Learn From One Bird
By Teighlor Darr
The Kingdom is a home, a launch pad, a worm hole, a castle built from black honey galaxies and cotton candy. It is a rock ‘n’ roll mind fuck, a screeching orgasm, a lovelife sunburn, phantom passers by, alien petroglyphs, pain buried deep inside a volcano . . . left to simmer . . . then gurgled and sputtered out as fresh infant love. It is a psychic incubator, indoor camping, the world’s most famous trapeze artist weeping at the crowd below, whose tears fall to the ground as gumdrops. It is a lush grassy womb where rent is an afterthought, and a backwards forehead tattoo that says “I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing, than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.” It is the lining of my gut, a knife stabbing me in my mind’s eye, a plate spinner balancing a giggling devil child on each extremity, and an old man pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with the artistic endeavors of those loved and made to save the world. The Kingdom is underfoot, but bumping around in the Thinking, and wriggling under my skin like entrapped, exploding geysers of fiery rocket fuel. The Kingdom is the quicksand in our hearts, the peaking snow-capped mountains of our sex, the atmospheric color flavors of our intellect, the silently imploding space shuttle tears of delight within our laughs, the four thousand mile high-wire act of love which you must traverse while holding the country of Peru in your teeth . . . and the unflinching connection of multitudinous moonlit diamonds, floating softly within each other’s orbit, to share the stories written upon the skies by our ancestors.
The above was written in the summer of 2006, just one month before the Kingdom ended.