What is poetry? I go with a few quotes by Nicanor Parra, most often: la poesia es mierda, eso lo decia Clara Sandoval. Poetry is shit. Shit is the distilled chemical mush of digestion. La poesia ciertamente es mierda, con toda propia. Yo hablo español desde que no conocia que espanol es lenguage europea. desde que cerca 1996. en america yo estudiaba español, los poetas, los filosoferos, todo eso: la literatura y historia, estudiaba en colegio y universidad. Pensaba que el español era lenguahe de personas con piel morada Pero que no, solo nuestro pensamos eso en los estados unidos: los perdidos. Nosotros no sabemos nada del mundo. Solo hablamos ingles.

Hum. Om. Ahh. Aohmmmmm.

Om kali kali. Protect the black boys.

Rome said, I know what you want. I'm your Young Nikka. I said no, I don't do that. I'm not like that. And I'm not. But I miss him. I wanted his friendship. I didn't want to sext. I wanted the long letters. I wanted him to read literature, emancipate himself. He's on parole. I want to find him. See if he's ready for a friendship. Flirting is okay, but I want him to accept that it's a friendship. And I'm an ally. I'm too old for you! I have nothing, you have nothing. But I have inside information about the war that targets YOU. I won't bring it up unless I have to. You're a tough guy, yes. But you're black. Now, I'm willing to say what that means here. If you're not ready (if that realization comes on an insanity plea), Then no friendship. Waiting and letting go.

If I was you, if I was black, I wouldn't trust me either, not with anything. You tried to call me collect from prison. You know I care about you. I didn't answer because I don't trust you. I couldn't add funds to your card.

You make/made me feel young. Bring me back to 1993. Straight there, man. I didn't know anything about what white people had in store for the boys I liked, back then. I didn't see you all in a row, shackled, but still so incredibly beautiful, powerful even in such small bodies, in such a small space, no light, no fresh air except in the yard. Om. Let all them people go. I'll find you if you want to be found. I'll learn to shoot, too. We'll hit the road. Bonnie the old maid and Clyde, the/her YN. No, I don't like that term. It's prison talk. You're free, if you're around me. I love you.

I had short stints of “falling in love,” but never the real thing, RIGHT? There is or isn't a “real thing?” Does the length or end of it determine the interpretation of gold? I want to be in love, too, but this seems even more impossible than getting someone in love with me. Actually they both seem impossible at this point. I used to think I was attractive to most people. But not my insides. Because no permanent deals were sealed. (maybe they shouldn't be, ever) Did anyone ever want me, PARTICULARLY, as opposed to some other, nicer girlfriend? No. Put a little pressure on them, and they fold. Weak. I'm sick of overwhelming people with my ideas and opinions and getting no response. I know my work is good. But no one cares. Guys stopped being interested when I stopped flirting with them. They like flirting, and feeling needed and helpful and knowledgeable. But that's how I like to feel. I want that job. They just need to shut the fuck up, imo. I don't like flirting, I like a TOTAL ATTACK OF PRESENCE AND EMOTION, with a healthy helping of WORDS. i like irresistible attraction at first meet. Bad Romance, like Lady Gaga. Imagine having a partner that knew you were a genius? Is that a fantasy? Imagine having a partner whose intelligence itself was a turn on. I've had intelligent partners, but with other kinds of intelligence- like Ca was smart at photography and storm preparation. Mishy was street smart, and also smart at words, but not sober enough to maintain the marriage— married an addict, got what I paid for. Gaige was smart at flowers and business. But not smart at reading me. Insecure about me, angry at me. Jason was smart at taking advantage of bipolar, borderline type women (and photography). Jason was smart at becoming a disguise of himself presenting as a man. Jason MIGHT have loved me, particularly. He could kind of stand me, anyway. We used to spoon on the foldout bed and watch comedians greatest shows. Who else did I try to marry or who might've loved me? Teresa? Yeah, I think she did, which is why I still have vivid “together” dreams about her. But IRL, she annoyed me too much to tolerate being so gay. And I couldn't cope with anger at her for not listening to me when I said no. I ran away to the comfort of being alone (I certainly do prefer it). So that was in 1999, out east. Like everyone I tried to love, she married her lifelong partner right after me, and their first conversations probably included how crazy and shitty I am. I miss Jason. I always will, even though he was insane and low key violent/scary. He was like me, but with less skills for life, and far more advanced alcoholism.
Intelligent with jokes is one of my most respected kinds of intelligence. Jokes are everything to me, because they can go with you into the darkest dark. Not the knock knock jokes. But the irony, parody, double meanings, cultural references. Comedians are the jesters, they get to say the things. Jason (whoever he became by end of life) convinced himself he was black. I'm serious. Italian (maybe a Chinese grandmother, true? Who knows). He succeeded in convincing himself that he was black (alcohol assisted), so confused life becomes a nightmare. And now, I think he was a (trans) woman underneath, and most of his energy went into hiding and controlling that. He didn't just prey on women because he needed them financially, but because he loved, idolized/objectified them, wanted to be them, or be someone else to them. Picture of a psychotic “transvestite” (fits him so well), but most importantly (to him) to NEVER, NOT be a tall white alcoholic from Florida. Anyway, I tried to join a dating app today, but it's asking for some bullshit validation, and usually i end up swiping left on everyone. And if I'm interested in anyone, it's because I think they're VERY (unrealistic or old photos) HOT, which is what happened with Jason, with his black and white pictures (yes, I married TWO photographers, jason right after Ca), and why we met on OKcupid. And Jason was sexy. Our sex though, was bad, not too enjoyable for either of us, (in his opinion, because I'm a lesbian) but we felt a little closer because of it. Once he smoked my joint (he only drank), and he deadass turned to me and said, “You can tell me, you know. That you're a dude.” Never sharing weed again. I'm not a dude. I'm a girl. But he talked about fags badly, because he hated himself. Michelle hated herself, too, trauma. What a shame. Lebanese prince. With Michelle (I'll always miss Michelle too), she was also hyper verbal and a writer. We wrote loooonnnnggg emails to each other from work and home. 500 words per email, average, I bet. We matched that way. But not sexually. We were comfortable, and sexy, but not really adult sexual. We were trying to be like twins, that was her idea, and I went with it. Twinship. She got that tattoo. I got her initials. She got the date we met in roman numerals (and then 500 more tattoos). She sneaking heroin behind my back, then it all went downhill. She's the one who said, “Go back to school, become a teacher,” and in a lot of ways I wish I NEVER DID THAT!!!! I COULD'VE BEEN AN ACTUAL ROCKSTAR! blew it but it really is fine

