Something I learned in Nam

Passing Orange.  That is what we'll call it for now.  Something I learned while doing.  Or not doing.  I wish it was easily explained.  But nothing is.  That's what we love about life.  Or we try to.  Mystery.  Am I right.  There is no short story.  No wrong question.  And no right answer.  Only afterwards do we have the right words and only before do we have the right mind.  In the experiencing- who knows.  We just dive in.  We are mere miracles, all of us.  That is something.   Something I learned in Nam.

Photo by Amanda.  Words by Dustin.

Where the Light is

 

I write with the blood in my veins 

because my heart pushes and pulls all that 

my mind can control while my lungs let go of

the breath I need to live out what God created me to do.

Patches of skin tingle in the wind

and my hands aren't as soft as the used to be.

I've roughed up life and have been beaten down.

I've run with tears in my eyes

and sung the loudest of songs

I've drank too much and slept too little

and prayed for absolutely nothing. 

Ive gone off, gone wrong, gone towards the light and back.

I've shaken and swayed passed the tree and right into fall.

I've tripped over you, fell in love with the lips of an Angel,

heard the hymns of temptation and felt the Holy Spirit descend

then retract when he saw what I was doing. 

I've washed my hands in mud more than water,

I've chortled and cackled, been smacked by fear,

and live a little too close to fake. 

But when I'm in the sun's shine,

it all melts right down till I'm naked in warmth

and I cry for myself. For the stupidness I'm made of. 

I love it. I love all the things that make me here in the light. 

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell

Back Light Topless Prostitute Transvestite Site

 

There was something wild about the beak he wore.  Back light topless prostitute transvestite site.  'Man at work' you called it.  We laughed when the vodka spilled from your nose on to my dash.  Sure, we COULD have swerved.  But we didn't.  We made music; a craschendo of vodka mixing with lemonade, our laughter, and man flying into windshield and over car.  It makes me laugh even now.  You are so fun to go vehicular man slaughtering with.  What are you doing this weekend, by the way?  There's a party in the hills.  omg lol xx oo peaceout.

Photo by Amanda.  Words by Dustin.

Why all the happy singing?

We call it Christmas time

Season of joy, love, and snow

And some really good food

Photo by Amanda.  Haiku by Dustin.

... mumbled the intoxicated seamstress to her four year old son at four in the morning

"Which roll was it, I said!

... Don't make me say it again.

Oh. uhsleepin... Wakup!"

Photo by Sadie.  Haiku by Dustin.

It's incredible to see you smile.
That's all we boys have ever wanted.
You watched us grow and fade away from you.
Occasionally we weaved a path back,
you know,
for money, shelter and open arms, free from judgement.
Well, sort of free from judgement.
We boys don't turn to you for advice, but you offer it freely and without guise.
Your hands were broken in from carrying us,
Caring for the things that made us cry, brought us joy.

Mother, we've now grown up, more up than you know.
And in all conviction, with as much love as sons can return, we want you to smile.
Life has treated you harshly and you've accepted it. With some good fight back.
Life has given you us. Which is more life, you say, than you could have ever asked for.

Now do what you want.

Do what sets you free and gets you off the ground.
We boys are struggling in life now and trying to pay you back.
We may not have the money, but with as much love as sons can speak back, go towards the world,
with us at your back, do not retract for fear or loss,
we are here for all your failed explorations.
We can sacrifice, because it is no longer our comfort to be worried,
but your happiness to be realized.

Mom, we want to see you smile the wrinkles deeper into your face.
The crevices, once filled with tears for us, over us, because of us,
should flow with joy.
Mom, we love to see you smile.
It's one of your boys' favorite things.

Photo by Tammy Gouldstone.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.

a warm winter

watch out for falling snow

that isn't here the story

but we're okay with that 

Photo by Jenna Weaver.  Haiku by Dustin.

Green Light Refraction

Huuwaaaaaaahhpoooga.  uh

Working toward the enjoyment of our notoriously nuanced kitchen

Im so lucky it Loves me loving it greening to preening

I meeeeeeeeaaaaaan, why me

Dishes disperse the doers, but ounce the drip is a clean one, that accomplishment, the done -Dom is weightless encouragement for the quitters to come and have fun

Haha

Work is encouraging? Not for some

Dishes, however whoever whenever, fever an absent ADD need to forgo

To go throw
          To blow it
                   To ...no

But I'm already done, did my bitching make it go by faster, can't be!

Haaaaaaammma oo there's the green and a little light, the kitchen is bright, and above all I try

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by William Gillespie.

The streets here are glowing

Tiger Beer
"All Night Long"
I suppose there is a place for that
Here?
Maybe

Laughing out loud is magic
Some things should never be an acronym
I live for words that phonetically describe how we feel
Rock n Roll

Remember Nirvana basement cover bands
I'll never forget

Allow me to be vain:
My grandma is awesome. She speaks Afrikaner and never complains.
Pops taught me humble. Among other things.
Moms taught me passion. And how mortal it is.

