant must you be so silly little pollywog tthere wasn’t anything I could do but watch the fall fall down with the burnt leaves and yellow twigs. There was once a n old man who lived in a louis vhitton boot. Not really surte how to spell that but it seems to be the way that most people spell who it who are legitimate sellers of the prodeuct started in … wha whah wha bleep goes the bell you guessed it! Johnny boy you ot it and now you get to receive yowhat you’ve gott coming!!! Yes you do and the prize and the prixze he repeats hmslef is a stubborn old toad woman that kissed an electric eal that was once wwimming but got hits head chopped of itn hell’s kitchen . ooops I idn’t mean that . But nevertheless there’s a wise oold patriarch who mutters the words dear hell under his breatht and looks at the brightly lit str a o  the Christmas mantle loava molten rock you abase me ! how dare you! I will not call the  busters this tiem time, but there’s always next time so prepare all your twentu neuggests so prepare all your twenty nuggests like soldiers lining up in the cocker pots and seave your five dollars for a rainy day. I didn’t say that I take it b ack. Save a penny gain a peeny I ca t keep goig like this nothing is coming but then I know what comes what comes a little part of sandle that that damn dog took etween his little damn dog mouth and cipped a nail spur like there was neothing else to do. I want my sandal back . The little pinnochio I mean what’s his name? Normal? I think that little chihahwwwwwa stands on its crooked back legs and tuts his front spaws on his hibs where the doggie ribcage ends. He looks at me and says the folling. Your sandelal is not as important thas the rug that I just took a poopie on. So clean up the cppop now, and save your sandal for the beach rain. Oh my doggie pains. You got a voice like that guys that pays god in the Truman show, I think his name was christofff. Kind of like an anagram of Christ but something else entirlely. I lok bag back at that little chiwawawawawa with this hands I mean paws on his hibs read rib cage, and look him str9 in the little bulging eyeround eyes that say to me … don’t you mess with this little chiwawawa and that’s a rap folks thoh yeah, I forgot to sya what I said to the poohc. I bought that leather sandal in the spring of 2---1 in an Abercrombie and fitch weaved basket that sant in front of the checkout line where the white toothe  white toothed  brown crown boys in the cargo shorts whistled at the guy in the front of the store with his pecktoralis majors just taking up a heavelheavenload likke a box space of time. Or something I wanted to say a medium sized bookboxy that u haul produece. I bought them sandals I continure with three peenies and  a twenty dollard bils. So that makes the total 20 dollars and three cents. But of course, I ghabd to give a little more away because I ended uppaying the maleman who was standing boom boom pow the music goes on the the beachies surf throughtout the store finding the perfect jeam fit, for the leggings are not hot yet.  uOh but they will be come three years. That legging that you didn’t wsee in 200-5 will  om agin int the 20011. But wait! That’s not all folks, there is a winner amon us and that winner is going to win a trip to Canterbury lands where he will mean meet the pilgrim the knight and thw wife of Bath shut it! I say there isn’t a oie in here, just a maple leaf. Is that so, well I take upon myself your maple leaf, annd raise your celeb celery stick poooncho ponsho where the hell idid you come from phncho? Serioiusly? NO no  no carrot top. There wasn’t any coarrots around here totototototo. Oh jesus there was a pretty little tune that sarah may sang along coast highway 101 when there were no cars just shifty bikes that the bm brown boys stole around the corners nah I think about the tune from the wizard of oz when the olad lady aunty em is riding her bicicle tryig to get a hold of to to to . Why does she like that dog so badly>? I thnk I thkn he’s actually kind of a sweet pooch, I do. But those fingernails on theose paws are painted flashy pink! Who would do that to a og. At least pick a color that goes with the name to e toe toe … that dog is a menace to society she says and points a scaly alligator finger at the muszzle of the cchumpanzeee. ZEEE!!! Seee that was a good fingerlookin/

