mayonnaise / minds

Aly took her turn on the computer. I walked out of the room, through the hallway and into the kitchen. Entering the kitchen I saw the bright, white ‘Kitchen Aid’ squarely in front of me, I had never used it before but I became suddenly excited. I ran back into the computer room shouting boastfully along the way, “I’m going to make homemade mayonnaise!” Aly, half-laughed and looked at me with widening, inquisitive eyes. She was hunched forward her chin on her palm, her nose a foot from the monitor, the screen was covered with Google search results from her most recent query, “homemade mayonnaise”.

Prophesy

In the early morning hours a wild-eyed man travelled toward me, he came from the North. Unprovoked, he told me about my future lives and his voice was hard and sure. “In the next life, you’ll be down here,” he said, raising his flat hand up and down near his ankle. He thought harder, “you’ll be my waitress--- only you won’t serve me anything; you’ll just stand there, waiting---waiting.” His eyes were like liquid. “You’ll, you’ll…” he debated, breathing heavily --- “you’ll not be wearing any coat, and you’ll know what the cold is!”

I tried to laugh and then I believed him.

the drugs had different expressions/ Burning Man 2008

In 2008 the drugs had different expressions. MDMA was new to me but I had known ecstasy before as it made me cry… Previous experiences on ‘e’ anyway led to blathering sorrows as I walked down Whyte avenue bawling, longing for an ex-lover, then, more newly made ruthless in a strange and daring role-reversal. Previously yes, incoherent on ‘e’, 2002 maybe, four in the morning after the bad rave and worn music, full of sweaty, suburban boys in white, sleeveless undershirts and dark, baggy, blue jeans, having dance-offs with the blue light strobes and the grinding polyrhythms manifesting in their jaws; me too, all but the white shirt, yes our jaw-gnawing required hard walking, as we headed outside the sunlight shone on an abandoned parking lot, we strolled up the bleak, cubic spiral to the top floor and amongst the debris a ray directed me to a cement conglomerate---picking up the chunk, God asked me to throw it. Far away there was a target / lady, three stories down and impossible to hit, a different block, impossible! ---She was probably on her way to Church since it was Sunday. The ray dared me to get as close to her as I could with the rock. Asshole, unforgivable asshole threw the rock and really hit her at an absurd distance. Not a huge rock or a hard hit but the age and the purity and the atrocity still demanded insatiable amounts of guilt to be digested at a later hour and still now, at this, a much later year. After the turmoil, frenetic remorse and truly satanic jazz which my brother mercilessly tried to sooth me with, I headed south. Yes, embarking on the trendy avenue without sleep, no longer high, but concerned, especially about the nostalgic and the tragic. I walked past frightened girls, red-faced, with tears streaming hot and joining under my chin. Unhappy, I’d say. My brother of the acid-jazz eventually came to my rescue, this time around unable to accost me with Charles Mingus’ "z-zeete- beee-boooop-wip ah-doo-ip-bop-weeeg-beee" period.

But more recently, in this newest experience, I had sworn off even attempting psychedelics and its friends such as ‘e’ and ‘MDMA’ from the 24^th of August onward, until recanting only moments before ingestion on the 30^th, due in part to a week of high winds, a day of lunging up on airborne alkaline and progressively swilling an “all you got, it’s in here” drink, treacherously poured from a sticky, Culligan water jug, my mind was irreparably made up. For the MDMA I dipped my grimy finger in the bag which resembled a miniaturized pack of big-league chew, that sort of foil-thing going on, and like another certain candy analogy that momentarily eludes me, I dipped my wet finger into the powder and licked the first attempt ---later, sans-candy analogy, I snorted the second---just in case the first method of ingestion was wrong, I mean, I know one was incorrect but I still couldn’t tell you which. The white MDMA powder felt like dried vinegar and trickled down my nasal cavities into my throat tasting both sour and bitter. We kept drinking. Later after a genuine human pyramid and cat-calls to the Burning Man himself, my dearest human-cannon ball and current lover, asked a well-timed and well-armed stranger for some ecstasy. The request was surprisingly yet expectantly fulfilled amid the floral bursts of fiery pulses. We arrived at Nexus, following the crooked and much loved path set by my brother. I waited in line cleaning the dust and syrup out of my cup in want of a maintaining drink. Aly asked, “How are you feeling?” and at that precise moment I turned to her and felt the tip of my nose buzzing. Instantly, I felt fear and walked a few steps slo-motion in direction of the barer desert, Aly cut-in front of me and with cat’s eye glasses she handled me, persuading me to handle my anxious glow. Luckily, I conceded but understood that such heavy feelings could only be properly dealt with with my back firmly on the ground. As the place filled up and my oasis became ‘entry-way’ many innocent soles pounded my body, first stepping hard then almost tumbling with polite correction. I loved it, each impact sent waves of giddiness and delight down my spine and into my hips. I danced, planted on the ground as Bassnectar’s bass filtered through the bodies and rolled over my swaying, horizontally pleased body. Concerned road-warriors held me up from time to time, nourishing me with ripe fruit and camel-packs; reassuring me that the polyethylene-teet rehydrates. The music was perpetually and rhythmically stunning. Eventually the tired, familiar crew came to rest on my high-stepping hips and gut; multiplicitously warming me up.

---

video at NEXUS on the night of the Burn --so you might hear me getting stepped on, anyway,I don't know who filmed this---I'm glad they posted it though, I esp. like(d) the music in the last third of the vid, if anyone cares (Echo?)

Rocks

Beg my eyes to look away from
all the energy that beckons me,
By day, the skin bright,
sparkles, resiliency
and later by night,
swollen lips, the eroticism,
sick and fancy.
I am perpendicular to all temptation.

The fear of stolen glances
must be met with strict,
learned aversion,
purposive tactics, shame.
And through the streets, in the crowds,
or as a solitary member
of unbeknownst potential partnerships,
muted duologues,
hot games,
the withdrawal steadies, it heaves,
and multiplies.

A blue sky,
cloudless, cool and swallowing,
born without edges,
worn without creasing,
shines too brightly for these my eyes,
so I avert my attention to stare at the familiar
ground, its dirt, its stones, innocuous,
admired close-up
and instantly inspected,
known without fear.

These rocks, unique and alternative
to each and every other rock;
their blindness that binds me.
Never expressive but only experiencing my affection
silent still, forever receptive.

Indecisiveness cont. / One year to the day, but more than that

The day you decide on anything you are hit by a random passage that literally reads “mistaken identity” and while the Emersonian concept of ‘Universal conspiracy’ still sway’s your heart, your mind which now leads, starts blinking--- you seize up. Too many false-positives initiate your hysterics. You don’t even attempt to do what you want because you’re afraid that after a while you might find out that what you want,---well, really isn’t---