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
September 2, 2007
the tears fall like chafe
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
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?