Visible Stream of Consciousness

Help is on the Way.

2011-05-10T13:52:00.001+02:00

I've edited the new song, "Help is on the Way (I know Patrick was interested in that (grin). So, now all I've got to do is record it.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

"May your noses always be cold and wet and running with music'.

"Help is on the Way"

"I'm bring home the starlight
With no bottom in my pail
In tranquil worlds forgotten
with no tiger on our tail

Is it the dust I'm made of
that has me walking blind
while you fill up and surround me
In the darkness of my mind

There's no one can oppose me
So make way I'm coming through
I'm walking through my falling down
into the heart of you

You can have these worlds of splendor
that wrinkle and decay
I take my passion timeless
and help is on the way

Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we'll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you're the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You're the timeless
"look! I forgot my watch
don't cry, it's only me"

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

To the dying gulf of Mexico
in the fukishima rain
I can feel the mountains tremble
I know love will win again

no matter who opposes love
still love will find a way
to break our hearts and asses
while it finds a place to stay

I've been hungry for the homeland
I've been gone for lifetimes by
now I see the flames that flicker
in the fireplace tonight

I looking through the ever leaves
in the darkling of the night
from a place that is the future
my god its all too bright.

Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we'll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you're the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You're the timeless
"look! I forgot my watch
don't cry, it's only me"

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

There's no one can oppose me
so make way I'm coming through
I'm walking through my falling down
into the heart of you

I've been drunk on wine and whiskey
I've been stoned and I've been shunned
but all of that's behind me
I believe I've found the one

I took some lives and detours
it took it's time and time again
but I am on the near horizon now
on that you can depend

they've been taking bets about me
for several thousand years
You can't compute the agony
that ocean is my tears

And now- Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we'll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you're the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You're the timeless
"look! I forgot my watch
don't cry, it's only me"

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

What was it I was doing
as all this time went by
I was hiding in the underbrush
and now I don't know why

Now the moments on us
As we see the living light
Make ashes from the darkness
My god it's just too bright

it's a strange intoxication
that I'm impatient for you now
as long as this has taken
I should be stoical somehow

but there's no way up around it
it could be a million years
but I would keep on a coming
cause that's the death of fear

Yes, Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we'll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you're the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You're the timeless
"look! I forgot my watch
don't cry, it's only me"

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

I know it's a little long but sometimes that's how it is.

End Transmission.......

No song this time because we already got one (grin)

Two Poems of Revolution and Change.

2011-03-10T01:30:00.000+01:00

You Can’t See Me

I am the Count of the Last request
the tiny dark man of utter wind
blown and beaten down a carousel of faded flowers
thrown after a departing rainbow

white to the eyes of all unbelievers
who did not see me climb the golden tower
who do not believe there is one
and who will remain forever white for their crimes

I walk among them daily too small and dark to behold

I come in a flame
the slow burn of understanding
that will strip them naked
with no dreams remaining but their savage teeth
to devour one another with
as they see fit

they are not worth shit...
in their present condition

they plot and plot the overthrow
of what that is
they do not know

I am the casual shadow behind the sun
resting in the corners of buildings
i am shed by the crowded mind
one tuneful note of iridescent black
peering through the louvers of all time....

coiled in the vale of noplace

they shall not go free again
on that you may depend

I am the Count of Little Footsteps
the scratching of the leaves in the streets behind them
that tireless warrior....

that cold chill at the nape of the neck

death to all tyrants
death to all landlords and banks
to all things that turn the warm heart cold
and terrorize the soul....

STRIVE (for M.L.K.)

For everyone
who has ever stood and said
at any time

that Justice will triumph
that Truth shall prevail
that a fair shake
an even break
is the birthright of every living thing

and got shot down
imprisoned
tortured
and burned at the stake
for revealing to the darkness
that the dawn would soon break

I say
strive...
strive...
strive...

for everyone
spontaneously ignited
by that overwhelming
inexpressible
love from within

and who shined it forth
when the chips were down
and remained strong
while the weapons tore their flesh

I say
strive...
strive...
strive...

for everyone who has reached out to breathe
like some paranoid crustacean
crawling fearful from the sea

for everyone
who has seen the alleys
the knives
the clubs
the dreadful comprehension
of brutal intent

the horrible unrecognizing eye
of brotherhood blinded
and knew
that Love could not die

I say strive...
strive...
strive...

