Friday, January 1, 2010

A Huge Giant Blog & Happy 2KX

No explanations or reviews. Just listen and enjoy:


The music pours through me
         clinging to the edges of my being
connecting my existence
to the entity which forms shape
completely surrounding me
                 guiding me. . .
conceiving tears
            from my face
    collecting them like so many spare parts…
to forge on its anvil  . . .

a trip through time
and lost places - long known - long forgotten
electronic beings embrace
running toward fear, outrunning the shadows that salute them
                       finding joy and . . .
                                     always the sorrow

uh - the light is too bright
                    it hurts my heart's eye.
She looks with her fingers

longing is forgivable

but the fluttering in my ears
       your voice. . .
your warm brass entices me
                  further. . .
where there be  danger
the wide open spaces
the dark engulfs the light
in a chasm
so deep
so hidden. . .

                 loosed by the flow of the music
like spring's waters breaking the ice
from the creek

give her freedom to run
down the easy way
to the sea
where her tears are stored
and waiting for her



go fight against the coming storm
ye who scrabble on the darkened hills of Earth

Her breasts can not abide you. . .
She wishes yet to destroy your abodes upon Her cold tits. . .
you are nothing more than
an irritant . . .
a molecule

She shrugs you off with a twitch of Her shoulder
and yet you cling as a lover
with hatred yet returned

the stars gaze without care
and the sun tries to burn your very bones to ashes.

You little thing. . .
All alone against the storm
the tide that turns against your back
you seek reprieve and finding none. . .

turn and kill each other.
You turn to kill your Brother. . .



  Sunlight sparkles on the teeth of the children
                    pearls on black velvet
. . . . laughter that bubbles and sings like the spring
or a dream
and the eagle lands on the tall black fir
bending low
to see the things that dance and glow. . .

their bodies move like the birth of the breeze
on the stillness of the mountain of earth. . .
yet they bear wings to rise
and the butterflies
flutter near
to see this moving tapestry. . .
a garden of joy

these small soft aliens,
strangers to this fragile planet. . .
enlighten us with their frivolity
and care less with an ease
and the grace of the angels
touching our hearts with a love that is old as creation

and with the songs of the gods of antiquity
and the birds in the trees
they fill our souls. . .
with pure wisdom from the heights of the heavens
and of a profound and ancient peace



Orange on a purple tide,
the sun strikes his last note
as a token of return,
a promise for tomorrow
and the hope a new day brings

and through the long long dark of night
that orange purple note remains
within my heart
and lifts me up
while giving joy a chance.


All the Kids love Computer Class

A roomful of children
laughing and
playing the games, racing
chasing, running, action,
all computer games, though
perhaps things they should be doing
in reality
instead of the virtual. . .

but for one small lone child
always so intense. . .
straggling hair past his shoulders - a
red bandanna headband
never quite doing the job

yet his eyes shine from behind those strands
as he struggles passionately
over his music. . .
on Garageband.
A song he has collaborated
with a close friend;
composing for months,
on the computer in the back of the room - in a corner  - far away from the rest - even his friend has deserted him
so now he sits alone,
working out the nuances,
of his tune, his
face so pale and closed in

. . . . dimples flashing as he wins a note,

as he tries to find the music
from deep in his heart
to win the peace he needs
to heal his soul.

And yet his song remains unnamed.

A true story as observed by myself. Over the months I have witnessed and loved this child  for his determination to learn how to use Garageband and I dedicate this poem to him for his willingness to teach me what he has learned.  To: Lukas K.

So - I've been enjoying GIMP

I call this Thing2

This was a collage I had made when I was into doing such things. I decided to scan it and play around with GIMP for a bit and then, voila. This thing. Poor dear thing - what is it? At least I am learning by doing, like my kids - which reminds me, Monday is back to school and the hardest time of the year for me - t-e-s-t time. For those of you who know me and how distressed I am at being the Testing Coordinator on top of being the Computer Teacher, please give me lots of lovings? No such word, hum - well still. . .


I worked on Thing3 with Gimp also, making it worse and worse. I wish I knew a better way to work with the bamboo pad. It is so awkward with this big laptop as opposed to the tiny one.
I drew this picture when I was in one of the park-facing classrooms, repairing a computer this winter holiday. I was all alone, except for the heater repair guy rambling around that huge building, and bored, so I drew this little brick building in the park. There was this little person there for quite a while as I drew. So I watched her as she was walking toward the school. Suddenly she stopped, bent down to look at the ground and started yelling violently, waving her arms around and scolding something there in her sight. Perhaps it was just a worm.

It was a bad day for me and crazy people. I had an adventure earlier with a totally insane man at the bus stop. He decided to get violent with me, pushing me and commanding me to leave as this wasn't the stop for the likes of me. He also called me an "Oogle" which made me start to laugh. This situation wasn't funny because I had to defend myself, putting my arms out, palms facing him and repeating, "You're in my space. Step back. Step back or I will hit you!"

He was bigger than me and I didn't want to fight;  I'm a Flower Child after all. He would run around the shelter and squat down and peek around the wall and yell, "I still see you. I still see you!" Then he would run back and pretend to shoot me. I tried ignoring him when he had his finger on my cheek pulling the trigger, over and over and over again. Not my idea of fun. When the bus decided to come a million years later he turned into a normal acting citizen. Go figure!

I think I'll Google Oogle.

"Oogles are street rats that don't have street smarts. They are the ICP kids, the tweekers on bikes, the 15 year olds who runaway cause they think it's cool, not cause their lives at home weren't working out. Another good word for an oogle is poser. The kids that pose as punx don't know shit about the scene, don't know shit about the music. Age is often a big part of oogle-ism, you have to be around for a while before people will respect you in street scenes. Some kids grow up and get street cred. Others are doomed to be oogles for the whole time they choose to hang out. Tweekers and 'juggalos' are doomed to be oogles for all of eternity. Oogles don't know shit about squatting. these are the kids that sleep in doorways. You find them in every city.
"Yeah, that oogle got murdered cause he was too stupid to find a safe place to sleep, some jock rolled him in his sleeping bag outside of the library.""

Hmmm - I pass as a street kid??? I don't know whether to be flattered or alarmed.

2KX - look it up in the Urban Dictionary!

HA - I'm learning stuff. Like my globe? - made it in GIMP - WHOO - WHOO - love that GIMP - boy I'm excited. Back with more stuff. Stay tuned. Well - whatever - I know its not perfect - I'm half asleep after all.


Anonymous said...

this new thing you wanna do's certainely ..less than you words but more than what i do with my sounds.... i like every poetry you wright and you must not waist your love of the words for pictures....
This "thing 2" is very pretty...but i'm scared you get lost...betweeen pictures and words

Wolfsong said...

Thank you for your kind words, CrEiX. My words are more than a hobby. They are my voice - my true voice.

The other stuff is for fun - like a hobby to keep me from being bored.