Once upon a time, people rode in cars, trains and airplanes, going from one part of a country or world to another without even considering how impossible it would become when the earth turned into an impossible place to inhabit. The world around them shrank until there was only one country, then one territory and then one city was then shrinking down to the size of a city block. The entire world outside this block was filled with pointy rocks that melted flesh at the touch. The Nova Sound System was created just in time to prevent this decay of life from entering the city block, now known, by its inhabitants as Earth, from becoming uninhabitable.
Skeeze rolled another football sized blunt. He picked his ass and sat in the sand and looking at the small sun radiating wanly in the sky, wondered when he would be taken. As there was no place to bury the dead and no room even for decay, when it was your time you were shot through the diaphragm out into the pointy rocks. You became unknown, erased from people's memories. If there was anything like you it reappeared as fresh as an unknown entity. People were shielded from what their identities which cut down on envy. The Nova Sound Machine was a powerful presence that no one could sense but that everyone was keenly aware of. It was equal to gravity in how it regulated existence.
Huxley monitored the cycle. An invisible cube pushes forward and becomes invisible replaced by another and another to no end. If the cube were to become ill-formed, would it create or destroy, Huxley wondered. There was, of course, too much of a risk to find out, but if it just happened naturally....
Huxley called Skeeze into the chamber for their daily discussion.
Sunday, June 23, 2024
Saturday, April 11, 2020
An Inordinate Amount of Nothingness
For a long time, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Holdon slept and dreamed of a vast expanse, a deepening hole. He fell down a deep well, never reaching the bottom.
Monday, March 23, 2020
Pink Dawn- In The Chinese Guarden At Holdon's Academy For A New Society
It was evening when the portly man of 70 came through iron door and through the iron gate out into the last bit of sunlight. An almost smile on his pudgy pock marked cheeks. He was on his way to meet Huxley about the interview series. He didn't know if he liked it, if he should allow it to happen but it was Huxley after all. Huxley who turned the world onto the notion of internal utopian societies. Huxley who helped to convince the investors when they doubted it would produce a profit. Huxley didn't care about money, far from it, but he knew if the setting was right the workers of the commune would produce more material than the people who remained living independently in the outer world. The outer world would then become a place for contemplation and rest. The great texts could be written and the Nova Sound System would begin to heal the planet returning it to it's verdant beginnings. It didn't work out that way, yet, though.
Dr. Holdon walked through the empty streets with the pretext shops. You cannot go inside them but they understand what you need out of them and the goods are dropped into a livery hole each morning. It's rare to see people walking the streets, though, as there was so little to do and you could be anywhere to place an order, including and mostly on the toilet. All you needed was the wallet vision application and you were good to go. On the corner of each street there were gaps. Holdon walked into a gap and there he was in dessert terrain. Here, there were a few people rummaging through trash bins. These people, known as outer denizens, live in a alter-reality and what they collect from the bins is recirculated back to the academy via ducts in the ground. For all intents and purposes these people are without sight. They do not see each other and they do not have a perception of their own bodies either. They have the physical function of picking trash but in their minds they are responsible for keeping the schedules of the elites. They also function as the communication vessel for the hippies at the academy. Holden knows some of them from their former lives as Wall Street executives. Their transformation was complete when their minds were completely blown. That was the end of stock trading, slave labor, world banks and national economies. To try and understand what happened is like trying to understand the beginning of existence itself. It was so sudden and complex that these people who once decided the fate of nations had their minds blown. The Theoretical Class grew out of this and Huxley was their guru. It should be understood that Huxley is a voice text. Huxley is a theoretical design of a fourth dimension entity. Some once said he came out of nowhere "and there he was."
When Holdon reached the end of the dessert alley he walked through a suspended gate and found Sheeky The Flab. Sheeky was smoking a huge blunt and offered some to Holdon. Holdon grabbed hold of the the giant missile and took a little puff and handed it back to Sheeky. Holdon knew well that if he didn't partake, Sheeky was liable to entreat him on the virtues of the Brahman weed. Holdon didn't have the time or the will to endure such a discourse. It was better he partake and exchange some glad trees and get into the chamber where Huxley held court.
Huxley, the emerald shining orb, greeted his friend Holdon and offered him Turkish coffee. Holdon took the coffee from the suspended vassal and sank into an air chair.
"I'm glad you made it. I was wondering if you were going to be a shithead and find one of your excuses not to come. Enough fucking of those dirty hippies, Holdon?" A voice emitted from the orb.
"I thought about being a shit head, as you say, but then I thought 'what's the use' and, for your information, I don't fuck hippies."
"Good for you Holdon, good for you. You don't want to get the disease." The orbs light glowed pink.
"This interview will need to be done one way or the other.' Said Holden "At some point, the Elite, because they are such assholes will start breathing down my neck. I can't stand to hear them whine. I need a new couch, they'll say, I need a new new blender to make my exotic drinks, they'll say. I need a new hippie maid to funk in the broom closet, they'll say. I really can't take it. I get no sleep. The whining, that fucking whining. Fuuuuuck!!
Holdon put his head in his hands and wiped his eyes.