I died young in my other lives, because I'm brave, I said. Once, I was tossed from a ship at night, far from the shore Watching bombs, the lights explode over the city like fireworks. Once or twice, though, I died smiling in bed. Second, I fell asleep at the wheel, driving in traffic, through a winter storm. Third, the bad guys hid me in an excellent hiding spot, my own house, in the dark, and when I tried to run I fell, tripped on the evil tree's root. There were births, diseases, rotten teeth, endless labor, burning wands. Sometimes doctors, but mostly they collected our bodies for the public lab. Always a peasant, never a princess, also a criminal, also a witch. Once, my master punched me in the back of the head for mouthing off. Once, my own family dropped me off a cliff, a more than natural consequence. All these deaths, and never, ever, respite from the rest of it. I choose another, another life, and spin the wheel again. I die of cigarettes, I shoot myself, I hang myself and spin.

But I come back, a crying babe, to gamble once again.

I love fat now. Recently read this Japanese novel where the protagonist is a journalist covering a “serial killer” who's also a “foodie.” Hence the title, BUTTER.

I love butter. I'll never, ever give you up again, butter. More about food, later.

“Believe in me (denotes entire message, insert this here, as— believe in what I'm saying, that this is a message from “God,” that the message is holy), and you SHALL BE SAVED.

Or yea, (THE WHOLE WORLD), you shall perish in fire, smoke, ice, and ashes, eternal death and burning (the complete destruction of the global life system, ecosystems, ocean, the draining of the earth's “blood” (oil, rocks that have been turning into what they are, for 100's of thousands of years (until humans dug it up, and burned it).

The whole thing, no more life. No “heaven” (i.e., what you COULD have right now, if you followed my teachings). Instead, ignore this thing about love and holiness and healing, that I'm telling you, and you will have no new babies, no agriculture, no fishing, no forests, no humans).

The subjective impression of humans being separate disguises that we're like ants, we're mostly all the same, we're a species, we evolved over time, we mate, we're animals, our DNA is 99% or more the same. The humans then and throughout time were us.

Like birds are birds. The robins born in the future will be the same little robins of yesterday. We think this is the only time we've been conscious in all of time? No. It's us in the future, burning and freezing. The idea that we won't experience that is false. “Our descendants will,” we say, but we ARE our descendants, because we're humans. And we're either alive, or we're extinct.

If we stay alive, and the Earth is saved (it's already too late), so revise: If we stay alive despite the death of 75% of the life on earth, or 10%, or 2%, isn't that “eternal life” for humans? Unless a species goes extinct (like the hundreds going extinct right now, or already gone forever), it has eternal life.

We're not as important individually as we think we are, at all. We're like snowflakes, “snow.” Either it gets to keep snowing or it doesn't. If it stops snowing forever (the death of seasons), there is not eternal life. There is a date upon which the final bit of complex_atom/cell activity goes out.

