November 13, 2007
saturated with opulence
senses voided (vocitus....vacuus)
in lieu of a heart beating hale
intent on probing the past
too late (laeter...lassus)
for no ears tune to the sufferance
anon to the beckoning
it shall away
to reappear....oh, but do not cast
for you can't not see anyerr
to bound, howl, leap towards abeyance
and joyful sounds erupt
when the glance averts true relation
and neglect engenders trust
you think other people choose the current situation, the one we all have to live in day in and day out, on their deathbeds?
how they feel at the moment of death determines how the rest of us live out our meager existences?
you think our intents are snatched at the moment of release?
used without our consent or even knowledge?
the juggernaut released and harnessed....mankind's contribution to the struggle
tween left and right
on and off
dark and light
I think i can make do with only the 3 dimensions....yes
the first, uninhibited spree
the second, guilty sobriety
but why can't we live in the third?
i want the choice of a recycled balance
to stand tip-toed on the knife's edge
that saps the strength of our dying breathes
with the resultant wavefront creating the first and second
and a fourth if wedged properly
they of the glaz-ed eye
who look upon our dearth of dash
and disembowel our sigh
this glaze a smear of cause
and lift the guise as is his due
and yes....I know
I know it well
as surely as do you....
you can not blame hormonal surge
that animalistic fruit
it has no place in suffering
that light is lit and mute
just fade to shade
construe, oh......you knew
you stand aglaze
the sacrifice was neer refused
now hollow be your values queue
oh ye of the glazed eye
i see the deliberate ones
bereft of a stagnant ego
floundering on the shoals
of insolent sacrifice
taking that unconditional dip
why would you deny
your wright of joy
that wonder of rue
the flailing journey
why do we all neglect
the curcuit taken
in ever deepening spirals
beyond our joyless throes
to find the one within
who shouts, yearns, bleeds
for the retribution
why abandon indulgence
when you can surrender
to extravagance, bounty
grace and cruelty
the Crown of Rout
your everlasting garland....
when you lain down
amongst the fiber of my soul's entanglings
to hold with a forgiving regard
neer to cherish the familiar impulses
bled onto these foils of a season spent
when you clasped my offer
of a loving inconvenience
to turn your heedless eye apparent
not to view the manifestation
of those strokes given to a blessing sink
but to let loose when the flint struck
and connect the brilliance scrapped
when you made this
appointment with sufferance
to hear that unconditional heartbeat
the one that rushes down galleries
aligned with clueless shivers
intent on a perilous joy
when controlling whispers burst
upon the countless cascading mottos
of hollowish salvation
an adoration warm with truth and pulse
the obvious deprivaton pre-ordained
bona fide and distinct
with that haphazard motion thrust
all opportunities to beckon
with a simple lack of reflex
and it's suddenness plummeting
amid endurance of a vacancy grant
of a vague recollection
carresses that stroke
a sheath held long and punished
those imprints left behind
a sensation best hid
from the all knowing eyes
of a sun
through and free
of buttressed empathy
it's bliss worn and frayed
no longer taking visitors
towards the memory of
by the view
of heals of devotion
wandering afar and astray
but a dream of withered lust
that curdles the blaze
all those dreams flee
for none can withstand the
lucent reason and complacency
while shadow runs unrestrained
through the weave of device and desire
gone off course
'mongst twisted shells
discarded in the throes
of a neglectful rapture
the only tangible evidence
not of god
but of a warp and flushed truth
to bold to contain our paradigm
this tenement lorn
this ardor bled
this existence recessed....
despair despeir desperare
suspicion equals fear equals denial
Denial of our judgments
Denial of our ever-evolving hypocrisy
Denial to surrender (aww surrender….know it well)
who is it that's supposed to be acceptive of whom?
if you can not accept your own base nature
how can you then accept the fears of others….
but then I'm sorry to say..….your fear is YOUR repression, not mine
I have no qualms….I am satisfied
my truth is no fantasy
and your opinion is irrelevant
why fight fire with fire
when you don't even feed yours properly
at least I've faced down my vile beast within
you……you run from yours
through travail's ghastly shaft
this journey's scope
but a surged blur
superior, far and affrayed
are yet a memory's pall
i have moved beside
in this route taken
linear to the melee
and they unravel with fret
side and spite
their purpose a care
smitten with a disagreeable ennui
having been left by their infancy
lush and wet with tears
too soon shed midst misery's terrain
are let loose in jest
on a populace less reflexive
we enroil in a brume
hazed and adjacent to the landscape of my ideals
simply an after-mirage in the rear view
that should have burdened....
was there something to that trepidation?
a psycho physicality
that synthesized into a frequency
i should have taken notice of?
i thought it but a phinomenon of perception
twin brains surmising movement
a flicker fused....
could you travel half-way to reality
on the faith of a written word?
as the whim of others
attempts an unbroken dash
over ruts worn thin by
euphoria and remorse
the question always arises....
why would one want
to rescind and bide
a step away from apathy?
