Is Anyone At Home

Two hundred numbers in my phone
Is anyone at home
To make a new connection
There are days I think I’ll call them all
Shock a stranger to a call
To avoid the introspection

Yes I’m looking for a new friend now
Like the one from childhood
No one since then was like her
Do those come only once a life how
Rare it is for one life’s runner
To find love that close and good

I am not crying it’s just allergies
I eat pink pills all day to kill
The constant sneezing nose
Now that the rain is gone the flowers
They will make me wish for stone
Alone that is the way it goes

How I wish that I could sing it all
But I can only hear it in
My head so I live within again
If I can just wait one more day ’til Fall
I still forget about it all
Until it once more starts to rain

Under The Closed Door…

…a slice of light shines from the long white hall with it’s shiny, black eyeball watchers embedded in the bottom of the upper floor. Under the door and through the light I escape the glassy black eyes and their impersonal stare. I rise to the sky-light in Winter’s still moonless night cold humid cloud fog feels more dense than the glass whose atomic structure yields to my unsubstantial existence.

You have called out to me.

This form feels no cold.

I am weightless darkness moving across the earth upon the winds. The updraft of a stray trade wind throws me aloft into the jet stream. 300 to 400 miles per hour I speed as the jet snakes past oceans and continents. I will reach you before you wake up, look in the mirror, and douse dark curls with water and look at your black eyes in the small mirror above the sink. I soar East and the sun has not yet shed a ray into the nascent skies.

I feel you. You are wearing that semi-circular torque around you…drawing me into your atomic structure…

…into your dream.

“I have come.”

You lay on a green hillside sprinkled with tiny white star-flowers. Your lashes brush your high cheek bones soaking in the sun before it arrives and the call to prayer breaks the hush of dawn. Your face smiles with the peace of the moment.

I look at her through barely opened eyes. This has always been a talent of mine: to call these creatures of the wind. She is small and fair like the flowers. Snow white curls blowing in the mountain wind framing a child’s face. She is one whose age means nothing. I say nothing. She stands there and moves, carefully, until she casts a shadow on my face and I can see her more clearly.

Green eyes. Slightly pointed ears. She does not look centuries old.


She moves over the earth without touching it and sits beside me. She lays her hand upon my chest and understands I am also not human…not in this place. Her hand is small and her touch is like feathers. Without words she lays down next to me and curls up very close. I hold her easily with one arm. The breeze blows her soft blue dress over the hairs on my arms tickling them and making my skin laugh. I can feel that she feels, too, the ground move beneath us. 

What a lovely creature it is who called me, who holds me so tightly to himself. Still he seems not to have seen me but I know him too well. This world is only overlaid upon the one we live in. I slide my hand under his leather jacket and feel the hairs under the cotton shirt making it stand away from his body. I feel his skin laugh under the material. Birds fly overhead speaking their chirrrrrr chirrrrrr language and somewhere drums beat.

Maybe it is our hearts that sound like thunder in counter-point?

The wind makes trees sing with the birds and the drums of our hearts make a music beyond the sound of humanity. My hand climbs to his face. It needs no mind to make it move. He still says nothing. Over the short beard my fingers stray to his lips. I feel a thread spin through my ether as he takes my fingertip between his lips and starts what I can imagine…

…I slowly pull away and cup his ear in one palm, curving it so that the wind sings louder.

“It sings for you beautiful one.”

His eyes open. Within them I see all the light and good things to my darkness. He is Day to my Night…Joy to my Sorrow…mirror of my soul.

“So it always is that darkness comes clothed with light…”

“So it always is that light creates the shadows of Time…”

Inside I become outside and outside she becomes inside. Sweet smells come from grass the colour of her eyes crushed for the sake of Love. 

Now both his arms encircle me as the sky does the planet and he pulls me on top on his long slender body until my arms frame his face like a pale halo and his long dark lashes sweep upwards, white teeth flashing into a smile. His eyes hold me like his arms hold me and the blue dress from the sky flows over his legs while my knees rest on either side of him, barely touching the ground. Green grass tickles my toes. The world sings a chorus of birds and hearts and the voices of the trees.

Fierce joy rises up in me. I want this one I have called to me; to serve and protect and love. One hand moves without thought to the soft white curls dancing in the breeze and cups and tangles and her sea green eyes close as she gives her mouth to me. Her hands tangle in my hair as well.

His mouth tastes like well water. I am thirsty for this kiss! Sing birds that fly! Sing for this love! Beat drums! I feel the love he cannot say with words pressed against my belly.

The first ray of sun reaches it’s greedy fingers over the pregnant earth. Azan is called.

I awake in the middle of the night.

My arms are empty.


I will be black to bogging boon thut is sis what happens when you are shifting and moving and gone for a week you end up with 10,000 emails and brain fog and you know the real meaning of ‘thinking out of the box’ because all you can think of is getting everything out of the box!

When you are away from the EMF frequencies, from the monitor, that can cause sudden, explosive diarrhoea and heart arrhythmia, (and sometimes even ecstatic bliss from music from a certain hertz and die-urinal bleat) you realize that life without the box is fine…you wonder why you feel responsible to the people you spent years on here and then realize…

“Oh yeah I spent almost 10 years here…yeah I have to come back sometimes or people might think things…like, ‘What was that lady who did weird shit and what country was she from anyway?’ but then many think I am CIA…which stands for ‘Clearly Ignorant Asshat.’

By the way never mention SED while you are typing about it THEY will make it happen! *mutters to self* It just happened to me right after I typed it and I had to break!

The new place is awesome and the people are cool even the guy who smelled like he had an incident of SED in the elevator while I was in there. I am not going to snap him for it because there might be Russians aiming ray guns at America experimenting with trying to hit the ‘brown note’ they heard about in a ‘South Park’ episode.

I am not going to trust any old farts these days!

Anyway I am back in the box again and will soon be posting material from 25 years ago when all there was was a Royal Type-writer or a pencil and my hand…yes that is also known as ‘writers master-perturbation’ and it makes your ‘bird finger’ permanently as crooked as the local senate.

I will be adding my years of experience *cough cough* to the works from my youth. I am looking forwards to this endevour as I realized, while I was going through it, that I was about that same endevour when Life happened and I quit for a coupla decades.

It’s bood to be gack.


…so many things wrong and so many things right all at the same time. In spite of the list of very real ailments I am blessed and things could always be worse…

…In sha Allah they will be better.

I always dreamed that this age and time in my life would be so much different. I dreamed I would have already seen the other side of the world and I would have married someone and been a part of a family.

It didn’t work out that way.

Maybe I should have let the men come to me to ask for me but I think, had I done that, I would maybe have become a nun or maybe a reluctant lesbian from sheer desperation.

Instead I spent my life hunting with the hunters…well at least the part of my life when that was possible…so many years this was not possible.

He is still very beautiful. He lives like a song in my head and probably always will. He has more than one name and face but he is beloved beyond compare. Each of him is special in different ways from the first ‘love-of-my-life’ at 29 years old to the first ‘best-friend-of-my-life’ just out of high-school. Never a princess or even a queen yet I was always needed before I left each one as the hurricane in my life moved me on intractable winds. How often I gave up the huge rebellion only to ‘get even’ with the smaller, and often more dangerous ones…

I am not very good with chaos. Much like the ‘Rain Man’ I best function in a well-ordered and predictable universe but, once upon a time, I escaped that for a fraction of my life.

It was glorious.

Anyway I am thinking of all the people I love…

This one’s for you…Love you

(Thank you Elton John)