Welcome to my cock

I'm tired of using the evocative heart image to describe my waxing and waning self. I wrote a short monologue for an open mic at the illustrious Marburg hotel here in Cincinnati, speaking of my frustrations with this image, and the apparent lack of mention of cock anywhere in the conventional mode of love poetry. I'm not fifteen anymore, so accusations of low brow humor just will not do. I did not however read this monologue, therefore will attempt to rehash it here.

I am student of love, or life (aren't we all?) and recently was ejected from a very fine academy in the shape of a woman. Ejected, more like pushed out in such a way that requires my own momentum. Now I tumble through the ages, the winters pressing upon me in an indelible fashion.

…

The heart is tied to the sex organs, therefore to my cock -- neither the form nor the shape, nor it's potential to another, for those aren't my concerns, but the idea of my sexuality extending beyond mere thought, but to tangible reason and forward motion; weather vane.

and the use of the word cock, rather than penis, is for poetic effect. cock is a word that sits awkwardly on the throne of consciences everywhere, and I intend to reclaim it here. We live in subtle times, awkward times, times of too many apologies. Bluntness is a forgotten virtue in my book.

…

forgetting where I went from here, I start again on another venture.

…

forcing myself to read last friday night at the Marburg Hotel, showed me that I need to spur my own side in this. that until writing becomes a habit again, I must force myself to do it, and regularly. Thus, you the reader will maybe see a bit more of me here in the written form, and my love goes out to you.

welcome back, corey.

visions of the young cat

visions of the young cat

wrapped tightly in blankets of it's
own flesh reminds me of my own
dealings with disintegrating treaties
from the booming nations of she
in contrast to the burning lands of mine.

to claim by sleeping.
a final resort of limp extremity,
a reaction much like chaining
myself to nature, enduring
tears of a cloud, rolling off
the yellow paint of man's
machinery. what's under me
is mine to keep, unlike mood
or song to hearing ears.

business as usual here,
i'm trying to cut and run
to paradise, despite
my undesirable position
here on earth at hand.
my body, the mark left
in the bent blades of grass,
the calm slow standing
circle showing where i've
been and never to return,
the ballad of a stray cat
is well sung by the lover's
tongue.

Gastronomically Speaking, Of Course.

When I get back:

I'd like to start a small improv group, nothing extreme, nothing
community involved [intially, we'll ride the waves and see which
islands/islanders we run into], just plain fun with friends.

I'd like to have that dance party/open mic/fashion show i've always
talked about. I've got more clothes than really needed for one person,
let's put those on other people, and fucking rock.

I'd love to listen to all of my records, new and old, with a lot of
people; one, two, ten.

I'd like to paint sum more, although I believe my painting partner to be
a bit busier than usual, well actually maybe not.

I'd like to write some more, I wrote most of all of my stuff last year
in the fall and winter, and well those two seasons are certainly
approaching faster than two jets duct taped to deloreans.

I'd like to improve on trans-social relations. I have a couple of social
circles, and it really freaks me out when I run into more than one of
them on a wednesday evening, only to feel torn between the two.
Surrealistically, I want to pick each one of the people involved up,
cram them into my body made of chewed bubble gum, stand tall and make a
decision for the whole body to mingle.

I'd like to read more. I'm reading more already, and I will be
considering this is when my major is let out of the cage, and all I have
is a wooden sword and shield.

I'd like to reorganize my room, not too much, nothing drastic, but
something needs to happen with my bed and all my books and closet space.

Perhaps I'll append to this list at another time.

- c

the last bit of hair pulled underneath the sand

i'm leaving for California in less than three days.
i, the adventurous and potentially stubborn traveler, purchased a one-way ticket. That being said, I don't know the exact date/method of return I will return on/by.

one of my best friends, and first dog was put down today.
Bo, short for Bohemoth, who had been suffering for some time from leg problems, was taken to the vet today for further examination. The decision was made today to euthanize him, an act of absolution of the cancer lacing his bones.

perhaps I'll walk with him again on the astral plane, but until then Bo, i'll miss you very much.