clear the blue glow
of a full moon's right
with fog drenched vales
spiked with haunted fingers
but I negate your bliss
please leave me torpid
tween headlong and even
don't drag me down
to your rapturous twilight
that burns with a sacrilegious wick
is it's own reward
for a life blown hard
by the roar of chagrin
hollow and lacerated
what looks to some
a blank hue
is in fact a ludicrous contest
that wrest of one last drop of birr
from the embrace of silence
the vessel withered and crushed
as one long lost ship
dredged from millennia's nether
having been chawed and spat out
by the sucking maws
of unfathomable gluttons
they have hard-won the havoc
leaving the soul divided
eternal charisma shattered
the outcome open ended
out of the mind
of an abyss gone rampant
while running blessedly through
the fields of remark
on my way
to a moment encircled
by all views
what to you
does my pause accomplish?
i have nothing to offer
such a lambent query of requital
should i halt....for thu
you who have no delineation
no boundary left
or structure of assumption?
you made me pivot my intent
through the core
deeper than that familiar voice
and now I channel the void
that has no tongue
there is nothing to hear
here in the vacuum
why do you answer?
there is nothing sincere
here in the wildness
why do you linger?
there is nothing to volunteer
here in the collective sigh
why do you besiege?
i shudder along with the cryptic child
who flinches from shadowed pulses
that linger long veins
flush with remembered perplexity
those embryonic enigmas
embedded too deep to make my own
is this what you call to
when you surpass this hermetic shard?
You know what frightens me the most?
Not monsters, or the lush effects so common now-a-days. Not Death, nor weapons, wild beasts or brutal assaults…..
No….no, my pet fear is madness.
Madness terrifies me, that total mental collapse into spiritual decay.
I have this image in my head from a movie I saw so long ago. Of a woman, from a pre-civil war, well-to-do family, who loses touch with the commoners one day….
She takes to her hands and knees, crawling the house day in, night out, her black taffeta gown dragging the floor, her perspective halved and lacking.
At moments she seems as sane as you or I, just a peculiarity, this viewpoint from the hip so to say. But then eyes turn inward and she sees something that starts the foray……
The moaning and denials, screeches that reach sub sonic frequencies, to be followed by rushed whispers, the dialogue frantic and centered.
This….this is the effigy I fear most.
that appear quasied
but genuinely retroglide
through the solstice eve
the psycho-pompo-us mediation
skates tween con and un
a membrane most delicate
if you point the sun
against the universal centre
and heaven's fire
rich with humidity
fecund and deprived of the night's glow
coasts neath the right ascension
small and rare
with it's twin barrels of divine stigma
to agressively phase all those
all hail, all hail
the multi-states of mind flicker
out and round this iso-late crater
like an old time projection
cast by the setting sun
through the pulp of decay
words flicker by
on the window of contingency
too fast to hope the reserve
i analyze the repetition
a morsed dream that delves
broader afield with ever incarnate
dialogues scripted yet unique
if only in spectrum
i've heard....what was it i heard
i've seen this....yes, yes
again and amongst the lines....
to be inhibitionalistically bound
by the ghost of retreat and plunder
at anger, those tears which burn
the birth of verbatimed accusations
that control in the light of reason
resolve in this dance
to an ancient abuse
mis-faith, and the trust wanders
mis-used, even the echo will brood
mis-amity, and affection spits from inheritance
mis-aligned, we will all sabotage the assumption
feel the urge to be caught
in the midst of myself
once again....are you?
So I was standing still at 67 miles per hour again the other day, and I came across a tableau that was astonishing in its aftermath, though the moment seemed but a transit stroke. The second the scenes unfolded, each in their sequential pomp, the awe factor ratcheted up notch over notch till I was flabbergasted and wanting so to return to the act of the "crime".
Layer one….Red lights flashing in the distance, not unusual for a busy weekend by-way. Came up on brand new dooley pulled off to the side of the road, big and red with tinted and viewless windows and driver. A muddy brown sedan with hidden lights flashing in the back seat behind. Once you were up on the duo the lights faded in and out with strobic intensity….they are there….they are elsewhere….
Layer two….A man, in civilian clothes, walking from the sedan. Nice clothes, middle age, out of shape. But the odd factor was that if a vehicle is being pulled over by any law enforcement, the officer would be cautiously approaching the offending vehicle, weapon drawn and at the ready. Yet this man was sauntering through the roadside grasses like he was on his way to Sunday church services.
Now if this wasn't enough……on the other side of the road, almost directly opposite of this "crime"….
Layer three….at first glance I thought it was an elemental, a groundling deva type pacing the setting sun, waiting for its proper time. This "man", nut brown, with dirt so ingrained and skin so oakish as to appear black, yet with those piercing light eyes….
His clothing was an odd mish-match of extremely well-worn denim and torn-up, not-oft washed plaids. His boots were at least a half inch thick cowhide, gnarled and twisted to exactly fit his pristine feet. His hat, a twisted heap of fiber, molded by sweat and sun, to only vaguely resemble a sun bonnet. Thick of chest, a man who worked and fed every muscle, not just paid homage in a mirror. But the clincher, the item that made me realize I was not witnessing a modern day man walking along the road as if on an errand, were his chaps.
They were not the common full-leg, up-to-the waist kind. No, these went only up as far as the knee – thick unbending leather bells. Snake charmer chaps we call them here. Now, we have our share of local rodeo groups, but this was no sideshow-rodeo-cowboy-clown. This was a throwback to those days gone by of the cross-world cattle drives. And where would this creature, if "cowboy" he truly was, be coming from? We were on the side of the road, no ranches or developments or homes anywhere for at least a mile either way……
He was directly across from the officer and his offender. He looked at the scene as if to say "yea, I see it, I seen it before, it's just a late evening heat mirage. It will disappear as always when the sun sets down. But in the meantime I'm gonna take notes".
