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Monthly Archives: February 2009

The other side of a peacan
by Kada aka K.A.Ambrose

“Zephyr-ed gray, layered blur,the sky hangs flatly in the minds motion. Bland colored overcoats, umbrellas, on people down headed, like remorseful Preying Mantis’ speed along. Shielding anguish, passing flashes, all red, red blurs, pink shot quicks, in pose, while jogging left right to avoid the gutters menaced splash; a torrential vision vehicle, reflections of Monet’s Bridge in black and grey. To tell in only gossipy expressions, scenes spewed orange inner pointing statures. Innocuous with borders of sheer free creation juxtaposition as complacent puffs. While it is vengeance with a stoics demeanor, composed in it’s agitated frenzy. A fury contorted peaceful while blood drips easy puddles. Proposed, superficial incrimination thunders in passive immobility. Waiting the coming ariival of spiral winds, accumulations, to tear rips from the body holy. Their creations justify their purity, flailing wimpish arms as gladdened sacrifices, old in the offering laid on a plateau still, stationary in its age, like the wrinkled softness of an electrically preserved heart”

Our one is many ones,one who’s stopped. Doesn’t move Doesn’t emit reproduced noise; stationary as dirt on a stop sign. Jon.

“Banging is emitted. It is a glare. Wrapping the city in sounds, the flapping pigeon wins, rebellious hoarse car roars, Panic ambulance screams, to the bashful whim laughter all sardonic simplicity over alvoistic, crevasse thin high tympani of gray frigid cries of the streets refracted residential s. sighing poisonous arias as loud as death’s civility. “

All alien thought, the homeless, unstable, addicts, artist, all ones addicted to life and some to death Ruling themselves fro themselves. The silent sleepers sheltered nightly or quietly dieing from the hard bent ill society on park curbside or the metro station. Our Anut Freds, our Uncle Judys siphoning from parked cars.

“To clear their heads”

Or the twins, who pull the inherent pranks stationed evolutionarily blind in serial killers.

“You remember the cat how it’s blood seeped into the sidewalk as you cried. And they made fun of you.”

or your brown haired cousin , the Lisper, a little nown parental abuse subject.

“who you made fun of”
All satisfied themselves themselves.

His hands mumble.

“ clay solid structures leather pink stuffed gloves, over worn and dirt embedded, truths staffed to arms proving evolution of belief, as the umbrella clicks, snapping class position, but just a hand, which lies bare palm up for the eyes spasmodic twitching”

Our one breaths softly, slowly adjusting his back closer to the bricks cold. His knees grate his chest. The half crouch, an observed mediation. Passed a total scene in front of the hands spring palm reposed peasantry.
Our one became a preacher who followed his church instead of the reverse. Long ago he held mass on an empty lot, surrounding himself with a closed fence. his flock would come to the edges and tell in preaching unity, all notes without words, summer convergences. Jon remained as a en lightener, others losed track instead. He considers himself stationary against the wind, standing ambiguous of the present as it is ambiguous to it’s self, a stoic future base. Grounding a times Call for need and welfare remembered.

Now our one feels the time to move pushing up to stand. Stretching to the contrite pose.Shifting to stiff weight, while leaning against the wall, portions ketching streaming shatters to his knitted jacket.
“Over twists. Diagrams spinal, helixing pain, DNA drawing light projectin sparks narrowed down to shards”
Erect.
“Shaking twisting falling ketching vision of butterfly lass sculptures breaking on a tile mosaic at full sun.”
Proving his huddling need, the body now surrounded by a cold sweat chill up through toes double wrapped in old socks. Moving at a slow peacefull speed.
“Ochre swoops pass, excellerated violence, smearing vision with ideal. Running so as not to find themselves pleading in their own regrets. Sheilding ever shielding, refusing disease, in their malady, fetiousness, their overindulgent sanity. upward images catching droplets perniciously on points off staffing, to watch the semicircular descent, off umbrellas and clean arms, leaving their bodies untouched, uncomprehending, disregarding old sweat, feces, and piss, cigarette butts as any wasted idea. Leaving someone to clean up but never them. passing with thoughts of income and purchase”
Ours moves to feed. A shelter tired to time will open soon it’s disciplined doors. Macrooney and cheese day, the burnt taste on tip. But jon is untimely, and the line is formed lon. Unnervingly long, all spoils for the bake.
“jon” yelled from somewhere
“jon”
a twist
A shift
a maimed consciousness
a guile
a lie
a truth believed in substance”
“Glaring lights, sun spanned climax vision, saints flyin mercilessly, hovering over streets paved in chard intertwined sticks, seemingly small mouse bones, Rickety black physical inner wear, cries engulf the streets GIVE RISE TO FREEDOM. Wailed of air pushing , enveloping the spirits lyres into a quizery of replies in tone and nothing.
standing amid it all Jon is naked, no reaction to physical skyness of cold. just glimin with posed pluto-ian pious.
“jon” contorted in physical illness of shape.Simon says again “jon”
Supported by metal crutches he reminds more the noise constant, unheard, thud scrape, thud ,scraping the concrete. A genetic mutant, life from gladdened thoughts “i am not dead” How many better to be, those those totally fit works illed by mind and not physic. Simon has the force of existance we may lose in perfect process and plastic pretense.
“gotta cigarette” Simon mumbles to Jon’s negative shake.

