This is the word of the day. I like it, wonder why i've never heard it before.

inamorato |inˌaməˈräˌtō| noun ( pl. -tos) a person's male lover. ORIGIN late 16th cent.: Italian, literally ‘enamored,’ past participle of the verb inamorare, based on Latin amor ‘love.’

or

inamorata |inˌaməˈrätə| noun a person's female lover. ORIGIN mid 17th cent.: Italian, literally ‘enamored,’ feminine of inamorato (see inamorato ).

Either way I like the sound of that.

appleseed

i know i've been doling out a lot of english lately.

his first stanza

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;




from
"since feeling is first"
e.e. cummings

appleseed

t bags

love is twisting me up like a top spinning upside down...

i miss my fellow citizens...im doing big life biz right now...getting pulled and pushing...

pretty philosophy...
pedals pushed...

im doing it..without hesitation...ive lost ..gained ...cleansed...gotten dirty...im sleepy...been awake...laughing out loud...getting over shit...opening up...im gonna dream tonight...later;)

the wiz

Reveille

IV. Reveille
by A. E. Housman (1859-1936)


Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.

Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
Straws the sky-pavilioned land.

Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying:
Hear the drums of morning play;
Hark, the empty highways crying
'Who'll beyond the hills away?'

Towns and countries woo together,
Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
Lived to feast his heart with all.

Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber
Sunlit pallets never thrive;
Morns abed and daylight slumber
Were not meant for man alive.

Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;
Breath's a ware that will not keep.
Up, lad: when the journey's over
There'll be time enough to sleep.

listening to four women

Maybe I will never understand life. While I'm living it anyway. i'm taking a break from my work. It is 9:33 on this Tuesday night.
Maybe I will never understand this life thing while I'm living it. It is a task, so much so that I can't stop thinking, can't stop feeling, can't stop trying to understand the game, taking up notes in my head, stocking up what I'd like to call wisdom.

and then fuckin throwing it all out the window when I'm blasted.

This life is not a boardgame. There are no certain rules. There are different approaches. I actually think about this thing all the time,
trying to be a better person. Trying to improve myself, while also keeping the good things... Not overdoing the changes.... knowing when to be be humble and listen.. knowing when to be bold...when to love...not to be reckless.. and learning to scream when its time to be angry... knowing when to let someone slip on away from you into those ephemeral waters of life... not knowing if they will ever flow back... and being..ok.. with that. Losing myself and finding me again... wondering if I am crazy... reading someone else's poetry and knowing that i am not.

Tomorrow I might be sad again. Tomorrow I may fall off my horse. Something grand and horrible like life is gonna come at me, something like emotion. Is life worth the effort? Some don't think so. some definitely don't think so. sometimes i don't. i could be ashamed to say that i get afraid.

But we keep stepping on. I gotta think about the old people. Think about the old people man. Like my grandma crying out to the lord when she was in pain before her death. Can you imagine your grandmother crying? crying man... crying.
putting all that faith. all that belief.. all that trucking on. all that keeping us going make ya wanna bust out and cry your own damn or shall i say blessed self.
religion vs. philosopy vs. science vs. all the crazy concoctions of heart and rhythm and so called fucking reason
fuck you and your lines. fuck you man.
mix it all up and you get a pot of stinking stank. THERE ARE NO PARTITIONS. There is no neat place. There is no separation.
no microwave dinner

and life'll still be beautiful. our souls'll still be beautiful. where's your soul man? do you have one? don't make me cry baby. please find it.

" and suddenly the struggle don't seem so tough."

ahh fuck that man. it is. I gotta wake up again tomorrow. no false pretenses eh? but if only for a moment...

i always leave at peace.