 Good time I got ther. But now be warned skyscaper there are onsequesnces for your aactions. This time you may get away with stealing the metal capte that has the magic flowers instead of powers but hell s no! You wounldnt ignore me would you. I follow the map on te wall. The wmap on the wall, the map on the wall with the exit trap oodoor that says go this way. A trap door? Where did this trap door come from? I will tell you it did not just cartoonishly appear out of nowhere like that basball glove that bopsopops about of a rocket box twing twang. That’s not right I tell you there was a boxing glove and idd it win bext picture I should hope not! Bear skyple!!! Bear that way! The boy with the oily hair points towards the man in the beaar suit wholifts the lid of the hurricane stowaway lid, and says, follow me, men! I couldn’t do it. Oh and that hurricane wept like a gingersnap . Wet and soggy was she, this hurricane , sweeping sweeping weeping seeping accrous the lands of Narnia and behond! Get thou down this trap door said the crater man with the spugs. No, not that way That way is to the fairy castle . We are going underground undground undgeroun I tell you. Oh yes, and meegosh, gloss that trp door behindyou so the sinds of the willows cannot trapeze our company and fly let the abies fly through the sky. He turns to the wizersds with the cone caps. We don’t want tha t babies to fly away. They wont said wizards noumber 1 unlesss… and he lowers his head to whisper to meegosh. Unless you take the key with the kabali stirng and make it into a turnip sausce. I hate I hate I hate turnip turnip szuace. My grandother made it with a brown uttkey stuffinf, and that ws the one tie I dare say I did I DID throw up that pastry. Grandma said there would be never more a thanksgiving unless I hate my mashed potatoes. Oh dear said wizard number 007 > I didn’t know that you’ve hate such a grnad old time with that turnip juice. Hmmm the wizard thought. I don’t want to make meegosh turn this string of thread into a turnip. Sooo I will make him put it in his mouth at one ends and then pull the other end out of his nostrol nose. Sniffer gong bong. Hmmm I like that much better said the boy, his long dark eyelashes batting with a thoughtfull grin. Oh you little sinner. You grin you gr grin shows the markings on your SOUSOULL~!!! Your grin is farrrrr too big sai the pirateOH my! Where did the pirate come fromsai Dorothy. He needs space to think to. We would not want him to wash away with the stom on or without the plankety plank ship ….. or was that supposed to be a shit on the little chow chow. Ohhh that sound syummy said darth. He was thinking of a lithght mayonnaise suase on spaggehtti with a side of shoeballs. Never in my life, darth cried, habe a tasted anything so delicious. He stopped momentarily. As a tear came out from the big black plastic maske!!!! What? I habe a son!1 that’s not all folks . Darth, said the wizards we are going to tell you one last time that you absolutely must not cry unless there is a doue a good reason. But but but You didn’t know what I was theinking and that breath came through the coils of the bottom mouth mask. Heeeeeeee…. Heeeeeee…. Heeeee I was thnking about spaghetti and mayo .

What said thae boy . No way said toto that’s impossible. I haven’t heard of the may and spaghetti until wait no I meant to go back in tieme to the desert where the feather topped a dirty red facce. With a scalpel and scaplp in the right hand clutched bravely cleanched with veines popping out of sindian jam bone. This is my scalpel and my scaple scalp of another beastly man trying to take our land. I hold this here scalp” and the Indian looks towards the master chief who said yes my dear. I gforgot to mention that this is not really a typical tripe of American Indians this tribe of Indians are all gay and with this gay spirit they are able to conjure the gods of all the penissis who ever walked our earth. An And my time is up folks I gone on much too long thatn I intended too…. 

The following is a press release for patient advocate Lori Hartwell

Patient advocate Lori Hartwell has fourth kidney transplant

Kidney patient advocate Lori Hartwell has headed home for rest and relaxation five days after her fourth kidney transplant on Feb. 4.

