Karatrott's Blog

rolling in black fur     a deep blue stretches towards me

slipping fingers I felt        I thought were my own grasp     finding only a few tiny hairs            left of all I thought I had

finding alone        is all that is left                                  of all I thought I had in anyone                         or anything

and my fingers still slip  through many things               grass     -your hair now                           and now–the soil that covers your head               theres no air down there but maybe the scent of the earth created a new world for you

to take in                 the new form you may be                             we like to think of forms           forms are comforting

in interpretations my senses couldn’t even imagine
to hold in to hold release the body perhaps to be held theres something greater the resolution in the inhale then the exhale and I eyes widewait in the candlelight now listening to the sound of soft air around me for life to come washing up on my feet like a dreamt seashore cells expand and I feel the deepest embrace of nothingness

maybe numbness has a depth to it, maybe, tears get pulled back through the eyes by the beat of the heart that keeps beating as everyone falls away

the tears just become part of you, instead of needing to be cried

in piles of all that you just knew would never happen to you

everyones falling away and as they do, I feel farther away– yet Ive gone no where–…I recognize these roads, and some of these faces    still

spirituality is defined by how much you don’t question anymore

by how much your eyes are wide wide wide as all of it falls away  how silent you are when it all falls away

maybe it’s the force of nature that makes your feet keep walking,

if you’re in touch enough with the force of nature then you’ll never fall

why is it that when the words come, they are so much less than the feeling

unless sung, unless whispered against a wall in dim light

and -I am-  far more interested in the force behind the occurence rather than having you by my side

theres a breath in this

not knowing what these objects are            that move around me            that pull me in, that dress me, that change me

go inside me

come out of me        

the me                                      that is the membrane of cycles, of thoughts,

and the turning death of cells       

of memories meshed         pouring  and pushed out through the words  

that attempt to imitate experience.                                                  the breathy sounds from my room, never shaped more a thought  of you—-     than the rising smoke around your head   ——–

who are you?      a shape inside a perception    a concept                    a movement of flesh    clearly defined by all youve seen and where youve been      

I taste your experience through the way you sip          the way you choose words        through how you taste to me when you cry                               there isnt much in the loving of nothing    not much, you say……where I choose to rest

yet through the nothing    there is a through….and through and through tried and true           there is the sweet sweet recognition, the sweet sweet apple I hold in my hands                                          it’s color brightest un named

eye blinking Im blinking at you through the dim red lights

finally finally I feel the sludge of human unconsciousness creep over me, until the stillness from suffocation allows the mystery of the cosmos to penetrate me deeper than any of those men —ever did   –thank god again–I feel the twists of the trees growing through me–my body is one with the miracle of blossom   and  I know the depth of growth instead of the boredom of lonliness    I know the slow deep embrace of what only death will teach you            again again again

The rose garden was ablaze with hopping thorns and hooks to pick one would be as breathless as a a lover’s hand
the sun threw rings at the earth still begging her to marry him
the rich
my diamond shaped feet hoped to rest cupped in someones fingers
the chandelier watched with a million eyes reflected a million lights into a million knives
till there was no place to hide the shade
but the hollow skirt the hollow maid
wandered down the beaten path flowing with the river of lost choices
yanked ashore by a prophet
the bird spread it’s wing like a harp of feathers
I saw the fog clearing on the skyline like a zipper unzipping a bright ball of morning
I had sailed the world adrift my guiltyfear tears
and now I held my eyes like two fragile eggs
memories threaten to make an omelette
I waited like a misplaced clock
neither here nor there
held your hand like an anchor attached to a restless dinghy
your chest filled with words like an accordian only to gather you in my arms to draw the sides in together releasing a stream of confessions confections my ears were not wide enough
and I grew older

the petals were swallowed by my hungry hands
as I waited to draw silk from the lamb
I ran into the church screaming, “you are the muse!”

as if my ears were wine glasses the words lay calm in me
and I stole a tear from satan to sweeten my morning tea

he is so obsessive compulsive unbuttoning his shirt is like opening a file on a computer
I wear my cervix around my neck
and its been so tight lately its strangling me
sorry its all so cut throat, though I do enjoy a sharp tongue

water, by your interpretation is condensation. you flow by becoming condensation. this may be the only flow you’ll ever know.
you are not a river, you are not wide and empty like the ocean. whispering screams of depth to find nothing there, after diving so deep soo deep seep your blood leap the clouds you having nothing for me, nothing on me you dont have to mean anything but nothing,…
so, you ll be the condensation on my window. you gather yourself in tension, anxiety, you blame me
sit on my window, fog my eyes up fog my arms up
Can I remember you? the head of a lion
In my dream my voice was a tiger, and I carried it because it had grown weak. I carried my voice because its carried me so many times. too many. when there will be nothing else.
Don Juan
pulled his desires into my own..no seperation between the man’s body and the woman’s body
I cant make you bleed no seperation from the blood on the battlefield then the blood from the womb wound.
And …… I see ….now you are no longer condensation,,, but you flow as sweat
passion is my fate with or without you
and someday youll flow by evaporating
I watch you change … the science is obvious.

thought I would build communities. this could be easy. a simple 5 step program designed and established by me. any one can start their own community. My first will be the “Underwater Orange Society”. Ok. here it goes:
Step one:Start by picking out a great, large ripe orange from the supermarket.
Step two: choose who your friends will be.
Step three: hand off the orange to the first friend available.
Step four:they get to keep and love the orange. (3 days)
Step five: feel the connection and love from the person when they hand the orange to you.
even if its rotting.
Step six: continue cultivating this love , this could be weeks. care for the orange, love that symbol of peace that drove you all madly into eachother’s arms.
step seven: do you not feel that you are underwater?
Im up late and eating an orange.
The taste and pace at which I chew sounds like sex.

 here for: research and seed exctraction for the mothership
Interests: to be misunderstood
Hometown: My love was never a lie

I was once found spinning on my head, late one starry night. The mother, and her sister took my hands round my waist and told me to “look”! and so I did.
and I met cloth, and I met paint. yet, spin never never left.
and I thought I could talk to the fish through the looking glass but then they said “look”! but dont touch.
and I thought I could ask the spin to stop but it said “look”! this and nothing more.
then the mice came.