mmmmdc

More Colours (xlvii)

easier for a ca
mel to
be sliding through the
eye of some needle?
ready, set, run like hell!

mmmmdxcix

More Colours (xlvi)

how bad can this get? is not at
all the kind of question to which we want to be waking up every day,
reeling, pondering with frantic anxiety, dread and, all too often, the
very depths of despair, newly established with
enraging multiplicity. so i learn, or try to, like the ever-
swelling multitudes, inhabitants of this earth, past and present, have done,
the ones who remain, who are able to maintain, to take things in
stride with a dignified fight. no retreat nor flight. remaining prone, yet living our best

      under such duress.

mmmmdxcviii

More Colours (xlv)

said i
was
a bad boy. i lied. awkwardly yours, the
mushy
pushover

mmmmdxcvii

More Colours (xliv)

each day, if i were to pray, i’d say
a prayer for another. sometimes i do that anyway.
really. or how about: on any given
living day, or at least on some, i

go about trying to say as little as possible.
rarely. but
even if this were true....
yesterday...all my troubles caught up with me.

mmmmdxcvi

More Colours (xliii)

at this very moment, right
now, I’m editing poetry
that I wrote years ago, getting
it (nearly 4,600 poems at present) tucked into a
quintessentially narcissistic project that i nevertheless argue holds not exactly the
utmost importance but nevertheless has rather ubiquitous and therefore universal scope.
every angle an be argued, right? well, i’m doing that. presently. i am

likewise, simultaneously (or thereabouts), cleaning my tiny
apartment, making phone calls regarding therapy, taking phone
calls about jobs, applying for jobs, keeping myself hydrated, wondering about dinner. what
else? my mind seems to be wandering all over the place. and so i’m also wondering about
         the impact to each of these various tasks that this multi-tasking has. my conclusion:
         things will be fine. or maybe not. but there are pros and cons to getting one’s work
         done in such a manner. presently and summarily, i am just fine with that.

mmmmdxcv

More Colours (xlii)

to dive wholeheartedly back into television, swim into it. then,
enveloped so, experience again the feeling of losing oneself inside of it, to
reiterate this escape by
reinventing yourself as 

an entirely new

character.
one that somehow relates
to (it’s essential that you watch something of enough substance?)
the people within the show you generally love,
as well as the setting, the environment. keep at this for several seasons (needs strategy).

mmmmdxciv

More Colours (xli)

blissful trills coming from just over that
low hill. and there’s gary, he’s playing a
ukelele that flutters around and twangs against the
effervescent sounds from the
birds who seem to be wending their
individual ways further down the hill. and
right about the time we hit the incline to work our ways up,
daniel’s breathing through his harmonica just to grease the hill-song’s best effects.

mmmmdxciii

More Colours (xl)

bless this day, dear diary. yeah, right. but for crying out loud, how much
lower can he possibly sink us? it so stinks being unable to get off this ride. normally, i’d go
at him and his dastardly crew on social media. but that seems useless. so i’ve taken to
cursing them, and especially him, in my personal diary. i
know, i know, this is public, this is supposed to be poetry.

this is not the poetry
i’d rather be writing. but what are rules in such times. so, for now, most
every morning, i open my journal and i type “what a dick!” and thusly, my day begins.

mmmmdxcii

More Colours (xxxix)

baloney, mister bozo! i’d
rather just keep my mouth shut. how utterly
odd, so very unlike me to so
willfully keep it zipped. but at present,
not taking the bait seems
-exasperatingly, at a minimum-
prudent. so, the
asshole wants to fuck with california?
please! bring it on! oops. it’s
extremely hard being silent while witnessing such
ridiculous bullshit transpiring. but this country, this

place, my home since the summer of love, so long
ago, before i had memory. it’s so depressing living with this
confounding corruption,
knowing how embarrassing and how dangerous and how degrading
a time to live within. i am here alone, my jaw dropping with such
galling regularity. closed off in a box within a box as i watch
everything, my home, my life, my country, slink, sink ever deeper and seemingly slip away.

mmmmdxci

More Colours (xxxviii)

sincerest apologies, but please, please try to
understand that what this past
november’s election results squarely meant to me, resoundingly, was primarily
but one thing that i could not shake no matter how hard i tried. which is that an
unequivocal majority of the population of the country in which i was born and wherein i was
raised and have lived for my thus far entire life
simply would prefer that i did not exist. or certainly not so in
the country that has been my home since birth. and that perhaps those who voted for him
        understand this, much as i’d so like to believe it were not the case.

