My Secret Place

For a day that started out so horribly, it is certainly ending wonderfully. Friends can make all the difference. Just knowing that you can reach out to someone and they will be there caring is everything. My friend (she knows who she is) and my guy both rallied round and sent me movies to watch, bought me something special for dinner, soothed my spirits and added a splash of karmic color.

She was so misunderstood, a woman before her time, yet she still managed to do it her way....

~Spell For Awakening the Bohemian Within~

1) Place a feather under your pillow at midnight. Add a pinch of cinnamon, three jasmine leaves and hope for adventure.


2) Close your eyes and place your head on the pillow.


3) When your eyes open you will be transported to a place beyond wildest imagination.


4) Once you wake, wrap the feather in scarlet ribbon and place above your bed for magical dreams.

This is a kind of bizarre burlesque costume that I really like.

Another era I wished that I had lived in.

Beat (because it's cool to rage)
etcetera

I want to be a beat poetess.
Totally self-absorbed and
unaware, completely aloof,
with filtered cigarettes and
long, straight, baked brown
boring hair. I want to be a
wordcrafter, to melt sentences
down to a foaming figurative froth,
slide out of sticky situations
softly, supple, simple, and
sylphlike. To acquit myself
of all charges of being
dewy-eyed, thin-thighed,
word-vied, tie-dyed,
steal myself away from
slick dealing, quick stealing,
low talking, fast walking
stiff suited stick men. To
wash these clothes clean of
'std's, 'gop's, 'abc's, 'qeds,
'nbcs, the last breath of sex tv.
I want to be a beat poetess,
one that ignored all the reality
(the hopelessness of humanity),
and brush aside the actuality
of the millions of casualties
in a war of no necessity
in a world of one-sided generosity.
I want to be a beat poetess so
I can close my eyes and recite
my rhymes and not worry that
verses may exist for some reason,
not worry about Time, or treason,
to live in love and not see the season,
that the winter is hot now,
and summer grows hotter,
that the media is strong,
but big business is stronger.
Lives are sweetened
by splendor and hot water,
and nothing is everything
if youre beat poetrys daughter.

One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand cafe in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups.

One not necessarily very beautiful
man or woman who loves you.

One fine day.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti