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thelatephoenix thelatephoenix

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the late phoenix 🔥  who is beyond the unknown universe?...

http://thelatephoenix.blogspot.com/

BANANA TOPS (PETRICHOR) I have never been in love. and I never will be. but back then, I came the closest. when I awake I am struck with profundity, not penis and pussy. not my long-held query of whether a virgin can be a sex addict, but rather the impossible mooring of two lost souls for one night loving something other than their fears. I am naked and find myself in a pool of pure fresh morning dew held by a bed of vibrant redwood leaves high up in the tree clouds. the branches, knowing the necessity of their vitality, do not bend to our will, but rather flow underneath silently, the water is old. Pizarro remains sleeping in her natural bath on an opposite tree, the canopy carefully shielding us from the sun. we are babes in the wilderness. I never want to move from this quiet place. the night did me good, my bitten teeth hurt but my mouth is nice and elastic, ready for all my acting days ahead...

MY LOVELY FIRST BOOTY (AWASH IN SWASH) practice went well. it always does. I slowly emerged as a competent performer. the light lent itself to cracking my shell and whenever the stage went dark I had the unprecedented opportunity to present myself to a new batch of strangers a completely new being free of arches and crutches. since I was the actore of the production, that is, the only one who couldn't sing, I got full of myself and my thespian roots. I memorized my lines and my marks and relished coming to rehearsal. I enjoyed the experience because it wasn't me, it was her. I did it all for Pizarro. we all did, it was her troupe, unofficially or not, she steered us surreptitiously under her breath and really took command of the thing, sprinkling us with the dust of a woman's oil. the one scene I loved doing the most was the one where it was just the two of us alone on the wide stage, in close proximity, adrift at sea, she the wench with her arms bound behind her back and me the suave swashbuckler swooping in on a swinging vine to kiss her off her feet as we fade to black...

DINNER THEATRE (IS WONDERFUL) I want to tell you about the someone. her name was Pizarro. she was a peach and an ass. her ass was a plump round peach. she was a big ass and I was the cream. and the scream. but first, a funeral. I am surrounded in smoke. soon I feel the wetness of the past, as water tends to flow backwards before our eyes, the old lagoon of the pier next to the theatre where I worked my first job. the foggy depot won't clear until I replace the spoiler of Chigliak's motorcycle stuck in the road with an AMERICAN metal decal. that will have to be fitting for my friend, I never have time to do things long. soon the path broadens and I begin to notice that wasn't a Figure 8. it was an infinity symbol. I remember all this like it was right now. the theater stood on wobbly planks eroded from memory with each passing wave each time we crashed with stilted performance. no stars here but the night shows which were free. to the left was the casino and the right steps away from the university. the college kids honed their chops with a little song and dance and first dress before their first finals as a lark. the serious drama majors dare not show their rejected Juilliard pride here for fear of next year. they had to pretend to be laughing...

EIGHT FIGURES (SMOKE ON THE WATER) the trip back was hard. it was a ride. My'Lynn asks of me a huge favor to take in one of her kids, an obstinate but owsome orphan named Matt. "make him your charge," she says. but I ain't got time for all that. I gotta burn rubber. across the duckweed ditches and lonely lands I roam this country, great in area. I replaced the Indian marking on my hog with TRIUMPH. that's a little better. the bike runs okay back from Montana, a few glitches in the bumps along the way. I lost a 10-dollar bill, didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, which pissed me off robustly. in home in time for gelato I glide down my gullet. Chigliak serves me and talks about how nice comcast was to him during the crisis. "but I elected to keep my tv black-and-white," he says, "it's like I'm watching first-run programs from the '30s, fascinating. you should get rid of those hideous tracksuit jogging pants you wear, that's the problem. real material, slacks, marocain, and a nice jacket which symbolizes your tribe. it's the only way to combat the feeling." I know what he means, we all share it yet it's different for every one. Chig: "I only eat ice cream now, it's the perfect food and drink...