"The hippies are also climbing up my asshole about every little thing lately. They want more food, more sex toys, more children more animals to have sexual entertainment with. I think this interview will prevent their revolt at least for the short term. I'm just walking a dog, here. They need to take a shit every hour or so. I can't get any sleep. Anyway, we'll give them the interview and the Elite will keep cracking their nuts and smoking their pipes instead of sending their inane elite signals to the lustful hippies. Those Fuckin hippies are a bunch of horny cats. They'll fuck anything and they love being dominated by the elites. I keep finding semen stains everywhere. Lately, they're just a bunch of angry, horny, fuckheads." Holdon couldn't contain himself....the Brahman weed was taking hold."
"Okay, Holdon, lie down now and try to relax you addled mind and I will give you the interview. Holdon, are you ready? It will come in long then short segments. Try to hold you mind on the segments. The long ones might break you, you'll think, but then they won't. I have trained you to concentrate. Now prepare yourself. Here, take some meth. There you go."
Thirty-six hours later it was over. The text was transmitted. Holden looked frazzled but he was okay. He was now getting fucked by a large brunette hippie. It was his reward. It made it happy. He couldn't deny it.
The orb, now jet black, entered the concentration chamber and asked the hippie to kindly leave the chamber.
Holdon put on his antiquated clothes as the orb explained the how the process went along and how Holdon had do a good job.
"You should be able to publish it for the Easter Celebration. Eventually, after the week long Festivities, the Elite will get bored or confused and wander off to fuck themselves over again. They think they need this to understand what THEY will mean to the ultimate plan. If all goes well we'll be able to break this cycle and enter into the agreement phase. That's all we can hope for, at this point, anyway. All of the players are a bunch of obstinate assholes, as you have claimed. This will, perhaps, be enough of a distraction to get us through to the next phase."
He was right.
Once the interview was published and the main splain was re calibrated, the hippies went back into production backing off full-fledged sexual revolt. The Easter Celebration was like a diaper that let the shit flow without there being too much of a mess for Holdon to clean up. After this burst of work, Holdon was glad he did the interview, after all, because at least it had stemmed the tide. The Elite went back to their family life. Holden was able to lie for a long nap, the speed was wearing off.
Dr. Holdon walked through the empty streets with the pretext shops. You cannot go inside them but they understand what you need out of them and the goods are dropped into a livery hole each morning. It's rare to see people walking the streets, though, as there was so little to do and you could be anywhere to place an order, including and mostly on the toilet. All you needed was the wallet vision application and you were good to go. On the corner of each street there were gaps. Holdon walked into a gap and there he was in dessert terrain. Here, there were a few people rummaging through trash bins. These people, known as outer denizens, live in a alter-reality and what they collect from the bins is recirculated back to the academy via ducts in the ground. For all intents and purposes these people are without sight. They do not see each other and they do not have a perception of their own bodies either. They have the physical function of picking trash but in their minds they are responsible for keeping the schedules of the elites. They also function as the communication vessel for the hippies at the academy. Holden knows some of them from their former lives as Wall Street executives. Their transformation was complete when their minds were completely blown. That was the end of stock trading, slave labor, world banks and national economies. To try and understand what happened is like trying to understand the beginning of existence itself. It was so sudden and complex that these people who once decided the fate of nations had their minds blown. The Theoretical Class grew out of this and Huxley was their guru. It should be understood that Huxley is a voice text. Huxley is a theoretical design of a fourth dimension entity. Some once said he came out of nowhere "and there he was."
When Holdon reached the end of the dessert alley he walked through a suspended gate and found Sheeky The Flab. Sheeky was smoking a huge blunt and offered some to Holdon. Holdon grabbed hold of the the giant missile and took a little puff and handed it back to Sheeky. Holdon knew well that if he didn't partake, Sheeky was liable to entreat him on the virtues of the Brahman weed. Holdon didn't have the time or the will to endure such a discourse. It was better he partake and exchange some glad trees and get into the chamber where Huxley held court.
Huxley, the emerald shining orb, greeted his friend Holdon and offered him Turkish coffee. Holdon took the coffee from the suspended vassal and sank into an air chair.
"I'm glad you made it. I was wondering if you were going to be a shithead and find one of your excuses not to come. Enough fucking of those dirty hippies, Holdon?" A voice emitted from the orb.
"I thought about being a shit head, as you say, but then I thought 'what's the use' and, for your information, I don't fuck hippies."
"Good for you Holdon, good for you. You don't want to get the disease." The orbs light glowed pink.
"This interview will need to be done one way or the other.' Said Holden "At some point, the Elite, because they are such assholes will start breathing down my neck. I can't stand to hear them whine. I need a new couch, they'll say, I need a new new blender to make my exotic drinks, they'll say. I need a new hippie maid to funk in the broom closet, they'll say. I really can't take it. I get no sleep. The whining, that fucking whining. Fuuuuuck!!
Holdon put his head in his hands and wiped his eyes.
