Drunk Love Sleeping Pill - WHERE did akka b. go?

My drunk love blog has taken a drunk love sleeping pill. Have you noticed? Where did akka b. go? Did she fall off the sidewalk? Did she fall in love? Did she fall like a leaf? Did she take a trip? Did she GET A JOB!?! Did she get lost in the woods? Did she drink too much tabasco sauce? 

Oh, I have so much to share with you... it drives me crazy how much! But instead of sharing every turn on my trail, right this very second, I am saving up my creative surprises and investing them ALL (or mostly all) in a whole new website, with a slightly and perhaps entirely new direction, and slightly and perhaps entirely new look!

Sometimes it just takes a while to do the next thing. 
I bet you know what I mean? 

Meanwhile, please keep up with my whereabouts, wanderings and wonderings by hanging with me over here: FACEBOOK. I'll be posting updates and letting everyone know when the new website will launch. Also, I'm totally digging INSTAGRAM - a favorite new distraction as of late, where I'm having a jolly ol' time making pretty photos that look like poems. At least to me they do.   

Hope every one is well and thriving. 

My heart feels tickly imagining our wonderful exchanges soon to come. 



Till then, Cheerio!

akka b. 

Blankly and a Grin

    

  Staring blankly out the window before my desk - not unusually blankly, (because it's not that unusual for me to be blankly), but definitely blankly blankly. The kind of blankly where you might recall being a certain many years old and a certain many inches high, but you don't know how many - specifically. You're also certain you have done many interesting things over the course of those many certain years - and with great purpose, but the reason for the purpose is forgotten, and also, what the many "interesting things" were - exactly.  

coffee cup (jacket) doodle - akka b

  Staring blankly out the window in front of me, I observe evidence that I have in fact been busy, because of what is grossly spread behind me. Notes taped over the entirety of the wall, stacks of real books and note books on every available surface. Colored pens, pastels, paint brushes strewn, jewelry weaving projects in a half finished mess on the antique tray near my closet, piles of clothes - approximately three of them - in various positions on the bed, carefully heaped on the floor, and thrown with great intention to 'put-away' across the back of the chair that isn't meant for that.

  My blank stare softens into a grin. I'm not sure what I've been doing, but at least it looks worthwhile. If someone - anyone walked in on this, they would likely have some questions. I wouldn't have answers by the way. But I would invite them to stare out the window with me.

eye see

*

 beyond

what you said. and didn't say

why you loved. but couldn't lay

 eye see

 the dragon. you fight. over there

and the dragon. i fight. over here

eye see

why swords. might seem. useful

and shields. might seem. necessary

eye see

why you might like 

and i might like

hiding

in caves. with swords. and shields. and dragons

i see.

*

*

*

i wonder what the dragon sees?

Chunks are Falling

Click to see full pic

Chunks are falling off again

 And it doesn't feel sublime

Artistic maybe?

ok

Chunks are falling artfully again

WOW - amazing patterns!

 Kaleidoscope of patterns

Chunky

 Artful

 Patterns

  

Falling

  

I wonder who I AM under all of this?

and

How much longer please?

THE PURPOSE OF DOING SOMETHING >>>>> cha cha cha!

DOING SOMETHING - cha cha cha!

Is one way to not do nothing. 

Trading your nothing for a something, is the same as trading something for a nothing, unless your nothing is the something that you are trading nothing for. 

Oh shoot. What have I done?

I'm not sure what doing something means actually. Except that sometimes when I've been doing one thing one way for a very long while, I know that the only way to change the way I've been doing that one thing... (that has begun to feel like nothing) is by doing something that I have never done before. OR by doing something that I used to do a lot of - that I forgot about - that I really used to like. OR by doing something very, very different from the way I would normally do that something.

Which to be quite frank, often requires doing nothing. Even though nothing often requires some sort of something. But I've probably already said that.

Bottom line is this.

DO SOMETHING - cha cha cha!

DO NOTHING - cha cha cha! 

 

ADMISSION

I am a poet. 

It's my job to admit things. 

It's my job to stare down every crag and snarl of self-deception/deprivation/deprecation/dedication/divination

It's my job to admit things. 

I am a poet; admission number one.

Yes, it took a little getting used to. 

Yes, I experienced heart palpitations/persuasions/penetrations/participations/provocations

Yes, of course I did/do. 

Of course I do. 

I am a poet. What else am I supposed to say? 

I'm not a poet?

WORLD CUP

Sometimes there is nothing to say.

When everything else falls away...

Street lamps dim,

Water turns to mud

Fog fails to lift

Wind refuses sleep

Earth let's go

When these things happen...

And we realize money is imaginary

And fancy hubcaps are unnecessary

And even makeup weighs us down

When there's nothing left to do but listen. 

And hold tight to that which will never let us go

And not hold tight at all

But let ourselves be loved and let the love continue...

Ode to Diversion

No akka b., to divert and to diversify are not the same thing!

What did you say? Yes please, I would love more coffee. And one walk because I need to and two small naps to feel rested and then... oh look at the pretty flower! Have you ever drunk rain drops out of a rose before? Mmn rose water is SO yummy and by the way so is coconut water and raw cacao chips and then of course I put those in the blender with my green algae from Kona. It's organic. Kona is also SO organic with all those lava beds... Do you think the myth of Goddess Pele is true? Oh I think it's true. Just thinking about volcanoes makes me want to beat a drum and get sweaty. I've never been to Iceland, but two of my good friends have. If I was less inhibited I would travel alone more. I mean, I am pretty inhibited, well, at least that's what I'd like you to think because it seems less dangerous. Um, less dangerous than sticking my foot in my mouth. I always get the words "then" and "than" mixed up. I mean I know the difference, but I still have to pause to remember which is which and then I probably usually get it wrong anyway, even though - honest to GOD I do know what's right. Usually. And speaking of god...  

I'm sorry, what was that you said about DivertSifying?

Box-Spring Brain

sassy eye.

you have a taste for wit don't you?

you take comfort in contradiction, yes?

and a sort of appetite for opposites...?

sassy eye.

How is your box-spring brain going?

Have you ever considered not bouncing on it?

Would you like to rent it out for a while?

sassy eye.

What about that mouth of yours?

When will you speak the words you so cleverly harvest?

Are you interested in this sort of art?

sassy eye.

Would that be opposite enough for you?

Not swallowing so hard.

Overruled & Measuring Up

Click Pic to See Better

If it's a matter of measuring, well then yes perhaps a measuring stick might come in handy. Having something to measure oneself against, so one might know where one stands...or for that matter, what one is up against. But, I ask you this... does knowing what one is up against, say anything about the one who is up against it?

oh, and one more thing...

Who invented the rules... ahem, I mean ruler anyway?

And also...

How did (whomever that was) manage such straight lines?

Pockets of Heart Stuff

I have approximately 5 minutes to write something wonderful and then it's off to work. Isn't it funny that poets must go to work? I am ever amused. In my perfect poet-world, I would sit by a river and lean my back into a tall tree, letting poems fall on me like dry leaves. And if the falling poems made no sense I would spread them out and roll in them. If still they made no sense, I would crunch them up and put them in a stew. Undoubtedly I would swell with fever as I leaned over the steaming cauldron of foliage, because of course in my perfect poet-world I would be a naked poet - tethered to the search for meaning. Punishing myself a little in beautiful surroundings. Alone mostly. Free?

Oops. 5 minutes is up.
Off to work.

Best Mates

Photo by Atmadev Cornelius

Dying is required.

When living is present.

A little every day,

a lot once in a while,

more often than not.

We die the moment we are born.

Pushing away from what we were,
into who we are meant to be.

And we live the moment we die.

*

Kind of sets a precedence

for the entire journey.

*

So let yourself die, akka b.

become fertilizer

become the way of the returning tree.

So

you can live more,

once again,

entirely.

*

Live Death/Present Life

write?

Not feeling tortured at every turn can be a challenge as a writer. Sometimes I feel it would be much easier if I had something to hate more, if I liked cigarettes and long tall dizzying drinks, if I had more black in my closet or disparaging opinions hanging around. What am I thinking anyway? Writing about trees and rocks and dirt and sky and moon and weird things like feet and lightning and supernatural phenomenon? I mean you should probably feel sorry for me or something; at least that would be writer-ish - if I could get someone to feel sorry for me. Then I would brood aimlessly and act indulgent. Gosh that would be cool.

I'm not cool. That's just it. I'm way too warm and fuzzy to be cool. I like to sniff people. I like to slurp things. I talk to inanimate objects - affectionately. I light candles and pray to stuff, or about stuff - either. I do cry sometimes, but then I laugh about it. I laugh and laugh and laugh, hard and loud and not in a very hip way at all. Nope, not very hip...not at all.

Write.
So about those rocks...

T*R*E*E*S

DID YOU KNOW THAT TREES LIKE TO WATCH?

WELL, THEY LIKE TO WATCH.

NOW YOU KNOW

a wooden chair called Patience

a wooden chair called Patience

is keeping me up too late at night

holding me to her

telling me to wait

a few minutes more

it's always a few minutes more with Patience

she calls me Restless of course

Restless-Grasshopper for short

i am always hoping she will call me -
Still-Pond-Lit-With-The-Waxing-Moon

no.

a few minutes more

PLEASE GIVE ME THE WORDS - i beg

they're leaving a lump in my throat

i can't go to bed with a lump in my throat

shh.

said Patience

growl.

said I

things got a little heated and I threatened to change her name

she cowered and then she laughed

I don't know why she laughed

MY-SCAPEGOAT

seemed like a good name

17 EXPRESSIONS OF PEACE

Peace =

ENOUGH warm clothes to wear when it's cold.
ENOUGH time to get naked when it's warm.

Peace =

SIPPING TIME:
Idea sipping.
Thoughtless sipping.
Tea sipping.
People sipping.

Peace =

PAPER for writing things down on. Writing things out-of-ones-heart. But also fear. And stupid things. Things that make one feel stupid and aged. Or too young. Or incomplete. Those things. Paper is good for that.

Peace =

STORIES. oh YeS. Mmmn...because once in a while you just have to go another direction. Lose your mind. Leave it there.

Peace =

PEACE SIGNS are kind of cool. That's a neat expression. Peace signs look like tipi's. Tipi's remind me of people who sit in grass and do tedious work, but with their mind like the sky and their feet like the ground.

Peace =

COFFEE - ground. Coffee. yes.

Peace =

EYES. The eyes of people who hurt, but grow. People who make mistakes, but make them better. People who wear their shirt inside out and those old paint-stained jeans. People who take up S P A C E.

Peace =

ROSES. Dew stained roses. ugh. Not in a bad way "ugh"...in a way that's like, "UGH - I want to bite you dew-stained-rose, fragrant rose, rose that reminds me of the setting sun and the rising moon."

Well, anyway sometimes I do bite them.
And guess what?
They also taste good.
They taste like how I want to be inside. Crisp, fragrant, delicate, but vibrant-delicate, sensitive and ephemeral.

Peace =

MUSIC. Expansive. Bliss inducing. Hip moving. Shoulder releasing. Music that stimulates deep intoxication. Or the urgency to touch someone. (I don't know how much peace there is in urgency, but oh well).

and finally...

Peace =

DARK PLACES, where letting go counts and time stands still.

Have I said enough? OOPS - I'm not to 17 yet.

Number 12:

Peace =

CHANGE. Changing my mind that I don't want to write 17 things, I only want to write 12. That makes me feel peaceful.

only writing 12.

Playing with Matches

All sorts of POETential here:

Heavier Shoes Please

Hold me still so I can kiss you more,
because it's strange,
and I want to.

Despite this glaring tyrant of distraction.


SUN

SHINES too much light,
on restless thoughts toward redemption.


Can
you
buy
me
heavier
shoes
please?

MS. BED HEAD ~ and the WILD NIGHTS

Ms. Bed-Head rubbed out pebbles from her sunrise eyes, yawned and fell back on her pillow. Her hair - entwined with thorny midnight brambles, was still littered with subconscious suggestions, dreams and whatnot.

She found it much easier to forgive her puffy face having come to realize the apparent necessity of these strange midnight visitations.

encounters with demons and such

a few fires, water, lovers, the knowing,
the unknown, some bliss, regret

the usual

going, coming, staying

longing

*

Firefly.

BALL JARS 

Supposedly work best for fireflies

Deluxe accommodations.

TWINKLES hovering in dark moistened air.

Very miracle-like...

This seductive - gulps-of-awe brigade.

I want you.

I WANT TO CATCH LIGHT INSIDE A JAR.

A BALL JAR.

On purpose.

come. COME HERE!!
here little firefly...come on...wander yonder little one.

GOTCHA!

Now I am VERY powerful because I OWN A FIREFLY!

~ Except I live in California

where there are actually no-fireflies-at-all.

Only frivolous imaginings caught inside 

a.

BALL JAR.