LABRE (PANHEAD) my mom is old. but I'm older. I still carry with me the large plaque of the fallen pizza boy. and I notice his face remains tan despite exposure to the sun. Esteban. no matter how heavy, how cumbersome, you are on this journey with me. I mark this on the first square of my travel diary, which is a calendar. I see that the square is big enough for a poem, or rather tiny enough for one. sun sonnet. but I need a ride. the vehicle, not the visit. I'm fighting a horrific cold, but what I battle stays slyly beneath the other sickness. I try to talk to my mom about it, using the last payphone by the garage. "yes, you need rest," she mishears. oh brother, perhaps it's better she doesn't know. mom: "I took your cell away from you for a reason, whenever you get homesick I need you to call me from a public place, you'll have to talk to at least one person to get the home phone. I'm forcing friends upon you." me: "joke's on you, I used the last public quarter. there goes that arcade game. I'll never have a family. I am unattached, free like the wind!" mom: "but you're bald. detach with love. there's no arcade in Obec, just a barcade. hey you're near the garage! visit my old flame Chigliak, he'll hook you up right!" me: "ew" and I hang up. but she's right. Chigliak is everything you'd imagine, an old ground-into-the-soil Indian who's lived in this area for centuries through his ancestors. and he has one of those faces that you know used to be hot. when his eyes were bluer and his skin was paler...

UTTANASANA (ON THE GRASS) I'm not a pervert, just a man. but a cat thirsty for more milk. I'm always searching to empty my feeling. the sex thing, it's dogged me for centuries. wrapped me in a pretzel whose vice vise grips me tighter with no mustard from me to counter. real knots, not a lone winter-formal boutonnière which crystallized before it shattered. women are so beautiful and so inscrutable, thus their beauty takes precedence. or takes president as the case may be. we conquer many kitties and tame much trim cos we're insane. we can't help it, we ride a silent eternal wave of next new nookie. or so I've heard. nookie is a poor word, you might as well say cookie. I want to be loyal but lust is my lacquer, not my list. a lust list is human, a hannibal is a war criminal. you have no idea the rage which boils in the head, a good rage which broils bros and beer brats and seeks seed and sanity. we come where we're not invited, and rightly get punished for it. we need to get off or we'll die. release is not the same as relaxation. or a Ricola. not everyone has a torn ticket to the party on the penthouse level. I want to make nice, play platonic, have girl friends. what is this drive which turns civilized beings into animals?...

THE TRAGEDY OF TREES (MOMS) the bum is no longer at the corner of the intersection. the bum is replaced with me. the dog is gone forever, hopefully in a home. the pink house is shuttered. I am free for the first time, and all that that entails. indeed my Walden warrior, what a wonderful miracle it would be if we could see with each others' eyes. even for an instant. with the whole forest at my disposal, I embark on my second self-imposed exile, hoping to document rare birds in my notebook. ah to be a bird. may a rumble jolt me back into the jungle, excite my native senses, make me worth again that life is worth. I jot with the eraser and draw with the pen. of course my first encounter comes at an abandoned campfire smoldering the remnants off tree bark. the aspen quakes as it pantomimes its pando. the blaze feeds the steam where a japanese salamander squirms. this is the water I will use. I fit the majestic snake into my fist and shape him into my body shape until the blood is purple and we are one. I swim around to any destination my imagination remembers. soon it starts squeezing out, the royal purple paste of ube halaya. this is how kings of their domain roll...

BES FRAN (DOG YEARS) they ask me if I hurt. and muffle laughs about catching the license-plate number of that scooter. as the moped muffler stands there, running in a circle, dead. as if there's a net for such things. I feel no pain, I hear no cold, I start humming that Sawano song. they think me delirious and grab me by the ankles from the scene, pulling my leg, dragging me away from the action. the feeling blocks my thinking. the feeling in me. they have the wrong Boy Scout patch on, it should be sewn into their heart. I can still walk. I don't trust people's smiles anymore, I can walk. I need to take off this commotion. that's one thing I learned from last time, never go out wearing a sweater, you'll only take it off and have to wear it round your waist like a dolt. in the triangular paper cups they offered me I swim to my next destination, across the highway to the street with no name. till the money came in. they're setting up something over there, blue planks in the brown grass, temporary stage. I never used to go over there, never crossed via there, there was always that smelly scary man there hunched in his hell lying down on the road praying for the sun to take his scruffy mouth away. he hated asking strangers for shit more than he hated being a stranger. it's one thing to be homeless, another to be hopeless...