"The hippies are also climbing up my asshole about every little thing lately. They want more food, more sex toys, more children more animals to have sexual entertainment with. I think this interview will prevent their revolt at least for the short term. I'm just walking a dog, here. They need to take a shit every hour or so. I can't get any sleep. Anyway, we'll give them the interview and the Elite will keep cracking their nuts and smoking their pipes instead of sending their inane elite signals to the lustful hippies. Those Fuckin hippies are a bunch of horny cats. They'll fuck anything and they love being dominated by the elites. I keep finding semen stains everywhere. Lately, they're just a bunch of angry, horny, fuckheads." Holdon couldn't contain himself....the Brahman weed was taking hold."
"Okay, Holdon, lie down now and try to relax you addled mind and I will give you the interview. Holdon, are you ready? It will come in long then short segments. Try to hold you mind on the segments. The long ones might break you, you'll think, but then they won't. I have trained you to concentrate. Now prepare yourself. Here, take some meth. There you go."
Thirty-six hours later it was over. The text was transmitted. Holden looked frazzled but he was okay. He was now getting fucked by a large brunette hippie. It was his reward. It made it happy. He couldn't deny it.
The orb, now jet black, entered the concentration chamber and asked the hippie to kindly leave the chamber.
Holdon put on his antiquated clothes as the orb explained the how the process went along and how Holdon had do a good job.
"You should be able to publish it for the Easter Celebration. Eventually, after the week long Festivities, the Elite will get bored or confused and wander off to fuck themselves over again. They think they need this to understand what THEY will mean to the ultimate plan. If all goes well we'll be able to break this cycle and enter into the agreement phase. That's all we can hope for, at this point, anyway. All of the players are a bunch of obstinate assholes, as you have claimed. This will, perhaps, be enough of a distraction to get us through to the next phase."
He was right.
Once the interview was published and the main splain was re calibrated, the hippies went back into production backing off full-fledged sexual revolt. The Easter Celebration was like a diaper that let the shit flow without there being too much of a mess for Holdon to clean up. After this burst of work, Holdon was glad he did the interview, after all, because at least it had stemmed the tide. The Elite went back to their family life. Holden was able to lie for a long nap, the speed was wearing off.
Thursday, November 15, 2018
For Tiny Tim
no matter how
the donkey kong ends
we will not be able
to affect our existence
the way we want to
I hold you in my arms
you are 100% dog
and there's only a need for
REVOLUTION NOW!
because we've been one upped
by the dogma we created
get it?
the donkey kong ends
we will not be able
to affect our existence
the way we want to
I hold you in my arms
you are 100% dog
and there's only a need for
REVOLUTION NOW!
because we've been one upped
by the dogma we created
get it?
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Wolves
no solace for the androids
who live on the moon
a litany not fit for the pleurisy
that aches the heart
from the woods
the untamed wolf
sees the cities
under water
all of them Atlantis
who live on the moon
a litany not fit for the pleurisy
that aches the heart
from the woods
the untamed wolf
sees the cities
under water
all of them Atlantis
Monday, July 30, 2018
Insomnia
There's a raccoon in my kitchen
says he wants to fuck me
I don't want to get fucked
I want to be unfucked
I tell him this
He smiles gingerly and offers me a glass of sherry
We talk politics until there is nothing left
but sleep
says he wants to fuck me
I don't want to get fucked
I want to be unfucked
I tell him this
He smiles gingerly and offers me a glass of sherry
We talk politics until there is nothing left
but sleep
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Dream
I just woke from a horrifying dream where I saw my true self. The dream was a movie about reality. Reality only takes place in a high school setting where you are judged. My character has a girlfriend who is a vacuous teenager type person in a grown up body. My character's friends are the same. Patti Smith is also in the movie. Patti Smith is also in this dream. She is the only celebrity. This is not a good thing. The celebrity is a tortured soul that no one can know. There is a genocide going on all around me. A genocide of high school students who are grown ups. Some of us survive because we have hidden powers. I am happy to know I have a hidden power and I get to talk with Patti and she is aware of a person who is going to kill us but she also knows how and how to escape this fate. At the moment when this young assassin opens his bag with a grenade in it we both know what the grenade is made of and are able to diffuse it by not being afraid. This is the hidden power but it has a drawback. Anyone that doesn't have this power is a vacuous teenager and falls victim to the genocide. I am soon shown that I'm an assassin but it is not something I want to be and it is clear by my expression and it might be that the elders know this when they take me up to the top layer of muscle in this reality high school. I am at that moment afraid of dying.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Lost Turn
Sometimes we expect too much from ourselves
Sometimes we expect too much from others
We look into the deepening crevices
We look into the heat of the sun
Beyond and between the spherical glows
Behind the wall of it all coming apart
Death is a ruler that measures the silence
Death is the cave that is sealed at the end of our dream.
Sometimes we expect too much from others
We look into the deepening crevices
We look into the heat of the sun
Beyond and between the spherical glows
Behind the wall of it all coming apart
Death is a ruler that measures the silence
Death is the cave that is sealed at the end of our dream.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Jack Boots, I Guess
The Statey pulled me over agin today
He looked down at me through the window
But I had become but a mirror reflection
He took out his ticket book
And began to wipe away the universe
We were floating in endless space
I looked at his feet which were gross
facsimiles of something????
