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ROADKILL RULES
by Kimberly C. Christensen
.. From the first day I stood in the gutter of north bound Lincoln
Blvd. traffic past OTIS, hovering over a rotting carcass with my
camera lens translating the image into Polaroid as the tip of my
white tennis shoe imprinted it's sole-soul- in the small puddle of
dried and darkened blood waxed onto the pavement, I have known this
Roadkill Rules! Coffee table book will publish, telling the story of
humanity, our evolution, falsely motivated constructs by which we
choose to passively live in inertia's tendency to exert as little
energy as possible, and our biological and evolutional tendency to
believe that we are right no matter how wrong we are. That's how we
have the courage to run across that open field when a large cat is
likely to attack us. The survivors were right- and onward we
arrogantly, blindly continue. Only now we can/have narrowed our scope
of discovery from the expanding word to the over stimulation of our
numbed out, even to death we cause, technological Nano-world minds,
driven by epinephrine and accehtecholine.
Try living in the forest for three years. I have. Try living by
nature's rules, not man's. I have. Try coming back to man's land and
re-acclimating to society's rules with no longer any attachment to
monetary values and imitating anyone other than My Own true highest
self, confident and unmoved by advertising, government and corporate
propaganda, news, all of it, gears towards the insecurities of which
I no longer have. Detached from society. It's confinements,
definitions, oxymorons, rackets, rules, realities, illusions we
choose to buy into as a group. Lemmings. I am not sure. All I know is
that I am sick of the minutia. I believe in mother earth, the bigger
picture, where our voices are heard.
My Roadkill Rules! is about the rules we create in society, our
illusions, our judgment of my photos for example, where those ideas
came from, and the reality that it is just a confinement placed upon
your psyche from childhood, from socialization, for the objective of
civil containment and leading to the solitary confinement of the
prisoner, you. Why should we go through all this medical money hoop
la- hoops, life support, to sustain human life into the mechanical
heart beat with no life of one's soul? Just die. Like the animals we
are, like the animals you leave rotting on the side of the road while
you rush your 95 year old happy life lived grandmother to the
hospital to suffer alone in the cold white room of hospital profit
and lonely family? Live with courage. Live life fully, and then have
the courage to die! We make up all these societal rules, while we
disconnect from nature, disconnect from ourselves. We are nature, of
her, in her, her.
You judge me for taking photos of dead animals in the road, while you
give the photographer of dead humans an award. You look at me,
hovering over my portrait of further furry road kill, the road to
nowhere, that big, cement, avenue to our united future. You look at
me hovering over carcass, from your rear view mirror, and then call
home to see what's for dinner. I am still there. With him, her,
sometimes watching it wither in neurological reaction to popped out
eye ball of shock and reaching for further life. "Do I run it over
again now in mercy, shoot it to save it from this apparent agony?".
No. I just watch, and pray with him for the rest of the day. What did
you have for dinner? Scalpel, pill, they want to put me under while
they cut me open to decide how many of my six figure organs they
will/should take out and stuff into their pockets. Ya right? No
thanks I say. And look today. Alive, and well, mother fuckers. Alive
and well. No rule. Jah rule. Nature rules. And like the Hopi say, as
they believe that mother earth will be taken advantage of by the
humans, and Mother earth will swallow them up: "When speaking to man,
we must never take away his hope".
LABEL
ASSOCIATION
CREDIBILITY
ELITE- OBJECTIVES
E-mail correspondence are directed to: www.kimchris.com
The Fog of the Dream;
By
Kimberly Celene Christensen
I am in a large building, complex, office, wide hall ways, linoleum floors. There is a party going on, and while many of the guests get to leave and go back home, I am one of the guests selected from the party to get kidnapped, and taken into Mexico as a decoy in a bigger crime. I am trying to sneak into other groups who are allowed to just go, get through, to pass as one of them. I try to sneak in someone’s trunk, I beg a group to hide and take me with them. As I search for escape, I occasionally come across a lone enemy of the darker side, a team of the conspiracy, the mini Gestapo, dressed in all black they are, almost rockers, trying to steal me across the boarder into
Mexico- I know I cant let them get me across that boarder!- once they do that- Ill be fucked! When I catch one of these men in black in a random hallway, more like they catch me, I use hapkido to stop them and continue on my way. I love it when I use karate in my dreams,- because I am always so much better. To this one guy in particular, hallway monitor, cop, enemy, evil kidnapper, I quickly use my forearms on his neck and face, rendering him without ever haven fallen, immediately face down, prone position, on the floor with his face smashed in like a mangled pancake. Wow! I did that???? I am shocked and surprised that my moves work so viciously and efficiently when used, and happy that I won, and can continue on my fight for freedom.