Highway 130 is cutting across old highways and back roads that were once trails between ranches and markets, auction and slaughter houses, and railroads and big cities up north and east. I think things other than the dust are being disturbed. And I truly think this is why my perspective is being so distorted….one of these days I won't just be driving by one of those portals, I'm going to drive 'through'……
a deformance of soul
the gnarl and kink
unable to wreathe our
a barrage and butt
against our pitch
demanding indemnific entrance
a lamentable ado
when understanding eclipsed
these simple flurries reviled and latent
blown down and neglected
all percusses reciprocated
the claws descended and razor dark
this knotty tread can't be helped
can't you see....
the strength is a shield
not a weapon
this yearning for consent
the dip into the cusp
is exactly what marks their aura suspect
for the quarry can sense the courser....
yet not one of you will allow
....that even monsters
need a kindness now and again
September 2, 2007
the tears fall like chafe
cleansing and riding
the grit of deceit
from the bruised soul
it runs wild
under the blue-black skies
with that umbered pearl
hanging pendulous and throbbed
a witness to
its own gravel aghast
in untold and infant-decimal agonies
that pale in response
to a bairnish heartbreak
the trick is to layer thinly
like that orb
awash in blood and endearment
refract those sensations
let cope after weather
slip and slope off the contours
ahhh, to be the observation
instead of the casualty
it's amazing how we all deceive ourselves, the mirror
and of course, each other
one word, one little utterance
can make you ask that all-important question......
who the hell was that i just opened my soul up to?
listen to the chatter, the filler
not what a person is trying to convey
listen to what's being said off the cuff
one flippant remark....
can open a crack you can see straight through
and give inadvertant passage to a psyche
facades are to be worn, yes, i agree
and some of them can be darn good
deceive even the donner at times
but one little phrase...
if someone doesn't even know themself....
then why the need to be someone you aren't
or someone you don't remember
i am so fucking tired of the game....
during the sacred hush
the genius of the ninth hour gathers
grewsome trails abound
and obedience is stimulated beyond human endurance
only then may the initiator dodge through the ego
to walk the cycle descended
and then, then
the onliest can engage the finger of saturn
with silver on the left-hand path, invisible
the black of unpowered possibility
layered with the white of impure austerity
binds with the scat of humility
to allow the martyr free rein
take up that threefold thread
the furies' sting will not slough away
dread the fear that clutches
and take the time to adjust your karmic secret
do not allow another man's faith to follow you
and preserve yourself against the false lights
of irrational belief
know....dare....come full circle
....and be silent
(yes, it's still happening...)
it occured to me that we don't actually know when we are going
at any given minute, second, moment, nano-instance
can you give an accounting?
can you with a straight face say....
i am on my way to 10:02 am
is that in your set of variables?
would you like to meet for an atom splittage or two?
or, i'm backing up to 6:03 on friday evening,
the second of march '07
i didn't like how that panned out
thought i'd re-warp the synapsii and queue up again
hmmm, somehow i don't think any of this
is crossing our expanditure....ever
yea, we make 'appointments'
a general reference to a future
where we fractures of varying speed limits
attempt to dock and exchange abstract flashes
and we have 'memories'
a fond (or scarred) reminder
those little bookmarks of a story line
seemingly implanted, natural....shared
deep into our organic data mine
but these exercises are extremely futile
our vibrations never synch....never
what we think is another person
someone we are exchanging thoughts, hopes
spit filled air with
is simply an illusion
a shadow puppet on our cell wall
rubbed there by a passing mote
on it's over-eager shot
to the center of infinity
i think i had a dream last night
or maybe it was yesterwhen
it's hard to tell particulars
of a circling, ever coiling
hidden ardor all encrouching
furtive darkness, luscious gnarling
that blendt itself to shade
it crept closer, ever closer
with incremental gain
whilst i was looking else
and i felt it....hmm, well let's say
i felt an unsubdued pollute
for it takes a special lense
to view a pestilated taint
but this landscape it was spotty
know those spots now don't you well
that rub the other way
when walking through the trance
these spots, they traveled
a longside me
counter to me....
ever onward, down and forward and between
till my armor lulled
the limes unmanned
a thought distracts
i glance awry
and straight into my heart
it finds it's course
it took the wright
the devil's twirl
it fled the canopy's unfurl
oh, straight to
my echoed heart it clasped
and once it met
all fear was gone
twas like a longing
gone to ground
one i never even knew
i couldn't miss
and now it nurtures
guards and strokes
there for me everwhen and cloaked
my nobbin where were you about
before you came?
deceptively buffered by prose and lull
they squeeze out a semblance of emotion that tears at
stutteringly aghast at prurient interest
it's beating rampant with combative charity crawling will-nill cross
crushingly seared at seams of isolation
the necessity for hullish aversion infinite and unabridged via
inviolate and unchaste in it's essential dispense of grace
where the whole does not dissect the one....transcendence
the heart gasped
lurching in utter shocked stutters
drip dropping it's love down
the drainage clogged with mindless
that was scraped off in the numbing silence
of this mind rubbed raw by discourse
the intent, to leave it's smear on all and sundry
totaled and forgotten
in the mad dash for disobliging infatuation
should we applaud?
