FANTASTIC DANCE ~ BEAUTIFUL MORNING ~ SENSATION

His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.

We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.

Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust a standing ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.

Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.

There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?

This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.

Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.

 

 

alex i

ALEXANDER MATTHEW JOHNS

 

AUGUST 1966 ~ AUGUST 2010

ROSEVILLE, CALIFORNIA

BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA 

 

 

 

 

his name is prophet (inspired by a fellow poet’s verse ) Poem by Aprilia Zank

Galaktika Poetike "ATUNIS"

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Poem by Aprilia Zank
 
his name is prophet
inspired by a fellow poet’s verse
 
I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
 
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
 
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
 
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
 
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
homeless
restless
waiting for translation.

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UNTIL THE RAIN CAME

 

The raven caws three times, then the rain falls. Heaven’s sky tears down with a beautiful viciousness. Above my head, I study the layers of silt & dust on the avocado leaves. I think, “This is the accumulated detritus of this past summer’s Icelandic volcanic eruptions.” It was a summer deadened by the horror of war scattered without rhyme or reason upon this pristine cobalt orb we call home. It was a summer of threats against one nation or another by one nation or another… a summer of soccer Moms down on hope but high on Crank, cruising Meth Street USA. It was a summer with Blacks living more & more in their world, while Whites are living more & more in theirs & they never kiss anymore! It was a summer of Polar Bears without homes, Coyotes lying motionless on the side of the road & giant Blue Whales washing up lifeless upon California’s shores. I confess, I confess, I confess, my spine had almost fused with futility … until the rain came.

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WEEKEND UPDATE: SUNDAY EVENING~18 JUNE 2017~LOS ANGELES.CA.U.S. of A.

 
 

WEEK IN REVIEW

18.06.2017 LA CA USA 

 
bridge y
 
 
LOS ANGELES, SUNDAY EVENING, JUNE 18, 2017. THE HIGHS~THERE WERE NO LOWS. THIS HAS ONE OF THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE~WITHOUT GETTING INTO DETAIL, THIS IS ALSO A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.
 
Thank you for the very best time I have had since I blew up that bridge on the River Kwai. I confess. I did it.  1957 It’s been over 60 years. The statute of limitations has passed (I hope). In general, once the statute of limitations on a case “runs out,” the legal claim is not valid any longer.
I  deserve this recognition. I lived long enough to receive my bounty so I want it now. Please? Please, Sir, I want some more. Who can forget my performance as Alec Guinness, or as Oliver in OLIVER TWIST? Huff & puff do you? Poppycock and a pox on you & your tri-plex, too. See if you can win seven academy awards. It is not as easy as I made it look.
 
 
bridge tt
 
 
A couple of things before I leave tomorrow on another trip. This time, I am gong from the kitchen to the dining room. It should be fun but it is a long ride.
 
 
MA by SCUTLEY JUNE 23 2017
 

A shout out to Ma Shivamayi Acharya, whose quote I had handy during what could have been the beginning of TRUMPAGEDDON, IN A GAS STATION on BURBANK BOULEVARD (of all places), but when I mentioned Her thoughts on the destiny of men, he, a music man & the instigator agiprop, suddenly changed his whole demeanor. Then he says, “YES, IT WILL BE FINE. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE. ”

If not for you, dear Ma Shivamayi Acharya, we would all be homeless without a planet to call our own. Thank you from everyone. Almost everyone. I am sure someone out there is pissed off somewhere.

 

aprilia zank by scutleu 6 23 2017

 

URGENT! URGENT! READ ALL ABOUT IT.

Aprilia Zank, did we speak today? We were supposed to when you returned from the spa in Zurich. (Excuse moi.) 

Poem by Aprilia Zank
 
his name is prophet
inspired by a fellow poet’s verse
 
I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
 
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
 
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
 
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
 
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
homeless
restless
waiting for translation.

View original post     

 

adeifi by scutley 6 23 2017

 

Adeife Adebiyi, how is it that for the past week your face pops up when I open my browser? Not wanting to beat dead a horse to death, I was over at http://www.scottutley.com (PLUG) watching the photo gallery slide show reminiscing about the good old days someone must of had, not me though, and who pops up in that gallery? You guessed it, YOU.

 
And YOU happen to be the only woman of color who is a F BOOK page member of the mostly peach colored people from the deep southern US of A states (on my father’s side), WE ARE THE UTLEYS. That is great, however, it dawned on me …
 
QUEEN OF EGYPT, NEFERTITI, universally considered to this very day to be the most beautiful woman to have ever lived, on par with SOFIA LOREN & PHYLLIS DILLER & MOTT THE HOOPLE, had a child, a girl, with Attila the Hun I believe, and they named her Adonna Madonna Utley. To be exact, QUEEN NEFERTITI named her, Atilla wanted to call her LOLA LALITTA UTLEY. That is reason why you don’t hear about this much.

 

nef by scott utley

 
QUEEN NEFERTITI blew a gasket & Atilla is just dust in the wind to this day. But Adonna Madonna Utley mysteriously disappeared right out of Africa, I want to ask you point blank a question. If the answer is yes, knock three times on the ceiling. twice on the pipe if the answer is no. 
 
 
Oh, dear me, a rerun of Perry Mason is on. You must understand, some things, even heaven, can wait and this question one of them.  Good evening then, and fare thee well until we meet again, fare thee well and remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, 20 bucks though, is a latte at Starbucks. It is your call.
PS: If anyone out there remembers my name, would you please tell me what it s? No rush. I am so tired. What a day, what a day. Good evening, goodnight, my dear peoples and good luck. 
 
