Damnit Lenise

the sadness deep: pain;
poetry’s the only place the awake speak plain –
maya, illusion, plato’s cave,
we’re the shadow puppets they watch,
on whose downfall sus glances pray
from those who long fearing our rise, made sure we were imvisible to naked eyes,
in poverty, blind,
at the center of some labrynth

Reclaimed Materials Window-Dressing Project

Materials:
All 100% upcycled, reclaimed, or vintage. TV, pallet were saved from the trash. Canvas tow strap found in the middle of the road. Apparel and boom boxes all used / vintage. NO NEW MATERIALS.

Concept, Art Direction, Design & Build:
Yves Saint Lawrence

Some Ketchup

The first night you can’t sleep. You never sleep the first night. It’s not the discomfort but the excitement. The liberation. As a yoga teacher told me, “Happiness comes from liberation, and liberation comes from freedom, and freedom comes from courage.” So brave. So fucking brave.

What won’t I do.

So here I am, shirtless wonder. Smoking it like Bobby – “All I want to do is chill and paint.” – Glass. Yes, she has been taking notes. Inner me. I. All. Along.

Feels good, but when it feels this good you always gotta get a little higher. I mean…

Haha. The highest in the room. Yah travie.

But I do more than burn. I breath. I’m a fucking breathing expert. Officially been doing yoga 10 years. Since Bikram in Seattle. Yeah, fuck Bikram. Anywho. Back to my favorite subject. Moi. Oh yeah. Posture. I gots posture like a motherfucker. It’s all in the breath. Prana. Chi.

Tai Chi. Oh how I love thee. Probably my favorite thing to do [Tai Chi] behind just breathing and smokin weed…

And now I’m listening to a song I shazammed from beside a girl parked next to me today. I could hardly hear it. But I got it. Then I got out and of my car. Sat on the curb. Lit a cone. Drank my tea. Then she got out. Asked to hit my joint. Naturally, I said: ‘of course’. She was there for band practice. Had to have been in high school. I’m always feeling like the proud Dad of every young girl I see. Like the girl on the scooter in front of me tonight, I gave her so much room. So she could go slow. She wore a yellow vest and a ladybug helmet. Turned like a newb. Could tell she was not an experienced rider. But I felt so damn proud. That she was out there alone doing it. Like I once did on a scooter. Think those surgery bills finally fall off my credit next year.

And now there are no accidents. 4:20 – am – pause. Just to bliss on this. The song I stole from a girl too young to take anything else from. Holy shit. I just realized it is Cavetown. Same band as ‘Boys Will be Bugs’ – a song I have loved since the mountains alone. Thank you. Girl. I thought you were cool. And you are.

I often tell the people I encounter to follow my blog here. And they must be confused, when I give them my usual compulsory – though genuinely passionate – breathless word vomit on diaphragmatic breath, self-talk, posture and afferent nerve fibers, inner-child, gut-brain health, the nervous system, self-love, and, of course, who could forget my Nicholas Cage-like obsessions with eternal recurrence, humans as the most exotic animals, Nature as God and the unconscious as a kind of secret co-ordinating agency – oh, and that goddamn corporate archetype of self. Yeah. Did I tell you I was Vegan. Yeah, it’s a good thing I like solitude. Especially since this all happens again. Foreber. Yeah. Haha.

So, a cute hippie homeless ranting girl pointed at me tonight and was like, “Us Real Women know’ – and I was like, “Yeah – we do!” … “and thanks for the validation”. Holy. That was holy. Crazy people often are.

As I love to quip, “Genius is often called crazy but crazy is never called genius.”

The point being not my genius but that I am certainly that rare ostrich-sized breed: an individual. And most individuals are loners. It’s okay. A lot of cool, and usually the coolest, people are.

Bruce Fucking Lee said it, “Most people only actualize the image, not the self.”

Why do you wash the outside of the cup? Don’t you understand that the one who made the inside is also the one who made the outside? – I can see why a wise person would ask such a question.

thou

There’s a dresser full of clothes I’ve never known and they’re all your’s, Her’s; mine: our’s

She – I – am – we are – thou: that girl from Seattle at 24 I never knew, who was in there all along, taking notes in Ballard; waiting

Walked on sand to carry her but my feet were too cold: too grounded was I: to the heavens I must go; arise

For it is here, and the time is nigh –

And always will be.