"What are those?" I asked
He looked down past the steering wheel.
"I don't know...jack boots, I guess?"
He looked down at me through the window
But I had become but a mirror reflection
He took out his ticket book
And began to wipe away the universe
We were floating in endless space
I looked at his feet which were gross
facsimiles of something????
"What are those?" I asked
He looked down past the steering wheel.
"I don't know...jack boots, I guess?"
I Heard It From The Grape, Man
I was out there looking at them looking at me
When, suddenly, from afar, a dank cloud
She then asked for the divorce, not of our marriage
This time the ducks were cold
The flies bundled up into fiber as the mask fell
Off the wall humor everywhere
You think you know, but then you don't know
And a street cleaner runs over your feet
All is forgiven and the saints hang up their coats
It is Christmas again on the aisle of death
There is a vineyard amongst my brain tissue
My hands had to dig their way out, wanting to strum
Along the corridors of my mandolin mind
Where all is forgiven when all is lost
Sal asked me to call his accountant for brevity
While the bald lady slaps me with her pocket book
Just another New York Monday lost on me again
They're hoping for rain in Albany
But the sewers are in rebellion again
They look into the mystic grape, a phallic totem
Of yesterdays gone wrong, but how could we know
That we, born into this whittled world to breathe
A dyers breath, will breathe again
When, suddenly, from afar, a dank cloud
She then asked for the divorce, not of our marriage
This time the ducks were cold
The flies bundled up into fiber as the mask fell
Off the wall humor everywhere
You think you know, but then you don't know
And a street cleaner runs over your feet
All is forgiven and the saints hang up their coats
It is Christmas again on the aisle of death
There is a vineyard amongst my brain tissue
My hands had to dig their way out, wanting to strum
Along the corridors of my mandolin mind
Where all is forgiven when all is lost
Sal asked me to call his accountant for brevity
While the bald lady slaps me with her pocket book
Just another New York Monday lost on me again
They're hoping for rain in Albany
But the sewers are in rebellion again
They look into the mystic grape, a phallic totem
Of yesterdays gone wrong, but how could we know
That we, born into this whittled world to breathe
A dyers breath, will breathe again
Monday, March 28, 2016
Kinder Window
I see them arched and reflecting color
The absent minded ones who clown around
In the hallways of my mind
I can't always dig them out with balloon dialogue
That's ok, November never came this year
Sadness was just another symptom so we
Had to give up coffee again to get a sense
Of the ever expanding surroundings when
Clown puppets wrestle on the half baked porch
Light comes in through a kinder window
I bend out to greet you Ben Franklyn
And all is well. You help me pull in
The wash. I look at you and you me
We exchange pleasantries as we both
think it out loud "Hilarity"
The absent minded ones who clown around
In the hallways of my mind
I can't always dig them out with balloon dialogue
That's ok, November never came this year
Sadness was just another symptom so we
Had to give up coffee again to get a sense
Of the ever expanding surroundings when
Clown puppets wrestle on the half baked porch
Light comes in through a kinder window
I bend out to greet you Ben Franklyn
And all is well. You help me pull in
The wash. I look at you and you me
We exchange pleasantries as we both
think it out loud "Hilarity"
Friday, March 4, 2016
Where I Wait Is Where I Am Waiting
A woman looking at her wrist watch sees it is time
And from this time all is beginning like some dirt
On a window frame that gets noticed only instantaneously
We worry about the polaroid and it's meaning
And from this time, all watch, see it is time
Like some dirt gets noticed, only it's meaning
Instantaneously we worry, all watch, see it is time
And from this beginning, a woman watches
Seeing is time noticed only instantaneously
We worry about time instantaneous as it goes
As it goes unnoticed we wait holding something
And from the beginning only it's meaning
All watches and noticing a window frame
From where she sits she can see the piazza
A rubble or an instantaneous babble or brook
Holding something ever in its measure while not knowing
The polaroid is being taken by a woman at a window
It is falling out of its camera another window
From another time it is framed closer
Where I wait where I am waiting for anything
And from this time all is beginning like some dirt
On a window frame that gets noticed only instantaneously
We worry about the polaroid and it's meaning
And from this time, all watch, see it is time
Like some dirt gets noticed, only it's meaning
Instantaneously we worry, all watch, see it is time
And from this beginning, a woman watches
Seeing is time noticed only instantaneously
We worry about time instantaneous as it goes
As it goes unnoticed we wait holding something
And from the beginning only it's meaning
All watches and noticing a window frame
From where she sits she can see the piazza
A rubble or an instantaneous babble or brook
Holding something ever in its measure while not knowing
The polaroid is being taken by a woman at a window
It is falling out of its camera another window
From another time it is framed closer
Where I wait where I am waiting for anything
Friday, January 29, 2016
Quatrains
Today, I rode in the street.
There was no blood to be found.
My EYE scoured the concrete
of the sidewalk where now I am bound.
Here, also, no blood to be found.
My sneakers will fill with sweat.
My hair is perfectly round.
I live my life on a bet.
This poem is not over yet.
Not even close.
I just decided to get my jaw reset.
My brain wants to be verbose.