from the beginning
the beginning of caprice, ache….kindness
devoured of the earth, held in a hollow full
with No Trespass admit….defeat
and surely no grimace witnessed
though ashes to ashes crest and pique
neer to quench the catalyst
it's throb cross those shadows bent
and surging with disregard
while slick with cunning….meet
please someone, tell me
why would one run
ever non-preservationally onward
towards an emotional wreck?
is it the heartless thrashing that absorbs?
the carnage without remorse?
i see it time and time again
the signs are all there, warning
yet ever onward they toss their senses
out that proverbial door
is it a morbid obtusity that drives?
a "let me see how much pain i can endure" mentality?
i am in perpetual awe
the emotionally ignorant lemmings
running ever and over that cliff to their bliss
for you can't tell me they don't love it....
for some, it's the only affection expected
in a life full to the brim of excessive crum
Today was another odd one……
Not for anything concrete that happened, but for the signettes that were left in my path. And an eminent dislocation, a launch if you would, for the senses.
It began at 3 am-ish. A knock on the door. Now, most of you may not think this odd, but I live in the middle of 2 1/2 wooded acres, in a community of like properties, out in a bumpkinfied sketch frequented by deer, cow and coyote. My property is wrapped in wire, fence locked, animals on the alert 24/7 (well, except when they're asleep, but that's another story, hehe). Yet a knocking awoke. Not a loud banging, but one that ended with a shuddering scratch. It took a minute to remember that one of my adopted dogs, one that spent his time haphazardly faithful between me and his previous home, had failed to come in last night. I have tried in vain to plug up every available hole in the fencing with chicken wire (he is a Houdini, able to squeeze through the standard 4x6 ranch fence square, and he's not a small dog….gawd!!), but I look away for a flash, or come home from a trip, and he is outside the property….again.
Well, he decided 3 am-ish was time for bed I guess, and was demanding entrance to his nightly cookie and soft bed. Cheeky devil. Ordinarily I would be in a foul mood after having been woken in such a demanding fashion, but this morning the disconnection I spoke of made itself known from this first crack of the mindlid.
Routines were met, coffee was drunk, departure was planned and executed. I walked outside, high intensity flashlight trained on the driveway I had to walk up each morning. I'm not too worried about being ravished and what-not on this dark jaunt up the gauntlet (shadowy recesses flickering and writhing with the wind, disembodied sounds, spider webs) five days out of the week, not with the pack on the prowl and alert. So when something the size of an orange is seemingly tossed across the light's arc, to travel just outside its boundary, I was taken aback and slowly pondered to a stop.
I crept up, swinging the light's beam from left to right. There, on the ground up ahead about 3 feet. What the heck? It appeared to be moths in coitus, ha. Never seen that one, and here I thought I was a nature lover. Hehe. I started to walk around, when something caught my eye. A small light, in the vicinity of said moths. Oh good lord, I need to investigate. I edged closer, closer still, till I was standing right above them, a hazy apparition behind a light from up on high, like some mythical being. And there it was again. A twinkle. Perhaps from one of the moth's eye? Then they both swung their hairy little heads forward, and I spied two sets of feral beams……odd. Had I taken a step into Don Juan's nonordinary reality? I can remember another episode with the moths, a dance to the parabola, but that I'll leave for another eve's review. In any event, the remainder of the day would be the telling.
I continued on to work, the rest of the journey uneventful. I felt odd (there's that word again, but I know no other adjective that comes close) throughout the morning. I would be in the company of co-workers and friends, standing or sitting in usual proximity, camaraderie and connection disjointed. And all through-out the morning, I would get these little orgasmic rushes, the duration but of 15 to 20 seconds. I don't know how else to describe them. It was a heightened hyper sense, euphoric and at times embarrassing. Did they, my fellow bees, guess the guilty secret behind my blanked façade? God, I hope not, haha.
At any rate, I attempted many remedies to alleviate the sensations – a lap around the building, a trip to the outdoors, a meeting with friends that should have been animated, but which fell flat due to my non-participation and other-where-ness. The ever deadening routine of numbers and e-mails. I even tried a soda, thinking it was some type of ordinary-like gaseous episode, hehe. I finally admitted defeat and let the boss know I was out for the day. Maybe a trip around the city to run errands would succeed where nothing else could.
Now, I spend a fair amount of time riding the concrete ribbons around my corner of 'paradise'. Monotonous times, broken up by the seasonal flora, squashed and prayed at critters, wrecks and the ever present rape of the landscape by construction crews. In my part of the tri-county a new highway is being lain across the mural, snaking its way through the by-ways and forgotten lanes of which I roam, with the anticipatory compounds of useless enterprise that popup when there is a glee in the imaginary consumer's eye encroaching on my corner. But most times my eyes are drawn to the grasses fluttering in the breeze of passing vehicles by the sides of the rode. It can be hypnotic, and many a time choreographed by whatever music I happen to be listening to.
