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Monthly Archives: January 2013

Dec 24, 2012
    what youth we hold to discover
     looking through the pictures of others.
    what is meant seems hardly the care
     it is the infinite we look for there
    to shrouds us in innocence covers.
     Like hope is the  silence of shimmering lovers
    the promises of all in its twinkling.
    singing , drawing, continuing
    when static consuls none and lights go away until
    another year discovers.
    when the spectacular represents an apple
    with shine but rebounded off infinite use,
     held just beyond your grasp
    the inner core hardened with green mold
    the outer shellacked perfecting
    a look  like a “should”
    glassed hardness
     like a rock
     which isn’t.
    
    the bows of “why” abstracted on surfaces
    leading to creations against normal purposes
    like creating the apple to know why it is so hard
    so cold , so reasoned.
    and a picture gives back our souls,
     to be ignorant,
     to be saved,
    to be romanced
    once a gain.
    
     Slowly the last of the Year, fades its distance in waves , work not , work, a constant reworking for vacationers. Empty streets line buildings.
    Streets departed from.
    the congregation of the corporate.
     Structures, Minimally staff. Skeleton crewed.
    speckled block wide empty lots,
     the seeming movement ,
    infantile rush hours,
    are inhabitance, civilizations
     which shortened hours,
    counts the days until all
    returns normal.
     Busy , impersonal. Comfortable.
     You making money off you.
    you making money off me.
     Speeding . Anxiety and slower
     personal exclamations.
    Spotty Personal.
    secretive and sexy. cultured lust in blinks and
    by passing looks.
    Real Human.
    Unchallenged.
     And then I read, what becomes from purpose inserted with doubt, i wonder how well the listener hears.
     I do not hear myself well. the story from the empty streets has no mind behind it.
    the intricate specialization of Joe or Joan. I have only scene. the street. A New England winter. Christmas in fact.
     All i see is spread with me with the taxi driver, alone and waiting for the next chance to make some money, some fulfillment . Some achievement. waiting.  Watching the birds, . soaring in the now quiet sky. A silence which leads to soaring on winds, telling of peace without the bi legged.
     a small town by number of inhabitance surrounded the lots of buildings, fine lawns, batches of perfectly maintained like a suburban paradise by uncitzens, outer towns still with Many trees and residential homes. With streets named after contractors children. Mona street and Cuddle me drive.
    Buildings of corporate-ism. Boeing , Itt, Sun Micro systems in habit for land of the older east. The whole town was a huge pig farm once. Years ago
    A place where you married your cousin. When Boston , forty five south was still herding cows to market. All relevant until one day. Someone saw a lot of Bye-able land. then their mystery people talked and planned. Small rooms with scotch, while the worms turn tree dropping to nutrition. Mosquitoes bred at a million per second.  Farmer grew close to a worst season ever then lost and mortgaged equipment , house again. and again. Indebt and determined to live. Men with suits come and measure, Take pieces of the ground. Gives the farmer a cigar for each ten acres, the box feels good like a marker for ones personal best.
    Mrs Farmer is so inspired. Seeing little junior going to college and would love to stop milking every morning ,, baking every night , canning, feeding, sewing. Even the flick of thought comes of not dealing with Farmer. Forgetting rise and fall of the market. Each Year removes more color filled hair, a slow working to grey hay compared to the Irish sky.
     The chickens peck, the dog barks
     While higher and higher the trees grow. the squirrels live inside. Scurring here and there away and back. to go away again . Storage for more and more of the winter is coming in the middle of July. the spiders create webs which birds fly through to go to the fertile places where the dirt is soft and wet, like farmers fields after the plow, though in the early predawn today the vegetable garden will do. and tomorrow while waiting for Farmer to do his season of destroy.
    Images forgotten to pavement and solid lines, compacted earth stones, tar, asphalt.. taken from so many places , trucked , hauled Here to cover the fine earth , The farmer would never remember as he looks onward, Years later. Investment to keep him warm control by that young guy. given to him by the cigar guy who never returns calls just sends check from unknown sources and farmer fattens for the kill.
    I sit on the hill and watch what was my vision. the empty streets. the holiday spirit alone. the car, my friend.  I sit here a lot to see stories of the unmoving. inert. Consume like a cat of the tales How and where, saving shadows and following flys. Chain link fences come from somewhere and long tired hands , have manipulated large rollers of hard wire. Leaving imprints for psycics.  
     the fence link for one place Barbed wire for another. the asphalt the cement rock the glass and each car tell of people and places they have been touched. passed by , adjusted such to be sold and left with purpose but without moral rights, the fence argues who is he to keep out . when anyone who wished climbs over. or there to stupid to figure out the gate.
     The car has a two way radio that sqaulks at me addresses , times. It get angry when i don’t listen. It is Christmas day . I am the only taxi out.  Sitting on a hill.  Missing what could be; if fantasy really worked.
     The tree , the gifts , the smiles , hugs and kisses, special food and the community meal. If only I wasn’t working, fulfilling the services which can not sleep if it is to be trusted. Someone must be on and i sit like the cops, the ambulance, the fire truck. But it is all time and money and the longer i don’t drive the less i earn.
    though fantasy is always greener. I have no children , didn’t fall into that space race of training another’s mind, consuming a life of emotions , smiles for profit, frowns for pain, but I am the most loving friend, Uncle, guy you meet. I stare hopeful of recognition from dogs and cats for all moments of love I hold for moments to fill these long hours to consume love.
     Eventually once the bankers talk with the others in the smoky room, figuring out the set of organizations needed to complete a renovation of a ten square mile area. Brands and food chains , residential houses for workers, convenience stores and bars. Five corporations buy 100 square miles of farm and forest with only purchase of 10 square. the city created has other towns around which must see this economics take over and applaud. Not to comment on industrial waste and higher carbon emittions. Not to comment on the increase in home values which raises beyond the owners ability to pay. Its all cash and more cash. its great, while the water supply suffers and cancer regionally grows. the once sleep fishing tourist town of summer houses forgets purpose formerly , and builds, and builds.
    A new town created from a number of Farms only increased everyone else and more come, as housing worth drives higher taxes. Driving out more farmers.  the first five large companies come but the fix is in so the next company comes and the next. I do business with you so i want your available sharing parts. My children want your schools. and I tell two more of the boon bringing my culture and my plastic movable demands. the Catch a worm replaced by Walmart. The local store by a Seven Eleven with a gas pump; the small leakage never seen. Only the worms know. As i sit with the engine on. the warm interior to the cold outside.
    Tales come from the inert. Storeys we don’t see because we don’t look. I have no choice but to invent a patter of reasoning to fight the insanity of progress. I don’t drink the water. Everyone in town is having troubles with fibermyalga and tooth decay. I can’t eat the treats for there isn’t anything unmodified about them, and the beef has antibiotic so i only eat meat if i think i am getting a cold and to ward off the flu. I wouldn’t breath if i could help it. for the partials of aluminum spread by aircraft to ward off the suns now evil rays scare me. If i could only accept the cancer and stop my attempts to understand the inert. for it is only me waiting for a job to ease my thoughts of permanence. on the hill side , alone. Only me to live some fantasy of understanding speed and media have taken from me. So fast that we cant see our wake. while the heart of the matter is left behind for people without jobs to consume the left over love. to remember the inert as a heart.
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