bonita.

sometimes i wish i could put my head back against a surface and roll my eyes back really slowly and softly, like some kind of ocular trance condition. I'd groan deeply and gutteral like, almost animal in origin. the foam will pull and lull out of my mouth through gritted and tired teeth, and a slow machine of gyration would work through my chest cavity like some voodoo priestess shaking bone pouches to ward off a tribal war. I wish upon this action, i could reach out to all the ones i love, and all the ones who have seen the mind I've exposed to them, and they would know to listen, and deeply. and when i was collected there in my seat, knuckles now perched in a vulture's gnarl, i would transmit the audio around me, so rich in humanity, and pure untainted comedy. there are things that need to be heard. things that make me regret ever seeing them, because they are being seen alone.

"it was just a reg'lah day. juss a reg'lah day. I didn't feel no way, no body bought me nothin, nobody call me or nothin, it was juss a reg'lah day.

juss a reg'lah. day."

a poem.




I miss all of you.
I'll go foamy for you.

limbs to pompei.

so much has changed. it used to be that brooklyn was a novel concept. and for a while, it was this different type of place that was living up to all that it used to sound like. tons of weird folk, artist folk, who were into their own little things. i spent a lot of time at home, and then commuting to work with a car. drove everywhere, passed so many things as lane segmentors. these weren't locations, they were set pieces. as the summer starting waning, i began to walk a bit more, getting the slow realization that the sun would be disappearing soon. walking place to place made me start to take in so many more places. i think i learned more about the area i live in in a month or two of walking from point A to point everywhere than i did in the months that i did driving. and now that i'm without a car and i'm relying completely on the transit system, nothing seems too far, nothing seems out of reach. even things that are so close, down the block/around the block/under the block, it's all fully tangible. this place is meant for change, meant for me. so many options out here. and it looks like for now, i'm going to have to be taking it on alone. that's fine. because i know i don't want to leave. i know i want to stay out here. and the only thing i'm missing is my crew. the kind of love and respect and energy that comes from my people out on the island. i love this place and i'm hoping we stay right here. and i do plan on taking my opportunity a lot less for granted. this is the kind of place that a person like me can gel. let's do it. we out for the gusto, man. we tryin' to keep it raw.

also, for the time being, i've lost my entire music collection. wait. not really. kinda. see, i had it all on an external hard drive which was destroyed physically. but luckily just before that, i'd put everything onto an ipod which i had been using as my library. which, by the very same individual, is now wiped as well. so i'm now separated off into my own CD collection which i have to re-rip and relocate. it's all separated and in many different places since i moved out here. so i bought a bunch of CDs online the other day, something i haven't done in quite some time. mostly because i started to take that whole process for granted. the physical copy is such a requirement for me. the collection, the display, all of it. the last two places i've lived, i haven't gone too over the top with it. it's been very much an afterthought. but once we figure out where we're going to be in a month or two, i'm going to ensure that i have my CDs, DVDs and books displayed with respect. and i'll need a writing desk as well. and that portion, i don't care if it's some dismantled lumber pile arranged and attached with staples and paper clips. as long as it's something i can arrange myself in and be able to lean forward onto it at the ideal height and writing angle.

gotta gotta.
yeah.
just gotta gotta.

a body duct.

Babylon line. Departs Jamaica, 10:35a.

A woman behind me is talking about how she doesn't believe in christianity anymore. Comparing it all to oprah. Her mouth is outrageously full with food. And that she's going to be practicing buddha. Asking "where is that being a good god?" And as she's trying to figure out all of this stuff, she starts to stray off into a story about her husband or someone who spent time with her, got his citizen papers and now wants to bounce. Great! Priceless! And her mouth is so filled with whatever it is she's eating that i can't understand what she's saying 2 feet from her, let alone what this other person must be hearing across trainsound and cell phone clusternoise. She just asked what sign is he. Cool, that's great. "Let it be natural" she says. Ohhhh and she just brought up getting a divorce! And alimony. And!!!! She just said she's not sure how it's going to work, because you have to swear to god, but she swears to buddha. And since... she... I'm in love... since she is now buddhist, she will sleep better and think easier. And her spots in her skin are going away. Breast exam. Health plan. Yaddayadda. And her husband calls her on the call waiting. And oh god, she switches the line. And she's on the phone with him now. And when he was down and out, she made him go to "doctor school or whatever." And no, he doesn't understand. Not at all. It's not fair. And he's forgotten all the good that she's encouraged him to do. What does he mean by she's so emotional, asked 5 times successively. His name is luka. Loocha? Lukuh? Loo-ka. Silence, going on 3 minutes. And. He's hungup on her! The crowd. Goes. Wild.