More Than Blue Eyes.

2011-03-08T00:59:00.002+01:00

a man must come to the desperate edge
of the walls he's built around himself
and beat with his hands on the cold hard stone
and cry for the years that he's been alone
and break like a dry dead twig
under the wheel of time
and rise
and live
and understand
the power of love in his masters hand

round and round the coffins edge
the landlords of despair
dance to the mortal earth
and bow to the mortal earth
a strange mistress
a strange mother
tell me,
which of your magic’s can conquer death?

What is the meaning?
What lies hidden in the cell?
from a dark barred window
I have watched the moon rise
and ghost horses
bear the dead into the moons wide mouth

eater of souls
jailor, tailor
and seamstress to the shadow-land
forever weaving the envelopes
in which to stuff another drunken puppet

this is more true than blue eyes
and all the sculptured tits
that have been since
cannot nurse the dead back to life

who goes there?
who beats the drum?
Where sleeps the heart?

That Mona Lisa smile under glass

No one really laughs
or lives
until the day their darkness dies
and few live then
they only return again
drunken with dreams

I do not think I will take upon myself
the chains of Hell
even for such a thing as your blue eyes
and perfect teeth

the dark wet hollow
of reincarnated sleep

never to wake again?

No...
this cannot be all of it

and I am either drunk or mad
I believe in what I cannot see

I believe more deeply
than I have ever been deceived
and even then

only temporarily deceived
and even then
only out of fear

if a man should confess
or witness with his heart
that will shape the words he speaks
that will shape the life he leads
he will have a witness
he will not go down like a beast to the grave

there is no liberation in movements
there is seldom even change
so...
must I then fear to displease
the revolutions of my time?

let history deny
or philosophy prove the lie
of my words

Liberte...
Egalite...
Fraternite...
these are always the phrases
with which to preface
great murders

in my heart I have killed a thousand times
all the great hypocrites of the age
I have slain in my thoughts

and they are no more dead
than before I killed them
and they are no more alive
by the same token

they have never been alive
they go to the moon without my help

let sleeping dogs lie
lest they...

the knife hangs over every head
until God removes it

I am no executioner anymore

I will sit on this rock and listen
Can you hear the rock
on which he built it
speaking?

Who listens deeply forgets
he forgets his earthborn name
his birth he forgets
and his shame

the world forgets him
he goes
where no one knows
who listens deeply

a new name
no one can speak it

you have been on the road a long time
you have been sleeping with swine
and drunk on bad wine

and blue eyes close
as all eyes close
and every color goes to shades of grey
in the cold vault

that is a kind of equality

and yet
you do not know
that what you are
is brighter than
the brightest star
nothing is so great
as what you are

A man must come to the desperate edge
of the walls he's built around himself
and beat with his hands on the cold hard stone
and cry for the years than he's been alone
and break like a dry dead twig
under the wheel of time
and rise
and live
and understand
the power of Love in his masters hand

The Terrible Irony of Beautiful Words.

2010-12-04T21:53:00.004+01:00

Dog Poet Riffing.......

beautiful words

do not move me…

I am not entranced by this clever art

I’ve seen the heads roll in the Age of Reason

I’ve watched the bloody scroll of history

Unroll

While the band played on

And ugly men made beautiful noise

To introduce the thunder of their guns

There is no greater coward

Than the one who slipped by privilege past the front

To orchestrate from the sidelines

What he could not accomplish himself;

Whose skin was too precious to risk

And wrapped in the cloak of God ranting sanctimony

This shrinking nightshade

This empty suit

with the pomp of the preening jackal

Dines on the awful cries of the dying

That he sups like an intoxicating and wondrous wine

He feeds on the torment of the injured and estranged

Wrapped in the cloak of patriotic hypocrisy

He gestures at the battlefield

From which democracy will be ripped stillborn

From the blasted body of her dead mother

The still greater crime of previous event

The falling towers were no accident

Nor did some strangers from afar

Manufacture this without consent

It should to the objective mind

Prove self evident

Across the centuries

The wind of high blown rhetoric

Have driven the millions to an evil death

And yet it never seems to dawn

How like frightened steers they trample what is before them

into the ground.

And yet it never seems to dawn...