Now I'm wearing pantyhose,
And I've changed my mind.
The end is very close.
It ends with this line.
There was no blood to be found.
My EYE scoured the concrete
of the sidewalk where now I am bound.
Here, also, no blood to be found.
My sneakers will fill with sweat.
My hair is perfectly round.
I live my life on a bet.
This poem is not over yet.
Not even close.
I just decided to get my jaw reset.
My brain wants to be verbose.
Now I'm wearing pantyhose,
And I've changed my mind.
The end is very close.
It ends with this line.
They Have Told Us So
Behind the windows of the glass vaulted building
In the darkness that is always telling
Where silence is a golden halo
We might know what the peddler is selling
Where silence glows in golden rays
Behind winds that blow the blue air
They round up minutes of all our days
A blinding shadow at the top of the stair
Where rounded corners bend into night
They silence your most inner thoughts
And amplify the sound that is the light
And salvage all the flesh that rots
A blind shadow in a vaulted glass
Flesh that silence rounded top all blow golden
In the darkness that is always telling
Where silence is a golden halo
We might know what the peddler is selling
Where silence glows in golden rays
Behind winds that blow the blue air
They round up minutes of all our days
A blinding shadow at the top of the stair
Where rounded corners bend into night
They silence your most inner thoughts
And amplify the sound that is the light
And salvage all the flesh that rots
A blind shadow in a vaulted glass
Flesh that silence rounded top all blow golden
Thursday, January 21, 2016
We Live In Tomorrow, Tomorrow Never Came
Today was here, a little like tomorrow
Still, it never came, blowing through
a wind that never came, a name that never knew.
A sequence of things that never will be.
Tomorrow never knows what it was supposed to say
nor did we go about it in the right way
Where did it go? That feeling we had the other day
Somebody must have wrapped it up
and mailed it away.
Still, it never came, blowing through
a wind that never came, a name that never knew.
A sequence of things that never will be.
Tomorrow never knows what it was supposed to say
nor did we go about it in the right way
Where did it go? That feeling we had the other day
Somebody must have wrapped it up
and mailed it away.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Magnificent Letter Stolen By Artists
Within the confines of these stars
Within the lace-work of of these worlds
Within the framework of these movements
We hear the sound that is not perceived
We see the chance to make a plan
We unfold the desires of our designs
We make the future of our past
Then when there is nothing beyond this
Then when the design is no longer there
Then when we fall forever into nothingness
Then when thoughts no longer come
Within the blackness of these mirrors
Within the mirage of the hallways
Within the never ending portrait halls
We begin to lose what we thought we had
We begin to hear the sounds we never heard
We fall from the center into a fog
We return to notions once seeming silly
Then when the ages appear in manifold
Then while a tide washes over destruction
Then when infestation is apparent in their faces
Then while we speak in archaic tongues
Within corpuscular confines of our reflection
Within the doll's eyes we've sewn backwards
Within time resting on the notion of itself
Within the narrowest of boats in sea foam
Under the influence of a magnetic force
Under a flotilla of conquering tribesmen
Under the sacred presence of nocturnal plants
Under pine needle shadows used for compass
We enter a room through cavernous doorways
We settle in chairs of arranged feathers
We whisper to each other that we know the nightmare
Then as the clocks melt on the shore of the Caspian Sea
Then as the Earth implodes through its vortex
Then as voices drift to differing directions
Then as our sun no longer belongs in the sky
While we sit under stars the lagoon is present
While nature is forgiving the idea of it is not
While we labor with our thoughts crossing
While the comet moves closer we are still far away
Under the guise of unknowing it happens again
Under a great tree where we understand reunion
Under the influence of tidal activity we swim
Under the lake of stars that separates us
We play and what we play at is described
We trespass and trespass against ourselves
We adapt to the falling nature of all loss
We deliver the glossy idea in a golden package
There will be no place to go to be alone
There is a place where truths remain sacred
There beyond the temple is the mountain in mist
There goes the only pulse left in the body
While you were out we gathered our things
While time waits for no one I wait for you
While in the depths of this cave we didn't see
While all that was taken later was revealed
Under great duress the team of dogs leaped
Under scoops that slowed the oncoming snow
Under my disguise you will find a gentle hermit
Under and over in this bilious play of words
We turn to see ourself in a blackened pool
We reach up to pull a cord of a light
We sit in a chair facing each other
We speak to each other as if we've always known
We were twin identities born out of own devices
There is nothing more to say to clear it up
There will be nowhere to go from here
There are no other plans to be made for this
There has never been a time to live this one
There are several ways of looking at it now
As we come to know this something is evolving
As a barometer tells what the dew point is
As he looks at the coins tossed for the I Ching
As another world replaces the current one
As all is being seen from the inside and the outside
Under the sail of a distant ship things move slowly
Under these present circumstances this is confusing
Under pale light we have read our fates in twine
Under me you are pinned and there is very little light
Under small craft in deep ditch next to long highway
While sitting up I could see where I was sitting then
While portraits being removed from a wall lament
While in a gallery under renovation
While looking for a new location for these faces
While cold weather across covered paint wears
In time, we look behind us again to see us there
In heavy black mud up to the waistcoat weathered
In a month when it rains and the clocks stop us
In constant time of strife bending inside
Then I looked back through a photo diary
Then there was nothing I could see
Then better was I for knowing nothing