AGITATOR it has to be a big rain. a rain which starts in a secret pool above Obec's north canton filtering down the brown canyon through red exposed electrical wire messing global masses. it has to be big enough to swim in to escape. see man people don't know about puddles. you can dive into them and they take you to where you always wanted to be. they are my personal streams. better than dreaming about chiflon in my ringed bathtub drowning my sorrows with dirty non-bath-bombed water, dunking my head cos the showerhead is busted. I wanted to make sprouted bread but it's too hot. I wanted to take my shirt off but I'm too ashamed of my inner scars. I live in the Village but it's really the Vault. in the hills protected from the world but exposed to the harsh sun. if my abode was aspirational and made of the local trees and bark I could camouflage my crazy. as it is the soft lumber and budwood are warping. I need an environmental edifice, but it starts with one's own body...

a little of Violetta Vinaigrette gets into Wojceich's mouth. the scene is a massacre and there's a permanent brown stain in the floor cresting the blast radius in crust. Ellerbee: "is everyone okay? this is the last straw. it's different when you see it with your own pimple eyes. that poor child, never lived, we'll never know what kind of adult bear he would have been." Woj: "wet picnic-basket weaver." Marco Polo: "smoker." the Emperor: "cruiser." Elle: "or stacker. and poor Vi, I was jealous of her glamorous lifestyle and good looks." Woj: "she tastes good." Elle, incensed: "did you sleep with her?!" Woj: "no! I couldn't find a mattress." Elle: "I will be a sane squirrel going forward. an administrator, not a spy, the adult in the room who will bring all the kingdoms together. I will not be examining the suicide vest. no animal should have to suffer for profit." the Emperor: "you're right. this is a mess. the body guts will never get out of my gold walls. I hereby declare ALL WAR IS OVER FOREVER." Woj: "you sure they heard you there, big guy?" the Emperor: "they heard. and now to facebook close and sale. fill your bottle with my prized soy sauce over here." he opens up the third door to the grand soy-sauce fountain which keeps the inside palace nice and cool and sticky...

"how can you be sad when others have it worse than you?" replies the Emperor, scratching his knees. Ellerbee: "yeah! wait what? that's my line." Emperor: "I was talking about me. I have this ultimate secret garden everyone knows about. you'd think it'd be a pillow fort, source of commodity, but I'm losing cash on the deal. the property is useless till we get rid of the wild beast rampaging all up in it destroying my precious dekopon crop." Elle: "war is useless. it never works. it merely redraws the lines till they get so tangled the chaos causes confusion and carelessness. it doesn't work cos we are all one animal." Emperor: "without war there is no commerce. what say you there? change my mind, stand up for your race!" Wojceich: "nah, I'm too anxious about my lot in life." Emperor: "stroll my immense Garden grounds and become depressed." Marco Polo enters now cracking through the heavy yellow porcelain doors. Marco: "sir, everybody, I am ashamed of my past actions. but I will make it up. to the world and to my country, which is my world. I have traveled the entire world on foot and have returned with a new perspective..."

the annual elephant migration was canceled because of the war. Wojceich stands at the foot of the palace with his pastel painting dropping in his hand. he has seen his love Ellerbee fly off to parts unknown. Woj: "did you guys at least make out? get the drop on the shipment?" Trinity: "not exactly. we're guarding this toxic stuff, we can't use it. we need to find an alternative." Woj: "guys, guys, we're losing the plot here. this is turning into mission creep. and street creep. I need to get back to nature to clear my head. we need to find the soy sauce in the one and only bottle for Scallion or at least fill it with a suitable replacement. hey you, get off her." Marco Polo: "leave me alone, I'm enjoying my spoils." Woj: "your newfound popularity is just Balsa & Mick's soggy seconds, these soldier groupies are fickle and only love a winner." Marco: "jealous? I need someones after you stole my bitch. Italy is losing ground, we need someone to give it a swift kick in the pants with a boot. we need a win. we need money!" Woj: "just not cash. fine, whatever, do what you want. here is where the team fractures. I'm going off to find love. I'll be in nowhere in the middle, making paratha and eating ghazal and writing ghazal. see you a-square..." Trinity: "he killed a man." Woj: "whoa..."

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