For the baby I love: Holly Hunter, Daytona FLA,

sweet, sexy and beautifully warm

(version 2 of 2)

Why are you nervous

(my heart)?

Walked the dog into the morning cold.

Ask if I enjoyed it, dare to!

Good! соба́чий хо́лод! Saukälte,

In the twenty third hour

 – minutes 59 –

I made out.

чёрная дырка and not talking physics here,

Grace à Petiot I warm up my soul again.

and let myself drown in a hot bathtub of

Bloody Maries in bloody freezing weather

of mind and soul.

I wonder easy-way-outing of my hang

over what instrument my dog is: trombone?

A baritone trombone coughing out riffs

of subdued heroism safe behind my door

humming most deep dog-hearted re-

sentments to any stairway steppers

not smelling fine to the nostrils of

my dog’s soul. Can’t go

wrong going with that. Let’s

call it cynicism (from greek kynos “dog”)

Trying to think like a woman,

it can not work unless I become a

god of sorts, human brains its playground

there to mess it up as best as

we the Lord can. We already

have anything we

need to properly prosper and

we in high

are bored.

Struggles do not touch us.

Sorry, wrong dimension,

give us, if you please, in-

finite jest.

I must leave

before beautiful you.

beautiful me

loose ourselves in partisan wars.

On one of these days Icame across a suicidal’s diary:

He or she detailed their way out and

then they were suddenly gone.

That death was there, scared me very

much, I thought of Don deLillo

who once wrote soothing lines in the vain of

Epicurus, who in order to soothe first himself and

then all his listeners by curing them

from fear of death. He said:

why are you afraid?

As long as you are, death is not there.

When death is there you are not

here anymore. And I

thought of Ernest Becker

and how death will make

us apart forever.

So much still to learn

from Greek philosphers.

I thought again about Becker’s  & Szasz’s anti-psychiatry and

of course also of  R. D. Laing.

Rather unbecoming thoughts I thought

thinking this:

Me

a

tender

soother

to

MYSELF.

(In my darkest hour I lie down

in the arms of these flowers

(from the lyrics of In The Armes of Flowers

by Katie Jane Garside, aka Queen Adreena)

Singing with my voice

of soothing velvet.

Singing strings and choirs …

gone are the dark dark clouds

that had me down

I can see clearly now the rain has gone.

It’s gonna a bright sunshiney day.“ 😉

(by Jimmy Cliff)

(version one):

Walked the dog into the morning cold.

Ask if I enjoyed it, dare to!

Good! соба́чий хо́лод! Saukälte,

In the twenty third hour I made out.

чёрная дырка and not talking physics here,

Grace à Petiot I warm up my soul again.

and let myself drown in a hot bathtub of

Bloody Maries in bloody freezing weather

of mind and soul.

I wonder easy-way-outing of my hang

over what instrument my dog is: trombone?

A baritone trombone coughing out riffs

of subdued heroism safe behind my door

humming most deep dog-hearted re-

sent(i)ments to any stairway steppers

not smelling fine to the nostrils of

my dog’s soul. Can’t go

wrong going with that. Let’s

call it cynicism.

Trying to think like a woman,

it can not work unless I become a

god of sorts, human brains its playground

there to mess it up as best as

we the Lord can. We already

have anything we

need to properly prosper and

we in high

are bored.

Struggles do not touch us.

Sorry, wrong dimension,

give us, if you please, in-

finite jest.

If when my brain distilled

appraising the beauty of lexilency, as if into horses he.

of one Stanislaw Lem and ponding Phillip

Dick: As if into horsies he ever was.

But

a downglide of blue fingers

fingering it all out, after-party

smelling beer and whisky

I hasten to rectifiy a precious of scent*.

You know when you say your marriage vows

you start the lying, sweet deceiver.

I had words, sweet little beautiful birds

on my tongue,

mais malheureusement

unfortunately

they ran away, looking out

for a better poet to serve.

So and therefore my poetry

can only be second hand,

I left the major league.

Shit happens thusly but

I still have my friend around,

he spells R U M.

And so now I’m fanatically willing

to let .

laissez les bon temps rouler!

To let the good times roll.

II.

Kansas city hairdressers* roll the place

also known as my heart, they

are mean teasers to sober but defenseless spirits

Oh well, I can imagine crueller deaths.

Oh well, I can imagine crueller deaths.

And I ride stubbornly boozing

into the night of my day recalling

that what not yet is may become

real. Anytime not now.

Experience, ladies, the warming gold

of my sweet presence

And you comrades,guys, friends

and fullahs: endure me

for just as long as it takes

to safely frown at myself

n my blue planet of liqueurs.

My life’s a day in desperate euphoria

over all rainbows I sail

into never reachable jest.

Lower-voiced Jazz surrounds me,

shielding the world of evils

from me.

Lower-voiced Jazz surrounds me,

shielding the world of evils

from me.

Down the shore everything’s alright,

You’re with your baby on a saturday night,***but well, no!

I’m instead – a fulltime job ,

drinking down my inhibitions.

Let’s say I’m having a

pre-party party on my own.

 

III.

And on Kashmir part of my

brain falls asleep, overdosed on

dopamine-all-mine.

And I am there beyond

the threshold of sobriety

just feeling fine with

when the levee breaks ****in my ear

———————————————————————————————

* Courvoisier l’édition imperiale

*** Tom Waits: Jersey girl

**** Led Zeppelin

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