Then it was going to happen, it was unexpected
We come to see what we are talking about
We can almost make the language we are speaking
We are clearly dying and embarrassed for it
We expect to see the slow meandering self
Still we look closer at the fine filigree
Still and the hood of lost meaning
Still hearts and underwhelmed by what we know
Still noises at distant gates climbing
Under great esplanades of arbors waiting
Under latchkey in undergrowth growing
Under some creamery that is long since closed
Under horse's hot breathing in cold gray whither
Under slow painting and chipping of solid air
They seem to think we misspoke
They never listen to what we said
They are born in water and cannot hear the air
They are constrained in the usual way
As I turn the pages of another time
As the houses of dust breaks down
As the well deepens under sad eyes
As pages turn as pages turn
Cast of sea worn Senators climb the halls
Cast a wreckage to the fate of everyone
Cast a knowing glance at the drunk and slobbering
We might look deeper so we think
We slay the last long porpoise of captivity
We look at vigils on TV and pray we don't end up dead
We take out new coat and shirt
The glow of light comes through a window
The calling of a memory just beyond your birth
The woman bending her shadow into the fountain
The life goes out with a short note like whisper
Okay, I get it, it's midnight now
Ok, but not any more aware of where you are
Okay they'll say but who really cares
Ok, I'll speak to you again before I'm gone
Within the lace-work of of these worlds
Within the framework of these movements
We hear the sound that is not perceived
We see the chance to make a plan
We unfold the desires of our designs
We make the future of our past
Then when there is nothing beyond this
Then when the design is no longer there
Then when we fall forever into nothingness
Then when thoughts no longer come
Within the blackness of these mirrors
Within the mirage of the hallways
Within the never ending portrait halls
We begin to lose what we thought we had
We begin to hear the sounds we never heard
We fall from the center into a fog
We return to notions once seeming silly
Then when the ages appear in manifold
Then while a tide washes over destruction
Then when infestation is apparent in their faces
Then while we speak in archaic tongues
Within corpuscular confines of our reflection
Within the doll's eyes we've sewn backwards
Within time resting on the notion of itself
Within the narrowest of boats in sea foam
Under the influence of a magnetic force
Under a flotilla of conquering tribesmen
Under the sacred presence of nocturnal plants
Under pine needle shadows used for compass
We enter a room through cavernous doorways
We settle in chairs of arranged feathers
We whisper to each other that we know the nightmare
Then as the clocks melt on the shore of the Caspian Sea
Then as the Earth implodes through its vortex
Then as voices drift to differing directions
Then as our sun no longer belongs in the sky
While we sit under stars the lagoon is present
While nature is forgiving the idea of it is not
While we labor with our thoughts crossing
While the comet moves closer we are still far away
Under the guise of unknowing it happens again
Under a great tree where we understand reunion
Under the influence of tidal activity we swim
Under the lake of stars that separates us
We play and what we play at is described
We trespass and trespass against ourselves
We adapt to the falling nature of all loss
We deliver the glossy idea in a golden package
There will be no place to go to be alone
There is a place where truths remain sacred
There beyond the temple is the mountain in mist
There goes the only pulse left in the body
While you were out we gathered our things
While time waits for no one I wait for you
While in the depths of this cave we didn't see
While all that was taken later was revealed
Under great duress the team of dogs leaped
Under scoops that slowed the oncoming snow
Under my disguise you will find a gentle hermit
Under and over in this bilious play of words
We turn to see ourself in a blackened pool
We reach up to pull a cord of a light
We sit in a chair facing each other
We speak to each other as if we've always known
We were twin identities born out of own devices
There is nothing more to say to clear it up
There will be nowhere to go from here
There are no other plans to be made for this
There has never been a time to live this one
There are several ways of looking at it now
As we come to know this something is evolving
As a barometer tells what the dew point is
As he looks at the coins tossed for the I Ching
As another world replaces the current one
As all is being seen from the inside and the outside
Under the sail of a distant ship things move slowly
Under these present circumstances this is confusing
Under pale light we have read our fates in twine
Under me you are pinned and there is very little light
Under small craft in deep ditch next to long highway
While sitting up I could see where I was sitting then
While portraits being removed from a wall lament
While in a gallery under renovation
While looking for a new location for these faces
While cold weather across covered paint wears
In time, we look behind us again to see us there
In heavy black mud up to the waistcoat weathered
In a month when it rains and the clocks stop us
In constant time of strife bending inside
Then I looked back through a photo diary
Then there was nothing I could see
Then better was I for knowing nothing
Then it was going to happen, it was unexpected
We come to see what we are talking about
We can almost make the language we are speaking
We are clearly dying and embarrassed for it
We expect to see the slow meandering self
Still we look closer at the fine filigree
Still and the hood of lost meaning
Still hearts and underwhelmed by what we know
Still noises at distant gates climbing
Under great esplanades of arbors waiting
Under latchkey in undergrowth growing
Under some creamery that is long since closed
Under horse's hot breathing in cold gray whither
Under slow painting and chipping of solid air
They seem to think we misspoke
They never listen to what we said
They are born in water and cannot hear the air
They are constrained in the usual way
As I turn the pages of another time
As the houses of dust breaks down
As the well deepens under sad eyes
As pages turn as pages turn
Cast of sea worn Senators climb the halls
