Soul Food

Dandelions eat soul food and howling tongues ingest patches of yam fries. Otis Redding's microphone gobbles up his voice: an irrational sun harvest of hopeful liberation.

Home. Soul. Sounds. And filling the belly.

Sam Cooke's urgent intent to nest the bones ignore the gritty songs of collard greens. Violent intonations fill Motown and the Temptations devour pork chops and savagery and desegregation.

Murmers break bread on the vinyl of the sad.

From the gut, horn heavy, sex songs suggesting attics filled with the temporal nature of all things.

Things I like. Community.

-Shamans exorcise imperialistic logos from Ugandan children wearing Disney tee shirts.
-Psychonauts smoke the soil from sustainable hookahs and profit from heavy exposure to the sun.
-The thought patterns of the marshland offer rebates for stale trees and sunken animals.
-Commune members trip through decades of at-risk children who speak in tongues and worship polymorphic green paper.
-The totemic masks of corporate slugs advertise disaster management training programs for commuters and conglomerate optimists.
-The eco-anarchist's world view brands products and like eco-tape and eco-boxes and eco-ideas and trendetting green core members plug eco-retail stores in magazines like Real Simple.
-Identify yourself as an gay ashram or a Christian survivalist or a psychadelic actress or a globalized minstrel.
-Medicine men wait in stark white rooms to give birth to a new major metroplitan hub.
-I saw omens in the food supply and in the traffic lights and false idols targeted me as a possible new buyer.
-I smoked salvia divinidorum and the spirit of the public space around me manufactured billboards with avant guarde art.
-Cooperatives plan population density parties where they chew ayahuasca in sales rituals.
-The desertification of self-expression pollutes our water access streams and we are all thirsty.
-Cooperatives of people measure the market economy via the solititation of recycled thoughts.
-I am a lucid dreamer in a strategic mind machine.
-The nature of existence bombs non-profit hedge funds that squat in urgent disbelief.
-Naked hippos in the North Carolina gulf stream hide in thickets and as I swim by my heart beats uncontrollably.
-Processed foods have finally eliminated the need for breath and we can all ingest carcinogens happily.
-Hedonistic throngs of public realtions firms attend over-comsumption picnics and select sites for the new infanticide mall.
-While there is a frenzy of frozen fish at the corner store down the street, I bury an old self in my back yard and hope for the new one to come soon.

Things I like. Body, mind, world connnection.

-Sternoclavicular schizo stratification.
-Umbilical cords are depersonalized when marginalized.
-Bipedaling bulemic middle class system taunts the liver through alcohol detox.
-Bipolar agression stems from tight toe nails and hegemonic states of oppresive control.
-Coup d'etats wrestle the colonized body through austism and the bastardization of body language.
-Delerious ribcages deploy power to a patriarchal brain.
-The breastbone is in a constant class conflict with severe depression.
-Placentas prostrate themselves under anxiety ridden dictators.
-Insurgents uprise through oxygenated blood from bone marrow.
-Nonviolent revolutions spontateously decombust in amniotic peace addictions.
-The panic attacks of the millions, the crowds, and the masses reproduce in a congested coronary circulation.
-We, the conditioned, organize social movements and reject the over-dramatic tactics of power-mongering cerebellums.
-Lips, skin, hair, teeth, and nails express the democratic voices of narcolepsy and tired knuckles and toes.
-Eye sockets and the roots of plants speak with tears from salivary glands about the burden of socialization.
-The balancing of the brain in the corpus callosum occurrs only in well-adjusted citizens of socialist regimes.
-Paranoid spinal cords purge postcolonial blabberings in an anorexic catharsis.
-Shoulder girdles are appeased when the claivicle fits in perfectly to its scapula...the appendages of winged of angels.
-Sleep terrors wake me up as human rights activists seek justice for dying ovaries and mammary glands.
-The indigenous rants of homeless deviants crater beneath the ids and egos of white blood cells and slowly beating hearts.

Things I like. The weirdness of things put together.

Rooftops and chimney sweeps.
Collard greens, buttered rice and kidney beans.
Caves and cave-dwellers.
Anthems.
Riverbeds, swamps, and haze.
Droning bananas and hopeful hellos.
Drum lines, marching bands and American core.
Robust hollers and fragmented sweet guitars.
Ice cream man songs behind sirens. It.
The itness. Terrible coldness and water wells.
Chewing on raisin bran popcorn and bravery.
It be known she wonders about things.
Creepy hollow wards of dark people staring.
It goes that way; it just goes that way.
Magic of hand on keys making word music.
Formation of fonts and berry gum electric light bulb space.
Pulling forth one paintbrush hair after another dragging hopeful scissors apart.
Reaction delayed; post partum depression.
Gillsides exploding.
Measured fork-combs dragging along hairlines and such.

Things I like. Fun with Science and Religion.

Ectoplasmic morphine grace. Kinetic theory confessions. Rosary beads of common descent. The homeostatic chastisings of Trappist monks in hell.