More of our fleers.
Sam and Andy, standing just before the entrance, sparking the last drags each from a shared cigarette, Dressed in fatigues, the bleeding bonds, Green brown splotched worried and waring gulfs of truths forgotten. They are joined in their paid price, Drinking to the coming end but mostly for a past war.
“Youth subtracted virginity added to glorified patriotism, mixed slowly with a seductive lover of violent sadism. Drink quells the savage passionate resentment of societal complimentary light speed images,and conscious freudian mortality. Dreaming over battles and bombs, encased echoing mortar shells, machine gun turrets, by approaching parks, over trash labeled Burger Five and please keep our city clean. Brotherhood is a sigh and and inhaled shriek, charging down liquid revulsion and true revolution. To touch the intricacy of ecstasy with a militants waking to god.
And more.
Joan, a feeble old women, long forgotten systems pride, toting large shopping bags, screaming at them as her mothers image to her. “Shelter 1919, food raids, oh guns” Her bags shudder with the wind as reply. “I tell you the story you never listen, Damn you. Fear these dirty men shall not harm you.” Her voice turns softer. “i love you” squeecks out “i love you , don’t please don’t ” legs stumbling into an alley.
The “sane” parasites, call after her. Sammy and the wine crew. all nondescript. worn but alive . Only showing the refuge they’ve taken on mornings without wine. as they slowly start shaking. Talking humbly till the seizures paralyzes and a resounding clunk wakes all to their fall, a skull wrapping kiss on cement. “there she goes” Sammy mentions mutely as the others resolve a bottle. “ain’t no such thing as a free bottle” “yeah there is , I go in and the man he ave me one” “you crazy mother fucker you gave him something.. fool”
All soundless to the noise. Harshness emitted from Bmw and more construction noise, From the louds of the street, forgotten lives, Mixing “Thud Scrap” and “you mother” and the ever silent “bombs” All explosive reactions before the quiet shelter door’s inner peace.
Part three

Spasmostically slow the doors open, as ours goes in, watching the cold floor wetted in dirt, creating pictures, create, erase, create, in boot mud, a natural expression of the transient. We could deliver it to the Fruedians and the Museum of Fine Arts, each acclaiming the posterity with “tortured designed sculptures of present day minds. showing a perverse acknowledgment of the degradation of society.
our has his fee, Humanly looking to his plate a turkey dinner. Freezer of some warehouse emptied for defrosting, desired to provide, To take his bow is a representive in holy cleanliness, high purity, wishes everyone “Happy Thanksgiving” Announcing commercially ‘by Beatrice” AS air passes the entrance, Flowing ice ponds for a holey shoe vengeance.
A clanging of trays lifts our’s thoughts, he looks up…

A shift
A twist
A maimed consciousness

A guile
A lie
A truth believed in substance.
‘Shelter Shelter screams a man. Ours pulls back in fright as well as better view. Veins pulsating on a God crying man, Purple red over lying deep blue straining strains of a solid neck leading a gnarled chin. Under forcefully teared eyes sparked the fleer’s fleeing thoughts in the tightness of area, the tightness of pose, the man is transferring pain to the physical to free the spiritual self by the scream. A soul yell , deep from the diaphragm, projecting out the darkness, expelling the ridicule for the comprehended.
Our view is expanded giving mirth it’s view of an exposed nature. lights buffets the clouds and birds laugh over the breeze gliding on the ebb and currents. Force must be delable and considerate of nature. Looking down, in front of the screamer, falls off the land, three inches from his bare toes. The jagged descent of dreams , a brown earth’s welcome, Death and Peace. Scantily clad our figure jumps, Arms outstretched, legs tucked fetally,welcoming the truths of dualities.”