peace,

Ama
10:52 pm

hotangry madspot of intisar

Fuck the pretenses yo! Fuck all the pretenses!
"I am the walrus!"
A citizen.... a citizen... a citizen.
I took out my pin today. I found it lying in the bottom of my backpack.
I will not shelter my love and I don't care if you don't fucking get it.
It is that serious. I thinkits that serious. I really do. This is life.
I will seek it. Iwill explore it. I will fall face forward.
I will let go.
I'm tumbling on these words, because these words can't express the precise form.
Fuck you motherfucker!
And I love you anyway! oh this won't make sense to anyone who reads this. buti don't care anyway. I am in love with this beatles song. This blackbird song. I can hardly sing it, because i have a cold. but i'm singing it anyway.
You brick of motion and sunny damp wick light. I fire you up and burn you down. You will break.
I will touch those
i care about.
I will make you
and we
will burst it to the breaking. to the blooming in the gloaming.-
we will be foaming -
suds pink purple -
yellowgreen all.
don't fight me, my orange tango of blue stitches
my heat will burn you
i will hurt you
button me up tight.

i will eat you reach and raw.


i love you my mutton

and i'llfuck youmotherfucker
and you'll like it
-the traveler

look him up

For Mr. Thompson

The people who like poetry are special.
They are the same people who hear
Lullabies and wind chimes
When the birds are noisy together.
They are the ones who see
Star-gifts in every season-
Tree-stars in the fall,
Snow-stars in the winter,
Dandelion-fairy-stars in the summer.
They are the ones who have
Favorite colors that are wonderful gifts
Like sunset or rainbow or treasure.
They are the ones who have a
Song in their heart and
Words in their mind that
Come together and slip out
Into the air or onto paper as a gift
To someone else, or even themselves.
The people who like poetry are probably
Th eones who really liek life,
And who know how to celebrate
Even when things are sad or happy.
We remember that sometimes,
Even if we don't understand why,
That the rain falls for a reason.
We remember how important it is
To play after a storm, just because
We need to keep playing and living.
And, we are the people who remember
To say thank You to God for our gifts

May 1996
Mattie J.T. Stepanek

He is thiswonderful poet. He cheered me up today when I was feeling kinda down.

bleeding i am

my stomach is cramping worse than i think it has done so in a while...there are these two kids...survivors of the hurricane playing in my front yard...im at peace...almost made it thru the day without crying...i failed at that...dont mind that kind of failure at all actually...im leaving friday and im taking on project like im not...i ate some beef jerky today...about the most meat ive had in a couple of days...find it hard to eat so wrecklessy when folks aint even drinkin water...im torn...but happy at the same time...excited about what i have before me..short term long term...doesnt matter really...im missing...being missed...im enjoying being quiet...listening to music...making art...there is still a lot of magic to be pushed...im tryin...im really tryin...believe me...later;)
'the wiz'

the doors of ijtihad

so word. i'm in this land. typing on a strangely arranged keyboard. feeling quite a bit strangely arranged myself. you have never seen so many beautiful men in your life. and "hotel california" is playing right now, from somewhere, and it feels like my life! oh, dramatics. the picture-frame life, the life frame-by-frame, exquisitely composed. this is mine.

language--you are a baby again.

they feed you so much! my stomach is discoving new dimensions of itself. thank heaven for ramadan coming soon! or else my body will have made a lot of new dimensions for itself, too, by the i time get back.

fat and happy, and a sticky-handed baby.

many ways that i could choose to disect this experience so far, like a scientist. many ways that i am disecting it constantly, without being able to help it. but so far, i've felt kind of strangely resistant to reporting back to say that i did so-and-so today and saw such and such a fascinating thing. later. pictures, later, and long-winded e-mails and breathy letters. later, later.

call for prayer is being sounded right now. beautiful, beautiful. that's all. space in me unseen, sight undreamed. the thing about citizenship in life is that you really can't talk about it. i think it's the eternal paradox about this thing; step outside to describe and you loose some time. you loose some life. be it. and even this, now, this is like the most ironic string of thought ever, or to think it is the most ironic thing. think the whole citizens of life deal hits life at what may well be its most basic paradox.

anyway.

beauty, that's all i have to say. dusty, ancient beauty, and me a baby on the edges of herself.

monday and the bells are ringin

I don't have all the answers. I can't give anyone any answers really. I seek out what looks like beauty and truth and sometimes when i really like it post it up here for whoever to see. Sometimes i'm thrown a punch. Sometimes i get hit, like now. I'm hit ok. I'm hit.
Lo and behold i'm hit.
up and down i'm hit.
ok...this is it


... the appleseed