Which way is up?
That my friends, is subjective

Dance break

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Dustin. 

the birds, they were flying

the birds, they were flying 

there 

we were lost in the magic and the light and the music and the sight

we 

being a fantastical crew

we flew too

the birds they were flying 

there

where the answers were unsure but the water it was pure and the moon 

napping 

sympathetically unseen

it was clear

the birds, they were flying 

there

beneath the story saving plot holding honesty and knot 

birds

folded before us

for us

the birds, they were flying 

there

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Dustin.

opportunists

chip removal by ants

is the result...  the fault 

lies upon the sloppy

Photo by Sadie.  Haiku by Dustin.

i am a monkey

what do you want human

i am busy eying everything that you carry

i will jump on your back

.

you will sing about it

because of it 

 

.

i am a monkey

see

?

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Dustin.

like a dragon, diving

 

the night has escaped you

you have forgotton who you are

who you wanted to be 

and where you wanted to go

lean in

this is a secret

i can fly 

the wind gusts speak to me softly in forgotten alleyways

i have lifted spirits

i know how to peel a child from the gutter 

to deliver him the field

i know how to build bridges from seemingly unneeded relationships, those necessary for growth

"i believe in flying dragons and dancing bears"

i know who first said that

an earlier version of who you are now

if you run and look only toward the horizon, you will be flying 

there 

is true peace, 

hope

life 

fear

everything large and small

everything real

there is you

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Dustin.

I have pictures like that
We used to take those
With pepper. Hold the salt.
At Christmas
When the new squeaky toys arrive
Sniffing up the camera
Pawing at wrapping paper
Cursing the lack of the thumb
While humans encourage the impossible
But there.
There,
There are no pictures like that.
There
The hairy
Four-legged (sometimes 3)
Gypsies bark their own trail
Hang out in gangs
Lie in the streets
Like well trained beasts
Minus a master
It is a free world
But 'oh to be a dog'
Has a different meaning
A 24 hours' fly away.

Art by Debbie Poon.  Words by Kristin Rotar.

wearing diapers

you are big. i am small

living in this world sans pee

You: tall, spotty. and me 

new to life, i am green 

to knowledge, experience,

and learning to be free

 just in time, you are here

to teach about bed wetting

and why i love to pee

Art by Christina.  Haiku by Dustin.

a boy we call 'King'

i know humans can't fly

but there's a 'King-man' back home 

that will forever try

Photo by Sadie.  Haiku by Dustin.

I know this city

As did Carl Sandburg, I know this city 

In fact

I call it home

I like to think that the skyline misses me as much as I it

I want to tear when I look at you 

So much love

You are where I became me

Thank you

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Dustin.

"i brought you a fuggin cookie."

"I brought you a fuggin cookie," he mumbled as I waddled past him, my thigh glued to my knee.  What a bastard.  What a fart tard.  What a blend we are.  What a night.  What a spark plug tangerine sunrise we hope to find presently.  And lastly, god bless the punch bowl for never pulling any. 

A. Aspirin
B. Ibuprofin
C. Hair of the dog
D. A swift head-butt to the heart-shaped-pillow of this moment.

Photo by Amanda & Randy.  Words by Dustin.

She likes to draw

I knew a girl who never knew how to look at herself.
She loved to draw and paint with her fingertips.
Her most startling pieces were self portraits.
They always exposed a tiny part of her heart kept hidden by stifled smiles
and the bones in her chest she layered on daily.
She hardly wears makeup, but keeps her face hidden.
This one her skin is red. Maybe she's embarrassed all the time by something,
maybe she wished she could bleed more.
Maybe she drank too much red wine, slapped herself silly and curbed her behavior.
Maybe she's lustful and longing for someone to touch her,
the passion sweats from her pores.
Maybe she just loves a lot and this red tell us that.
Her hair is always tangled. A haystack with a thousand lost needles
and only finding frustration.
Yet she shares so many memories with that hair.
It's tortured her comb, invaded her thoughts,
it's the only thing she sees in her reflection.
Her eyes distorted and colorless.
She doesn't know how to look at herself.
I see autumn green and the seasons slowly changing and falling in love
when I look at her straight forward.
But to her, she is always askew. To the side.
Her jaw is distorted, teeth oversized
and the helicopter looking thing on top of her head
is because her thoughts are always flying away from her.
She's a too fast thinker and too quiet talker.
She doesnt believe in herself and hasnt learned the lesson of too little pride.

Im not saying one day she'll ever see how beautiful she is,
because rarely people do and admit it.
Her pictures don't need to change either.
Its her truth.
I just want her to know its the best truth I know.

Art by Debbie.  Words by Jordan.

scola

There are only so many strokes to perfection

so many notes rewritten

thousands of pounds of ink spoiled

rotten, sour, archaic, garbage

feverishly yelping "save me"

but lo there is some divinity

like grape leaves bear wine

thus the harvest unfolds.

I say, Good Moural's Gold

the trick lies within the tendering.

Therefore a good farmer which is dedicated to the 

plowing of the field might expect to yield

which he put forth. Where to

the wobbly kneed locusts scavenge

is neither his fear nor his objective.

Simply the tendering of the soil is enough.

Yet, what's said for the locusts, for like us they to tend to eat.

One can only cultivate so much

and only wish for more next harvest.

Why delay to put forth such effort

and expect to yield perfection?

Some things, just as seasons must pass

and we must learn to return to the soil.

Photo by Sadie.  Words by Rashaad.