Metal blurred, tin and aluminum inter mixtures. Plates with spots of food, remains of lunch. Sammy now drunken tap dancer sparks his feet. Tappclan,crappa tappatpptasappclan. To crashing feet and wild yelling cheers in the self proclaimed “metallic feet in giggles” Filling ears with laughter. The chaotic pounding Cla, tapptapppp, ends Sammy’s dance. Lungs heaving and smiles immediately forgotten. Someone brought the bottle in, A free drink , yet, to sink. Ours goes to the street.
A repetitious cycle can never rest until spiral pointed then .. Can motion stop in a void?
Ours moves, no increased speed but with an extra shadow, The Thud scrape.
ours only looks ahead, Partnership stands alone in the way of truth. both exist but unto a bridges construction is solidity. no support is no repression. Judgment is a caring mans sanity, not a sane man’s caring.
Blocks desist from remembrance.but the “thud, scape” and traffic noise.
A win approaches from the east. It is the bringer, It the faded love’rs voice, shocking, dispelling. Ejecting the reason, Citizens see it, Pushing off their hats, a bully trying to provoke response in safety. Nature of it’s own. imposing, instead of being imposed upon.
Ours has faded with his answers. His praise , His truths, like ourselves . Swaying with anger love and frustration, like ourselves selves with human maturity instead of humanitarian results.
Nestling in the common foundations of the public library. Lossing the steadying verse, Flying passed the page….
A twist
A shift
A maimed consciousness
A guile
A lie
A truth believed in substance.
A Spanish harbor, Glaring street lights beam in soft romance with the waters blackened reflection. Two children, dressed in shorts of blue and matching shirts in green.Throw a red ball. which is frozen half way between them. Never moving in the paralyzed scene.
A tribute of bells rings clearly in echoes off some staunched way. Intertwined with the fresh tone. of a woman’s singing to the nights love and romantic preservation, Melodies off stairs leading to possessions of intoxicated pure surrender. Left to the children in an off beat sync. Make straight harmonies off a small boat slapping at is mooring.
Ours moves through the picture , no injury, The moment captured, never controlled . He looks into the refracted visions. and survives the importance of ready beauty. Weaving pictures of quality, life styles and patience.

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oh yes i did. I promised to write everyday. but yesterdays story is so old in my thoughts right now. i am destined over the rain bow. i am escaping and deeper i am diving. Walking though the stimulus, a whole in my foot.
Talking to topics today.
Telling taunt tales of talents and tolerance,
A birth and a rebirth. for today is Lincolns birth , or yesterday. Speeches and all. and i know little of it. So enslaved the modern Workers is , fed to dragons through utilities, credit, food , gas. Such That we don’t have time to think it is slavery,, oh yea ,,,we got Choice. Right after we choose to accept which ever lay we are in. After the children or after the mortgaged college career. after the final course you have six months to pay. lol. chase my tail quicker.

Unslavery might start with a world we do not fear.
Unslavery might start with a centered caring for free knowledge
and online free school. a
well fare college. totally free.
compose of reused lesson plans.
recycling knowledge.