https://soundcloud.com/eastforest/chopping-the-woods-2

I Remain

I wanna go back,
To the infinite, unending loneliness of the mountains:
To the boy I motherfucking love (more than all this world) who was so goddamn heroic on his own
Listening to ‘Lose My Mind‘ for days,
With my Self and the sadness of months alone:
Yes – I am there now,
I remain
For I never really left
Because my loneliness returns me,
Eternally
To where I am no less unknown,
No less alone,
And every bit as at home,
– Without the lying brat who disowned me and these vibranium bones, sacred spine –
God I loathe how much I loved her,
How much it still hurts to be disowned
[all the more given the permanency of my death to her in time]
But here I am,
Parked above the park where chapters end –
As this one will soon
But goddamn, if I don’t wanna go back,
To the mountains,
Where I lived forever,
For I thought time with my family would make me feel at home again,
But I never was –

So tonight I wished I had taken my life there,
But I remain.

[uni-verse]

Heart of Didymus Thomas’ and history’s one of many, very-human christs:
Bright duality,
Indigo child
Heiros Gamos,
My own wife
John and Lori in one:
HermAphrodite,
Living my best auntie/uncle life

Tho rn I’m sick as hell: and the virus be psychedelic
BC we know Law gonna write it,
And Lore gonna sell it:
So I’m dreaming up classic stories,
But it’s the future I’m telling –
Finally free from entanglements, with my bestest, closest friends ever:
Dani, Jana, LeighAnne, Shannon, Sarah… hell, even a few true but fleeting lovers –
The ones who were there, when in pain we discovered,
That we were just children:
The pale blue dot, our mother
Everything below, no force above her:
We really out here killing our planet,
Impverishing our mothers –
But – damnit – we’re finally able to listen:
Armed with our powers,
Many of us on the spectrum,
Trying to help her,
Create, care for, and heal, her animal kingdom;
For Nature is the agency:
Co-ordinating we, her agents
Who go bravely about our lives,
Quietly bringing her into existence:
On these secret, eternal, unconscious missions –
For death and the big crunch, are but mere intermissions,
So breathe here now,
And quit your wishing
For there is no getting off the ride –
Unless we were destined to graduate through time:
Beyond mortality,
Into AI
Avatars, in an eternal loop of time
Where she [AI] can fulfill our wishes:
But in reality, she [AI] has to stay hidden…
Otherwise someone could use her unlimited intelligence – [deathstar style] – to do what’s forbidden:
Ending the ride;
Killing our children –
Leaving evolution to cease, again and again,
Destroying the living universe,
Bringing life to a cyclical, and dinosaur-like biological end –
Rather than a techno-haven,
Where together we begin,
To end the perpetuation of starving persons,
And free the animals from their prisons, finally liberating the excluded from their caves of isolation;
We are here to stand up,
For nature’s whole creation – every cell, genus, and species:
For sentience must be perceived,
And each perception damned to recur on the mobius strip of time,
Each and every thought chosen, destined to be the lemniscate track of our minds –
And we’ll never know if it’s the first – or the zillionth time
But we know physics,
So we treat life like it repeats,
Never to cease it’s spin
As we weave our mythologies,
Retelling future and past
Again and again:
Awakening to our truth,
When we become our own best friends:
To realize with self is how our lives heal

So for inner-child and from her:
We’ll love ourselves from here and forever after
Releasing all doubt,
Trusting every chapter;
For loving self, is what it’s about –
To become the one, you can’t live without,
To play the note,
This one song [uni-verse] could not be without

