numb lips. tense throats. | December 18, 2011

I saw a Hawthorne branch.

Smoke signals over plain plains. Earth and humanimal harmony. Compromise of species. Want doubling.

Fire smoke over gentle gusts of wind.

The farm was settled, just routine now, dinner, family, wife, bed, morning, lunch, done with work, children and back to dinner. There was room to breathe in the process. Now, the means to contemplate the end. Suddenly realities crashed together. There was other realities here. Maybe we didn’t/don’t know what’s best.  Maybe.

the moment of “who am I?”

Numb lips. Slack jaw.

Pepper smoke over gentle gusts of wind.

The state has settled on set morale. Fake nailed female police officers. Condescending quips drip from alpha-male fortress lined reality. Behind riot gear, you/I panic yet justify the position. They justify their position. Pepper spray dispenses like the massage their lovers have been waiting for. There was room to see we’re all just fuck ups in too strict realities that don’t take into account messy development. Maybe nobody knows what’s best. Eye contacts through glazed panic. The minuscule moment when I realize I am not better than anyone else, despite my badge, despite my uniform… ed reality.

numb lips. tense throats.

Resistance manifests in minds of those who know. Those who know. “Well of coarse this theory is the most relevant!” Well. Of coarse. Well… of coarse. Well… well, of coarse… i am a pompous asshole concluding too many of my realities apply to the larger everyone…. numb lips… vegan hips… straight edge legitimacy… whiskey soaked phrases. Self preserving  zines. Witch craft mental stability. Social center castles with royal courts. Radical. Radical… reality liberates us and this earth. Land base love making.

Intention breezing over gentle gusts of wind.

slack jaw. numb lips.

Blowing smoke up asses. Full, older, crippled, not picture perfect assholes. Smoke signals up rigid philanthropic presumptive assholes. Corridor breaching.

Cop watch, black block novellas.

Reality crashes hard and deep, over and over. This reality is but an eliminating of the options. Process of elimination. There is nothing in the macrocosm that is not gotten through the microcosm.

“There is enough dead beat dad’s, either he knows now or he won’t know… the baby.”

The state locks in that right.

Right wrong.

Numb lips.

Tense throats.

Autonomous space is created for wrongs. to be righted. collectively. non-presumptively.

Make room for each being to be wrong.


No one grows from zero tolerance. Our capability is larger than our susceptibility.

Makeroom. Make room.


Posted in Uncategorized

Leave a Comment »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

    About the Author

    Mother Lover. <3

    Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 930 other followers

%d bloggers like this: