July 14, 2007

out through the other door

the preconceived perceptions
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!

idioma profana

naked but for their savagery
crushed and subdued
the antipodeans
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

a brief e-videns of breath

back and yonder, forward and aft
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
ahhh, naivete
such a lame excuse for clueless manners

cathetus perpetua

conceding the symmetry, taught and oiled
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

broiled rhubarb

the body, paused and squat under the shade tree
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
upright, supple
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

chronic hope
incessant sorrow
persistant oblivion
what else is there really?
you can sit under that tree
ruminating forever if you are so inclined
me, I prefer infinity's strut

I think

the ego screams?
for what?
recognition, release?
or a deeper taint?

it is afraid?
of what?
light, experience?
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

after all,
you were only following your tuathic habit
of leaving your sacrifices at the crossroad altar
no harm done……

sentimental carnage

I love my dogs, I really do. But sometimes, sometimes it is driven home how close to the feral they are. How much they are not really our 'pets' but just primitive creatures that share our space no matter how vicariously, and that any second they can revert back to their god-given state. When they hit the darkness their eyes glow red and I have no control….it's like a film comes down over their souls, the humanity's touch is sloughed, the hunt is on.

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? Battle, horror, pain, commands…..

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

statu quo ante.....

my own view seems to tilt at an ott angle
whereas most of the crowd look for,
no long and call for,
the status
the quo

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
oh yea
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?
never fails
the times i open myself up to let that weasel hope in
are the times i get ripped a new one
fuckin hope
why don't you go fuck yourself
you fucking #*&!@

anyways....sorry for the outburst
we were talking tilts?

sonic mirages

"he" who hates 'himself' more than all else
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

man-made ambrosia

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