Hartwell founded the Renal Support Network in 1993 and has acted as a voice for kidney patients on issues such asanemia, the ESRD bundle , the transition adjuster, the Kidney Care Quality and Education Act of 2007, and forcomprehensive immunosuppressive drug coverage for kidney transplant recipients.

In addition to legislative advocacy, the Renal Support Network helps educate and empower patients to take control of the management of their disease.

RSN provides a toll-free help line, the HOPEline, organizes a renal teen prom every year, conducts patient surveys, holds an annual essay contest and even produced a critically-acclaimed play.

Hartwell has also authored many articles for NN&I.

In addition to her work with the Renal Support Network, Hartwell also authored a book, Chronically Happy, and writes her own blog.

"An illness teaches you many lessons and allows you the opportunity to meet incredible compassionate giving people that help you on your journey," Hartwell wrote in her blog.

The renal community is lucky to have her.

Dr. Hilarious has lost his sense of humour....

Sequined dragon iht the glass and hollow tail hollowed be thy name in 198454 th herrick twins were observing a flowering cactus plant when their mother called from the kitchen of smoked red brick. The signs are just coming in from the paper. The letters from the editor have arrive boys. I don’t want do read it, derrick said though when he looked at his brother and shrugged his shoulders the other brother the herrick twin could only guess that what his brother was really fearing was a sense of fear itself. Maybe he idn’tt want to find out that the letters were negative or maybe he didn’t want to find out that he had fialed. But really, what he didn’t want to find that that over and over and over and overt agina he had been used to being let down. In in the summer of 19645 theherrick twins were the first to receive thre letters of reommendation when his nrother was dialnosed with nd stage renal disease. This was not an uncommon trait or diwsease nut was was common were the letters going out to the families indicating that the time with the sons as limited. Or thrather that the time with the daughters awas s;imited how couldn anything bine more dissapointming thtthan a letter sayint you’ve been chosen bfor the greatest team college you wanted. You can have the beaufiful glass castle with the red shades and shutters of light brown majogany. The leather coered antigue Joshua tree that sits in the Italian made vase circa 190082 its

Is sooo old, he thought. We atre gtting so terribly terribly old. No were not. You are not at least.

I knownbut now you know thatwhat I’m seeing? You know what I’m beginning to see? I’m beginning to see a generationthat is so aware of its cold nature – the science of the life0- that the nature itself has been rep;aced with a cold new world of stmechanics roboti features, claws that pull human organs from their positions isn the human torso, and exchange these organs with the ones that don’t work. But one of the things the newer generation is discoving is that this comes at a cost. The cost is the humanesss. The cost is the renon-scienfiti commands, the hands that work inside the skin. There used to be a sense that when a physician laydelle his hands inside the cribs aof a dying man that the man had everything to lose and also everything to gain. But the old man didn’t expect anything. Now there are people who expect everything of science and move tin that direction accordingly. They want their gadget, their hgismost a pletnly. They want robotic arms that crain in the direction of the brain and pull from the lobe soft pieces of tissue .ike look like sausage meat. On a cabootdle. But what the machines really spit aout is a piece of humanity.. the I am” am fragile” capability that only the hans of a man or woman can ictagte over through the course of touch. The hard steal metal plates are awfully clean. They are gird and cold. They are they are a kind of sterility that can only be achieved in an artificial enfvironment. Envirtonment. The people of the kind of place tht is happening right now is both exciting and very sad. The reality is I don’t know…. That is the reality I live in a transition between the cold plates of steel that dig into the very human bodies lying on the ooperating table – that and the computr itslef00 making way for the extension of a life that is not more human—but artificially extended.

I don’t know if I can tolerate that kid of behanvior, said marggie.

I can’t imagine a place where the ducks that used to be simmin gin the tub are now popping their wide eyed glares throught the app of an iphone.

