Aleatory Spit

Aleatory Spit I.

Friday, Aug 14 2020:

*I'm writing this from my loft bed, Ryan is sitting criss cross style on the floor while we wait for his NTS set to go live in a few seconds. It's 5:59pm here in Brooklyn. A woman introduces his DJ alias in a London accent and we know his set is up next.

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Jimi's Lament

"Anger! she smiles sadly" then
A bolt of lightning sucks on my pinky ring
And I get that itch all over
The only one I know I know I know
How to scratch Pluck it like six strings
But these fingers
These fingers soft
These fingers velour bedding
Nothin like those Gun players
With their metal wood axes
Breaking my heart with their
Already being dead before I got here
lord. Jimi one time would have been enough.
I could die then
I could ride the beating
Pulse of a black ocean
A pitch velvet licked by moonlight
Lord.
Jimi one time
and I would remember my grand momma's number
Forget the split lip like an amber crescent moon
Jimi one time and I'd quit cigarettes
I'd eat my own tongue
dammit, Jimi
Why'd you have to die so soon?
Before I learned I was sin
Enough to make you coil round
Me like a soft alliteration round
The tongue? Jimi the gun
Is so close always
And it look like so many so many things

Today, it was a big rock at the end of a riff
That bled into prospect's man made river
Jimi today it was being
Home without being home
Ain't nothing as steel
And smoke fire boom
Only thang worse then
Not having a home, Jimi
Is being in one that feels almost your own
Like living in an igloo During easter season
And the grass already
Started reaching towards
The blues that the suns spinning
And when you sleep you feel
Little droplets
Turn your face feet gut
Into an ocean that isn't
Worth waking up to

Jimi's going live for me tonight
So I put my good wig on,
Made a cheese plate
Bought two packs of beer
And promised myself not
To eat a carton of tobacco
I can smell, but cannot see,
The wet cats scratching at my ankles
Jimi wants to restart the tape,
Says that he's nervous
His smile is the cliff my tears
Have now leapt from
His hum, his hum like how?
His tone, curved as a question mark

Curiosity killed the cat
But satisfaction
Brought em back

Jesus jimi,
If the brown of you
Got buried in a world
I lived in I would have
Prayed my tears
Into stupid love poems
And I bet you would've
Rose in three days
Or washed up on the hem
Of a river somewhere in
A basket with a cheese cloths
Covering you to keep the 'squites
And dragonfly at bay
Jimi both my old homes were swamps
Where my folk from and where they
Were before then, there were
Big fat dragonflies
As long as a grin can be wide
Purple green blue black things
That were loud and frightening
Because they were beautiful and
Seemed very much to know it.

===

Cool as he was, midnight still made Goliath cry every time. He had no idea why Mother Fate had given him such a pretensive name but tried his best to hold its heavy weight with an usher's grace. Beautiful as he was, the ravens kept venue on the frost side of his window pane. Three hazy lumps of coal with feathers made of pitched oil. He threw a stone that never seemed to fall. There was no sound save the cawing of winged mice. There was no smell save the decadent stench of sulfur.

Goliath decided to go to the river and ask Mother Honest for advice. She offered herself and so he drank. She taught him how to feel; First the cool of her running water on the bow of his lips, then to let his chin dip into the current so the mouth can become a basin. There, under the fat primordial constellations he learned to swallow, to feel her water on the pad of his tongue. The trickle of silver down his throat and into his belly. He surrendered his nostrils and faced his stomach t'ward Eros. He floated until he was full of her and was never seen on the surface again.

Venus needed a bigger leaf than most sirens. When they saw her rise from sea foam there was something for everyone. Love child of Aphrodite and steaming lava everything about her deserved to be painted

===

My feet cold and I don't find too many things funny.

It's raining fierce as the wind shoots a downpour pulling sheets of water t'ward the West like a damp and unforgiving curtain. Cuticles the color of plums are forever dyed from indigo farming. White folks wouldn't throw rice at weddings if they'd had to pick it in the Carolinas.

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I want to talk about love on the slySuck my teeth at the six train whileSweat peach palms stick together with anotherWanna suck butterflies thorough a straw and burpFields of butterscotch giggles

If we tried to become more than what we already are, we'll ruin it. It is a fact proven by the vacancy left in my life, that I make a far better friend than a lover. Rachelle Ferrel speaks to the organist through black and white teeth attached to timbered string.

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The moon struck And made itself bigger than The sky that cupped it withIts unbiased handsThere's not many other places Or ways to turn Dry sweat exhausts the midwest

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