Bless it up – Bliss it up – Beautiful u now
Bless it UP – Podcast #2 – Beautiful u Now
Peraltas’s melancholy word spin
sitting here in the mere ness of my self, the meagerness, the merryless ness of me,
marry me baby be, marry me by a medlar tree.
stay with me baby be, stay with me in a nook,
crawl, hands on grass, on mud, on water, crawl
like hatchlings finding the pond,
cradle me hatchling baby be, cradle my brave decent from agonies alabaster agony, cradle my fall to the mercurial delight of watching your starlight loom,
stay fast by the ready, stay fast by and by.
i speak of only seeing your body envelope mine in a shell that emits only darkness and accepts only light,
is this a daunting task? am i your taskmaster?
if so, so be it, i’ll whip you to shape- task master me,
i’ll cradle your belly, falling belly, simple belly, rub belly, here is the end of me known simply as Peralta.
a girl who stops and bends and calls, and swoops and sighs and turns.
turn me over sunshine rover, turn me over and over in our mental labia, dense and soft, supple. yield thy arrows and the crown is yours to wear. gasp. gape. grapple with significance standing up. 
Seek truth in Music, Lyrics and Positive VIbrations = Podcast See Ellauri + Music of Medicine for the People and…
“Can you read what you hear?”
“only the children get it only the babies, only the every and we are the children the babies the us in each other we are a community of gods and fairies and butterflies and raptors, natural baby just watch us evolve to revolve around the sun. caress me goddess you are the dancer and stage maker, know me silent one your muse is a fingertip, tulip lip your time has passed your seed is sown, your trigger snapped and drapes of cloth golden silk indian robes perspire your elegance, for nothing is ever over nor has it even begun. the seeds are just condensing they cry at our parting, the tears are their sustenance, until they reach the light and the light is everywhere it is what is the great beyond. but little do I know, I am no god mandate subscriber, I am a player into the you that unfolds now now now.”
Blue Aina
and you may talk of powers. of levitation in the dark field of India of a buoyant disposition that cradles the soft waves of perception, the myriad of vessels to fill with such ignorance is vast and proof of the deep reckoning. my face quivers its ash off. the hunched over recipe for forgiveness has festooned the horizon and such strides as it would take to arrive have jettisoned from my repose. all i need is what I have and all i have is what i don’t need. It’s a strange crossroads, ravished by gratitude and speaking with petty certainty, jovial decency while inside a sinking weight trespasses on all my receptors. where have you sunk Hawaii? why have you cast my soul into your net? The new buzzwords off the Internet are so stupid that they make me react vile and off-putting, and these pleasant talks and too easy thoughts make they who speak worthless. and it is I who is such and so obvious do I drink perception. these fruits are made wine by the children. they have perfect selves and imperfect lives. The school circles them into penned foolery and makes buffoons of there instincts. and my garden is respite, until it becomes a chore like all things. the soft knowledge of love becomes all I can focus on, that and some ambition of focus. some thought of a better station where the sets are paced in rhythm with that of the goddess the god, the cycle of what must be. but it’s elusive and time moves slow and despondent. i climb into the future like a crawling baby through a corridor, clinging to loyally and drowning the perception of the certain certainty of where i should be doing what. and i do not have the time or the patience to be dealing with the banalities of existence. but the tree is spared its pain by the falling of leaves. their song is muted by the fall. recollected they sing, they testify that they caused my life. i haven’t grown new ones. just these old leaves. autumn bleeding into black into a hue of red that would match the horizon and cast into the air its skin shakes the walls the birds wink the lips pucker the sounds are the call. i must go back.
Oahu Loves this is for u
still I sit and I look not down, I look not up, I look at you there your eyes are alive with the light in me, the heart has its day here now with your hand in your hand you reach up the cursive design of your body is clear etched against the blue sky- your a horizon maker, a line quakes in its reflection of you its cracking into a curve a sweet roundness that is earth smile that is now smile, I see you in all your greatness in all your humbleness, I see you drifting up effortless so grounded in the simplicity of your song, your breath, your lineage between the past and the future, it is all stretching out from your utterance, and we are in this, this flight, this fight, this darkness that sees its consuming nature pawing at everything its so big and we drift like lovers but we are not alone the lovers are close by they smoke weed, play music, game on the food and drinks of the Aina, only the children get it only the babies, only the every and we are the children the babies the us in each other we are a community of gods and fairies and butterflies and raptors, natural baby just watch us evolve to revolve around the sun. caress me goddess you are the dancer and stage maker, know me silent one your muse is a fingertip, tulip lip your time has passed your seed is sown, your trigger snapped and drapes of cloth golden silk indian robes perspire your elegance, for nothing is ever over nor has it even begun. the seeds are just condensing they cry at our parting, the tears are their sustenance, until they reach the light and the light is everywhere it is what is the great beyond. but little do I know, I am no god mandate subscriber, I am a player into the you that unfolds now now now.