What kind of bath is this? What kind of cruel bath drowns the rubber duckie in his wide eyed crystalilized glare throught the looking glass at jesus face. There are no more .. .well maybe some—certainties. But not good certainties. Just frightening certainities that we have to at in the rain, like small rain drops that fall on our senses and dull the roots of ts elliots lengthy lenthy lenthy prose prose prose.

What I don’t wnt yo to feel is alone.

But that’s what the machines feel.

No they don’t

They don’t feel

Tey feel alone

They compartamentalize data over and over and over again

The repitition of number and letters becomes a kind of poem inside the wires that nobody really understands fully. What has happened today?

The letters are not sent out anymore. They are distributed by a click of a touch. The fingers touch the mechanical engine ant then the information si isent out to hundreds if not thousands of people. I am not complainting, george,

What a mouse was this?

You hid in the corner to find a cradle of haystacks.

What dirty floors that used to parade around the fourth of july on a Sunday afternoon. The sun was high hgigh high. The craters in the trench were smelling of dirt and pie and a la mode. There that can’t be undone. But how can it? Now the trenches are gas. The gas kills. And the gas will put to sleep the aching bones of the failing bodies. There is something that looks like love, approaches some kind of love, but never really has the weight of love.  Love is the weight of iron. Heavy and durble and it doesn’t break down under pressure. That’s the old love. The new love is in a machine carrying information. I love you, the machine says. And maybe the machine means to say it, but there is no substance to the letters or numbers or l or o or v or e. There is just the data that says something that means something that we know theoretically but can’t really carry the way the pilgrims carried their children across the dirt. Tehre is a teathered ball that swings around the poll.I hit the balls over again, swinging even when I miss, I miss you. I said. Come back to me. Come back to me. There, the ball of the teathered pole swings round and round the other peson is not aware how madly mad the ball needs, it needs to tighten to grasp the pole hard enough so that the rod quakes, it shakes, and quickers underneath the pressure of the tanted ball. The yellow ball. The sketched and tainted tied to a rod ball. Balls and chain. Swing the balls around the chainp--- champ. Part champ part rod, part chain, and part winner of the game. You never lost to me. I always won. But that’s not true it just seems like a cliché again along the borderline of another stupid cliché. The never never land where all the blue sparkling eyes get tossed into a crater of mud where they will loosely fall apart like the little white freckles of tost that crawl into the gras when one blows the lily fronds. Front yards are full of these miniscule umbrellas made of sparklers of th night that seem like stars. Stars in the day walking through the sky… flying an umbrella of protection. My wishes are that there be stillness, a kind of peace that can only come from wishes. Maybe not. The battle is a long one. The soldiers sing dirty songs with their flutes in their hands, their eyes gaged with intensity of mind. “My eyes” My eyes. They cannon see

You you you are blind, and what does the blind do? He of course leades the blind? Yes yes.

So there you go, doctor. Take your hands an dmaneuver them into the cradle of laproscopy. The cradle of forgiveness, the hands that heal are no longer human hands. They re the hands of the rocket. Pynchon, you were right all along. The rockets, especially the v-2 no longer the kind little penis rocket that had the power to propel life. The rockets we have now destroy the very life that the flesh rocket once provoked. Oh, how the little girl walking through the field of daiseies wishes she could lie there and just smell the smell of oldness. There is only the not smell of sterility. And that is deathly hollows. It is an empty smell like a fridge that has been emptied of contents and is only left with the iodine powde0—the white that makes that rotten cucumbers and boiling faling twisting tomotes browned and Brazilian old cheese from the inner ear it stinks so bad. Clean it up though. Let it wash away with the salt of the earth. The salt of the cheak that lay in the sand next to a friend in the sun of shore. Tides were late. The moon was low. But we didn’t want to go. We didn’t want to take the hike back up the cliffs where the toadstools had fragrence, where the cars wer parked reary to ride back back ucsd, past the institution of knowledge.e We had some kind of knowledge ehtne, you and me. We had the sun. It was all we needed, and maybe some sandwhiches or crabs from the bayliner that came in after 10;00 . We were not the early birds that the men out on the fishy ships were. We came in late when the red was bleeding into the sky, maybe on some days we saw the moon low even when the time on our phones read 4:00 / date / time/ ssituation/ comedy/ tradegy. It told us everything. It told us of the beer that was not to be tasted but yes you can drink it from a phone little one. How darling. Look at the little tike, sucking on the corner of the phone. It looks so alarmin!So young and so mature to taste the golden ale in the summer. We had our knowledge you and me. In the meanwhiles…. There were suckling babes at kettle branches stung like fuckering that distilled the brine. Brine branches that wipe the skin against the sour lemon raggedy lime juice. How the aloe healed the pinkish salt skin. I brush your salt skin. It feels sandy and glassy,; it smells like the waves. Seeweed wrapped around our shoulders dancing dancing dancing. And a smile beems from here to kingdom come the sun will glow in the evening and I take a picture. The camera snaps, it works so well to take a snapshat of our lives that we are wantinto capture. We capture us. We capture the sea, the weeds, the smoke, the chambers …. The songs the way we sang outr songs. They echoed through catholic halls that meant no harm but fishy went wayword, when catch a till, too many and there are nothing left to fish. They went somewhere theyclimbed the rocks at sunset. I watched as the boys disappeared int the upper ledge, and I imagined how they would look over the bliffs our ways. Back the ways we came and think, that was a good ride. That was a good time.But it keeps going! It does! Don’t forget that, ever little tike that dances with the weeds on her shoulders. When the legs are burning from the hike, lift up the shorts, pull the red bandana over the scalp that the Indian sun wants to tear apart. There is so much knowledge to be had behind the wires, behind the heart, and it hurts to know that it has all been lost and not lost simulataneously. But what of it? What of the stinking rags? Ad the aloe succulants that drink my water bushes? I will feed them all they need, says the sand and the sea and the beach and the water liiies. I will give you all that you could ever dream…

The lotus eaters sigh.

There was a cship that had washed up on silly seaward. There were ships along the coest but only one had the courage to dock and shock the rest of us. Loosely this is based on te ever steamy rock-talk that we had during the song” never let me go”. I was saying, yes you were saying. There was one boy who looked out over the sand from the ship he waved, the smile and laugh were like the puddles mixed with soap. Ashes and Bubble pops … otter pops that burn the upper nose.

Oh my Heavens to Betsy! My nose is Burning!!! It is the devils powder up there!!Dobnt let the sting get to you, the hotty totty ice mack can let you down. But never does it last.

OH, is that right old chap?

Oh young one, I am that one. But it doesn’t feel it. The age of the day travels like the speed of the camera lens on hyperwarp—the magnification, hyperventilation—of time.

But what of the docks? There were docks that never meant much, and somethat meant a peach pit. There were docks that held the rock-lives handed into spring-such painted with smiley faces. There were rocks that were painted with the lines. Pray. Tongight, pray. But did you ever pray to a rock ?

Sirus looks at a broken nail, and pulls at a piece of skin. “I wanted to believe in more than just a piece of earth.”

You will. I think you will. Right now it may just look like the cliffs are made of rocks, and the boys are climbing the stairway to a trailend where snakes bite and bit and the corals never sweep again. But boys will be boys, yes they will.

Now, now, I think looking up at that cliff, where I smell sweat and canopies of ginger juice on wet cotton collars sleeves. That is the time that we loved. The Nudes wrapped in nothing the but the blanket of July heat, and eucalyptus oil too. Banana boat, haninging in the cotton pouch for those who didn’t feel the necessary pride to parade the showings. The real estate homes sloaped over the edge of the bay. It looked as if the ramblings of an older author had left these homes for someone to pick up. To clean up the mess. To put the prose back together again. What happened years ago? What happened when I looked at the eyes of the text and the eyes didn’t look back ? they just wandered somewhere off into the next thought? A broken house hangs from the ledge of Tibbett coast.

