Crystal ball aging violet in the sun
Wipe the berry juice off your chin
Were you lost in the woods, porcelain girl?

Where did you go this time?
Chasing butterflies and eddying leaves
Peeking under logs, dancing with trees

Ink smudges on dirt-stained page
Pressed flower falls to the floor
Are those breadcrumbs in your pocket?

Welcome back little mermaid.

-- RS. 9 March 2010

Posted by ~R~

Flock of memories beats its wings
Shadows flit 'cross the movie screen
Sparks fly glinting from the fire
One of them lost a feather
Sound of thunder
Under water
Waves are crashing
Sand surrounding
Ball of light
Blocks my sight
Burning heat
Scent of dawn
Colors of joy
Sky is boiling
Love fire
Smoke gets in my eyes.

-- RS. 8 March 2010

Posted by ~R~

Papa Legba, show me the way to Titanyen

Baron Kriminel kicked the island, shoved the buildings down, slaughtered the children and old people and beautiful people in their prime, for Titanyen is lonely

Baron Cimetière open the gate to Titanyen

Baron Samedi, laugh, Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte welcome all with open arms

Baron La Croix tap friends on shoulder, take coats and hats and show dancers to their places

Maman Brigitte, give everyone their cross

Inside sits Papa Ghede, playing cards with Ghede Bábáco, pick up your spades and dig

Baron Cimitière, hug all the little children and hold them close

Ghede Nibo, sing with the voices of the dead, sing all their names and all the names of all their fathers and mothers, sing as you dig

Baron Cimitière, hug all the grandpas and grandmas and hold them close

Ghede Masaka, tuck your bag in your belt and dig

Baron Cimitière, hug all the mothers and fathers and hold them close

Ghede Oussou, put down your bottle and dig

Baron Cimitière, hug all the brothers and sisters and hold them close

Ghede L’Oraille, straighten your dress and dig

Baron Cimitière, hug my cousin, my aunt, my uncle, hold them close

Ghede Plumaj, dust off your hat and dig

Baron Cimitière, hug my wife, my husband, hold them close

Ghede Ti Malis, wake up your lazy ass and dig

Baron Cimitière, hug all my good friends and hold them close

Ghede Zaranye, dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig

Baron Kriminel kicked the island, knocked the buildings down, slaughtered the children and old people and beautiful people in their prime, for Titanyen is lonely

Baron Samedi laugh, Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte, welcome all with open arms

Baron La Croix, tap friends on shoulder, take coats and hats and show dancers to their places

Maman Brigitte, give everyone their cross

Baron Cimetière, close the gate to Titanyen

Papa Legba, bring me home

[*]

Posted by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. Xalieri

Yet another back room meeting discussing the overthrow of the masters. It would be so much more thrilling if it was illegal -- if gathering in numbers larger than four was probable cause for conspiracy. We'd be looking from face to face, trying to see if we could tell by looking who was the spy, the rat, the traitor to the cause.

I look at the ticket in my hand, sent openly through the mail to me by the masters themselves. They even splurged on stamps instead of using the telltale government-use-only postal indicia. No wonder the national post office makes a profit. Mass mailings like this must cost a fortune.

The ticket is covered in tiny writing and symbols. I flip through the code book that was issued to me -- to everyone -- when I turned 16. I jot down the references and write out the message lightly in pencil on the back of an envelope.

"Your scheduled overthrow meeting for this week," it says, "is Friday evening at Manuel's Tavern, in a storage room at the back of a private room, where the employee lockers and refrigerators are. Do not worry about the meeting being overheard by official devices because there will be a band playing next door as entertainment for a mustache-growing competition. Your own mustache will provide excellent camouflage for attending this event."

I flip the ticket over. An illustration looking like a child's doodle contains more coded elements. I sigh and keep thumbing through the code book, though I really have most of it memorized.

"Slightly more tickets have been issued than there is space for, so arrive early if you would like a better seat. Also, if you show this ticket to the staff you will receive 20% off of your non-alcohol purchases. We are so tired," it continues. "Exhausted. We want to come back to our normal lives. Please save us."

I have no sympathy for the bastards. If they didn't want the job for life, then they should have the sense to be incompetent, to engage in criminal graft and negligence, to blow their enormous salaries on cocaine and whores like sensible officials. We'd tar and feather them and drag them on hurdles to Mexico, where they could retire in comfort on money squirreled away into overseas accounts.

If only they had the sense to make the mandatory meetings illegal.

Still, 20% off at Manuel's is not to be sneezed at. The masters are generous. I pocket the ticket and grab my hat. Perhaps there will be a singalong, and maybe we'll pass the hat for prize money for the funniest joke again.

[*]

Posted by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. Xalieri

Spectacle is as spectacle does.

Spoken Word Night gets a bit more of an audience, and a rowdier one, than Performance Art Night. As you could imagine. No one knows what to expect from performance art typically, and that means fear. Afraid people stay away in droves.

My show is a combination, actually. I am dumb. My mouth, my vocal cords aren't up to actual speech. I know sign language, and I compose my own interpretive dances for my orations and my poetry.

I incorporate more than that into my act. I spend hours beforehand getting the mood of the lighting right, and that's quite a trick, considering that I start while it is still daylight. I rub substances into my body hair to waft relevant scents into the audience as I dance. I rustle handfuls of leaves and twigs and other small items. No one has ever figured out that they can ask, but I would allow them to taste me and stroke me as I move and chant in sign. It is not my intent to leave any questing sense unanswered.

I invert myself in the rafters and tell a story of the second level of canopy. Tonight I am smeared with fear and blood. I fling feathers and the stink of predatory birds as I tell the story of the theft of my son by a harpy eagle. I wish I could make the sudden swooping quicker, but there are limits. I am a sloth, after all.

Tonight I am gratified. Tonight there is one in the audience who is rapt. I can see in his eyes, in the twitch of his nostrils, in the quiver of his throat. Perhaps not as a bereft mother, but he understands. I see it in his sad, sad eyes.

He watches as I cry to the eagle to take me instead, or to take me also.

After fifteen or twenty times dancing this story, telling this dance, someone finally understands.

Tomorrow I can dance a different poem.

[*]

Posted by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. Xalieri

I remember being a virgin. Not knowing the language and feeling insecure. Many times waiting for everyone to leave before I would step up to the counter and whisper " I am not sure what it is called but this is what I like."

I would go into detail as to the texture and flavor and my barista would
smile and ramble off something I swore I would remember to save my embarrassment for the next fix I needed.

Now I am one of the many who wait in line playing with my iphone tapping my nails waiting for my fix.

Some of us are dressed for work, some are just getting off work. I am dressed for the gym. The unemployed who sit on their laptops looking important sit and stare at their screens.

I don't care...I just want my shameless fix....today!

Posted by gypsymama

Are you lost? Did someone dump on the road like a kitten?

Are you hungry?

Here, have my cheesecake donuts...num num num.

Bastards! You shook me down didn't you , you knew I would feel sorry for you...

well I didn't need those donuts anyway

Posted by gypsymama

How odd is it that you expose yourself most by covering yourself up completely in your favorite disguise?

Thank God that every once in a while you get that mental holiday, that little Hallowe'en of the soul, that lets you put on your YOU suit and walk around stark naked in public with the worst repercussion being getting recognized by a kindred spirit.

*ring* *ring*

*click* Hello?

Are you alone? What are you wearing now, sweetheart? What are you covering up? What are you exposing? What are you doing with your hands?

I wish I could see.

*click*

I wish I could see.

[*]

Posted by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. Xalieri