But today, something odd….yes, there, I said it again…..Odd. In most cases, when you are flying down the road at ungodly speeds, the real estate rushes TOWARDS you. In other words, you are traveling THROUGH it. A matter of perspective I know, but one which we humans cherish, if only for the semblance of normality. But today, the landscape traveled along WITH me. I thought perhaps I was sleep driving. I'm on the roads so often as I've said, I've seen some strange things through my numbed eyes. But no, this happened numerous times throughout the circuit. The ground, grasses, the ever present advertising billboards and rottage on the side of the road were traveling in the same direction as I. Is it only a matter of perspective? Or had I slipped beneath, around, behind the view held by the general populace?
I decided to look closely at this screen door held open for my perusal instead of flinching aside in shock. I would be brave and SEE that which I would normally flee from in fear, that fear of the unknown we as a species have grown old with. So I attended. I saw the terrain, hard and focused. Every blade of grass, its warpage and weft, the rise and fall of each stone. The contour of a setting that was unorthodoxically stationary. The feeling was of being escorted, path smoothed, the ride but a sit for an instant. But escorted to where? I went with the flow, let myself twist with the distortion. A lapse then occurred, one of miles, across arenas often viewed, through vistas wearily traversed. A lapse of a seeming wink….but of when did I go? The truck on auto-pilot, I tripped the light of the moth's eye, arriving home in one whole, albeit stuttered piece.That little trip bares repeating.....
roiling cross bodies of oiled phlegm
hissed through the ark of force
catch them if you can
for when they harden
the snake's glass ring of stone
will prosper all ventures
the egg envelopes, glain encircles
and those thick lunettes of green, blue and white
lain out in all their deceptive splendor
shall be dug from the Hakpen ave
while the Pedra del Cobra
must be torn from sleeping serpent's mount
lest it dissolve like death with a whimper
but that daemon Pádraig
banished the femi-nine to the lindworm's leap
by pitting the fire in the dragon's mouth
the frothed hood extinguished by frenzied moths
bent on processional pomp
oh woe be
unto the Gliding King and his ochim
smothered in desiccate
unable to think
or grasp myself out of this seal
is this not what i wanted?
to be cocooned
a babble crossed this recent vacuum
like ants eating at the crust
the touch of the hatter
but could it have been real?
..they are far
....they are away
......they don't exist
honey-combed in a corner
fed and nurtured by phantoms
of my inspirations
i can just barely meet....
....she has died
......she is dead
no, i would have sensed something
i always endure too great
how could i not have touched this loss?
this necessary twine of my being
snapped of existence?
feelings aloof or suffocate
i completely missed the forecast
while bent into that nook
could i not have suffered the gap?
when brightness is able to produce it's shadow
and man's moral and spiritual monster is maid
Two must interlace to allow the One
since One produced Two as an impression of matter
Two must be the soul of One
for Two is the radiance of One piercing chaos
and though Two sits in the portal to guide all pertained
it's healing touch shelters from scars caste by law
the equilibrated force of the profane on the sun
causes the rebirth of sacred and mysterious heart
on the throne of the wing-ed son
scintillated between unrelated thunderheads
from the source
to a love of a friend
to hover round the fogged senses of it's target
a seemingly random rendezvous in the infinity
but one that gained significance
as the path was regressed
when lightning is about to strike
does everyone in the vicinity feel the urge?
the tingling and numbness
of energy gone awry?
are some forewarned?
some given the chance to dart?
are then some others
by those who choose their own time?
it seems to be a family trait
the ability to choose one's own time......
the mold from which i was poured
ceased to exist yesterday
a tiny little warrior woman
who was fierce with her humor
who fought with unconventional weapons
of imagination and shadow
who could manufacture realities
as needed to backup her dictates
she was well-versed in universal languages
you could not beat her on right and wrong
she was the scale from which your intentions were weighed
one look from her soul....judgement sealed and executed
this woman feared no one
certainly no man
neither society nor death
and having faced it down a time or two
she knew life was for the taking
she fed and nurtured my 12th house soul
taught it to call chants and open the doors
all without having to be in her presence
for our energy combined....
a celestial event no mere mortal could withstand
when we inhabitat the same dimension
lo and behold you minions of the dirge
bow down, pay homage
or get out of the fucking way
i feel no tug of annihilation
why would the doppelganger linger
and not the author?
it seems the clone would be made of weaker material
unless the archetype pushed and stood my place....
safe journey amita
your resonance will be missed....
what would it be like to let someone in
to give a guided tour of the hidden paths
to admire anew the un-balance
the tree splits with what could have been a mighty roar
but if there are no obstacles in it's way
the moment passes without making a sound
solitude is like that
if I'm not there to witness your struggle
did you actually suffer?
Did those flames of emotion even lick your heels?
Or was that too an illusion?
Alas, by my very existence in your flight
I've altered the differential
Your delusion has become ours
My observation has become yours
Clearly….the distortion is mutual
But this would only apply
If I even believed you existed at all….
someone asked me the other day
after a comment i made about life
if what i was feeling was truly boredom
or a dissatisfaction that failed to distract
a fine distinction that
yet my response was negative to both
no....my ennui has more to do with disappointment
i seem to be walking alone again in my mirage
i probe and rummage
but there are no chimeras to be found
lacking....this playbill is lacking
and it was listed as an exciting diversion
from the run-of-the-mill universe
in that advert I received in the half-life
what the hell happened?