You were there, you remember. Why don’t you just tell me? Stop with the fragments. Someone needs to rise, pinch the threading and knead the letters into a tapestry of words that actually mean something. The weight of the words can’t be found in a feather of fragmented thoughts. The thoughts are the flying umbrellas that we blow in the spring. The thoughts are the afternoon starbursts promising wishes to come. Say it aint so ash face.

Poppy licker.

Como Chingas. Growing from the weeds, in between the chopped fragments of grass, I will pull at my wishes, blow a stream of air through the thoughts, and there—wherever the wind takes the glowing dandy grains---there my dreams will grow.

In 1954 the herrick twins discovered that Lenny had a faulty organ. The keys, also called the nephrons, didn’t sing quite on key. Off kilter a kilt, to save a kite. A rocket will burn through the kite, and the boy hold the plastic yo yo looking dradel will be left with a limp noodle of a rope/string. I loathe that rocket right now. But the rainbow is appealing…. We’ll seee.

In 1954, in the bleached groins of the physician’s exam room, Mr. Hector heard an intonation he would rather not have heard. The intonation sounded like the respone a child gives when his mother has found the pieces of broken lamp glass lying on the floor. It seemed to say, what’s done is done, and…. It may not be the way you want it to be, but you’re going to have to turn lima beans into lime cud. Brave and cocky soldier. Get rick of the cock and just be a little brave with lower case limpers for once. Twist my arm and jingle a satchel of Chinese ringing ranging dangling cuttle spheres.  You know, the ones that make the ding dong chimes—sounds that seem to be coming from the space beyond the fingers five. One pinger and then the other, 1,2 3, four, five like the segments of the caterpeller, rotation and turn, pull and release. The spheres are moved.

Don’t let the salty sea choke you. I will watch—because right now I can’t swim—you will float. Treading water sideways inways underways. Take the million little pieces james, the pile—no the scattering—of cupcake rainbow spreckles. Eat em. Let em dissolve between the bottom tongue and tooth. Tooth and tongue. Watch it become something else. Transform. Transformation.

Simon calls from a rest-point where he rests his heavy buttocks on a nut branch.

You wanna go ahead? “ gesturing upwards, simultaneously wiping the sweat with a fruit of the loom cotton-sleeve.

You go ahead. I’m going to take a bag of trailmix out of my kit and cabbottdle and eat it with a spork.

Yeah?

More fun that way. And I hate raisins. No really, I dislike dried up grapes a lot.

Oh oh oh why let the blues sag the boobies down. Don’t got no braw, but gots my dignity… Gots my kidney beans. I make em into a stew—clever, huh? Chile with Coriander and mellow cumin. Organic, of course. 100%. Mmmmmmm with a seed-filled slice of watermelon on the side. Oh dear. I may not be able to publish this. Not PC. I love my friends, though, everyone of you. Even if you’re only in my head.

There there,” grandma sheivgard reached over to pull the pistachio cradle from the meat of the nut. “I gots it hunny.”

Oh dear, you know you’ve hit rock bottom when gradma has to split the nut. She’s got the wild fever, so she can take a couple wrinkly little fingers, use a little prune-lip action (the way a baby might suck on a pink nipple) and remove the shell from the good stuff.

“Don’t you just wish…” the coriander reminds me of dandelion, and that glowing afternoon starburst drifting off to bloom. “Don’t you just want a machine to do all the work?”

The boy in the overalls, osh-gosh-b-gosh— pushes a heroe’s plastic little tike toy mower across the lawn. The birds above the poolouse continue to yawn. Or rather, test their range. A beak is sheik. But inside the main house a physician prepares a slide of organic matter that will change everything.

“Don’t shay I didn’t warna, einshtein.”