...~* Diary in Blue *~...

[Kätzchen]

My dearest Diary,

on the eve of the biggest change in my life that I've yet to even embark on, I wanted to leave my thoughts as I travel on my journey to who-knows-where: so today, I leave a poem marking this transition.
Until then,
Yours Truly.

Crucible

I hear your gurgling:
the daring transition which brings pain
from the walls of this prison
I welcome your stain.

marking those things which must change:
family betrayal
social and cultural hegemony
fascist regimes
opportunistic gratification temptations
raging egos out of control
tempered with humility
exacted compassion
internally and externally
working class people with the blues
-versus-
the ideologically coercive bourgeoisie.

Rising as an Gramescian-Marxist intellectual,
organically grown,
amid my trans-racial, sexually-minoritized standpoint,
I proclaim:

Your hegemonic controls are powerless
when juxtaposed against our collective experience:
When the smoke settles from the flames of the crucible,
our empowerment will prevail!

We rise, as called by the Bodhisattva of the Universe!
Oh, Crucible:
We welcome your change!

[Kätzchen]

Dearest Diary,

Lately I've been (as others have too) contemplating on what's been happening on the American Finance scene, as well as other factors contributing to conditions across the socio-cultural landscape of America. It's hard to carry on an erotic story when you see the world imploding around you: the stakes are high, all bets are off, and the one thing I keep coming back to is the thought that while Americans were busy buying into the culture of consumerism, larger acts of criminality were happening right under our noses. I suppose, like many, we do buy into the idea that in order to perpetuate the cycle of finance (spend money to make money), sometimes one loses a certain perspective concerning how things have spun out of control. I wrote this poem and while it might just be only my thoughts and feelings about what I see, I know that there are many others who are now seriously questioning just what really has happened – where many now sit on the stage of global finance. With the credibility of American institutions blown -- institutions run by those in power -- it's not a far fetched idea to imagine just who orchestrated our latest "fall from grace."

I'm a Labor Democrat by choice: so in this poem when I characterize our latest sordid social mess, I use the word "blow." This term connotes/epitomizes our current governmental administration which has been controlled by Bush II and those who support tainted politics (which, to me, during my personal observations over the last 40+ years began with McCarthy-ism, Nixon, Johnson, Reagan, Bush I and the list goes on); which does not represent what I value nor what I wish for myself or others; nor are the officials in charge worthy of having been given such power to administrate American society. *** (see revision of notes below)

Of course, as with all the poetic thoughts I dare to write, readers may (or may not) completely identify with my strange arrangement of thoughts. So, without further adieu, here is my poem of the hour:



Death Culture: an Amerikan Zeitgeist

In the beginning (from a to z)
We all believed in a proclamation
Telling us how to be free:

The culture of hunger –
Longing for food, any food will do;
Probing empty garbage cans for remains hardly edible
Emaciated rib cages sharing a loo;
Flushing waste down a drain
Only to be filled with toxins --
This infested everyone’s brain.

The culture of complacent identity –
Resting upon improperly drained fields;
Fields not spun of gold,
But merely breeding more mold;
Growing neon green with jealousy,
Fueling rage filled hate;
Consumption was the by-word of those who unleashed
The “Free Market” gate:

This gate, led to co-operated greed --
Muzzled voices squelched by the speed;
The speed of a society,
Valuing corrupt populist need;
Wallowing in a cesspool made (no allowed) by:
“Make no mistake, I’ve got your cake”
As Lucifer, the angel of disguise,
Convoluted his prize,
The prize of a culture led astray
Testified to a pirahnaized frenzy in dry, dry hay.

*BOOM*

“Look! I see an Amerikan Zeitgeist!”
Came strange echoes from a shrouded past.
Civilization trounced in the name of absolute unchecked power;
Legions of tormented egos came screeching from its broken mast:
The Mast of a once renowned dream of liberty,
Fettered by fake visions of freedom,
All in the name of society, culture, race, sex and gender:
Look at us now – we’re in a zealots’ blender!

All politics aside
They’re tickets to the world’s greatest show –
The Amerikan Zeitgeist: a Horror Show
Directed and produced by those hooked on “blow.”


*** (revised notes): Very little has changed, politically, since the election year of 2008.

[Kätzchen]

Minutes, hours, days, seemingly weeks passed by. Faint memories of the cascading water falls; the plunging, treacherous depths of water; the gurgling dissonance as it ascended to the surface of the river; having tumbled together over the edge and even now, a certain knowing etched into memory concerning a particular “head shot.”

Depending on how one interprets an etymological approach to linguistics, the term “head shot” might be known as none other than a subliminal boxing move. However, far off in the distance (known as Venus on Fire) the term “head shot” is known to be an artistic language expression known as a “let me correct your malformed intelligence to understand that you cannot construe innocent pleasures to mean something other than what was intended” type of definition.