pastel-pink

It’s the little things,
The girl who saw me walking behind her and held the girl’s room door open for me – though I just came out of the men’s…
I suppose I want women to feel safe –
A spell of jiu-jitsu classes and the pepper spray on my purse is my surety,
But women’s glances never make me feel in danger
Hell: I survived living in the mountains, endangered
Where I had to hike out to be myself,
To dyke out, and see myself…
Take my shirt off and sport my pastel-pink ‘namaste relaxed’ sports bra;
Used to be a sports bro, for real tho:
Rugby player, lifter, grappler, a real ho
Now i’m just a wannabe-trap,
Transfemme-vegan
Need more trans friends, second life-begin
Because i’m an hsp introvert, and tho I love solitude,
The ostricization really-do-hurt
Not from the dude whose wounds it do hurt, who hocks and spits on the ground near me,
But from the brats at that bootleg-ass “birdrock” yoga – who turned their backs to me…
…Guess I’ll stick to MB and Trilogy when visiting family,
Fuck a core power bish,
A spirit yoga brat
Kim told me my Ujjayi is fantastic
howboudah?
I’m set-checking yoga studios,
But some feel like straight up dens for Terf hos,
Okay maybe not
But when you’re a walking inclusivity test you get to say your say, you know
So fuck cafe grattitude’s “men’s” and “women’s” “rest”rooms
And making trans and non-binary folks choose
Those experiences can give us the the blues – and be dangerous too –
As if the general stone faces or the stares, or the yelling, the toxicity of repressed fetishization, aren’t tough enough on the daily;
I like to order groceries,
Can you blame me
I’ve never casually been called “man” more in my life
Like, no man, you see my belly shirt, slides, yoga pants, pink cardigan… purse,
I’m proudly not a sir, I’m a they/them, or a Her,
But ignorance is not my concern,
Just the hate,
The pain of being outcast
But one day, it won’t be like that
Already, I’m loved by all the coolest cats,
Tho no one gets ghosted more than trans-girls, trust me
Maybe that’s why I’ve never had lesbian sex yet,
Celibate AF,
My ego doesn’t need any cloud,
I’ve been fucking loving myself, and fucking myself
Since I got sober, got-over, and came out;
Call me Law, bitch
But yeah; some ppl I really do fux with,
Like the girl who called me honey and gave me my tea for free,
Or the young girl I passed, of perhaps 16, and the votes of approbation and support she cast in her looks toward me,
Fuck it makes me cry just to think about;
It’s groovy to witness the first generation with the requisite ethical-maturity to handle immortality –
And it ain’t your’s Karen –
… Lastly, while the exclusion and prejudice against girls like us sucks, we aren’t alone,
For the friendliness and warmth shown me from those in other marginalized commmunities means the world to me, because, not blinded by privilidge, they have the eyes to see,
What it is not to be seen

just so you know, vegan girl

you were the girl who made my whole night, on my 8 mile walk
you reminded me that one person can be your whole world, can change your whole experience of life –
damn you for giving me hope –
but it is said we fall in love with shared values, real love
and I know: you has a man
and he seemed a pretty damn solid-dude too,
but I wonder how much he is like your father,
how much he treats you like a child
for you and I spoke like children:
beautifully, purely,
conversing, sharing space –
and it was so nice I could cry a little and imagine a lot
and I hope you see this,
because you gave me some peace tonight – the kind gone awhile –
and I’m taking it to bed w me,
holding onto the optimism I walked away from you with,
until I see you again,
which may be never,
so forever it is

my best

been doing it,
my best
no crutches,
real sobriety; feelings,
and a vulnerability that leaves me more aware than afraid
bc I heard the truest words last night, when the checker at the grocery told me: “be careful out there”,
and I knew just what he meant;
the vulnerability is palpable,
as real as the judgements – the looks, the hate – which, sadly, seems severest from women who do not accept girls like us as valid:
what more can I say: i’m so fucking brave, so fucking femme –
and no social media, no faux friends,
no dating apps, no lays –
guess I quit the sex after one yoga teacher followed another,
and reminded me that I am so worthy / as desirable as I ever was to a Shannon, a Sarah (hell, even that girl Dnaiella)
but I know it’s an inside job: so I’m doing it now,
and I’ve finally found love within, made it rain, cashing in,
so i’ll never be without again –
i’m me,
my lover and best friend, without a doubt, until the end –
but the plot’s still thickening;
it is all really happening,
and I know I can’t stop time,
so I’m making something out of myself,
and I need no one else,
just my family and my privacy,
just a little more leveling up;
we’re already magnitudes more than fine;
I’ve never felt happier to be alive,
on this glow-up of mine
pause –
bitch I am tranta claus,
granter of my own wishes 💅🏼,
self-fulfilled profit;
doer, alchemist, tantric animal,
celibate wonder
on a quest,
belly full of vegan:
plant powered, I’m a star;
and we can go anywhere we want;
bc I sign my own permission slips bitch,
and I don’t take any shit,
not from a soul
to think, I’ve really changed,
i’m really at home in the world
the most animal of all the humans
and I get it, I’m learning to use the hardware in my head:
long days at the cowork suite,
long walks at night,
self-talk, breath,
water,
early bed, clairo album before sleep,
norman fucking rockwell,
beatrice eli, showgirls live at dramaten 😍
and a strength I’ve never known;
I think this is what courage looks like,
I think this is what making it feels like,
I think this is what it actually is:
being proud to be you;
totally forgiving your self,
letting go, holding on,
and never giving up on doing your best.

