Melt the Master

session recorded the evening of our tremor

MTM January 17, 2011

 i am in a boy. he is young, small. about 7 or 8. it’s harder to tell with boys. seven, eight, nine, ten… even sometimes eleven.  difficult to tell. so, i’m in this boy. he is very imaginative. he loves to play. he’s not interested in any decade or genre or magazine reviews. he walks in tandem with the supreme. it’s his companion, unquestioned companion. he wanders down near a stream, along some railroad tracks. he is lifted along, no heaviness in him. a little sadness. a little lonilness but he doesn’t call them by their names. he just plays, explores. carries them with him without effort or judgment. they are part of him. i wish i could tell you about where he is. he is in a place that i am familiar with but it’s not the same place. it’s like a place i’ve been to. a few places i’ve been to. occasionally he stops and swells with the weight of consciousness, looking up into the sky when the clouds part and this natural beam of sunlight comes down to him. then back to the task of seeing what’s there. what’s in this mud? now he rests, sits down and begins to enter thought but it escapes him and he instead just feels the earth underneath him, kicks off his shoes and lets his toes feel the breeze through his socks. red socks. now he wishes he had his friend with him. charlie. he wishes charlie was there cuz then they could play a game about trying to hop over the stream in the parts where it was narrow. or some other kind of game about how they were war pirates and their ship crashed and they got stranded on an island…. he considers what it would take to go and get charlie and bring him back here.  but these thoughts are like the breeze, they never really take hold.  he feels the breeze on his face. his hair is getting in his face. he sets off on his own mission down the stream. he’s making up the story in his head and walking down the stream towards an opening that will lead him back to his neighborhood. ah! there’s charlie! hey charlie! what are you doing here? wanna play war pirates? i found this cool place back there that’s all covered in mud and cool rocks. ok. yeah. we’re just gonna go back to my house and play xbox. jimmie got a new game and he’s gonna bring it over. oh. ok. (starts laughing) they all start laughing and play fighting each other. now charlie and the boy/I are falling on the ground play-punching each other and wrestling for a minute. charlie helps me up. i shake off the grass and dirt on my back and we start walking back to the houses. i’m telling charlie about my new bike. and i ask him if he’s seen craig’s new bike? and he shakes his head no but he’s seen one of those before and it’s not that cool.  i say, alright. yeah. and now we’re coming up on charlie’s place and his mom in is the front yard. we kind of try to avoid her but kind of want her to see us too and she does and says hi boys. what are you up to? and charlie tells her and she says to take our shoes off in the garage and that there’s popsicles in the freezer downstairs if we want but to use a papertowel so we don’t get juice all over the place. 

MTM February 21, 2011 Side B

there is a place in the mountains where a girl and a boy can find a cabin to retreat to. to retreat to. lines of light decorate their eyelids, swells in their bellies are expanded by the moonie. the moonies. reverend moonie. sweet breath of lilacs, bees and pineapple slices. resting on a deck with a pineapple drink. dark drinks. dark woods and imaginary friends. television. kitchenmaid. double bed. log cabin. bad curtains. conscious curtains. is that a bear? are bears coming here? i made my bed now lay in it! i make a magical bedspread. i laid out a spread sheet. customs are forgotten on tuesdays. i made a break in this mirror when i said the wrong thing. broken mirror and the luck that follows. oh darn! oh shoot! i imagined this already. couldn’t even try not to if i tried. it has become a literary microscope for microscopic slides made with plastic. oh those slides! i gagged! i was completely naseaus. that entire summer. brakes. sinuses. fever. ligament. chariot. chancellor. campfire jams. silent . silence. miracle whip. cranberry sauce. flying all around the world in a tin can accented automobile, congratulations you are now married! i married my horse. i am not a homosexual. 

winding down now i married a man who was half my age. he makes pottery, plates, cups, dishes, bowls, ceramic utensils, coffee mugs, chandeliers, cats and that’s about it. i paint the cats. i paint them with paint and glaze and glaze them in a fire. a kiln. i make ceramic cats in a kiln. we eat off of these plates and cups and bowls and forks and knives every night. every time we sit down together we’re eating off of these things, his creations. all day he’s in that studio molding things into shapes and sizes and forms that can be used.  practical things. except the cats. i love cats but i can’t stand the fur everywhere so i started painting the cats that he made and scattering them all around our home and property. little kittens and persians and calicos and even one albino. she’s so pretty. i have her on the porch. he doesn’t mind. he likes to make me happy. and he doesn’t like to leave his studio and the cats are hard to make so it takes lots of time for him to be in there alone with the clay stuff. 

i’m fat now. seriously. i got fat.  i got fat and i paint ceramic cats.  i wear the same housedress for days in a row. i comb my hair in the morning. i make coffee and toast and fruit salad. i eat yogurt. i plan ahead for lunch. i set the table with the dining ware my husband makes. sometimes i wish we had just a regular glass to drink lemonade or iced tea out of but it’s not that big of deal.  price of admission, they say. the cost of a man who loves me and makes me ceramic cats = no regular glasses.  i do hate our refrigerator, though. we could really use a new refrigerator.  refrigerator/freezer combo.  