There was never any chance of us preserving who we think we are. If I died at 14, I'd always be that person, and never become this person. That person is not in play anymore. I've moved on, changed, become someone else, become more than that. And that can happen as far into time as we want.

Or, it could have. 2,000 years ago, there was still a chance that European pale devils wouldn't destroy the entire globe with their selfish, shallow, stupid decisions. They wouldn't have slavery, and abuse of the landscape, and all the things killing us (for ever, for good, depending on your state of mind).

And that's why I'm telling you, little lambs, that it was always about the literal damnation (death, fire, ice) that's started with the collapse of the Earth's system for cooling itself, or having a healthy earth system that can be a joyful, sensory experience with no limits on life other than ANARCHY. RESPECT. SHARE. Did Jesus come from the “future?” I think so.

Would you do it? Try to go back and help us not kill the Earth and make us/everything extinct? (You will, if you reincarnate (and you will.)). If not, it's okay. The state and church run fast to tire us out. We all hate it. but what are we willing to do? Admit being wrong? Apologize? SO WHAT DID IT MEAN, JESUS DIED ON CROSS? It meant, his heart stopped and he suffocated, like all political prisoners who don't survive. But he still chose to do it.

But what about the “me,” the personality that I am right now? Will I remember it? Next lifetime, I mean? No. But you already don't really remember 20, 30, or 40 years ago, either. You'll be looking out from some pair of eyes. It doesn't have a 1-1 correspondence, anyway.

First, there was a peer conflict with teasing and bullying, so Angel suggested I take Kiran on a walk to get away from it. He actually took me on a walk, though, moving at an almost impossible pace, in like zig zag motion (we kept bumping into each other??). He was carrying the full recycling bin (our ostensible task was to bring it to recycling by walking a long detour). We had to cross a busy ass street with no walkway or light (because fuck you, city) it’s technically a highway straight through residential blocks with SCHOOLS ON THEM (double fuckyou, city, and DRIVERS)… back to the story: Thank god my feet were feeling okay. It was scary as hell crossing the highway with wreckless child, who was somehow leading me, because he was more confident about it. terrible. I wish I knew where the hell we were headed on this walk— I just WENT. It was beautiful out! It was late afternoon, the golden sun lighting greenery up, not too hot. I really love September. On the way back, he started running, like laughing and looking back at me. I said Oh my GOD, please don’t leave me, kid! We’ll both get in trouble! But then I decided to run anyway. I wanted to. I felt happy. Coming back with the empty bin (we put the stuff in the write dumpsters together, feeling accomplished). Walking back, he handed me the empty bin, and started running. I said, Oh if we’re running, you’re carrying the bin. He’s a very skinny 14 year old (90 bucks total?) with almost infinite strength when angry. He has not one ounce of self-regulation skills, no sense of proportion or logic, no ability to reason when stressed (most of the time), hyper-vigilant to threats (he tries to watch all the trees for falling branches that might “fall on your head and kill you” — he tries to make me watch for them, too), he’s sneaky intelligent, and friendly (opportunistic). But the fact was, I wanted to run with him. It was easier than breaking out into conflict with him on the public street. So I ran with him like 3 blocks! That is unbelievable for me. I was proud of myself and my feet. I felt that exercise seratonal boost from it. We came back into the house happy. But I also knew that he clowned me by running and wasn’t supposed to do that at all. So I was just putting off the inevitable interaction which is the main one he knows: conflict over rules with adults. It’s still better to have it in the property than off the block with cars driving by.

It happened over juice. First, I gave him juice when we got back. He was only allowed water though, and Angel was irritated with me, and sat me down, and explained what a dick Kiran was all day, how he cussed at her, kicked her, spit at her, etc. (his normal behavior when feeling threatened). Well, it’s CRUCIAL to get along with the mother and other staff (learned by making dozens of mistakes over the years) and you shouldn’t contradict each other unless the stakes are really high, like someone being abuse and you witness it, or really out of control or out of line. But if it’s a disciplinary difference, and I’m there to support her, I’m going to follow what she says. So, no juice. Nothing nice for that little asshole. Okay.