Unslavery is a global health reform.
One man one dollar..
Or how ever many that will take.
and government
enforces technological breakthrough’s first
go to the advancement of the race.
overceeding even patients.
but the patient holder stays involved.
.. maybe antislavery , is focus.

so i said i would. picture-015
REading in the paper; saw a breaks down of the stimulus.
easily reported; you can by a new car with stimulus, as in if you can afford one ,, lol. but you get a sum by return mail. But they should ave to be 65 miles to a gallon or we are just making the situation worse.. more cars. higher gas prices.
But you will be getting money if you work and even if you don’t.
extra unemployment. , but there is something missing, that i haven’t heard of . the where for education.
for a promise was made to provide four thousand dollars per person who choice to enter school to teach???
or did i just hear that somewhere.
i don’t know , i am looking outside and wanting to go there.
shifting gears, trying to stay a head of what i should know
to stay even,
the bush is gone with the cash a free for all at the end like a big party.
like we celebrate and wonder if we didn’t contribute,
what ease is good and evil. so balanced as to see what doesn’t go away, but promotes the leader on the fall of the last. it is so easy.
look at the hero. While the villain sneaks off quietly. the papers not talking about shootins. and killings. the battle reports have quelled to. the air is looking sweet and sticky, a new day and a new hand to wield it.
like check out the bankers on his staff.
Clinton used Hollywood,,
nice.
I personally was a fan and am. but no one saw what was behind the morning’s jog and Mc Donalds, his own miss direction.
so cute and jovial.. but they ran on
(and didn’t get done); Medical coverage. for the second. and Education for the first. while the Republican house made the way for Daddy. (after a fine showing in texas where he nearly left them dead with a 4 billion dollar deficit given all away to crowneies. sound familiar.
i am watching while i write, i am watching a tape , made in travel . made nice. but i am back there sitting in the passengers seat watch the love of the city.

oh fire up what i think for another day . but like meaning is so easy..
i have none, i report to have some,, up that is a man i know when he doesn’t think you are listening. i am the crowned prince sitting in a lonely ego. quietly flipping coins to death or life. the illusion enough to remind, the depth edge is all that is needed for reason. here is no different. but from all that revolves a voice to inspire, equalizing.
we should form a council that agrees..
one large premise , and people sign that. We agree the first rule of government is progress of its people, in a complete form, starting with the air we breath to the education we get. the chance. for all. volunteer programs for free college. (obama said that.. maybe i Don’t remember well, dry milk you know)

from that , the internet congress , should lead .
one

I am ancient, and accorded that right through knowledge we are all equal. that liberty is a spirit’s growth and foreseen peace.
. ultimate’s control our hearts
so the ultimate is our concern .
the height of knowledge is a creation in feelings, and feelings are the first knowledge. we are transcendent as we are alive.
. my therapist has suggested a concentration of the past as small clips not related to the whole. . and i write it out ,to only show her, and think about it more , like each over view is important to weigh and consider fully, and release, as i run ahead of myself like a puppy going home. lol
i am getting a different therapist next time. funny that.
she got through . i like to feel like i am releasing something, but the last relationship,,, of the first day i knew my step father wasn’t my father, whatever . each yields the same thing,
each little remembrance. like a journal of the fourteen years. or a decisions of twenty more. And so little gets to me. tomorrows entry i am going to work on tonight.
“the other side of a peacan” by kaambrose
, in celebration of LeaKelley’s gallery opening. Google; Canvas gallery ca santa monica la nice!!!.