Cast a wreckage to the fate of everyone
Cast a knowing glance at the drunk and slobbering
We might look deeper so we think
We slay the last long porpoise of captivity
We look at vigils on TV and pray we don't end up dead
We take out new coat and shirt
The glow of light comes through a window
The calling of a memory just beyond your birth
The woman bending her shadow into the fountain
The life goes out with a short note like whisper
Okay, I get it, it's midnight now
Ok, but not any more aware of where you are
Okay they'll say but who really cares
Ok, I'll speak to you again before I'm gone
Sunday, November 9, 2014
The Candy Striped Castle
In the elongated shadow of the mangled artifice that housed the Ministry of Defense, a lace-work mist shrouded another building both beautiful and delectable to the onlooker's eye. This building contained no corners. It's highest spire was more than one-hundred feet high and there were many spires, some hidden from differing angles. Every tower was striped with a different color. Every color seemed to be produced by a natural source, the color of a certain iris or the dappled green of an unripened pear or the yellow of dried grass. When a ray of sunlight was able to pierce the shadow of the mangled Ministry of Defense, one might see, if but for a second, the undulating magnificence of this other building. Most of the time, however, this building was hidden in deep shadow and perhaps still is.
Some of us have wondered, hearing about this building hidden in shadow, just when it was built and by who. Some speculate, and it has become the legend, that the castle was built by a guild of spirited artisans commissioned by a benevolent emperor who wanted to make a gift to his people. This emperor, some say was called Emeraldo, was raised by teachers living in surrounding caves. These teachers believed that the material world contained a key to understanding a hidden message which would act as a guide or map of an equally hidden source of benevolence. The world of mankind is constantly tricked by shadows into believing that power is only attainable through force and dominion.
The young Emperor, who was more like a sage, realized over time that he did not want to have power over people, that this did not suit him, that it was off putting and uncomfortable. For a number of years he stood looking at himself in a long mirror. At first he saw a young man, handsome and intelligent looking, growing stronger and then he saw something behind this as if something existed through him that was not part of his physical body. This other presence made itself more known and eventually he was unable to see his physical body and gave up on looking in the mirror. He had become familiar with this other presence, this inner hermit whose lamp was showing him the way to conduct his life. The hermit told him it was a great responsibility to teach others and that a monument to the natural world would prove a powerful symbol that others might see and wake as if from a dream into knowing world. This castle was not erected by slaves but by his students, young artisans who gave up on ordinary life and devoted themselves to the life of the inner hermit.
Plans were drawn up and it was decided this building should emulate the natural world in every way outside and in to such a degree that anyone encountering the building might take it for a naturally occurring event rather than some building and by no means a fortress. When it was completed, people came from all around in pilgrimage and some stayed to become part of the work inside and then one year a war broke out in a neighboring community over the purchase of animals. This war grew in intensity until some of the neighboring leaders felt they needed to build a Ministry of Defense to house their ideas of war. These leaders felt that this was all important to keep order in their world.
The second building was erected on a hill above the candy striped castle long after the benevolent emperor ceased to exist.
Some of us have wondered, hearing about this building hidden in shadow, just when it was built and by who. Some speculate, and it has become the legend, that the castle was built by a guild of spirited artisans commissioned by a benevolent emperor who wanted to make a gift to his people. This emperor, some say was called Emeraldo, was raised by teachers living in surrounding caves. These teachers believed that the material world contained a key to understanding a hidden message which would act as a guide or map of an equally hidden source of benevolence. The world of mankind is constantly tricked by shadows into believing that power is only attainable through force and dominion.
The young Emperor, who was more like a sage, realized over time that he did not want to have power over people, that this did not suit him, that it was off putting and uncomfortable. For a number of years he stood looking at himself in a long mirror. At first he saw a young man, handsome and intelligent looking, growing stronger and then he saw something behind this as if something existed through him that was not part of his physical body. This other presence made itself more known and eventually he was unable to see his physical body and gave up on looking in the mirror. He had become familiar with this other presence, this inner hermit whose lamp was showing him the way to conduct his life. The hermit told him it was a great responsibility to teach others and that a monument to the natural world would prove a powerful symbol that others might see and wake as if from a dream into knowing world. This castle was not erected by slaves but by his students, young artisans who gave up on ordinary life and devoted themselves to the life of the inner hermit.
Plans were drawn up and it was decided this building should emulate the natural world in every way outside and in to such a degree that anyone encountering the building might take it for a naturally occurring event rather than some building and by no means a fortress. When it was completed, people came from all around in pilgrimage and some stayed to become part of the work inside and then one year a war broke out in a neighboring community over the purchase of animals. This war grew in intensity until some of the neighboring leaders felt they needed to build a Ministry of Defense to house their ideas of war. These leaders felt that this was all important to keep order in their world.
