marlene mountain
haibun
october 1987

mad earths in my room

a haibun scrawled into my notebook, 3ish or so-4:45 a.m. 10/28/87

august is turning more into august. the heat is less in the mountains, less in the house, less in my bedroom, yet heat the pain is beginning again. feet, legs, hands. the fear is beginning again. health, heart, spirit. fatigue this much is new. the dr says there's nothing really to do for it all. i get $50 worth of pills--he's right

there is much to get done--perhaps that is why i can do little. the frustration. the state of being pissed. the mail piling up. panels white and waiting for the colors the absence of all colors and the presence of all colors wait, leaning against a wall

the great mad mother earth paintings nag in my head

it is not another day it's today like yesterday. the body i know it is mine because i am so aware of it is a 3 ring circus. i can not explain the pains only for 2 hours it is this way an hour that way nothing for a while then it is both this way & that way at the same time i am afraid to get up that i can't tho i know i can the fear immobilizes me that i must go to the bathroom is that i get up near a smile yet not a grin

all this i was going to do i think as i come out of a doze

tears begin i don't know whether to let them come or let them slide back in i am brave yet they would release but what only tears i think & that's not what hurts what scares

bang bang blood male entertainment all the women called girls

tv--which i never watch & i switch channels to see whatever is the least worst of the worst. it's all to disconcentrate on pain but not dallas the pain i'd almost [sic] rather have sun coffee the non working pills & drug store vitamins. but some energy, a little push & i'm at the blank panel. all the colors these days--never heard of in school art

her body goldish her tongue sticking out i've begun

the first coat of black surrounds the streaked gold. excited can't wait for it to dry. start in with the second coat no slow down there's tomorrow probably and it's been sept for several days

i leave her alone bring her into my room we watch each other

from my bed i want her to be the hag the mad mother she is

into sleep i go knowing we are only partly ourselves

light i push and the second black surrounds her eyes one looking up the other almost crossed. she's real now with the streaky unruly hair dirty yellow before the black is dry the stencil letters form mad/up words real words about unreal institutional learning liebrary, malescholarshit, masterfragments, philossophy, dickshunary they pour out releasing some of my male identified past

she is herself now i only partly but grinning in the dark

that body of mine is a two ring this morning the same pills 3 coffees and today's crone begins to be streaky bronze. her hair matted & strung out. her strong middle finger points into the first coat of black ah she will know what to say tomorrow. our minds are mad/up about the h/arms race and it's tomorrow & her finger points at mannihilation, pentagoon & powwar & world piece & concocked supremalecy

3 of us now in the room we are very awake to what we will sleep on

i cannot do today coffee is like a sleeping pill they are alive and angry their presence is disturbing they are disturbed about what has taken over their earth, their wisdom. the finger pointer has double crossed eyes skeleton's teeth. they guard me today tonight tho i hear the grating teeth as i hear mine watching a mind dulling dumb show & silly people selling food that kills but i cannot concentrate look at anything with meaning from a woman's book i will wait for the time to when her powerful words are can come in

another panel awaits day another witch waiting to come forth

i push & oh iridescent red flows out and shoulders curve down into breasts large enough to rest on crossed legs. her hair another red pushing out. her one eye has an expression i don't understand yet do. one straight line is her mouth. white surrounds her. tomorrow maybe maybe tomorrow she will give her views on government. she'll have much to say the stencils are covered with coated colors. put them in to soak. fresh letters for maybe tomorrow

impossible to be alone tonight 4 of us with aged eyes

slower today harder to stay with it rest return rest return rest maybe maybe tomorrow more words today will do for today demockracy, bureaucrazy, male just us cystem losting fathers and the others in their lie colors more too to add to the other two more mad/up fed/up words which our mother earth our only earth wants gathered to see how far pricktriarchy has disvanced. the pain the fatigue she has i have the fear i have she doesn't. she is the great mad mother but we are mad rage not from what is in my body rage what she has taken she is saying no more

pills to sleep secure in the rage of her divine presence being

september is passing the utility bills are due so it is still september flat on my back i write the checks. the mail still piling up. one is answered 3 more come it's not i don't want them it's the pressure to say the right thing to the right person. yet i begin to dread the sound of the mail carrier's quiet car. i've little steam to write steamy things hello how {are} you the weather is cooler won't do. so much else to talk about, push out throw ideas out to those who care don't care i don't know what day it is no tv guide, whatever's on which ever i can wait through till i can force sleep. tired when i don't want to be

i don't understand day & night not out in them

whatever happened to doctors who gladly gave out prescriptions for all those days i never needed & now i do. humph another $30 for nothing that eases. 3 times a day so i know it's day 3 times of disappointment. to paint seems far away. a little reading now, a little writing but no crazy colors for wicked mad mothers

i miss her don't even know her waiting inside behind the panel

it's october the calendar says on a white sheet with bars going vertical and horizontal a number on each prison square. outside for a while. out of the prisoned numbers. frost has come and gone and come again. love has come and gone and come again. some of the leaves are brittle others seem melted. some of the body is ragged some is wet where it's good to be wet. there is more to doctoring than pills that don't work. there is more to doctoring than doctors don't/do. but the healer has come and gone i've come and stayed. on the sheet is part of the healer leavings. i snuggle into what is left

mad earths in my room do not snuggle into the contact with man

where are our other gaudy sisters their strange mouths ask me. they're far away but getting nearer that's all i can answer she of the environment turned menvironment turning against menvironment will be along soon. in my head she is hunched over shoulders raised up owl like vulture like we have similar pain so we'll get together hers is worse but mine is here disturbing distracting defeating but she will show up soon

dusk the tiredness of one sister in the room

one day a few days later another day and old hunched up takes form. her body her dark red jagged hair her eyes unfinished yet they stare into me waiting to {be} sharpened deepened into dull blank what color she'll help me find her eye color. she's anxious for the first word to appear next to her to say what we mean meanly hecologist. soon as i am better now and almost ready

5 of us now 2 incomplete but waiting the night to end finish

notes
haibun: 'prose mixed with haiku' originating in japan several hundred years ago edited for spelling, some spaces added to 'clarify,' after finally deciphering what i'd written nearly asleep barely awake

Poetry Canada Review 11:2 1990 (with first 4 'mad earths' paintings); Raw Nervz Haiku 1:4 1995 (with all 8 paintings)

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