orgami's Diaryland Diary

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whistle when you think of me

wind has died down finally
but up till two this morning am
it was blowing hard buffeting
the house and shaking the trees
the light through the limbs
dancing hypnotic in this living
room

summer is almost over again
so fast it has come and gone
just seems like yesterday i was
walking home to dirt and snow
water flowing fresh and fast in
ditchs snow plows still with rusting
blades on their muzzles like great
mastedons

playing Jim Morrisons song
THE END

everyone else is asleep lost in
dreamlands and thoughtscapes
tossing turning tumbling blind
free and unhindered

and i am here
the night fire
this livid screen
glowing hue

trapped with my moth
attractions and scabbard
hands cutting words from
minds caverns
mining letters and
sowing slag on golden
feilds of envy

"lost in a roman wilderness
of pain...and all the children
are insane..all the children are
insane..waiting for the summer
rain yahhhhh......" J Morrison

remember helicopter clips and
newsmen in dark thick flack jackets
mothers tears as she watched the
limp plastic covers on stretchers
or body bags the war glowed on
our television screen
Canadian news in summers cottage
haze Kenny the first black man
i remember still in his camos
fresh from Vietnam

twelve years old mind emblazed
with guns and bodies country music
and moon landings

here i sit
this music from the past
this ghost voice singer
who died in 1971 in a paris bathtub

jump jump ahead

Nirvana early 90's
Chloe still a baby
basically
me in my thirties young

still i was green as shit
behind the ears
knew nothing about wanting
about suffering in true
travellers fashion

Kurt who would blow his
head off later on
his addictions
what ever was chasing him
eating him up devoured him finally

all of the ones here in this city
names hell i remember their faces
seeing them walk past on the street
as they wandered about their errands
their legacies of defaults then
following them about like a terrible
smell needle tracks all down
her arms teeth blackened at the
roots from Gonnoreah david smashed
out of his mind on god knows what
with a lump on his forehead mumbling
something to me in broad daylight
later heard he was mixing vodka with
Lyesol (where ever you are David..
did i get that right??)

Ken overdosing on Percocets called
here for Lori that once and i told
the crisis worker that he was calling
harassing us which was basically true
and the workers said he understood
and hung up and the next we heard
Ken was dead at thirty eight

Lori talked to the crisis worker i
just told her what to tell the worker

she to this day is convinced that she
may have been able to save Ken if
she had have talked to him

i differ on that we had our own
problems we were working ourselves
out of at that time gaining ground
getting steady on our feet

two thousand and eight coming up

hard to believe

started here on Diaryland in 2004
or 2005

four years have come and gone just
like that

??

seems like forever
but what is even stranger is the
library where all the people are
the same the new machines the new
fans on the ceilings but the
air conditioner the books the
carpet the chairs are still the
same and i go there to write
from time to time to keep myself
true to the past

been in this city for seven years
now the longest in a long while
grounded and steady at the wheel
of life

many hundreds of days come and gone
suns streaming across hunted skies
moon waxing and waning

restless mind
awake i keep
forth spilling
tales of there

the wonder of
tommorrow
the lure of
yesterday

..O..

1:55 a.m. - 2007-09-23

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