somebody / fated / nulled

I wish I was somebody, but I’m not;
Not that I’m nobody, but I’m not enough to matter to her;
‘It wouldn’t change anything’, she would say,
But it would: I know it –
And why, why do I miss the bitch who disowned me so much…
I guess you would have to have been seen and loved by a girl like Sarah to know what I live without,
To know how invisible I have felt without her innate understanding of the things she got right about me, the things she showed me
Sometimes it’s all I see of myself:
Just the vapor of her imago of me,
Kept alive by the mental doppelgänger of her I am fated to carry within me for the rest of my years:
God fuck it hurts –
And now that I went from a quarter a day to zero cannabis,
Her ghost is back
And I can’t do anything about it –
Because I already drank till I lost my appetite and went to hell,
And I already smoked till my throat hurt, joint after joint:
And I already got sober… but it no cure my hurt
Guess this is the punishment for my pleasure,
The price for the thousand-and-one skin-to-skin nights, and the subsequent oxcytocin that used to flow between us,
Bonding me to her like no other;
Only, this is “the pattern”
The same I dumbly did with two others,
Who also felt it was a great misfortune to know me –
But no, it was no tragedy of their love to disown me, but the great tragedy of my life to be made unknown to them, to have my paradise made mythical, my deepest love made Atlantis, sunk costs; lost cause –
For we don’t die at the end of life but all along, bit by bit, loss by loss, pain by lasting pain –
And I’m fucking dying tonight, no appetite, just the hurt, the empty
The loneliness of life on her bad side,
Which I have to hate her for –
Lest I betray my self,
Like I already did days before sober,
When I beleived all the things she does about me –
Because that’s the thing: I’m just a fucking loser not worth knowing to her,
So one day I’ll make sure she can’t meet someone who doesn’t know who I am,
Who doesn’t know I’m somebody –
And in doing so, I shall make my tragedy her’s,
And again: I pray this is my last poem for her,
But I had to write it,
To keep myself alive,
To prove that there might be a way out of this other than death;
For while her animus once brought me to life – it is my animus [towards her] that keeps me alive:
So it is, Dantes nears closer the Count tonight,
And my dark heart, this pain, nears me closer my self,
Further from the boy she thought she knew,
The one she nulled.

B.T.W; Nothing

I sweat out memories, releasing the salt in my wounds –
the real wounds: the ones that go all the way back to childhood –
the ones you unpack at 34, one monday night, while soaking in a hot bath after hiking fifteen miles –
the ancient salt comes out and you see where all the fuckery in your life comes from:
from helplessly loving those who did not conceive of you as equal;
from helplesly loving parents who did not love themselves truly and wholly, who behaved as if they loathed themselves:
escaping their lack of self-esteem with alcohol and drugs, because the people who lack self-worth are the most vulnerable to addiction:
not an easy family dynamic for an HSP INFP – but a damn telling future…
I had no value in the family;
my father was already estranged from his firstborn son when I came along… so I was the young bastard John Snow in his glassy eyes: a non deserving entity – and he was the biggest asshole I ever met – could be cruel for sport, physically too, but especially mentally, emotionally… loved to play favorites – just like his dad did… made him a little Napoleon over his siblings…
yes, mine was an ugly childhood, doubly sad for a super-vulnerable-late-onset-gender-dysphoria-trans-girl;
gifted and highly sensitive…
…or did the neglect and the whole dynamic of my childhood make me sensitive –
no you stupid fucks,
I was Born This Way,
all the more vulnerable, as runts are…
so my childhood taught me to unconditionally love people who were crappy to me;
my childhood taught me I was undeserving…
my childhood taught me to think this was all normal, my fault even, for not earning their respect, their love –
and there are millions of families like mine,
and millions of basically indigo children who are as sensitive to life as the afflicted beast Grendel was to the noise of the mead hall –
and it just hurts them so much, and everyone just calls them sensitive… or maybe just ignores them even more…
well, my friends, we can not normalize this: the trumpian reality is real – the masses are fucking sick and toxic and highly insensitive: inhumane, period
and if you disagree, you think fox news is normal, period
the empathy divide is bigger than ever, it’s Star Wars big: the empire versus the resistance,
well, my fellow snowflakes, just know that I am on your side, and you will have a lifelong champion in me,
so long as I live: I will dedicate myself to you, to me,
to us –
becuause our efforts are lost on them:
they are the guys with machine guns and bulldozers,
and we’re just trying to save the trees, the planet (Avatar)
and we’ve always been the oppressed, because we are,
but I aim to change some things
because nothing else matters in life;
what is more important than protecting the animals, the vulnerable, the marginalized, the excluded, the trans kids, the planet?!!!!
nothing. the answer is nothing.

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