the hell with 'em all. I am writing for me and thee.

And today, in my world...

Today in my morning a half step away from that
roaring boulevard,
                      upstairs in our little home I write
these pages on paper with a cup of coffee and
from this pen and paper imagine you will see
only computer screen that is my plan - Text.

plain text

as if - not

a n y t h i n g - but

But remember last night when I stood @ sunset
I stood on the internet cafe balcony

and you can imagine what I say,
                                 what I saw
         the mountain on the edge of my world

And I remembered what I saw a week ago at night
where that truck trail crawls slowly along its dirt
road route headlights went shining night rabbit
and coyote not seen, not remembered, now, no.
Night. It was night. Stabbing shaft of light swept
slender ray, far away, up above, jagged wilderness
mountain looking down on the border sprawl mass

link to Night Hawk

When I moved back home to California from Washingtown D.C. (T+27a) with my first wife la amargura we drove driveaway car cross country in February via Texas and finally entered this coast over the peninsular mountains Laguna Inkopah Cuyamaca from the Imperial deserts after Yuma, Colorado River, and El Centro.

she said she thought

Oh Daniel I thought it was just flat, flat all the way to the sea I had no idea San Diego was so isolated, lone shining star at the end of the earth, beyond those jagged mountains where I will learn to love your homeland walking, hiking, drinking from crystal cool springs where the great fires shall rage and destroy everything green, and our son write music to memorialize this moment of death and rebirth, I had no idea we would be so cut off from the rest of the country, here in these furthest frontier provinces at the edge of the world where California 1, 2, and 3 become the border, where the peninsula is ripping away earthquakes from continent America - I had no idea San Diego was so isolated... I had thought it only a southern freeway extension from L.A. toward Mexico, a tail desperately hoping to wag the great dog who stole the railroad, the thunder of its harbour shipping, its it
                     no I had no idea these savage mountains
could be so utterly beautiful, so wildly separate, isolate....

ah mi querida amargura polya
                   (ho rushka polya)
[ya nye gorvuyu parushki nyet]

"I do not speak Russian" I do not speak Russian I do not speak Arabic
(Allah be praised or the government would ship me off to masturbate
naked prisoners in front of smiling yankee women perverts mmmm shut up
Daniel it's bad enough without your steer manure zdrzvayutya tovarisha)
... dyadya y chocha ti biazdute na bergu chorniya moria

she taught me how to say that
uncle and auntie are waiting for you beside the chorniya moria the black sea
my beloved yiddishe JAP mama from Chicago and Virginia
whose grandparents fled the csarist pogroms
and lost all their cousins in Europe to Mister Adolf youknowhutler

who always loved someone else before me a priori first menageatrois bourgeois triangle from the Buckingham apartments where Nixon lived thirty years before us and now his name is carved in stone on the border here and I am still scribble scribble scribble and our son is writing music music music what is this world come to eh? Thank you God for another day of life yes.

but I do live.

In Nueva Tijuana now, a long bus or taxi-sardine ride from old Tijuana downtown.
Tomorrow I have another class at el Nopal.
Maybe someone will come. If not I will talk art with the cafe owner.
Talk art in English, this time.

.L.A.N.G.U.A.G.E. and when I am
pinned and wriggling on the wall with bits and pieces of stolen verse,

like I *sigh*
in Tijuanirak