mmmmdxc

More Colours (xxxvii)

put your money where your mouth
is – that’s a saying i’ve always sort of followed, only
now i am seeing two problems with following that literally. 1. at base this is a capitalist notion;
essentially swerve from having values based on such. 2. words are meaningless without action.

mmmmdlxxxix

More Colours (xxxvi)
                                                  r.i.p. david lynch

severance is a comedy that i am
loving. another television show i’ve been watching is
outer limits (did you know that slow is the color of mustard, apparently?),

which i also really enjoy. comedy. drama. i sit in bed, alone, watching each, one after the other.

mmmmdlxxxviii

More Colours (xxxv)

gosh, i’m so hung over. we got a little bit carried away in
area 51 last night. we were all
revved up to see the space-people that everyone’s been
gabbing about for the past few months. the truth is
out there, remember? well, it is the
year of the apocalypse, as you know. but we got pretty
lucky. and the rumors were true. but it was so crowded i caught almost none of the game. the
earthlings beat the aliens by just a field goal, though. that part was the best.

mmmmdlxxxvii

More Colours (xxxiv)

margie’s latest draft of her already sold work of fiction was
atrocious. and she knew it. “i
reckon when you live in a world like this...
i just don’t know...” and she trailed off into a
noiselessness so haunting that for about thirty minutes afterward,
everyone sat in silence in agonizing introspection about their own made-up stories.

mmmmdlxxxvi

More Colours (xxxiii)

once me and my love entered the
ultra-sleek, super-comfy (might i add out-of-this-world?) rocket
that was to take us both to our new home somewhere at the
end of the galaxy, given the
ridiculously unnecessary apocalypse that we found ourselves

swimming in here on the home planet, we zipped ourselves snugly into our
pneumatic new-fangled space suits as tight
as possible, then flipped the time-folding
cryogenics switch and spooned our way to the outer
edges where we found ourselves a nice habitable planet and lived happily ever after.

mmmmdlxxxv

More Colours (xxxii)

can it be that the whole world is crumbling
underneath us and we sort of know this but go about
making believe things are pretty much normal? sounds like an
understatement to me if ever there was one. people, many of whom we
love, many of whom are
our very selves, seem hellbent on pushing this tragic course to its end. as
nihilistic as this sounds,
i mean, does this seem apparent to anyone? where this 
myopia will get us does not seem an unknown anymore.
but dammit, i want to live. i didn’t sign up for this completely
unnecessary reversal of progress in my latter years. this i keep
saying aloud to anyone who will listen. is it too late to stop this nonsense?

mmmmdlxxxiv

More Colours (xxxi)

you must have thought me down for the count.
every day, for what was way too
long, i would take the time to wonder,
lost in my
own lousy situation,
where you might be, why i never heard a word. what a

jerk, each and
all of you, i thought. these things we go through are
confoundingly difficult. even while in the midst of the worst, i
knew this, but yet i’d be so aware of the absence,
every single day it would hit me numerous times, and down
the rabbit hole i’d go. what a waste, right? this is what comes of believing. of being.

mmmmdlxxxiii

More Colours (xxx)

burned out. many of us. yet, our
responsibilities do not go away.
it doesn’t mean that i am always being
good, i’m certainly not at ease with the current
hyperbolic nature of our situation. but
this world is, while finite, small, it looms large

in the sense that there are burdens to bear, and that there are
diabolical neighbors and politicians and camera hogs spread seemingly
everywhere upon it, so much so that when hellbent and massive,
a wildfire spreads amongst our people, some of us feel so hard we get burned up,
            more burned out than ever, throwing up our hands in a regrettable, if not
            lethal form of screwed-up empathy.

mmmmdlxxxii

More Colours (xxix)

if i were to
reverse course somehow. that’s
offal.
no no no. how to forget this day while

gearing up for something
altogether new, special. some way
to refresh the soul and
energize the spirit. is this all i ever attempt to do?

mmmmdlxxxi

More Colours (xxviii)

i don’t like feeling down. depressed.
let’s say love. let’s say
loverboy. whatever.
ugh. listen to
me. hey!
i’m right here.
nobody likes being down,
all in love with what,
the end of the world? let’s
invent something new. regenerate
ourselves into an idealistic
notch. no cliffs. no burial.

mmmmdlxxx

More Colours (xxvii)

prithee,
love, but i do
yearn for thy
mouth to be
outright
unreservedly upon mine own. further
to that, with fiery desire, to
have your heart o’er mine would send it

ricocheting within until the very
organs housed inside my feverish
carapace were bruised and broiled like mutton, a stew-
kettle of which would sear an entire colony inside out with a rabid covetous thirst.