The night goes on and on like this- asking people to sneak me away, occasionally killing a potential mean team member. Finally, after hours of this chase and escape incurring, I am outside in the
cemented area to face a barricading row of 12-17 of these guys dressed in black. I yell out at them, like a lioness, from the most strengthen aspects of my inner core, You kidnapped the wrong person!.
As I exclaim to them I run towards them, and as they stood originally 15-20 feet away from me, My feet pedal with steps as my body rises and I fly towards and above them. I am fierce, I am like
Joan of arch, I am serious, I am brave, I am making sure that they regret ever kidnapping. I am going to keep fighting until the death, and like in Scarface when Al Pacino dies at least in a blaze of glory, never giving in. I run at the men in black flying through the air towards them, prepared for the lead of their black pistols bringing me to me death, but as I soar higher and higher, music turns
to Peter Pan like fly through the air classical music, towards my row of enemies who surely will point their gun with a tilt upward at me with even more convenient procession- now I am just a foot in front and five above- I realize, secure in my resolve to make sure they believe now whole heartedly that they did, indeed, kidnap the WronG Person, their guns are empty, not working, they misfire, don’t fire, some didn’t even ever have fucking guns.
I woke up strong, fierce, determined, courageous, knowing full well the fog of this life has Kidnapped the wrong person, and I am fighting until the death.
THE END
E-mail correspondence are directed to: www.kimchris.com
Another dream stream
By
Kimberly Celene Christensen
**************
Smell
Not
Cool
Still spray mean forgot.
So why tell knife tongue?
But
A dress never robs sky,
Like a flood of rock & will.
Use light my symphony,
You are together.
We are the raw music dream.
*********
E-mail correspondence are directed to: www.kimchris.com
Another dream stream
By
Kimberly Celene Christensen
$$$$$
CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC –
NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION
Taken advantage of-
my soul by this life.
Rules, Structure,
all propositions into
the diffused psyche.
When is it going
to be my turn?
That's what I want
to know.
She hides her face,
and unties her shoes.
He undresses
while wondering
where his youth went.
All of us living lies,
underlying the prefix of our lives.
Dark is too bright.
And I see better in the night anyway.
My insides understand
what nobody else seems to comprehend.
It's a golden ring.
A bow tie.
A bleak misrepresentation of insanity.
The river flows downhill,
and shit does too.
The fabrication of compounds
based upon imaginary elements.
E=MC2
We can't escape reality-
No matter how much energy is put for into ignoring it.
True is eternal.
And mine is running out.
*********
E-mail correspondence are directed to: www.kimchris.com
Another dream stream
By
Kimberly Celene Christensen
$$$$$
CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC –
NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION
Taken advantage of-
my soul by this life.
Rules, Structure,
all propositions into
the diffused psyche.
When is it going
to be my turn?
That's what I want
to know.
She hides her face,
and unties her shoes.
He undresses
while wondering
where his youth went.
All of us living lies,
underlying the prefix of our lives.
Dark is too bright.
And I see better in the night anyway.
My insides understand
what nobody else seems to comprehend.
It's a golden ring.
A bow tie.
A bleak misrepresentation of insanity.
The river flows downhill,
and shit does too.
The fabrication of compounds
based upon imaginary elements.
E=MC2
We can't escape reality-
No matter how much energy is put for into ignoring it.
True is eternal.
And mine is running out.
*********
E-mail correspondence are directed to: www.kimchris.com
*********
Just to be perfectly clear!
All Rights to this piece reside with the Author