Postcard 77

When they say danger, well what is safe? Is safety destroy-create? No, safety is sterility. And where you may say destroy-create, which is forever yes, they will say no, obliterate. Where shall we live? In something called a house? And if we must move, then we must drive. We must have drive and then success, which we know, but they will name arrival (at a wasteland), clothed, prepared and stranded. We know this dream, the lotus dream of constant invitation. We must prop open eyes and use legs unbuckling to carry them that would be us.The only dream bigger than our myths is success. When they say secure, they mean invest. Well, cash is the only lie bigger than the fictions we make with stone and gel and sound and ink and pen. The lie of the present, future-bent. An open car on a desert trip. Sometimes we are right to boo,and sometimes it is good to burn and to watch the dishonesty: When they say danger, they mean we, the honest liars. When they say secure, invest, they mean forget. When they sing praise, exalt, show up at vigil, mourn, respect -- what they mean is they are terrified of destroy-create, are terrified of terrified, of waking up and clarity and please please please forget.

Postcard 76

The dream family is a light burden. The dream family carries me. It is the whirl about me and the many selfs that are me. It is every iteration of family. It is every iteration of dream. Brothers that are not brothers, sisters not sisters. Lovers that are not lovers. My dream family sends messages, turns cards, visits me. People out of selves, only meanings. People changing faces, clearly who they are - but out of focus. My dream daughter came to me riding an arrow pinned dear. She died. She shrank to the size of a pea. She was my daughter, my son and me. My dream lover came to me, a witch, using me in archaic ceremony. My dream brother and his father -- dead -- passed away again. My dream son came to me, pure art confused and collapsed into music inarticulate. I walk, awake, along the streets. My brother/not brother passes and he is you. My dream lover is the past - a smoky ghost of rain and autumn leaves. I strum and she sings. Turned to the past, she is strings. My dream wife is the fire I offer my seed. Looking up, she is the galaxy. Looking down she is the sea. My dream family cries and celebrates. They grow and fade. We raise our glasses - we are wound, a knot of scars and warm embraces, ageless faces - heat in cold of time. My dream family is the silence when it speaks, the shock sit-up, awake. My dream lover is Kali, held on and released, my dream brothers are angry christ, and I am the cross, the cursed tree. With them, with you, I return to home. In my dream family, I am reborn.