I laugh at myself,
Do you?

I will sometimes spontaneously, spill out with song,
The tunes may not make sense, but does that make them wrong?

I will sometimes water the garden in my underwear,
And yes, dance around free, with no care.

These moments are sparse and are to be treasured.
They are the glimmers of life when feeling haggard and weathered.

I have come to the place where I laugh at myself,
Can you?

I am embracing my imperfect body, crazy curls and awkward twirls of a nobody, a somebody…

Everybody….

Now, that's something true.

La La La la.

Is it invisibility
If you can sometimes see
A shadow of me
Worse or better
I can’t say
Since you choose to look away
I suppose I’m still happy
That someone might see
And they feel me
Inspirationally
I describe
What they feel
If I was a toy
That would make me real

The time is now
no more tricks
pretense or lies
own up lest you drown

in self- deception-
you can't run away
delay or hide
you've been found

and labelled the scoundrel
no word would you find palatable-
we all took you as our friend
how badly we've been let down!

Look not away.own up
your face you should turn around
if any redemption were to be
you'd have to change-- right NOW!

The body----burden.

The mind----distraction

The heart------passion

The spirit------transcendence

To be a fool — a heavy chore,
For fools abound, and more, and more.
Idiocy now reigns "supreme",
World Fascism’s ever-growing scheme.

Darkness laid the ancient base,
An idiotic, boundless space.
Let them crush "ideals" anew,
False idols flood the wretched view.

If vile seems trite, worn to the bone,
A fresh grotesque will soon be grown.
Devour neighbors, one by one,
And thus, the path is clearly spun.

Once again, the Overton Window
Widens wide, like open sin.
Laws will follow, signed and sealed,
To make the World a wasteful field.

Fools, decay, vile powers that be,
Mark the world’s identity.
Idiots rise in false elation,
Ever easy for their station.

They’ll gather all, ***** anew
A global camp of poisoned hue,
Tripling lies with weary breath,
Leading minds to living death.


In Russian:

Работа

"Я покоряю города
Истошным воплем идиота;
Мне нравится моя работа,
Гори, гори, моя звезда!"
"Марш", Борис Гребенщиков и группа "Аквариум",
слова Анатолия Гуницкого, 1981 год.


Идиотом быть — работа,
Ведь кругом ИДИОТИЗМ:
Оглуплением уродов
Занят Мировой Фашизм.

Заложила Тьма ОСНОВЫ —
Идиотским с древле мир:
Пусть "надстройки" рушат снова,
На потоке лже-кумир.

Если Мерзость примелькалась,
Новую он "разовьёт" —
Только ближних есть осталось!
И к тому здесь всё идёт:

Снова Окна Овертона
Открывают с темой той.
Подведут потом "законы" —
Будет Мировой Отстой.

Идиот, ОТСТОЙ, власть ТВАРЕЙ —
Мира главные штрихи.
Идиоты в Лживой Мари
На подъём всегда легки:

Всех поднимут и отстроят
Новый Лагерь Мировой —
Только ложь везде утроят
Вусмерть хворым головой.

chi brought food & form was martialed--

feet struck, feet said: asphalt, feet said:

seawater.

as such a walk harnessed its entirety

before it began.

while feathers left birds on this or that

note, to touch pressure points of air.

whole symphonic collapses of earth thru

the blind conveyance of an obstacle

course.

the flexibility of weirdness is not a

parking sign peeping out of an

unstoppable tree trunk.

it's how that megaphone of pain acts as

a leyline.

reverse momentum knocking underfoot--

built-in everywhere.

loosed catapulsions on the verge of eyes--

these.

see just short of a walk's conclusion, the

side of a bush blow open.

exposing a few branches--one more

deafening than the other.