Urban Equinox

From a perch atop the trees

the symphony unfolds

The march of the dying solar lamps

their chromium splendor tarnished

they tumble askew, mostly dead

One glows dim

One pulses in time

a dying heartbeat

to loosened tailpipes

scraping the brick alleyway

salt encrusted springs groan

with the concussion of every pothole

The earth is dead

carpeted in thatch that will not

waken anew

Yet patches of fresh green tendrils

spring like acne upon her face

Life ever awakens from her sleep

to take back what is hers

No matter how vain the effort

A tree defiled

May still bloom

Cruel Days

These are the cruelest of days

when first light and warmth descends

spring winds usher wet breath

into our stale and dusty warren

To greet the still slumbering spirit

reluctant to yet face the sun

skeptic cells intuit

this will not last

The Western Arms, 1551

Months after

Still distant observer

Mute and obscured in dark

Again at this platform

over treetops and alleyways

I preside over alleycats

raccoons, the nocturnal denizens

that scatter from the light

they find safety

in the night

These sleepless hours I pace

awake to see

what secrets the night

would carry off before dawn

Almost the same hour

voices, urgent

Crying

Not anguish, anger

This night has forgotten

Autumn’s sweet parting kiss

upon the air

the last time

The air is cold

March’s reluctant grasp

hurls it malice

like the words hissing

across the distance

where I receive them unknown

I feel no sorrow this time

No grief rises from the pavement

The bitter venom is spent now

Victor and vanquished lie together

And when the light returns

blood preserved in ice and snow

It fits like you

Her grip begins to wane

Melt and rain

fill the drain

of another

place that fits like you

Now as dark descends

we adjust the lens

The introspective view

not like you wanted to

remember

the place that fits like you

Retiring at an early hour

and through your conscience scour

Reading volumes to quell the voice

that echoes hollow; does not rejoice

for atonement

in a place that fits like you

 

The eternal dawn

First trace of pink

edges the line

illuminates the boundary

where dark earth meets dark sky

Midnight blue retreats

to that void, starless and Bible Black

while the low heavens glow

Cornflower sea

where billowing riders advance

Violet, malevolent

malevioletly back lit

Colors rise in waves

the great orange orb ascends

Rush of air

as earth breaths deep

First gasp of a new day

The advance have climbed

now soft lavender dragons

straining for the west

the eternal dawn at their tails

 

High Tea with Carlton Milhouse, edition 6

High Tea w Carlton Milhous

 

If it is Sunday (and it is) and the clock on the wall says 4:20 (and it does), then it is time for High Tea, with me, Carlton Milhouse. Your botanist. So prepare your tea and your greenery and….

Let us begin. Back to the Earl Grey and little throwback to some gold shake this week, an unpretentious cut from the eastern slope named Don’t have to be Green to be Mean.¬†How are things for ya out there in Stoner Nation? Ya’ll got yer bake on? I do, so….

Don’t have a theme in mind this week so I’m just gonna spitball here. Somewhere in the process maybe we’ll find a theme. Or we won’t. Some random observations. Go to a city, any city of say at least a million population or more. Drive around town, not on the freeways, but through the city from neighborhood to neighborhood. You notice a certain thing.

When you get down in the inner city, any city now, compared to the neatly lined symmetry and strip malls of the suburbs, the landscape grows ugly. Not ugly, but chaotic, unkempt. These are the communities where the working classes and the dependent classes coexist. It’s not about race, but it is a fact that ethnic minorities constitute a higher percentage of the population in these areas. These are not “black” neighborhoods any more man! All us poor motherfuckers livin’ up in here! These neighborhoods are populated by a socio-economic class, irrespective of race. It is a class that is, whatever the reasons, for the most part not in an upwardly mobile trajectory. If you pull into a gas station in one of these neighborhoods, whether you purchase product or not, they do NOT want you the customer to use their precious restroom. Down here, where everybody already ” in da shit “? Yeah, we don’t want no more. Keep your shit and piss to yourself.

You wanna pull in to the same chain of gas stations, out in suburbia. In suburbia their shit doesn’t stink. At least that’s what they think. They are mostly full of shit, but because it’s their own they are unable to smell it. So come on in to our gas stations with working air pumps, emptied garbage cans and clean white floors. Hell! You don’t even have to buy anything. Come and drop your deuces and piss to your bladder’s content. Our plumbing can take it. No one here actually ever takes a shit at work. Eww!

It’s true. It’s all true. Go and test it yourself. And be smart Stoner! Do your homework. Find out where the asshole jurisdictions are to be sure you’re not holdin’.

Okay….that didn’t get us anywhere, did it? I mean theme wise. Where do ya go from that, right? Let’s see……segue, segue…..umm. Nope. Got nothin’!

So here’s my other weird shit from this week. A lot of us in Stoner Nation keep odd hours, whether because of our habit or our work hours. How many of you have ever listened to Coast to Coast AM? This is an overnight radio program begun by the legendary UFOlogist Art Bell and currently steered in the able hands of George Noori.

The other morning I’m up and out in my car at 4:00 AM. Switch on the radio at the top of the hour to catch any news broadcast and I left it on. Then it rolls into Coast AM….. what a fucking freak show! I guess it was like open phones night and I’m listening to this dude go into some real grade A bull shit. He was “speaking to us” from his humanoid form, a being from the Pleiades star system sent to warn us of our impending insect apocalypse. According to said “being” we were driving all of the insects on this planet to extinction with our permeation of the airwaves with cellular systems. We are literally “frying” all of their “tiny little antennae”. Then it got really weird, followed on by a response call from a self described Klingon born-again christian. Apparently there is some kind of universal Klingon political apparatus which has drafted their rebuttal for any public proclamation. He was prepared to provide us, the shocked and awed listeners, with the official biblical interpretation of what the previous caller had just said.

It’s true. It’s all true. Wish I had a recording. You had to be there. Come on, man! It’s 4:00 in the fucking morning, you’re out for a ride, you got your bake on…..and then you’re hearing this? In another time this could have incited a War of the Worlds type incident. What if other civilizations are listening to any of these broadcasts? Will there be a “holy shit! They’re onto us!” ?

We are truly enjoying an advanced standard of living when there are people like this sitting up at night to call in to these programs. And there are advertisers that pay for the program. And suckers like me, out there listening as I enjoy my 4:20 AM bowl. It’s been on a long time. They probably reached their apex under Art Bell during the X-Files years. It’s mostly harmless and mildly amusing stuff, until you begin to consider this: some of these people may actually be out during the daylight, driving on your roads. What the fuck happens if you’re out there and one of these inter-dimensional dipshits suddenly gets beamed back to the Mother Ship? You think that car is gonna drive itself?

Still no closer to a theme, are we? That’s what a good bake will do for you! Brilliantly random, not randomly brilliant. Or was that the other way around? Well at any rate this has been a truly¬†high tea. Kudos to the Don’t have to be Green to be Mean!

Join us next week when we will live stream an actual human sacrifice. Or we’ll visit a mattress factory. I’m not sure yet. Until next time, stay stoned my friends!