July 14, 2007
slough off in sheets of ever-anxious waves
from this animated golem
the hard edge of belief wavers
and fixations begin to crumble
the eye is focusing within
what did i think?
why did i believe?
who are you anyway?
where is my faithful absurdity?
i have found that if you stand still too long
at those crossroads 'tween lief and breath
you forget your underpinning
what was once beheld as reassuring bulwarks
of fervor and remorse
will have flown with the moment
out the mind's door
you forget why you paused
and so where to from here?
to be honest, i miss the profundity
my life has become dull of late
agenda....i need an agenda!
naked but for their savagery
crushed and subdued
cast a circular shadow in all directions
with hollows to wallow in
and horizons that dip into appraisal
these natives marched west from the crescent
blessed and blasted from despair's grasp
breathing and lungeful with eminent desire
their power of choice but a whisper
that insinuates deep within the non-seeing fossa
there to burr and scratch out a niche
whether welcome or not
this teasel, this seed with teeth and fur
it leaves all occupants shrouded and skived
abandoned, vacant, aloof and sole
the wane of elan routine and assured
the schedule settled, even the intent sealed
forcing an onliest onto a sea of cessation
awash in a progress that decays as they stood
the swing eternal, lush and vicious
no prisoners taken, for there be no quarter for time
it's tentacles scythed to the ground
nature gives a grinding lurch with the contact
the scream, internally hollow
broadcast through bone and sinew
leaves the recipient's aura twanged and raw
though never knowing the source of their consequence
the itch and crawl of vibrations neither seen nor heard
can make for a finely filigreed sunopsis
such a lame excuse for clueless manners
he carresses the vertice that measures light and space
the violence is implicit in that march to the son
as it sets on the arm of matter and time
the dos-ambit scalene, a quasi tsunami of tedium
is ground into anal-ysis by the mensonge of desire
but why then worry about a bleared absolute
when the truth itself is polluted
how long it has been immobile is anyone's guess
it seethes and shifts
the contours ill-defined
a clear picture of shape is not possible
for the many see out of those eyes....
HE rises from the focal point
purpose in every line
the course set, intentions clear
SHE bends from the heart
a pause to review, then to journey
IT roars, creaks from the marrow
a shudder with cognizance
which agenda to follow?
a turn then shamble, and aft is sought
the radiance perpetual
all prefaced at the seat
that nave of periphery
just another aspirated itch of the divine
what is left when all have fled the hub
are uncounted bones strewn across that charred lea
each arising a scar on the trough
each journey a whimsical contrivance
what else is there really?
you can sit under that tree
ruminating forever if you are so inclined
me, I prefer infinity's strut
or a deeper taint?
it is afraid?
an escape from the vision?
one would hope the veneer of civilization
is thick enough to let the beast within
see into the hearts of those less worthy
without coming away sharpened and fueled
by the sun's contemplative rays
which dance across the mind's blind eye,
the one that hunkers down between
sanity and ferality
contamination cannot be avoided
I am sorry to agree with you on this point,
those parasitic dreams have indeed leaked
into your personal qualia
but please don't ignore the glances
swim in them
the quarks are arranged ego-wise
and you have simply disappeared
into your of own voluntary transparency
you were only following your tuathic habit
of leaving your sacrifices at the crossroad altar
no harm done……
These dogs, I love them, but ….A story
Last night after I had let them out for their bedtime jaunt, I got to sit and read the paper for a few minutes of quiet before the growling and screaming began. Well, being the pack mama I am my first impression was that one of my 'babies' was in trouble. I jumped up and ran for the door and the inky mid night shadows to rescue. I get out on the back porch and see nothing, but the night air is filled with what?
The storm is in the woods, right on the edge, right at the edge of the light thrown by the porch and service pole, the edge of tamed and insanity. There is a frenzy somewhere on the periphery and I am helpless. So I run back into the house for my flood light and heavy walking staff.
The porch is encased by spider webs – it's weird these spiders. They build their humongous webs each night (I've had one build a web as broad as my driveway and 12 feet high – driving through it was unreal) and then tear them down each morning just as the sun comes up, leaving no evidence of their existence. But if you happen to venture out after dark……
Well, after clearing the webs to get off the porch, I aim the thick beam into the woods. All I see are reflections, glittering eyes which show no sentience, only the recoil of light and reason. I start counting, one, two, three, one of the dogs, the puppy Ott comes darting out of the woods, then four……four? Oh god, what do they have? I see legs, bodies shifting and shielding……they know, they know I do not approve.
I yell at them to stop….this seems to be a cue to come into the light. To allow me the pack leader to join in perhaps? Or to show off, who the fuck knows. Sometimes there is no explanation….no human explanation. It can take many hours of reflection to plumb those murky depths that are the berserker's mind.
Something, a piece of fur, dark and shadowed, is being tossed about. No wait that is wrong, there is never a time that it is not in the clutches of one of the dogs' jaws. They are tugging vehemently from three different directions. Like one of their pull toys. Is it dead? Oh please, let it be dead….
The staff comes down hard on the back of the alpha male – he releases. The alpha wanna-be is next – god I hope I leave bruises. I am so mad, or perhaps I have joined in the frenzy, the blood lust, and just need to administer pain. At any rate, the staff comes down a third time…..
It is a raccoon, a youngster not even a year old, come to the bird feeders and watering stations in the cool of the night to browse. It hits the ground and staggers – oh jeez. I can't believe it's alive after all that! It tries to get upright but is clearly in shock. Wounds and fur torn, blood covering every surface, limbs obviously broken or torn out of socket. It is like a marionette that has no master. It tries again and again to rise and run….
