A Surrealistic Pillow

Tears are running
They’re all running down your dress
And your friends, baby
They treat you like a guest

Jefferson Airplane-Somebody to Love
Community Audio

First posted 2/01/2016

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Fusion

You have no

business

No right to

Tell me how to feel.

I do what I must:

I wake up

and pull

the Sky

down.

I plant

my feet

in the best

tradition.

Here, where the

mattress is soft

and damp;

we are bound

by wire and anger:

we are one again.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved

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Trina: A little Nick Nack at the Bar

Trina wants to know more about plant life.

She wants to watch the Hula boys dance.

A small plane drifts through the sky.

Trina thinks about the day she met Roger.

They were in an airport in New York and they fell onto love.

Now she lives in Hawaii.

Roger blew kisses to her as she boarded the plane.

“Oh why do I always fall into love just before I move?” she sighs.

Palm fronds clatter in the Plumeria scented breeze.

Trina writes:

“Roger made meat for me in the stockyards and in my love for him I wore the talisman of a tiger’s tooth. Waikiki is an excellent place to miss the unknown.

A group of tourists from Oregon mingles with a group of tourists from Uganda.

An interesting crotch catches her gaze and she looks up.

Ricardo Montalbán! She knows him from YouTube! How fabulous!

“Hi…I’m Trina.” she blushes.

“Hello,” Ricardo Montalbán replies. “I am a child of the Universe and I work
in a bank.”

Trina giggles with joy. “Then you can afford to be here! What’s your name?”

“Ricardo Montalbán!”

Trina’s right eyebrow rises like the hem of a skirt. “Hawaii is so romantic, don’t you think?”

Ricardo Montalbán gives Trina and everyone else who’s watching a great big smile.

“It’s like a fan-tasy island!” he replies,”Come; let’s have a little Nick Nack at the bar!”

 

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved

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Born Into a Carnival of Souls

Here are a few words I’ve seen scrawled in the alleys of San Francisco’s
Mission District:

We can’t know what we won’t comprehend.

We can’t stop the damage we won’t believe we cause.

These are the crazies, the dregs of the earth, the losers, and every other demeaning and dismissive word used to dismiss the powerless who suffer
the worst of the GOP’s abuses of power.

These people can’t afford to vote their conscience because they’re dying from the lousy choices of people who can.

I saw this scrawled on a wall in late 2016: Why do u want 2 Kill me?

That’s a damned good question.

A mind that ain’t inquisitive really doesn’t got
shit to live for if you can’t explore the
realms of thought you ought not test lest
you be chomped up, like a pop rock, stopped for a
bead from the weed lady, thought it was the bomb
Really wasn’t nuttin but a bag of strong palms

A human ain’t a human if he doesn’t make mistakes
And the name of this song is Swan Lake

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