i hardly cook, though. i hardly cook at all.  we eat mostly really easy stuff like fruit and vegetables and some grains but no real meals or recipes.  how am i so fat without real meals?  ice cream! store-bought cakes! wines and chips and dips and snacky-type stuff.  candy. bakery items. 

it does get a little lonely in the house sometimes. we’re miles away from anyone and he’s in the studio for hours and we never had any children and i don’t like talking on the phone anymore. i made peace with the phone. i made peace with my distortions and limitations. i don’t bug him.  i NEVER bug him. we don’t bug each other. we sleep well. we read and chat and listen together. we don’t really go out. we’re self-contained. i order delivery groceries online. i email my friends. i got a new computer. i paint cats. scented cats. scratch and sniff ceramic cats.  vanilla and strawberry and lemon souffle. blueberry. cinnamon. cardamom. cranberry. crysanthemum. 

august. 

brookings 

conspiracy. 

donate. 

eager. 

french.

gang. 

hermit. 

igloo. 

jack.

ketchup.

lima bean. 

marionette.

nosebleed.

opening.

parakeet.

quaker.

rhizome. 

sonic.

tether. 

ugly. 

variable.

warthog.

zenith.

unknown date MTM short recording with John Bartley

http://ghostradio.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/quintet-the-rules.pdf

MTM January 2011

five words in a row.

MTM 4, 18, 11 Part II

death and dying

this piece is so sentimental. it’s like a bad movie soundtrack. not that the music is bad, but it would go with a bad movie if it was to be a soundtrack. it’s all my least favorite things about my playing. it’s not alive but it’s still moving. put it out of it’s misery!! kill it! is that truly the humane thing to do?  to kill something that is in misery? why deny it a peaceful passing? why not let it enjoy its suffering? maybe you’re cutting short an opportunity for enlightenment. that deer that is hit by the car and staggers off into the ditch, breathing and bleeding, trying to move but only struggling… why do we then take its life?  why do we kill the dying?  why not kill me? i’m dying. i’m suffering.  i’m not living my life fully. just shoot me. end it now. there’s no hope.  it’s obvious.  we cut out all chance of a miracle and act like god. we say, you know what? this is just not right.  BANG!  DIE! DIE dammit! i’m helping you by killing you.  you’re suffering so.  this gives no chance for the natural death to occur. for god to reach down and welcome them in.  or to perform a miracle. or for their sons and daughters to get one last look.  leave them! leave them to die in peace.  help them to a comfortable place.  grant their last wish, whatever that may be. the best you can. the dying do not deserve your pity. in fact, they are way ahead of you! they are on their way out to the next life or plane or whatever.  YOU are the one who is still here. you can’t get away from that.  you can’t get away from death by taking it out on the dying.  you can’t tell death when to come. we can’t even show those we never meant to harm the dignity of their own process. to witness their karma unfolding next to ours.  instead, we kill them. done. move em out before someone else gets hurt.  who is hurt!? 

MTM November 15, second pass

castles. now we’re in an old european castle being knighted or something.  ancient. dark ages. man, what a bummer! the dark ages!! AGES! trials and tribulations. taxation. infatuation. lying on the ground with a bucket of patience. another seance. omg. ANOTHER seance. it’s like all these people want to do. seance, seance, seance. i wanna contact the dead. i wanna hear from them. i wanna know why they did that to me. i wanna see them. i wanna disbelieve in this life. i want to go over somewhere else. it’s exhausting! everyone has to work but i’m exhausted! i wish i had some other skills. i mean, i can lead another seance almost in my sleep but people want more than that. they really want you to be involved and then you really have to, you know, try and negotiate this relationship and it’s almost NEVER what the people want to hear. so i’ve got to make BOTH parties happy.  both the dead and the living. it’s kind of ridiculous.  especially when they are newly dead.  the newly dead are so emphatic about communicating what just happened and what is going on on the other side and all this shit about where your thing is that you lost last week and how they can see that this is bad for you and that is good for you and you should go over here… blah blah blah… the newly dead are sometimes even worse that the bereaved.  you know. it depends.  it depends on how they went and how old they were and all that.  i have to sit there and do my best to make both parties happy.  like i said, exhausting!  but, it pays okay and it comes naturally to me and i think somehow i’m probably helping.  it’s really up to the dead.  some of the dead are totally annoyed with someone trying to get in touch with them - in these cases i have to use discretion as to what i tell my client and how i respond to the dead one. the absolute WORST is when there’s a gang of dead.  like family or some group of some sort who all show up and my client is only paying to talk to one of them. it usually comes off like a hustle when i tell them, hey, these other two dudes are here but if you want me to communicate with them it’s gonna be extra.  and, in fact, it IS a hustle because once they’re there everyone, at least on the other side, is getting the whole story.  i haven’t quite figured out how to block out  one or two when i need to stay open to one   anyway, so whoever is not being paid for is usually unsympathetic to my plight and puts a lot of pressure on me to communicate with the living person whatever they want.  sometimes they’ll even threaten me with some crazy afterlife punishments which is totally unfair!  i don’t know if they are false threats or what and there’s really no time to reason with the extra dead when i’ve got someone grieving on this plane.  it’s a tough thing to balance. it’s hard to work through that. i don’t really have anyone to talk to about it.  i mentioned it to a friend of mine who practices witchcraft and is pretty well-read and experienced in the beyond but she thought i was just hearing interference and that there really aren’t multiple people there.  but i know that’s not the case. THEY know that’s not the case. i’ve thought about saying to my client, could you excuse me for a minute?  sending them out so i could clarify with these extra dead that i am still managing my craft on the human plane and that costs money and it’s unfair of them to jump in on a free ride! i’ve never been able to do this.  shifting the energy of the client screws up the whole thing too much to recover.  maybe i’ll find a willing customer who can afford to pay and is in a secure enough state of mind where he or she could give me an opportunity to address this issue. i find that highly unlikely though because this is most often a problem with living people who are a mess and so their energy is calling out to multiple dead. 