In that moment the tableau halts to a grudging pause….I have a decision to make.
Do I grab the wounded animal to save it? Oh you can be sure it will rip me a new one, out of pain, fear, and belief that I am part of the pack here to end its life.
And what is there to save really? It's 1 am, no vet within 100 miles of me, especially not one versed in wild critters. Maybe it would better to die in a flash than to suffer and linger for hours, maybe days.
….perhaps it would be merciful to let nature take its course.
I look the creature in the eye and ask forgiveness, but it already knows. This is its world after all, it knows what is expected.
So I fade back into the light, the tide of teeth and raving flowing effortlessly back into the space I leave behind.
….I ask the dogs to be quick about it
whereas most of the crowd look for,
no long and call for,
i've never followed that ribbon
oh, i may peered after it a time or two
just to see what the hulla-balloo was all about
hope, i guess that's what you call it
most people are full of it
had me a life coach once
"you deserve happiness" she wailed
"reach for it with both hands,
grasp, claw, dig after it!"
like any other fool i tried
why should they get it all?
well you know what?
the times i open myself up to let that weasel hope in
are the times i get ripped a new one
why don't you go fuck yourself
you fucking #*&!@
anyways....sorry for the outburst
we were talking tilts?
is so very close to loving 'himself' above all others
the difference is but a tilt of the head
when viewed facing the mirage of life
go ahead love....adjust the angle
no one else can see from your vantage point
and if they could?
they would surely agree with me
the wind itself makes not a sound in it's travails
it's the screaming and forged laughter
of fool's intent on "living"
that fouls up the air
no need to add to the babel
keep a little pocket of breath for yourself
live as you meant to
and I will see you when next the circuit met
riding that razor's frame to the zephyr's shore
dependent on the muffled feelers of fractured senses
it's a wonder any of us ever come close....
the world and it's vo-ices
a loud din of greed and belching appetites
but some 'where' in that caco-phony
are surely lone notes....of reason?
but perhaps soothed scores
that leave a thrilling trail
on the splashed walls of sublime urgency
....it's all right
you are not alone....
....we see you
May 25, 2007
oh hush now....let it mellow
we need those ripples
chaos serves the purpose
else life would be forever placid
and vastly reflective
though heated at first
a pot left to boil overlong
is left dry and carbonized
a mummified rendition
of a once lively bubble
warned, expected....then departed
the loss is perpetual
in our unconditional pursuit
of the shedding of our reptilian skin
when the temperature is just right
we all do it
on that slippery path to shelter
you claim not to care
that nothing nor anyone can touch your inner core
that you are inviolate, shuttered, hard as ice
yet with four simple words....
the ripples shred your demeanor
for you see....
you transcend understanding
you defend the sacrifices
you comprehend forgiveness
with just four simple words
spoken softly, almost unnoticed
as they slip into the waters
......but i loved her
that necessary movement
in the enneagramic rhythm
of soul-less dogs
your "I" has called
dwelling first on grins
stretched wide over bone
then the graves, look down
she has eaten her fill
they are forgotten now
As it should be
As it will be
in that spotlight called 'Alive'….
there is no shade from intent
attention will always be given
to those in-different
the hypnotist, on an egotistical high
decides to play 'god/dog' one fine day
"You are dead" he says
to the willing, smiling sycophant
"you no longer exist......cease"
wouldn't this be a fine show to watch?
the beauteous thrashing
of a bewildered, self-loathing spirit?
an accidental enjoyment out of nowhere
is a prize worth relishing
do not feel guilt for being caught
it is never foolish to halt and view
do not systemically silence the wound
Idiots are there for the world's
we are but feral-bytes
for the thousand mouths
that devour luck
round every deep eddy
confidence won't help
neither will awe
simply accept and triangulate
the mending comes with it's own
a curious odor of trust
do not disturb said occupants
the waves generated
when you trip the sand's withered hairs
will evacuate into a tsunamic
blast of loathing
i do not care for you
i don't even acknowledge your
most would ponder your
reasons for space
some would question even your right
i on the other hand
refuse to give you one micronic itch
why should i?
i've come back across that field
littered with the disposable carcasses
of novices on fool's errands
can you say the same?
slowly, there is focus
where am i
who am i
there is nothing
the surroundings are always the same
but how do i know this?
a wall floats up out of....
square....how do i KNOW this?
ugliness, those colors....wha....what is color?
what else can one do?
one? ONE?! what is....one?.
should i/who/what panic?
then it slowly floods back
but for one second there
i could have been....what?
if something else,
different set of datum had received my focus
would i have still faded into me?