Ten minutes later Kiran comes up to me on the patio, where people hang out. “Can I have some juice?” He knows that Angel told me no. He knows that i’m going to say no. So I say it normally, “Angel said no juice, sorry.” He escalates in seconds. He starts cussing at us, “cunts, bitches,” “I’m gonna find a knife and kill you,” etc., and get away from him evasively and go in the cottage. All the kids have to go in when the crazy ones are going off. So (first we lock up all the kitchen scissors and knives), we just try to calm down and relax in the living room with Alice, the other house kid who’s there, and ignore him banging on the door and plexiglass as hard as a 300 pound man for at least 10 minutes. I wasn’t worried at all. I mean, I was a little worried about if he got through the glass and came in. He doesn’t really want to hurt us, but he throws shit and accidents happen, people GET HURT. Total ugliness. Best to avoid it. no need for restraining kids if you can just get safely away from them and keep an eye through the window on them. Make sure they don’t run off, or attack someone else, or do anything suicidal. He did finally calm down enough for two other staff to talk to him. We gave him dinner through the door to eat with them. He came in around 7, for TV, showers, and snack. He still tested boundaries (sitting too close to me, moving furniture, making loud noises— lifting couch up and dropping on floor), but was overall happy and completely forgotten about his plan to kill us. I hope he has a good first day of school today, but there’s no way a kid like that can function at school. He’s gonna hurt someone. It’s not fair to them to send him. But everyone gets sent. Better than him pacing the patio 12 hours a day, looking for things to be mad about. He needs a serious med change, but that’s a whole process. Needs to go inpatient. But no, they’ll wait till someone really gets hurt or dies. Or he gets arrested. Definitely headed for life in prison. Sad, cuz his IQ probably like 60. Like a lot of people in prison.
Kiran has been a ward of the state for his whole life. He’s like those babies who never got held in the orphanages. And these are the kind of kids born to parents who are addicts, mentally unwell, have disabilities, and no resources. Baby in a basket on the orphanage steps.

I realized this morning what I should’ve done about the juice. I forgot, for some reason. Probably because I was working hard to stifle my urges to lead and teach (let Angel be the boss because that’s her role even though it’s going poorly with them)— but I forgot the best response, it would’ve been:

“What do you think?” (about if you can have juice) Then I could lead him to show he already knows the rules, and make him feel proud for what he knows. It would’ve let HIM enforce a rule he overheard us discussing.
“Do you think you’re allowed to have juice right now?” He might’ve said, “No,” and smiled. He might’ve said, “Juice is only for MEALS,” reciting the rule (that I didn’t know).

He might’ve still started into rage because it’s the first habitual instinct, but with a soft tone and that question, there would be better chance for positive outcome. Note to self: please remember to turn it around, let the kid feel good and also surprise, distract them.

Now I’m mad at myself. Fucked that one up. Move on. We can mend that and go past it, next time I work in their house.

Alex is 10. She has a noticeably short forehead (there’s only like an inch and a half between her eyebrows and hairline. Her medium length, snarly brown hair is always in her face, like it’s growing in that direction from the damn forehead. She has a boyish body, obviously because she’s a child, but with some fat around the middle. She has a considerable overbite (consider it, because under duress she DOES bite), and has a goofy, unexpected smile. She doesn’t say ANY words except “go go go go go,” which has some relationship with going to the bathroom (and none with Dora the Explorer), but it’s not a close enough correspondence to time it right and “potty train” her. She wears pull-ups. It seems like at least sometimes when she needs to poop (or is already pooping), she yells like a wild animal and rocks forward and backwards, saying go go go. She knows words like “food, time to go, not yet,” etc., but doesn’t use them. She bites down on that overbite and grimaces her face into a smile, getting too close to the adult (me). She scooted right up to me sitting at the dinner table, because she was having nuggets and fries, but I had a frozen pizza. I had to push her back to sitting 1-2 feet from me, and push her face out of my face. Of course we gave her a piece and she ate the bread part of it. She was randomly (autistically) laughing and giggling at the table, at first I was thinking, maybe she doesn’t JUST want my pizza, but likes or trusts me? That would be great, either way, but I also smelled poop because she shit (loose, muddy stool!) her diaper while we were eating dinner. So who knows why she was acting affectionate and silly? She moves like a boy. It’s annoying they bought her all these short pink shorts and butterfly rainbow t-shirts. One time in the evening with her after changing her pull-up three times (of DIARRHEA), she went nuts in her empty, pink room (it’s a residential housing for orphan situations), slamming her head, hands, legs off the wall while crying. I felt so bad for her. All I could do is use her pillow to block the hits and try not to get bit. Her little pathetic face haunts me. I hope I get to see that kid grow up. I don’t think she has any family, been fostered or institutions her whole life. The first time I washed her I was nervous about her trauma, but she spread em and bent over for me to wipe her areas, so she was fine with it and used to it. She is SO HAPPY in the bathtub though, I love seeing her fascination with water and enjoyment of the sensory like a little fish. At least she has one happy place! She also now has a group of adults who really care about her. They noticed she had an ear infection and due to wearing wet headphones (sound cancelling), because she wouldn’t take them off in the shower. But they got an extra pair (pink, of course). I hope I’m there when she talks, if she ever does. I like working in that house.