Olden Ways of the Olden Days

Here it is again, not the same person you are within
but someone influenced by the chaos and cockiness of Los Angeles

Here you go again, not the same person we shared a moment,
but it passed and now you're back to your old ways
some things never change

seasons change but really they stay the same
fashion changes but comes back around again
why not recycle we're taught in so many ways
it's impossible to let go of the old days
recycle means hold onto don't let it go to waste

people are starving in Ethiopia, remember those days 1983
famine came their way
and so we're told not to waste our plate
but so many things got wasted anyway,
and then some things they never change.

Olden ways of the olden days
her heathen ways of her feathered hair mess and lipgloss glaze
far below the stare of her drunken gaze
of all the things I had to say
I never got to say
Stop wasting your time with the ones who will go nowhere.
And drag you down with them.
I wonder when I got so vain.

It's Now or Never

Words abound about love and art
And I throw up my hands at the sheepishness of academia
Rebelling at the cause of
Always falling back on the follow
But then suggestions about
Squeezing it in 30 minutes here and there
It's not ideal
but No, I'm not a millionaire either
I have to do what I have to do

And what gets started now can be realized by summer
It's painted in my stars
The words I wanna write the ones in the my head
So what if it's 3AM
It's now or never.


I liked what you said, about it being an excuse
Idealism aside
Let's be real.

To Do The Real Work

Driving on this side of the mountain, I can feel you on the other side
Something tells me the story isn't over
I popped up on the time line, someone else gave me an idea
It sounded so much like yours
And of course you were there, like you'd never faltered to be
Like I always imagined you to be
I recalled how I came to believe

Sipping wine I crash in the early hours
by wee morning I'm up and seeping tippy toeing baby kitten
by after hours I'm no longer sleeping seething worrisome
seeing things no after glow.
just wanting to do the good work
but hell, just wanting to do the work
If someone would just set me free to do the real work.

Bitching and Moaning

I remember the 99cent days
buying gifts for each other and our friends
I remember the lipgloss madness the betty boop sticky notes
You wanted me to be comfortable and happy
But I only bitched and moaned

I remember being scared and alone
it wasn't my time
I remember wanting to own the
bohemian lifestyle
You made it be mine
You gave me what I wanted in every which way
I got what I wanted
You told me what I wanted you to say
My ears were filled with feline gossip
you just wanted to fit in
I guess what I needed to hear is how wrong I was
and what a bad decision I was makin
But you thought it was the right choice
And maybe you're still right.

And now I am stuck with this bitching and complaining
no time to write or wander aimlessly through the dollar store
Still craving balance
In an unfulfilled world of madness

I still muster at what you gave me
I still flounder with what I want
One day its security the next its a bedside table
with empty bottles and lots of books
Overall I know I am right in being here right here right now
But knowledge only soothes me somewhat knowing you gave me what I wanted
Until that day it broke
Until that day we broke.

The Ghost That is Within Me

Shallowness and sadness ensues, but I want to believe we can get by with very little
and that that greed of a country doesn't phase me, will no longer phase me.
And I want to say I have finally uncovered the fear or mess of living in a space
And that was that it is beyond what is meant for me.
What is possible, feasible and real for me as a unity.
Uni, Solo, or unsolidarity.

I crave for a simpler life and simpler existence
and I crave for nothing new. nothing. just the old and simplistic
And if you hadn't noticed this is all bullshit I am not sure who what or why
Where I was trying to be, live, what I was trying to be, and why I am trying to impress me?
And, now when I say going underground, I don't mean I am going to give up the lipstick
Does this mean it is a shallow irreverant meaningless chide, carrying a simple tote with your Chanel sunglasses, when you're a sample sale bride? I cannot even stand to write because I'm standing forever in the moonlight, of darkness. There is not enough light.

I am screaming inside for the mess I created, mess I caused, mess I believed would save me my sanity but in the end it became a burden which ate away at the innards every single day.
It didn't work the way it should have, on paper plates I never ate.
So I straddled the worlds, coming from too much, never giving up the ghost, wanting to have too little, but unable to live down the five stars.

Now, I say is when am I going to stop doing the things doing the do's, reality please save me from the mess that could drag me under further, drag my soul any deeper down under. I wonder if it is ultimately doomed. There is little pleasure in writing the words anymore as solvenly duty and the worldliness of the world has taken over my entire body and soul.

I still remember the day at the Laundromat, somewhere in the Valley. Reading the posted notes in Spanish. Broke and blissful. I wish I could hang on to that day. It was a hot day in LA.

I wanted a return to slim pickings, but when I got there I froze my ass off and when I returned to a warm safe space, I see it is sucking me dry statistically, realistically, fundamentally, I want to give it all away. I think I would give it all away. Although quitting doesn't suit me, and I don't want to throw anything away. Didn't I work hard and struggle? Probably not. Sometimes I feel like a spoiled imbicile. Why do I deserve this grail? Because, somehow, it doesn't make sense. None of it. The world between safety, warmth and simplicity that I straddle daily.

I said I wanted the wheels and since then I have changed my mind and as I write I like to think that I have given up that ghost but I have yet to find solidarity in the ghost that is within me. Because despite my strength, I know the influence and judgment of the worldly wordy despots may continue to dig in me.

Can we go to a different plane and still live in the City of Angels, or any mega city or suburb in the Western world for that matter, or are we forever doomed to straddle that of the plight of la boheme and the business man?

Going underground, for a bit.

So, I'm going off the radar a bit
I'm going underground a bit
Your materialism is a farce and confuses me a bit
Can't fake it

She stays with him, a bit
And we shook our tale feathers a bit
but Rock n Roll still lives
There is still time to save your soul

Followed the faces a bit,
Facebook stalking some call it
Remember Rock n Roll is real
And the time is now to save it

Wake up fall over this week
Splitting head ache it seems
The work it never ends
but today I'm going underground
I'm taking back what was ours
and giving it to the kids
the kids of our youth
the kids we were in our youth.

The shadows linger a bit
The days of plenty falter a bit
The days of communism and war coming our way
in a bit
I'm not a prophet nor do I know much of anything
But the youthful days of freedom and plenty have gone
and we've got to sacrifice face and hide a bit
We've got to give up the ghost
a bit
We've got to go hungry and want and need and fear
a bit
Or we can run off to Spain or somewhere warm in Central America
or Florida and hide out a bit
But the world will be changing in a bit
And to be prepared is something illegit
But we are Legit, until we go underground and then
We're on the lam, running, hiding
and that's what it must be for a bit.