The second building was erected on a hill above the candy striped castle long after the benevolent emperor ceased to exist.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
The Black Snake or Pearls
Yesterday ended hard as a dead man wrapped in paper looks
Sometimes I think my child doesn't love me but it is hard to cry
Others feel the warmth of company. The Hermit is a Sufi
I pray there is smoke coming out of my ears otherwise, I don't know
Staying deep in quiet nights at the glass villa
The "tea" jettisoned me. I had to turn down the radio so I could hear it
Another day on planet Golda My Ear. All that Cadillac exhaust/ cardiac defrost
The plumage heritage of forgotten civilizations whose language we speak
When deep in schizophrenia trying to row this boat to something resembling shore
I pour water into water. Fix your eyes on the little man.
He is deep in a thought, spindly, can't get out, the meter isn't right
She stayed home to listen to the long-haired music while I....
Scratching the paper from the window, another world permits
Slowly come to life/death/life/longing/annoyed/drifting/settlement
Mernow's devil again. Hope it doesn't cause us to turn Republican
Republican stripped of the republic, somebody found a pubic hair
Remember? This is the dawning of the age of aquariums, I mean...
Sometimes I think my child doesn't love me but it is hard to cry
Others feel the warmth of company. The Hermit is a Sufi
I pray there is smoke coming out of my ears otherwise, I don't know
Staying deep in quiet nights at the glass villa
The "tea" jettisoned me. I had to turn down the radio so I could hear it
Another day on planet Golda My Ear. All that Cadillac exhaust/ cardiac defrost
The plumage heritage of forgotten civilizations whose language we speak
When deep in schizophrenia trying to row this boat to something resembling shore
I pour water into water. Fix your eyes on the little man.
He is deep in a thought, spindly, can't get out, the meter isn't right
She stayed home to listen to the long-haired music while I....
Scratching the paper from the window, another world permits
Slowly come to life/death/life/longing/annoyed/drifting/settlement
Mernow's devil again. Hope it doesn't cause us to turn Republican
Republican stripped of the republic, somebody found a pubic hair
Remember? This is the dawning of the age of aquariums, I mean...
Sunday, October 26, 2014
The Blue
What has come out of the blue is not what you expected
So says the tracks on forgotten night walks
The fatigue we feel after a long but good day
When Brad Pitt plays a gangster I think he might just be making money
Something on the sly. No one should get perturbed.
The special effects were pretty great but not real
Time doesn't slow down that way or does it. Can't say I know for sure
Though I've seen these moments be a little slower
Some of those who come back from the beyond say they know it does
That we are all careening off into some deeper place and it is slower
The mind is not able to keep track of it. The man with tie caught
in the slow moving machine knows the dread. The absent mind.
Are
We
To
Know
our
fate
has
only
elasticity
or
it
is
frigid
pink
.
.
..........
So says the tracks on forgotten night walks
The fatigue we feel after a long but good day
When Brad Pitt plays a gangster I think he might just be making money
Something on the sly. No one should get perturbed.
The special effects were pretty great but not real
Time doesn't slow down that way or does it. Can't say I know for sure
Though I've seen these moments be a little slower
Some of those who come back from the beyond say they know it does
That we are all careening off into some deeper place and it is slower
The mind is not able to keep track of it. The man with tie caught
in the slow moving machine knows the dread. The absent mind.
Are
We
To
Know
our
fate
has
only
elasticity
or
it
is
frigid
pink
.
.
..........
Friday, October 24, 2014
Last Rites
they bog you down with paperwork
which looks more like words on a screen
until inside there is a scream
a shredding interior and they say please do it
and you do because there is no way out of it
the forever tunnel of smiles and gestures and scowls
until you bend over in a bow that wasn't planned
you grab your ankles and kiss your ass goodbye
as it is said by so many pulp novel characters
their mouths turned sideways and spilling teeth
Hurricane had to have sex with Travolta to save me
from a beating from pulling the prince nez from a balding head
It is autumn again and the cold is refreshing on the nerves
dreams pop up instantaneously and woven women cry over tall balconies
not a real balcony but woven one at an rate
Hear what they say. It is all made up. Their words are rags
thrown off back alley trucks that careen
we are all a little shaken up. It is time to leave this life
someone will perform last rites on the poor animal
it is not your fault, you just lived here for awhile
which looks more like words on a screen
until inside there is a scream
a shredding interior and they say please do it
and you do because there is no way out of it
the forever tunnel of smiles and gestures and scowls
until you bend over in a bow that wasn't planned
you grab your ankles and kiss your ass goodbye
as it is said by so many pulp novel characters
their mouths turned sideways and spilling teeth
Hurricane had to have sex with Travolta to save me
from a beating from pulling the prince nez from a balding head
It is autumn again and the cold is refreshing on the nerves
dreams pop up instantaneously and woven women cry over tall balconies
not a real balcony but woven one at an rate
Hear what they say. It is all made up. Their words are rags
thrown off back alley trucks that careen
we are all a little shaken up. It is time to leave this life
someone will perform last rites on the poor animal
it is not your fault, you just lived here for awhile
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