When will I become a Disney Princess? 
I've done everything, I've worn dresses
When will I get my happily ever after? 
Or will it just end up with my laughter? 

When will I get to swim the seas? 
Like the prettiest Ariel you'll ever see 
When will I lose my glass slipper 
or will my dreams forever shatter? 

When will I fall in love with a thief 
Or is it just a mythical belief? 
When will I kiss my frog prince
I've always wanted this since

When will I grow hair as long as a river that never ends
or will my prince and I just end up as friends? 
When will I fall in love with a beast 
or will it end up with me as the feast? 

When will I get to ride a flying carpet
Huh, will I even get to see it? 
When will I get to fall into a deep sleep? 
When will the magic start to seep? 

That was years ago, when I was still young 
Now I'm not innocent, I've experienced everything
The smoke in the air has filled up my lungs
I am now matured and scared of something

I know that my heart will always be broken
Now I am scared, now I am shaken
Never will I be a princess
Even if I wore my dresses

Because being a princess is only in movies
It's a huge lie, a horrible story 
I'll never get my happily ever after 
And I'll end it with my broken laughter

You know where the ground is,
‘cause you’ve been there one too many times;
lying on your stomach, face down,
to avoid “pulling a Bonzo”,
or just standing on your side,
all curled up, in a fetal, counter-plunge position,
like in that movie.. the one that you loved
and watched over and over again,
only for the mirror scene.

I think I know what the frustrating part is for you:
you can always see the sky,
but getting there doesn’t seem to be
right up your alley.. even though you live near the airport.

And this destroys you.
That cracked up pain that climbs up
your leg every night, before bed down.
You know what this is!
However, you have no power over it.
You had a very long dilly-dally day
and now all you can do
is hope that you won’t
wake up on the floor again
and maybe, just maybe, if you plan it
well enough in your mind, you’ll
wake up on cloud 7,
with that big idea and with the means
to ******* accomplish something.

Please never steal, lie or cheat.
But if you must
Steal..
steal away my sorrows.

If you must
Lie..
Lie with me every night.

And if you must
Cheat...
Cheat death.

I feel like the bad ending of a good movie.
Everyone leaves the theater mad because they want to know what happens next.
But my movie is something different;
there is no sequel or part two. There is no next.
My movie ends.
My movie ends in the middle. Right before the good part happens.
This isn’t a movie about a love story or a movie about a war.
My movie is about a girl,
a girl who grew up with her brain on fire.
Lit with matches held with the hands of inspiration.
The flame grows as time passes. But once the movies at the ******, the flame
it goes out.

In a room full of his art,
He stood as strangers admired.
There was only one subject -
The one woman on his mind.

He'd stopped time to draw her,
Living in that one second for hours or days.
He'd done it so many times
He filled the gallery with paintings of her face.

Iridescent eyes in black and white,
Blonde hair filling the canvas.
He'd seen her from every angle
And what a beautiful sight she was.

Then she was walking through the door,
Moving like air in her red dress.
She exuded the beauty and grace
That his artwork couldn't quite express.

If ever a person came out of a painting,
She was not the one.
No amount of talent and brushwork
Could captivate him like she'd done.

And his eyes did not stray now
As she bridged the space between them.
This meant he had a chance
To try and make things right again.

But he need not have apologized.
She sshed and told him, "It's okay.
This tells me so much more
Than you could ever say."

His paintings of her and only her
Were wherever they landed their eyes,
Save the window where she looked
And said, "It's snowing outside."

"Do you trust me?" he implored.
Curious, she asked, "Why?"
He said, "I need to show you something."
Then he made her close her eyes.

She trusted him - and then froze.
For he'd once again stopped time.
But then he let her into his secret world
And she couldn't believe her eyes.

Everyone they could see was still.
Even the snow floated in midair.
Everything was stopped in that second
And they were the only ones there.

They ran out in the not-falling snow,
Creating outlines with held hands.
He kissed her then, the snow like stars
And they'll decide when that second will end.

Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam
      *******,
great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of
      Paradise, Ikiru, Open City.
This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people
      thinking,

the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and
      silliness,
silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical
lucid progression. Deep art.

I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with
      hydroxyapatite
that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of
sweetness, an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel

any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite.
Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice.
      Looking for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then
      forgetting them.
The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens,
      sticky stigmas.

Striving for immortality,
some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote)
says he understands and it's alright.

I will read what he wrote and probably agree
but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts.
True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging
      and finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms.

To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing
      electrons, disrobing
and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim
give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts,
      every whim.

Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.

A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
      fights) and a ****, sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
      community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****.
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
      side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.

Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
      of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
      Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.

This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
                                                  ­     Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
      overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
      British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
    restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
    allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
    was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
    emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
    valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).

What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
      community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
      common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
      otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
      forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
      violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.