April 20, 2007
the flow and ebb of apprehension
with dies that bleed into eternity
this is the pattern of life
we are but vessels that empty into the river
that roaring creeklette that passes through in momentary lapses
tossed, then left to beach at odd conjunctions
floundering through the quicksand of concern
when the flow is strongest it channels us to a seeming design
but it can dry up in an instance, no residue of it's wash left to glimpse
but this too is in the diagram
to repeatedly rush forward
and snag on hidden agendas
which surface like leviathans intent on consummation
one moment we resonate with our character
the next there is no reflection to gage
it seems the blind rule in this arena
for those who take the time to muse
will always, always deceive
whyever would one sprint towards divinity?
dash ever onwards to the embrace of a probable madness?
were death a habit, stroking the ego
leaving it shaking and stunted
where then are the clues, how does one arrive in that shallow cleft?
oh don't you realize children?
it is but a shriveled wanderlust of perceptions run athirst
a little heeded germ tossed into the winds of time
that rarely encounters humus to root
and then to actually burst into deity?
you might as well expect conscious decision from a stone
but wait....doesn't the mantle itself exhibit compromise?
this fragmented search ever forward
up, out and within
and for what?
fate has no use for the frantic twistings of a phantom cord
lie easy....abandon that quarry....accept
The hermit shines his chaotic beacon
Lending a path that would be viable even to the soul-blind
Though he himself is visionless to wonder
Having traveled these coincidental routes vanward
One can only awe with innocence you know
and these repetitious viaducts inure one to illusion
but if one barricades against provocation, it negates the deception
those truly chaste, those born a cleansed slate
will inevitably wage grievance through analysis
though decadence and decomp will surely thrill the way to dogma
the blitz of aeons can erode a crown
a crown born with impropriety, too lax to plait
and the dichomotous language of paradox
well, this leaves little room to scratch
the itch, absorbed as truth, lies and prowls....
crooked paths are infinitely more endearing
for round every bend, stupefaction roars
the possibility for scent, fate, and yes wreckage
is inherent at the junction of every gnarled crosshatch
and if the math is done correctly
the multiplicity of delusion is boundless
slash and rip, tear a'blunder
I hug your essence to me
your thrashing seems to soothe
your violent tremors, so luscious deep
but what is this?
I attack and you radiate benignness?
this is so wrong....
didn't you get the manual?
the one with instructions for victims?
that one, you know....
that outlines your required reactions?
where you're supposed to suffer
and wail at your misfortune?
why then do you rejoice?
this is so disturbing
let me try again....
don't you dare laugh at me!
there you are relishing
there is something fundamentally
wrong with this picture
hmmm, and I must admit
I seem to like that in a person
ok ok, I give in
should remember a time when pardon was unnecessary
saged hermits may have rant and waged useless circuits
but the outcome will always be the same
thought, when offered, is but a transient gift
and thus divinity....shallow
conundrums have been known to shine when lit from within
but their separate entireties seldom abut
it's the nature of the beast, to fracture and search
over cliffs that distend furrows carved by brutish whelps
but never let the feral steal ownership of clarity, power
their path to absolution lies in the violent contrivance
and yours......a balmed coercion
flecked with the
sickly-sweet scent of death
into pores left open
to detract from pain,
pain that lingers
senses that are in stasis
due to an overload of life
those little nips and tears
in the fabric of spring's
are there to vent the light,
light necessary for expansion....
but sister is about again
she lurks and walzes
through the herded souls
go on with you now vixen
we gave at the office
thrice too many times
you've got your quota
leave off, take a holiday
linger elsewhere why don't ya
maybe on some road
where you can spin your cape
over shells and shards
of neglected rubble
they should have traffic lights
in the afterlife for the like of you,
ones that are always on red......
April 5, 2007
a devoid of light, hearth and felt
no roads to midst
not even acknowledgement from fellow ods
each their own lone ignorance
a seemingly bland progress at a glance....
but if you could pierce those chiffon shells
insert a glass vein, gander the seeming flimsy marrow
that gist would burn and rend the strongest substance known
amazing that something as fragile as a soul's pith
could contain such a hazardous peace
maybe it's just as well we hug the reserve
otherwise the world would have faced an ebullient mishap 'fore now
April 4, 2007
gives view of a solar blare
of impoverished yearning
the heat of deficiency,
it's bankrupt embrace
all but smothering
any recognition of eulogy
stop grasping please....
the claws need to be rescinded
there is no help from this quarter
for those who can't sight
the drain sucks all hounded waders
into waves thick with the
bend and wrack of
errant swimmers lost
on boulders of wonderlust and demand
sorry mate, you're on your own
ravenous cherubs haunt these shoals
and all those on a narrow course
must suffer themselves jested
April 3, 2007
|look into the mirror|
what do you see?
is that a reflection
or all three......
listen through the receiver
who is that you get?
is that an echo of amor?
converse with yourself?
or did a ghostly apparition answer by?
stare at that flat screen
what is the first glance?
an avenue to elan?
ruptured lapse thru sane?
or just a multi-pseudo link to the non?
scooped up and hanging
those who tread the lines too close
be leery of those met
where they repercuss themselves
March 28, 2007
give it shelter, warm and feed
wrap it's scars in your loving prayers
for your reward will far exceed
for what this 'beast' has seen and felt
what it has imagined that has sadly become real
what it can transcend through effort of will
we have already been blessed to be spared,
oh yes....he's dealt
we need this guide to show the way
the way through the scuzz,
disease and fire
the way through the mind,
the bowels, the arts
the way to our childhood's
joys and mire
and let's not forget acceptance......our hearts
so follow it blindly, it knows the way
knows it well old friend is he
it can lead us out, away and beyond
behind the troops and far,
don't look or veer, don't stray from him,
do not lose sight, don't fail the key
for it is immune, it has seen it all
once and again
twice over times three
....for the chien de Guerre