Blog Sustainable Living Roadshow Spring Tour April 2011
Let me tell you of the days of bus riding from Oakland aboard the 15 person ride of the Yard Dogs. Let me tell you of women, focused flirt magic beautiful, men keen bounding youthful, let me say the day of our departure left us humming baby talk from bed to bed, our bus beds do rest heads and sit butts for conversation.
Cooper rest his head from hours of undulation – spinal coordination lifting boxes and bikes and frames and poles and bamboo and do who’s for shows. The crest with us flows, each the other knows, or gets to know. Or learns the new of what is one. We arrived in Irvine California, to make a show of sustainability. Sleeping in the parking lot, lots of goofy old kids awake from a slumber to cook oats on a propane stove as Kevin arrives to give us the tour of the site we will set. The caravan arrives on the university campus, it is Wayz Goose festival, it is rolling hills and buildings and blue and yellow balloons the colors of the anteater pride (mascot of the school). Their is a bus in UC Irvine were the wonders we are unload for 16 hours. In the daylight we are still unloading now its information, now its games, now its me the MC flowering these myths to worm holes of word. Presently stilt walkers dance,
Kevin wears Maliaka’s top hat, Emma serves listeners and Tom masterminds the structure to the chaos. Cooper’s chaos is viral and thus he falls, Jonathan’s passion must like wise go within, our general and best hand in bed we truggle on. Day done night begun and all to help. 30 yellow shirted primariy Asian students arrive to take a message from Zach to move us. We are these poles and banners and sheets of wood, Jonathan resurrects himself to play precise placement with steadfast Jeanette. I think a woman wants to kiss me, but my heart belongs to Ariel and so my lips watch her from a distance and grin. And so we are loaded, and so we are fed, and so we are off again into a close distance. We obliterate our wakefulness and lay battered by the road in our truckle beds awaiting a morning of Watts, Los Angeles.
Awaiting tours and, planting a garden in the halfway home. For my part the sleep finds me and leaves me in a city I haven’t seen for 10 years. My former relations emerge and I reach out to them. My old mentor Carl Weintraub. In a fit of glide, I arrive by metro to South Pasadena were exists Carl’s restaurant and astonishing joy happens. The discovery. The tree from 10 years ago
the tree by which my troubles vanished and inspiration arose, the tree is alive and well and Carl’s restaurant sits neatly beside. He shares the story of the theatre company we knew each other by, and the tale of the new restaurant by the old tree. He is fantastic. I leave my plate of shrimp and grits to kiss roots, and find Mer. She is my old roommate and older friend
whom connection has lacked conversation for oh 10 years. And now she picks me up in front of something studios in a little green speedy car. Her wit is firing so fast that for the first quarter of an hour I am summoned to laugh at rapid shifts in meanings and dizzy dialogues of double dealings. She is heart fast, yet her mind is unstill as yours. Her talent is strew throughout her hillside abode were class n craft make a former roommate wish for such tidiness 10 years ago. We go to a theatre were people are supposed to be funny. I fart uncontrollably beside a celebrity. He sits in fumes. I folick to get a kombucha. In the morning I return to my SLR posse and do the aforementioned garden prep. Their are 15 stout black men working to renovate a home behind them 3 Latin Men help us mostly white folk. I am gald to speak with them in my mother tongue, we are fast friends. This wisdom of community service is gentle.
Call it a gentle ride back to Oakland, a gentle shift of buses a gentle drive north to Chico. For there is Butte College, there is GRUB farm and these are places rich in earth knowledge in practice. We arrive to strengthen cheer and again I roar a bit on the mic. At the farm a 420 celebration happens with the 20 of us in a tepee and music and smoke and food. On a trampoline bounce ecstatic beauties through the sweet warm air. The silent field is a pace so sweet that we stay into the afternoon of the next day.
As we drive off I know this leg of the tour is over. That Ariel will soon be in my arms and the possibility of theatre is ripe for the road. We have grown into each other ready to hold Nahsee and Sheri for the long haul, absolved to let Andréa and dear Boot go off to the land of Washington. But more is gained than lost, friendship is easy and honest, experience comes at some cost namely exhaustion and frustration, but now there is time, long time to respond to the approaching summer tour, the approaching launch of Place, and all hands on deck we joy this.