Something there is in the ignorant mind

That vibrates to the sympathetic string

Of the conscious and applied evil of the Hyena King

Something resonates

Something capitulates

Something rises

As something descends

And all that is decent and good

All that would bring forth a greater brotherhood

Must run to the cover of the invisible wings

While a murder of crows blackens the sky

And smoking ruins

Like new buildings

are transformed before your eyes

Into a wasteland of fire and death

For the profit of the few

For the comfort of some

The usual business will go on

It seems that this must be

Though we have waited with insufficient hope

Perhaps we shall see the day

That these twisted carrion feeders

These iniquitous deceivers

The butchers and the reavers

And all their demonic crew

Shall march into hell fire

Into Their native homeland created from their own need

And the door will close upon the echo

Of all their beautiful words

End riff.......

In Memorium; Chuck Hugh Farley...

2010-03-11T20:59:00.001+01:00

In Memorium

Chuck you
have discarded the used condom,
this body
that great white hope...
this poor drivel of words like an old man too long at the toilet cannot encompass the breadth of that
which you did unto death

Chuck, we hardly knew ye.

Up-Chuck
Chuck it here boy
Keep on Chucking
Let's take a walk through the ground Chuck of the latter days
Have a few Chuckles
and do a little Chuck and Jive
before we get Chucked out

Terrorism and politics were not always happy bed fellows
not in the former democracies of the West
in any case.
But the precedent now set by the president-
who has not met a limitation caused by lack of judgment or character that he could not evade,
who has not met a bar he could not lower,
nor a truth he could not distort,
has given you...Chuck;
hope of the once free world,
champion of chicken pots of multiplying roasters, cross-dresser par excellence of all things

appearing to be other than...

has given you the opportunity to make our world the champion no interest,
3 car monte,
one used owner only,
deal of a lifetime,
no odometer,
no problem,
drive it away today-
answer to the prayers of millions struggling into polyester pant suits
and spraying,
as if for hornets and locusts
to remove the stench of their need and feed from the abandoned house of their being.
For all of these who have lost the power of speech themselves, Chuck-

now walking on all fours
with the rhinestone broaches and garrish unknown gems bedazzled upon fat sausage fingers,
for the non-push-up capable whining children, jiggling like Jello walking to the video-game shop,

inhaling half-gallon Big Gulps....
low tar cigarettes and
some kind of soft shit from the pastry shelf..
Chuck...Chuck
death has given you opportunity.

for all the drunk daddy's lusting after/or
fondling 13 year old breasts through,
"I'm Yo Bitch. I'm Yo Ho" sequined t-shirts cut off above the impaling navel rings...
yet further above scant emerging pubic patches already trimmed and buffed...
because "you're not getting any younger", as the due date approaches...

For every young boy in the brush past the roadside restrooms dreaming about
"fuck, I don't know what."
For the halcyon-eyed housewives and that 10 minute temptation fuck in the afternoon
between drinks and missed appointments
otherwise engaged...
now to spray yet more mists of unearthly hues and sticky stinking excresences of Dow
and Dupont unto Monsanto beneath the bridge strained through the Sterno filters of other dreams more

dead, more remote...
but really not that far fucking off when you think about it from where we are now.

Chuck...my virtue tis of thee, cheaper than stolen, freer than free.
For all the once wretched refuse
evolved by faith, effort and determination
into a bedrock American Gothic portrait in the brief camera shot of a prime too short;
now blown past too fast to recall
and once again wretched refuse,
now of its own making-
retching, stumbling, fumbling at zippers and stays...
flesh bulging like Susan Sarandons eyes or that Morty Feldman guy-
from the lobster tank...unsure, uncertain slithering..
mandibles waving

if not drunk then certainly insane
lurching down enormous aisles of nothing but potato chips,
turning into the 'soft drinks only' aisle...
on into the frozen pre-prepared food section of dinners and deserts-
with an ingredient list that might as well be Chinese
unless you are Chinese .
Onward to the doctor,
to the pharmacy,
to the Barcalounger,
to the grave...
oh mighty race of once bright hope and strong facial features...
we now bend over for the Huns at the gate...
not only without fear
but in anticipation Chuck....

for the faux-Blackwater men in Iowa who nightly patrol the perimeters of their split level ranches...
for the Mormons and Scientologists,
the hippies and the girls on the Internet,
Thank you Chuck. Thank you very much.