Now for Femmes, whose universe resides in the construct of Venus on Fire, this entails a certain level of sacred ire: Femmes who delight in being independent and have ways of addressing certain inequities, with our creative use of known verbiage, are not always accustomed to being assaulted with passive-aggressive notions: we do as we do, with the idea being that we solve life’s problems in fruitful ways – even if this means banging out chronically rusted roller balls on the bottoms of chairs or swearing in our polite little female ways those particular cuss words that are aimed directly at the object of our resistance; which in this case, turned out to be an extremely zealous, opportunistic, feline disease which infested a particular hegemonically controlled wench, known as another worker, who felt disempowered by those who completely, and might I add, righteously adored another member from the planet, Venus on Fire!

Now, of course, unless you are a member from the planet Mars Torn Asunder,Femmes from the universe Venus on Firecompletely understand this line of logic; which is underpinned by the newest (scientifically, of course) ideological approach called “Melt your Panty’s and Boxer’s off” Feminism!Of course, the main idea behind this brand new approach is to meld all the game rules to Pythagorean Theory and the letter “e ” so that all results are stilted and complexly convoluted to mean nothing more that the quotient of “the number element of the result of dividing one number by another;” which neatly adds up to the significant numerical value of “Zero Sum.” (Please bear in mind that when creating an egalitarian society, one must be committed to deconstructing all results previously known to Venus on Fire and Mars Torn Asunder by promptly administering the brand new construct of “Melt your Panty’s and Boxer’s off” Feminism.)


You, the reader, might be asking yourself, right now, “why on earth is this so important?”



It’s because . . .

A member of Venus on Fire (a Femme)dared to confide exuberantly all her life woes to another member from Mars Torn Asunder (a TG Butch) – which conveniently landed both of them in bubbling, effervescent waters (otherwise known as a punishing, private hell). To wit, they both lost their ability to effectively communicate that: a) Femme from Venus on Fire misses the fuck out of a TG Butch member from Mars Torn Asunder; b) rules to the new ideological approach called “Melt your Panty’s and Boxer’s off” Feminism are operational and fully functioning; and c) that all past sins have been drop-kicked appropriately to another galaxy without breaking any known rules of piracy or other deviant forms of offensive transgressions.

In short:

I stand here completely naked – without my Baby Blue, Baby doll, sexy nightie showing off my abundant nipples needing expertly applied Doctoral supplicant theory – to seek humble forgiveness of said transgressions related to exerting a “head shot” which was garbled and warped by speeds exceeding known velocities in French, German, Spanish or English (to include all other not known forms of communication, as well); and that I plead the Venus on Firecode of Femme Conduct and squeal… “UNKLE” … hopefully, in an understandable version of the hardly known language to me called Mars Torn Asunder!

Additionally:

Various forms of erotica may (or may not) play melodically from this side of paradise as it seems that the Great Pumpkin of my Skies has been conveniently (or inconveniently) illuminating from some far off place (probably past Jupiter) which, without my Venus on Fire paraphernalia (to include binoculars, blue sparkles, sexy diversionary tactics manual, etc) has been hijacked by certain mafia monkeys (cousins, no doubt, to KING LOUIE) and I cannot see worth a hoot to find them! Please release me from this heinous bondage and commence to guide and direct me in what ever fashion you have reserved for a beautiful Kitty Queen (Me) as I am jonesing for more than just tête-à-têtes via our normal manner of communication . . .



Dearest Diary,

Erotically (and so much more than that)

Yours,
*mieeez mieeez*

[Kätzchen]

Dearest Diary of mine,

Many times I come with written preparation of the continuing 'saga' featuring my favorite fictional characters but today, in observance of many here who have been experiencing grief due to loss of human relationships that are held dear -- whether through the finality of physical death or because of "death" in other various forms -- I felt that I would write my inner most thoughts in poetic prose, relating to the subject of death.

As you know, dearest diary of mine, I've experienced "death" in various facets: true death of family members or the death of particular relationships I once held dear to my heart. But today, someone who is beyond dear to my heart has suffered loss in ways which have impacted him to his core being. The thoughts I leave are for them and others who might be helped in some way by what I am about to write. My sole purpose is to bring healing and to develop alternate views which are held during such crises and to let the magic of our minds aid in the process of our recovery.

The Valley of Bones

Dense is the structure upon which our foundation is built:
chakra's
pleading for balance and harmony
living cells
searching for truth
blood
giver of life, the invisible hand we seek.