Interstellar cosmic mind dust with zen's steady exhale. Spectrums of Shiva, waves and particles of Athena's raw delight. Molecules pray to subatomic nuns. High priests exchange heat with high priestesses. The planetary motion of ascetic Brahmans. Red giants cause tidal waves as God's fierce anger settles on the earth. Ions suffer in chaos theory. The cosmic inflation of Christ.

Cosmochemistry bows on ritualistic prayer mats. Vishnu and his extragalactic reconciliation to protons. Neutrons bond chemically to lotus sutras and animistic isotopes polyatomically release from the illusion of this world.

We are evolving gently into the oxidation state of nirvana. With samsara behind us, moksha evokes our organic compounds into a sufi's love dance to eternal life. While Bodhisattvas shift with the solar wind, the preachers erode atmospherically into oblivion and supernova elements take communion from Episcopalian priests.

White dwarfs devote their prayer beads to fossils while kneeling on ancient burial grounds. Ribosomes gather at gurus' feet. The Messiah appears to people through magnetic resonance imaging. Kali's pilgrimage ends at the Wailing Wall with 6 Hail Marys and the dynamic equilibrium is maintained. Indians read the Bhagavad Gita and dream of the Milky Way at night. Endless metal complexes anoint the sick and raise the dead. Pulsars push the crucifix into nonviolence. Jihadists disappear into acid-based reactions and plasmic neolithic men. Chakras exist in the animal behavior of ecosystems and the large scale structure of the cosmos. Dark matter dharma. Pantheistic electrons swim inside the continental drift. Volcanic activity erupts and the earth is baptised with fire and thermodynamic sweat.

Black holes swallow prayer mats and divide pews and nourish celestial alms-givers. Cataclysmic proteins eat hatred and the DNA of mercy becomes apparent inside the laws of centrifugal force. The entropy of the divine speed of light transmogrifies into a hymn in this heliocentric solar system.

Trance dancers emit photosynthetic radiation. The hands of African bushmen slap drumskins and evaluate the psychiatric state of their ancestors. The nervous systems of Sherpas on Mount Everest expand in glacial acceptance. Copernicus blesses Newton atop Mount Sinai. Yogic walkabouts stretch fascia from limb to limb; the dexterity of yogis' yolk-sacs are made stronger through sacrum lifts and pelvic thrusts. Skeletal structures that were once corpses lie in decomposing tombs. Sediments and seafloor spreading reproduce the Big Bang over and over again. Species adapt to extinction. Algae and slime molds enlighten all of us at the Conference of the Birds. Ecstacic atoms are located inside the biology of a tree. Wine transubstantiates into blood as alchemists invoke images of the sacrificial lamb.

Things I like. "America: Generations of Cool."

Flappers sipping on gin fizz. Whiskey swillers. Jivers, jokers, pranksters pulling shennanigans late into the night. Gamblers, betters, teetotallers. Card-sharks, winkers, nudgers, and people in disguise. Comedians, tricksters, dopplegangers, detectives, and inspectors of all kinds. Cheapskates, vagabonds, carpetbaggers, anti-prohibitionists. Schemers, swindlers and deal-brakers. Newsies. People who pull fast ones. Mongrels, thieves, bandits and swashbucklers. Grinners and nodders. Scapegoats, criminals, and mischievous Pucks of all varieties. Fools and buffoons. Masterminds who pull hijinks and meander when questioned by cops. Magicians. Cointossers. Well-wishers.

Gold panners and grave diggers and ghost-towners. Fortune telling, mind reading, crystal ball psychics. Dice throwers and dimestore fluzies. Pool hall hustlers. Carnival caravans, gypsies and scalawags. Brothel harlots and bordello broads. Supersticious den mothers and whorehouse regulars. The antics of the junkyard dogs and the alley cats. Boozehounds and winos and voodoo queens. Saloon sitters and showdown gunners and stowaways on board. Jig dancers and merrymakers. Ransom note writing lunatics, bible verse spouting heathens, and Americana folklorists.

Outlaws and runaways. Hooligans and riff raff.

Beatboxers, breakdancers, generations upon generations of cool.

Wandering hobos who carry switch-blade knives. Aimless meanderings of poets. Stoned hippies in vans searching for the truth. Hitchikers and heroine junkies. Zoot suit parties, tequila-filled rumblings in barroom brawls.

Zigzagers, drifters and gallivanters. Roamers, strollers and traipsers. Fancy-free bums. Dumpster-divers. Panhandling moochers. Vagrants and wayfareres. Rootless, rambling teenagers and prodigal sons. Nomadic journeymen, their footloose children, along with their idle wives. Globe-trotting voyagers. The destitute and the dirty. The derelicts and the dispossesed. The down-and-outers. The abandoned the forsaken and forgotten and the forlorn.

Madcappers, earth-shakers, daredevils and charlatans. Rogues, killjoys, filibusters and corsairs. The rebelers and the discontent.