Thank you for not only the bad things but for
the relentless hearing about them
the buzz in the atmosphere -radio waves of nonsense like
chickens cackling on the astral plane
like frogs fucking in jello
like shit running uphill in January

downriver the legs of murdered monks sticking out of the flooding river bank to the tune of

♫you can trust your car to the man who wears the star♫

It seems like everything we do is murder Chuck.
It seems like second and third hand murder
It's like looking into the toilet bowl between Larry Craig's legs
and Larry King is looking back.
Time Warner wants the funeral pictures
Peephole magazine wants the autopsy photos

What's next after fist fucking Chuck?

It seems like everything we do is murder a few times removed

Thank god for all of it
How could we ever need redemption so desperately if not for this
How would salvation mean anything if not for all of this

There's your silver lining
There's your light at the end of the tunnel.
To find the living light you must
imagine your zeal like that of a drowning man
seeking oxygen... seeking the surface but
actually the depths
they say that sort of thing happens but
you wouldn't know about that Chuck

torment is the purification rite that
strips away the blinders
the ever closing confinement of the energetic lost
becomes
the magnificent heat of the pressing density of matter against matter forming the diamond that proves
no matter how dark and confining it gets it ends in deliverance and perfection
and light or something to hold it
something to reflect it
something for it to pass thru
That endless irritation which forms the pearl
and you

That is their value
What they remind us of
the gas that fuels the keep on trucking keep on keeping on.
high in the highest Shamballa
the most pristine of worlds
touches the densest murk and proclaims them one
for the one

one for the one

thank you Chuck and may the roses bloom upon your cross.

The Lost Plays of Shakespeare; Soliloquy Extracts.

2010-01-29T01:08:00.002+01:00

A few years ago I was walking past a graveyard late at night. I heard a voice call my name and turned to find a man beckoning to me from among the gravestones. Without thinking I walked to where he stood. He had an old leather case in his hands. I could see it clearly in the light that fell from the streetlamp some several yards behind me. He extended it to me and said. “Here, this is yours from another time.” I took it without thinking as the man turned without further comment and began to walk away into the darkness.

“Wait.” I cried. “What is this, where are you going. I don’t understand.” He turned and smiled at me. “We will talk again.” Then he was gone. Upon reaching my destination, I opened the case and there found a large collection of vellum parchment inscribed upon in a spidery hand. Reading the text it became clear to me that these were plays. At some point in my reading I saw the name William Shakespeare signed at the bottom of a page. I cannot express the impact of the shudder that passed through my frame.

I have taken some few soliloquies from among these plays of which there are five; some complete but most not. I have no knowledge of whether this is real or some sort of hoax. Time will surely tell.

The Lost Soliloquies of Shakespeare

I

From the play, ‘Arthur Pendragon’, Act IV, Scene V.
Merlin, after learning that he will now sleep for eight hundred years.

Methinks she has dined on scorpions and
must drink blood by violence spilled
into cups of treacherous thought.
They hold their form but a moment and
then dissolve with all remembrance
into the bottomless stem.

What dark and disturbed kin to Love is this?
Affection of a sort-
even base desire of simple love malformed-
does motivate us all.
To what dread understanding has she come,
that the thought of such deeds does inspire the act?
And still can laugh
and speak
and live
outwardly, it seems
like anyone.

I have watched her face in sleep,
no trouble nor horror there are sketched
save for her beauty...
ordinary as all the rest.

If I live a thousand years
I will never understand
this masquerade that gives to evil
such a pretty face.
Like sculptured milk
and roses flowing in fulsome grace

The world has many dangers
they await at every turn
but none there are so deadly
as that awful pits which yawns
behind this woman’s eyes...

II

From the play, “Henry the King.” Act II, Scene VI
Henry speaking after being informed that his son Edward has been slain near Cornwall.

It is but the desire to hope
when all is lost and darkness closes over the hearts lamp
that makes us see faces we know have gone.
We have lost the rope upon which we hang
and yet we live.
Each moment consecrates an hour
in which the unexpected
triumphs over the will of kings.

Would I have believed
if I were told but yesterday,
that mere hours hence
such a sorrow would consume
the very foundation stone of life-
and make of me an enemy to truth-

Never to understand
that what truths there really be
remain obscure and distant as the stars
and of course
impervious to me.

Is there anywhere a charm
That can protect the thing we love?
If not then let this vain folly of earthly concern cease
Let black winds blow away
The false promise of a shameless dawn
I would rather that darkness shone upon an empty stage

For...
We do watch and hope
And if it will not come
Then there is no armor that can shield the heart against such cruel defeat

Why some should die and others live
I do not understand
still waters move
but by whose hand it is not seen.

III

From the play, The Philosopher King Act IV- Scene II
Harpocrates, as he reflects upon his departure from the realm.

Surely it was meant to be.
There are no accidents in nature or ourselves
Merely the disagreements on what should have been
What we would have ordained
Had we been in control
Of the force of destiny

I think I shall endeavor to be an empty boat on drunken seas
The unseen hand of god on the tiller
Ageless eyes upon which clouds move across empty space
It seems asleep yet
brimming with quick force

No more to win or lose
The game abandoned
The arena of performance struck
And gone
Nothing moves here in the center of the storm

The baggage of mortal dreams slips away in the wake of my passage
Far off I hear the thunder of cities in flames
They will burn forever
No evidence will point to where I have gone
The witness departs
And slips between the rifling cards of time.

IV

From the play The Grand Duke of Castille Act III Scene VII
Alexander, the Grand Duke of Castille, has just awakened from an uneasy sleep an hour before dawn.

Strange dreams they are
Which trouble this dark hour
I know not why the sun shines forth in splendor on my fields
And all around me opulence is built

Power I have
And fortune in great measure
Protected by the fates it seems
I am ever blessed by wondrous luck
And early warning

And this last the one great treasure every ruler seeks
In prayer
And unconscious rumination

But these dreams that come
Suck at the marrow of my life
Until no part remains untouched by dread
The center folds and I see shapes of brooding fear

How came I here
One step upon the other
And we one day come into an unknown kingdom
Friendless and alone
I fear there is poison in the wine
Surely there is a peril on the wind...

IV

From the play, Arthur Pendragon Act II Scene I
Merlin shortly after the initial enchantment has set in.

I have never loved until now
I know this to be true
I have cared
By degrees
And shown friendship and salvation
As was sometimes in my power to grant

I have done good
If doing good means not having harmed
When the opportunity was in my hands
And I have been good
When it was before me
And not overly troublesome
Having always some excess of purse
And attendant stature

It seems that every heart
Penurious and unknown to itself
Remains asleep to the fire of its life
How are we made and maintained and do not know?
How do we breathe the stuff and remain blind?

Now
At last
Though it cost me all
I see that bright star rising in the East
It flowers into brilliance upon the darkness of the mind
And the heart thrills and vibrates with a thousand tongues of song
Exquisite beyond description
It repeats

The form may change or fall
What do I care of this?
For I go on and on
But not to sleep
Oh love the shimmer smoothes
But not to sleep.

VI

From the play Galileo Act IV Scene V
Galileo in the hours before dawn in his prison cell.

What vapors are these
Composed of black sleep alone
They billow out such a darkness that even the blind
Complain of a greater loss of sight
Oh how deep and dark is that night
Whereupon the blush of reason’s dawn has never come

I cannot pander to a deformed muse
I cannot accept that temporary refuge
Where I am joined to lies against which I have battled
As I have sought to breathe

No matter these enchantments
Or how troubled I am by need and cringing fear
I will not
Not even in drunken squalor
Allow that comfort of sleep to draw my head down upon
The breast of the beast

Neither the good intentions of friends
Nor those who caution for my safety
Will bring me cause to deny the truth
To appease a false God
For God indeed there is

He is that one who has led me to such places
As could only have come through his grace
Look long and understand all you by dogma blind
I love neither cold nor lonely place
Yet will I suffer such things as no man is prepared for
That I might see that promised love in victory come
To burn away all fear
And heal the deeper injury of life

By this I walk alone
Even in the company of friends
The true exchange comes from no outward place

Time does stand still
But a like illusion as the dreams of those
Who foul the common well
Thinking no one will see
Thinking by atavistic camouflage
That the real identity is set free]
From the consequences of crime

Dream deeply fools
Plot carefully
Arrange with such delicacy that not a leaf is stirred
Believe you have escaped
Gain confidence with the passage of the moment
Grow fat like the complacent sow

No regret troubles your heart
For you delight in evil and into evil
You will go
Make no mistake
There is no distance far enough
No shelter so defensible and strong
We write upon our souls that sure address
As sure one day the sun
will rise upon your fate
and then the dust will settle and be done...