 
 

 

CHELSEA MORNING ~ JONI MITCHELL ~ ABUSIVES ~ BESA MI CULO

waka waaa (2)

DON’T STOOP TO CONQUER.

 

A beautiful day is rising in Los Angeles right this moment. Wherever I go today the sun will be shining. I feel unwell though. I am unsettled. Something grabs the soles of my shoes. There is a heavy tilt to the sun today. I can hear it coming. This morning is as clear as a bell but there are invisible clouds concealing pathways to surrender. I feel it more than usual. Would that it were all a dream, poor souls. I can help.

I‘m thinking about others who suffer domestic abuse. What can I do to lend a hand? There are several bully-abuser varieties & lots of them all over this planet.

The primary ones: You know they don’t care for you or themselves. They punch you in the face. That hurts. Brush it off like you always have. You can fix them. You are just like your mother before you, you take in strays.

There’s another type who may touch you with trembling. They wear their hearts on your sleeve yet (only heaven knows why), when you aren’t looking, they punch you in the heart. That really hurts. Either way (& all the in betweens) there is simply no excuse. Both are cruel. They are equally unforgivable.

If you are in one of those relationships just go, go, go, now, now, now, now & take the children. Make sure to take all the children. Just go! Go to a shelter, the police, go anywhere. Just go now.

Forgive & forget? Don’t make me laugh. That’s not what I’m thinking. Survivors are good at surviving because they know when to run. Forget about revenge. Don’t stoop to conquer. “Compassion makes me happy, forgiveness gets me high.” I know that. I wrote it. I can quote it anytime I feel like it. It is true when, “He said”.

Imagine how much they suffer for causing so much pain? You know forgiveness will keep you alive but you’ll never forgive them so go, go, go now, now, now. You deserve the very best life has to offer so go while the sun is still under the horizon (as it is here a few more moments). Say, “Besa mi culo.” Then thank your creator they are out of your life forever, or at least this one day. One moment to moment, right, then left, that’s easy. One day at a time.  

Well bite my tongue! I’m going to hell for sure, I know hell wouldn’t have me so it’s not as if I’m frightened. Heaven or hell is being here now. That’s your call. It’s the principle of satire which scares me. Scares me into jolly.  

I am not going to an imaginary hell for using that tired old twelve -12-step, NA, AA, CA, EA, OA, DOA, ad infinitum, pedagogic phrase here.  Using it in context here doesn’t make me want to vomit… too terribly.

A day at a time. Let go, let God. (I’m a closet cutter making myself ill, sorry.) I know, but I love the pain, the way I am pleasured. Right? Am I right? I know I am. There is no shame in that or anything. Who died and made them God? Tótalos si no pueden tomar una broma. If you need help, you can call me anytime.

Wherever I am, whenever you need me, I’ll be right here. I’m here. I’ll go with you, in fact, I insist … I insist … don’t sweat the little stuff. It is all little stuff except your heart, soul & those who depend upon your generous spirit & abundant love. “Keep it simple, stupid.” Everybody is waiting for you. Go. It is time you step back into the light. He or she will be fine. Just fine. It’s the best that could have happened. You’ll see. 

 

DIAMOND EYES (LOVE) LOVE LOVE LOVE ~ OF MONSTERS AND MEN

 

 

This life is amazing. It really sucks though. Sometimes. It is like Rosemary’s baby. Her head is spinning in circles in a movie called Psycho. She is screaming out 3-D green vomit into your mind (which was already pretty darn fractured from being alive in the time of plagues), yet still it shatter-cracks like blown glass murals on the day Pompeii died. Right? I know. Life’s a bitch, then you die. I think that is called a cynical statement. Who cares? But  … other times it doesn’t feel like that all all. It is a glorious joy-ride through the heavens of a very beautiful sky of emeralds & diamond eyes that are even more beautiful than that. That is what life really is, the rest is bullshit.

 

 

THE GOOD FIGHT

marsha p

In the inner recesses of my deepest being, I have no feeling of separation from all that is or will ever be, in the past, future (&) or now. “It is what it is” isn’t a cliche for me, but it isn’t “all good” either. That one makes my brain stutter when I hear it. I bite my tongue. I live the day to day struggles we all do.  Just likes you, I suffer because of my suffering. Just as you, I also know great joy. What can we do but laugh & keep up the good side of going downhill in a handbasket.?

In the latter part of my early youth, I was introduced to two ideas that remained inside my head and took root. One is, “Like energy begets like energy.” The other,  “Our universe is in a consistent state of flux.” I  see these cerebral constructs now as transformational, transcendental truths. All things change, Constant flux is the only certainty. 

Where is the love of fighting ‘the good fight when regardless how well we aim, it is our own foot we shoot? It doesn’t get us anywhere & never will. Does it sound like the piercing sound of truth? I don’t believe so but what do I know? MARSHA P JOHNSON said it best when she said, “I may be crazy but that don’t make me wrong.”

 

FLOWERING of SOUL

AIDS MEMORIAL GARDEN GOLDEN GATE PARK S F CA

It is silence. It is the awesome sense of loss. It is the story of life and death itself. It is the age-old tale of lost loves and spirits numbed, but always in the end, it’s the story of our unconquerable human souls. It is the morning light cascading into sunspots. It is the song of migrating minstrels heralding the flowering of spirit. It is the face of a stranger hallowed by purple blooming spears.It is another chance to say hello or say goodbye. It is proof that love sits on a mighty throne,and nestled here in this redwood garden, his lovely heart is shone.

aids ttt