mmmmdlxxix

More Colours (xxvi)

pretty,
our
love
lies languorously of an
evening. but during the
night turns us into giddy demons, quivering and hungrily asynchronous.

mmmmdlxxviii

More Colours (xxv)

ideally, there would have been a ton more
resumes going
out from me this week. but there were
not that many that did. all that i will add to that is that i blame the rodents.

mmmmdlxxvii

More Colours (xxiv)

how might

i best really

go for the gusto, make your

heart skip a beat or else

list a bit to one side or the other—

i’m thinking now that that sounds a bit mean. i

guess what i’m trying to say is i do try to

have an effect of some sort. whether

that means to jiggle a tickle bone or two so as to

elicit a chorus of sincere belly laughs, maybe at something silly, or to

really get into your head and have it grind on something of import. or both.

mmmmdlxxvi

More Colours (xxiii)

del (flutter!)
ray is my name.
anachronizms are my
game. to you, i suppose that might be
obvious. poetry isn’t obvious (that’s silly to say) (& for that matter,
nor is it a game). 6 lines in & i’ve given you statements that are either obvious or
flat-out false. what should a poem (or i) rather do (or say)? find something you
love and just keep doing it. that’s something.  & also, be
yourself. learn to discern the obvious. distinguish the truth from what’s not. (& fly!)

mmmmdlxxv

More Colours (xxii)

please tell the sommelier that
i’d like another bottle of that delicious pinot
noir. i don’t consider myself much of an
oenophile...i mean, don’t get me wrong, i love wine...but i have neither
the taste buds

nor the memory to be such a connoisseur. but given what a pleasure being
out with you has been this evening,
i’ll take anything i can get to jiggle these clumsy synapses just so i maximize my
remembrance of as many specifics of this fine evening as this dim noggin can hold.

mmmmdlxxiv

More Colours (xxi)

today, on this subject, i’d like to focus on the
healing power of this genre of american music, not the part where we languish
excessively in the sorrowful, sometimes grief-striken or inconsolable aspects woven into the

blues, generally speaking, but more on the complexity, the divine and the sublime aspects
leading one out of those more down-trodden stereotypes of the genre itself toward catharsis.

under the spell of the blues, one, to put it simply, when the
experience is as it can be, when one wants an escape from the morbidity of depression, one

soars through the maudlin, up and up, near heaven or near enough nirvana that one feels,
         perhaps, quite literally as if one might burst. not of sorrow, but of joy. to do so, one
         must really experience the depths, and then settle in, receptive, ready, for some
         soul-sculpting, life-altering blues.

mmmmdlxxiii

More Colours (xx)

don’t you just love these paint chips? they are so
eccentric. i’d never
even heard of a deep-sea vent before, and rather than
problematizing things by looking up what exactly one is, the hyphenated part of this so
-called word makes it pretty
simple for me to imagine the color itself, some sort of 19th century
elementary school chalkboard hue that, i want to imagine has some sort of
a

very slight glow. dark and
eerie for sure, but something maybe comfort to someone who has
not until arriving at said vent decided for certain
that the impending suicide he feels necessary can now be planned with conviction.

mmmmdlxxii

More Colours (xix)

personally,
i’d rather
not talk about all of the
stress, all of the

anxiety that is swirling around within me right
now. it’s enough to make me
dizzy (and i’m already a ditz) and i really

need the
energy and focus to get a lot of things done. and all of it
enthusiastically. so what am i
doing? mostly just
lying here with my
eyes closed on the verge of
sleeping. because i’ve less anxiety when i’m asleep.

mmmmdlxxi

More Colours (xviii)

i will not tell you
now how

your eyes
often make my heart flutter. that, as if
under some sort of a spell—and they’re impossible to
resist when they are in front of mine—my

entire body, beginning with the area of my heart until i am engulfed, invigorated,
yet weakened to a point where my body is, in
essence, nothing but sheer potential, vibrant,
so ready for flight that for the rest of the day and into my dreams, i am soaring.

mmmmdlxx

More Colours (xvii)

underwear-
loving
twenty- and thirty-somethings these days seem to really
revel in their undies fetishes within public
arenas (w/easy ogling access: social media, leather fests, underwear parties)—they’re
very
into these eye-popping skimpy skivvies,
often discovered with no backside—
let’s call those brilliantine jockstraps—wow—sometimes i, myself, get so
enthusiastic about this craze that this fifty-something wants
to form an alliance with those exhibiting hotties...but then think better of it.