the night was filled with it’s accusations of scary noises. Distant Twig breaking, Paranoia, where you listen and want to not just imagine and know, to not create from the darkness. And yet. Each set of circumstance leads the mind. I have been here, i have seen this, I am ready for. And he sits a little closer into his sleeping bag. fending off imagines that happened years before. fending off the imagines his paranoia saw previous to this . of this night. like a dream fulfilled the warm panthers approach. all black and shinny, but with venomous eyes. waiting a final look few live to tell about, and the day is kitty tales to.
Some animals you can tell will jump, and you can tell by some subtle in their walk, but only just by experience.
there isn’t any that are just nice. all have a hate and anger. all wake knowing they can not longer eat vegetables and niceness, but need the meat of truth, and harmony of forever. Even if that means going off to hunt again alone. Oh the dreams the night becomes quite without recognizing. it is the battle of survival. the here and there, the give and taken. the pre-sight and the foresight. so as not to have misstep in the jungle with trappers and predators alike.
Some times you create your panic like an experiment to see how you would handle real fear. could your heart slow up while you are gasping for air? the adrenal surge no matter if it is a killer or not, the best is to hid so as not to find out. if only you can hold still. and not weep with the pains you have always known which have happened shortly after the distant twig break.
yes it has been planned almost from the beginning. A enforced distance , that those who have been attached by animals have, a continual shyness and also aggressive love for how quick it turns to pain. the movements of minutes.
Here on the mountain edge in the morning we can see clearly what dangers the night only told of without mentioning, but with a blessing of wind to cast off the scent. and live to see another morning.
his deserting eyes imagine a different day. one in the city , for a second, imaging running to ketch a bus, or pull into work, to listen to the footsteps against hard cemement coming to tell him of the food he will eat by surviving the night’s plotting in sunlight. for even as it seems it is and is not. the cunnin, so raw and unimaginable as your food is anothers. As a misstep in any direction might be covered by law or not. as the societal impact is life in civilization the modern world of animal humans.
So he lulls off to a rest from all that telling of pain and promise through those systems, so he is , accpeting the trees ,the insects the dis civility of peace. So we are cast to complete de-evolution to get a hope of clear thought and feeling.
oh and he has brought things with him
to contrive the humanness he so
longs to forget but knows
to which he will return.
In paper notebooks for which he carries
like a cross to the fantasy Jesus,
he has brought them to under
stand and burn.
into the night to drive
off the successful creatures appetite.
he reads.
“Mornin, I have no job there is no savior but self. or I ask for help, Prayers answered, Strongly pushing logic out the window for a sign. Lightening only strikes but once.
Proper journaling, telling every second of thought, but so food, flys , tendencies, intuition or emotions?”

the pages on and on. Scarred and torn.
pen ink faded
at edges. blurry spots of lighter blues from rain drops and tears. these pages drudge across the world. Just waiting for this moment; without a typewriter. but to rewrite, or re read, the passing pages of romance lost, of crippling economics for which the civil world runs around. but never really acknowledge until everyone is one. as the majority gets concern. Ultimate poverty forgotten like ultimate riches. weather of character or material. we forget what the extremes do until we are one.
The ravings around a natural world unseen or atleast unlived in politics or Healthcare .. or .. Education. The extremes of the energy of spiritual reached for in student notebooks damp and almost final with mold and threats of suicides. or loss love. So unable to be talk of in life. the women left the story the spirit seems to rage only for religions. that pull away any love from which they are to tell but yet. the peace is less agreement. little notes outside of a little life.
Seeing these word bring back so many scene. unwritten for which his dreams take the form of. his love on every page, for what else is life made of. the same love he forgot when leaving , the pain reached its end. the choices which blame self finally come outside of the being. do we really think while we live? so much to not see. She was to friendly to fast. but the moment felt the spiritual , the meeting of a finality. A forever.. .. A laugh from the reader. a” forever” as long as the chemical were clearly available, the money coming in .
the spirit a singular conversation to his lovers.
each would forget to read to ask.
to know a forever is a trust
to Faith and growth.
Oh the adrenaline, how that was used, the high, while never looking at the feelings for the feeling’s lead. lol.
the night in space,
extras to create ,, the difference between age ,is one needs to create. the other, remembers, Creation is slow and strong, Balance in the jungle. Siting in the high Andies.

And sight is the feelings moving. Sight . little lessons the justified agreement that we will never be surfs, slaves, paupers for we can see. knowledge the colder teacher for once you had to interest, no connection to something better. Someone must be Surfs, slaves , paupers. but then the technological age.
You reach into stories, you research for fun, you consume paths away from the depths you take. escape.fantasize, create. And as the choices become how blurry truth. the why of gods. casting out. Adam and eve, the parasitic fig , but why cause it can control Feelings. Lacking feelings is the evil.
seeing energy
a leak from emotions
intuition. how is feel is a visions knowledge. and without extra castings of magic, we have energy. we are energy we accept our genius and move our hands.
him reaches down to touch the fern, turning the leave to see the sex organs.
he reads.
:” what consciousness has been and is or has become. a way of telling more cause reason is more readily available a cultured opinion will be a global vote someday. the day off for everyone.
“ let us be at one with a goal. this is the peace of forever. here cause i will not wait to die to feel my spirit, “
“ two plants meet. and grow around each other. with male and female heads. Remember ,, looking back what has been seen.
helix , “dna spreading down into dark.. picture-6