breakdancing. i was never interested in breakdancing. i was only interested in break dancing because everybody else was interested in break dancing. i didn’t really care. those movies, those movies were all the same to me in south dakota. i was intrigued, but i didn’t really care.  i didn’t care.  what did i care about? i cared about my vans. my custom vans sneakers that i would get at Stride Rite in the mall.  they had a little staircase with a landing in the middle of the store and you got to walk up on the staircase and the guy would come over and check out your feet. put your foot in the size thing.  get a real size for your foot, length and width. both feet. numbers, details. i loved the secure feeling of the metal bar sliding in to hold my wide foot.  that’s what they told me, you have wide feet.  my mom said, you and i both have wide feet. this i intimated was a bad thing, wide feet. wide feet are bad. i was overweight too so i wasn’t surprised.  it seemed accurate.  wide feet. i’m standing up there and i’m looking down at my feet in my socks and the guy is measuring them and my mom is nervous and i’m anxious as hell to get these shoes. i CAN’T WAIT to order these shoes.  these shoes are THE answer. i’m standing there wearing my big sweatshirt waiting to get these shoes, to look thru the catalog and pick out the fabric and order them and wait for them to arrive and then go back in and walk up on the staircase and have them fitted.  my mother is angry and nervous. i’m anxious and a little hysterical.  demanding.  this is the most attention i’m getting here at the mall.  i love the eye doctor for the same reason, or similar.  the eye doctor could quantify what was going on.  and i could say, yes.  no.  better. worse. kinda the same.  all the attention was on me and my eyes or me and my feet. i can still feel the metal of the foot measuring device under my foot.  that firm and solid, yes.  yes. this is your foot. this is the size of your foot. your foot is here. and the cool metal at the optometrist on my face, my forehead.  comforting.  safe. my foot is safe.  my face is safe. i can see. i went to the eye doctor last week and i noticed how i was all just like, yeah. and i know how this goes.  i’m an old blind person.  i’ve got it in this realm. i can check my eyes. i can have em checked and i know, yeah, that’s a little more blurry than the other one. i even got into some even more sophisticated answers like, i can see that but my left eye feels a little strained.  the letters look bigger with this one and smaller but still clear with that one. oh yeah. i’m an old hat at this. i got this one. i’m good. i’m good at getting my eyes checked. i’m cool.  i was even making jokes with the other doctor coming in and out of other exam room.  hey, looks like you guys have a party going on in there.  looks like fun.  see me. i can see me. see how i know what this is. i’ve got this. this is. yeah. i’m good at this.  i know this. me and the doctor, yeah, we’re working on the same thing. my vision. my line of slight. my view. my conscious view. my breath and my view. my point of view. my understanding. my lifeforce. my gain. my loss. my self-importance. my frail egoic self. withered. withered away. no longer any real hope of having my vision restored. don’t even care about laser surgery. what would i give to have that surgery?  why wouldn’t i want that, clear and perfect vision? i say that’s all i want. i talk about that. i pray for that. i meditate for that. i’m trying to write to that. listen for that.  sail. boat. rocking. this one is really rocking now. the story comes from the guitar. this is the same. how to value it as the same? the best do this. or try to. fables. cartridges. cancelled checks. carbon. calvinism. coy. killed. cancer. coma. cane. corner. cover. cull. capsule. choreograph. congestion. contagious. core. kale. conned. canvas. clinton. sorrow. beams of lights ina row. two lines of lights, vanity mirror lights, in a parallel row, in parallel rows with perspective in between. five points of torture. llaid on a tongue a sixors. a middle finger. an arrow pointed upward. legs outstretched. descent into a fog. sunlight from behind. bare armed. wise cracks. calming effect. cornerstone. flagship. fascination. lying to myself about my chance. pouring a pool of mud/. lied. ordere. life. fig. hot dog bun.