Underground railroad participants singing their way to freedom. Protesters. Uprisers. Rioters. Freedom-fighters. Freedom-riders. Grassroots organizers.

Ex-pat writers gathering in Paris. Beat writers washing away the stale words of yesterday.

Anti-disestablishmentarianism believers.

Jukebox survivors. Punk musings and rock'n'roll stripped to the core. Tired hours of drugs and drink and music. Rappers Delight, gangstas, and coast wars. Hi-fivers, hand-shakers, butt-slappers and head-butters.

Cheap beer. The working class. Union members and strikers and whistle-blowers.

Jazz, man. Soul, brother.

Rhythm sections and reed instrumentalists. Accordian owners and harp specialists. Ragtime piano buffs. Trombone blowers and flute whistlers. Harmonic accapella screamers.

Bell-bottoms and denim. Skinny ties and Chuck Taylors. Skinny jeans on skinny people. Grandpa sweaters and thrift store knee socks. Oversized bags and tiny clutches. Cat-eye glasses and aviator shades.

Crafty bitches: sewers, knitters, crocheters. Friendship bracelet making, zine-hoarding comic bookstore employees.

New wave. Soft-rock. Vinyl not CD.

Abstract expressionists, graffitti artists, taggers, conceptual photographers and tattoo wearing illustrators.

Swingers, greasers, and rockabilly boys. Hip daddies and daddy'os. Head bangers and metalheads. Rockers. Scenesters. Motherfuckers. Lushes, speedfreaks, tweakers, and potheads.

Country-time lovin' red-headed strangers. Dolly Parton. Rocking horse riders, cattle ranchers, bull horn collectors and rodeo clown jockeys. Just like Waylon Jennings said: old five and dimers and honkey-tonk heroes like me.

Folk rockers like Neil Young and Woodie Guthrie. And hidden Tennessee guitar legends and backwoods Alabama myths and sad Kentucky banjo circles plucking in the backyard potluck. Ghost story tellers. Harmonica jammers and ukelele masters.

Freaks, geeks, dorks, nerds and Hallelujah choruses. (Forever and ever amen.) Could I get an Amen? Pioneers. Pilgrims. Shakers. Puritans. Peacemakers and pacifists. Prophets and mystics.

Sweat Lodges in Savannah. Trail of Tears hikers. Buried Indian chiefs.

Generations of cool collide.

Synchronized swimmers, wild gymnasts, and Mercurial little girls.

Things I like. Part 2.

Mythological beings. Horse-fairies, gold-dusted pond fronds, magical lightning bugs, and cream colored amoebas. Glow-in-the-dark plankton, sugar bugs, Motown singing bumble bees, and operatic locusts.

Horseshoes and glittered junipers. Radiant dewdrops glistening inside the bellies of timid beasts. Silver sparkled teardrops. Imagined unconscious unfurling with strange winds and guitar rifts.

Scatters. Crooners. Beboppers. The blues.

Harpsichords in Icelandic rhythms. Theramins in creepy jungle tunes.

Fireflies at dusk's edge. The falling of nature in and around itself.

Diamond bedazzled smiles and Egyptian necklaces. Black pearls lost at sea. Maritime adventures of canoe lovers. Bright waves. Gentle waves. Blinding seafoam at water's edge. Holding hands at dawn.

Demonic ice toads and bumbling crickets. The banging of the ants against the earth. Soil's flesh lingering till the light of morning.

Dreamtime solice. Tickling the tired donkey. Wilderness explained. Savage palm trees against sand's swirl. Unleashed. Tubas slowly dying into the voices of confused women. Letting go of the breath into the colorful heaven of the unknown.

Chains that disappear. Delighted lemonade and porchswinging summers with magestic duets.

When we all get to heaven in the Southern afternoon we will meet.

Whispering into the ears of children. Holding on to forever because it still sort of hurts. Choking on seasoned zen-ness. Crowded railway passages of glistening, halo-ed heads.

The timid beasts falling asleep until the apocolyptic hour of symphonic grace.

Things I like. Part 1.

Searching for bandanas, leather, turquoise, beads, unique boots, and disctinctive/antiques guns. Peyote trips, singing desert songs, campfires, old guitars, moonshine, the Mississippi delta, burning copal, walking on railroads, the huntering and gathering of thoughts, distilled ideas.

Bone-hides, meat carcasses, framed elephant tusks, raw meat injections, blankets dipped in honey. Cactus eggshells on peyote trips, long shadows before nightfall. The smell of sweat dented in sand. Bloodhounds that harbor fear. Rancid pockets of dust and sin. Sinewy genuflections of pity and hope in one wink of the eye. The crucifiction. The resurrection. The assassination of the modern man.

Ice pangs in summer, fallen moons in winter, the skeptical device of questioning the hidden. Things hidden. Things hidden. Things hidden.

Stews of incandescance and modernity. The meaty pulp of humanity ticking away every second. The hatred in the eyes. The sadness in the eyes. The hidden things. The hidden things. The hidden things.

The marriage of salt to earth.