Temple of mine:
as we work to breathe, in and out;
let my mind release all there is, which is toxic
let my mind welcome all that is nourishing,
for as we wander through the caverns of life
we seek safety from what hurts us:

as we reach for what best there is,
let us remember where our densest manifestation of spirit lay

within the valley of the bones:

the last part of our body to solidify
the last to decompose,
we dance to the drumming of the living pulse
as if we grow like a rose.

encumbered at times in a thorny briar
seeking relief from a scorching fire;
our beloved bones dance, our hips in scarlet;
bathed in the blood of life,
a single desire:

to be released from our pain and sorrow
rising from sack cloth are our smoking ashes;
the river of Gilead's balm washes us
and releases us to experience life anew;
causing us to allow what the drumming vibrations signal --
to rise from the valley of death,
to the embered skies, hued in Blue:

soaring to heights yet explored
let us dance:
dance for all that is new,
dance because we know it's true,
that where balance and harmony exist
it's because in the valley of the bones
we dared to dance:

dancing

dancing

dancing

in
shades of glorious
Blue.

[Kätzchen]

Dearest Diary,

it has been nearly three months since I've paid any attention to you: it's not that I wanted to ignore you because Goddess knows that my mind wanders many times, where it concerns the subject of eroticism. But the side of my conscience, which seems to feel numb, sometimes experiences a magnitude of particular eruptions across the landscape of my terrain; which feels as though there is no eroticism evident in my life, at all.

Just the other day, I considered what could be erotic about biblical phrases that I have memorized since I was a child: you know, the verse that goes "Thy word have I hid in my heart that I might not sin against thee?" Or, how about the verse that says, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me?"


I began to think about the hidden eroticism in these particular verses: what if, by relationship design, these verses point toward the facilitation of intimacy; an intimacy that is deeply rich and wide in its approach toward instilling that one lacking aspect of mutual, and sometimes conditional, acts of reciprocity between two humans who place a higher priority on what makes a relationship flow with the magic that initiates deeper awareness, wider acceptance, and the plausibility that what ever could go 'wrong' will be made 'right' -- by autonomous acts of enduring, feeding, life-giving sustenance???

Do these verses provide a matrix that will contribute to the wellness and health of relational qualities sought? Ought I to pay attention, by closer inspection, to the premise of the boding element of these verses?

As always, I wonder what the present moments hold for me and what goodness will come and assist me in my moments of deeper needs and desires: if only I knew definitively what they are, what they mean or what value they hold in relationship to my present condition (which is often not clearly known in my mind), I tell myself that I might know what the answer could be. But as part of my inherent abilities and present condition is and always seems to have been, alas, I humbly submit that I do not know, nor can imagine at times or even dream of a conceptualization to operationalize!

Oh my!!!!! I can only do that which my mind is capable of or that which I am not able or capable of knowing. My prayer is that I will learn slowly: with emphasis on slowly now because life happens at speeds unknown to me and I long for time to just sit and think on things which demand no constraints upon time. My wish is for time to slow down and the gift just to breathe: the ability to breathe in the fragrance of life and all that is created to be cherished.

Does this seem like a form of eroticism? For tonight, my dearest diary, I feel that this will be all that I ask of the Goddess that provides enlightenment and shelters me from all harm: the eroticism of time slowing down just to breathe and take in all that is beautiful and cherish worshipfully the act of eroticism held in the constellation of my hearts' desire.

Although I am late,
I am still faithfully and ardently yours!

[Kätzchen]

AThousand Fathoms Deep

In a world where seeking the best in life
Is sometimes confused with being a saintly wife,
I thought it would be wise to strip myself bare
So I could hear the unspoken and see what’s not there.

What I found out, as I removed parts of my self,
Was that I saw great confliction and how it affects my health.
As I removed each mask with deliberate stealth,
I came to see clearly, my lack in terms of wealth.

Just like a clever, well-written haiku,
I could see how my very existence ached for you.
But the reason I am even remotely aware
Is because it’s no coincidence that I can feel how you care.

How do I know this, you might begin to ask,
I know without a doubt that life is no easy task.
Living with less amplified my need to the core,
Living with less has also proved what my soul needs more.

“It is only when you are empty
That a soul is ready for life anew…”
I swear I read that, somewhere before,
As I spent hours, upon hours, longing for you.

So, one day a few weeks ago, naturally by intuition,
I decided to improve my naked ambition.
I undressed from my life of cluttered desire,
And simplified my excess baggage and made a roaring fire.

Now as my life bursts aflame and is seen upon this altar,
I hope it gives you strength, in case your faith should falter;
Living a life that is worth more is not a price that is too steep;
It’s a selfless act of love and devotion: AThousand Fathoms Deep.

L. D. S.
© February 11, 2013



Dearest Diary,

It's been nearly a year since the last time I opened up your pages to read. Life is not always fair, but it helps out a lot, if there's some fairness to be found. There's not a day goes by that I wonder about when the next trouble will come along, but it's enough that sometimes I think my worries will overcome me, but I just can't let that happen. As always, I ask again, "Where is hy now? And will we ever see each other again?

Yours faithfully,