this stream will change until it’s done writing me so if you like it check back later…
i am a big ball of fiery red consciousness weaving up and down the spinal column like an unreasonable thief at midnight. i am light where it turns to dark, right at the edge of the perineum, near the asshole, about halfway. i am the flax seed winding its way to my colon, spirling downwards through tubes of odious mass into a giant jetstream of awakening. i am that all-in-one new and improved molecule with no need for a social media plan because i’m already integrated into the network, netword-ing a future perfect tho never attainable tunnel through my brain and body all the time knowing that self is an a/illusion. i am a ripe temporal heart-felt belief that knows that, for the moment, everything is ok – i’m not going to slip into the abyss on this yoga mat next to the angular forlorn woman with flowing tie-dye pants and a modified bob during this noon-day class in SF. BTW, LOL, IMHO. this is who i am.
but i am not patti smith.
i am the lady in green who mumbles to self on 16th street in front of the pork store cafe incanting something rhythmic, as i pass her green visage, i click icons in space, hear the audio downstream of destruction, the sonic math of algorithms gone awry, the songs of the terrible streets, the overwrought but necessary sidewalks buzzing electric dead symphonies through the playa, anxious and dismayed yet lightened by the sun which is, today, finally shining down into the infinity of my collective despair at not being able to record my thoughts – a simple request it seems to me – to be able to record my thoughts, why can’t they, you know, with everything else that they’re doing these days, why can’t they figure out a way to let us record our thoughts as we think them, instantly, effortlessly, with a user friendly interface that’s easy to navigate, an app, why don’t they have an app to record thoughts so we dont have to wait until later to try to remember them and then to write them down, this is would be the next giant IPO, the really big one, i tell ya, the ancient chinese secret, the calgon take me away, the so good it hurts, and please, just give me an app to record my thoughts so i don’t have to go back to write them down later. this is who i am.
but i am not patti smith.
i am that smeared red gummy substance on guerrero in front of a non-descript apartment building, one i’ve passed a million times but for today, for the first time, saw the red smear and wondering about the smear and wondering if the smear wonders about me, about things, if the smear wants to take photos on the sly of the people who pass it each day and look down and wonder at the smear, does the smear wonder back. i am that smear.
but i am not, as i said before, i am not patti smith.