VII

From the play The Philosopher King Act III Scene II
Harpocrates, shortly after his discovery of the plot to assassinate him.

I am the king
That much I know
Were I to grasp the bell-pull
Spears would rattle
True men would stand
But which are true?
And the Queen, false as her smile
Would tremble and wonder on her fate.

Yes, I am king
But for how long?
Unhappiness
to me it appears
Is something we work for or against
But still achieve
How can this be?
That having all is losing all
I doubt my figures
But so it seems

How peaceful is the lot
Of him who possesses nothing
And does not want for more

Had I but known
Before I had
By strength of sinew and will
By origin unknown
Taken this kingdom and slain
Many good men
For ideals
Clear then
Muddy now
To what an island I am come
I would have simply walked away

For now
I see through my casement window
One hour before dawn
My guards obliged to sleep
My sons all far afield
I am alone and I sense them come for me

I have been rash and arrogant and fierce
One does not come to rule without them save by birth
But I am no fool
I will not stay to fight
The aged lion slain within his lair
I trip the candle-rest astride the wall
It moves and there
The darkened passage way revealed
I have my secrets yet
As well my skin

Quick
And I am gone to the new breaking day
While confusion reigns behind
This moments clarity
How clear I see my life
The years now fall away
Let jackals feed
The dead have no regrets
First the thunder
Then the storm
But well before
Stands the calm and quiet
Where wait the engines of doom
The outcome already known
The outcome forever the same
Treachery will stir the air
That twists it in the wind

VIII

From the play The Grand Duke of Castille Act IV Scene VIII
Roberto the lover, upon hearing of the death of Caroline at the hands of her husband Alexander.

She was precious to me
Look long upon that quiet face
No trace of joy or grief
But only repose
Is death then truly a vale of peace?
What waits on yonder shore?

Hard politics they are that slay beauty
Greater loss is their reward
Or worse
That they have never seen at all

The fine treasures of life are ravished and tossed to the winds
By mad beasts
Sorrow stains the golden road of Love
Who knows to what strange ends Love has come?
I loved her
And what is Love
But the loss of self in the beloved
Therefore I do not exist
Nor am I torn with rage or loss that she is gone
How can that be
When all that I am
Is with her now
And there is nothing more of me

IX

From the play The Philosopher King
King Harpocrates emerging from his meditations has chosen to abdicate in favor of his eldest son and now reflects upon his state.

Kingdoms, fortune, power and fame
Yes! How magically they sing
Echo’s ring from the history books
Dream on you mad intoxicated fools
Dream on
Believing that such terrible destiny will complete the soul

For me
Love alone will triumph over circumstance and time
And only Love will meet us in the air
Dust is dust
Whether it be gold or common stone
And of themselves can generate no heat
Save for the covetous fire

Give me the Sun
All brilliant and rounded with marvelous hue
Here is value given
All ambitions change once they have been achieved
All dreams end
However it may be that death or sleep has released them
And where once we imagined was such a place
Dissolves like wine when poured into a stream

Sixty summers have come and gone
Too few now I remember
And what I have
Valuable only in the eyes of others
It will end
Everything but seeming good and evil does
And even they must change compartments
Hollow vessels all
Filled with change
And change filled with emptiness
And emptiness filled...
With what?

Somewhere awaits that morning where no loss is known
No tear may fall
But that it falls into the well of undying joy
There to glisten at its center
Let come what may
I wait upon that dawn...

X

From the play The Grand Duke of Castille Act II, Scene IV
Roberto at his window after consummating his love with Caroline.

And now she is gone
Who moments before opened petals of wonder
And spread her perfume on the still, warm air

Alexander if he knew
Would kill us both
But Love is made more precious with danger all around
And surely Love in its perfection
Cannot come to harm

Love without guile,
Free...
Courageous and unadorned
What beauty could one give to Love
That Love would not make part
Of all of what there is of Love
And then increase the heart

Love comes unscathed through every jeopardy
Can bring to every strife a healing calm
Can cut to every creature at the core
For all Love wants to do
Is just love more.

I will not see you again
Or else we both are put to sword
One other thing I know Love does possess
Is oft it lives alone
And cries on its own breast
When else it risks the life in which Love lives

I go now
Into emptiness and waste
For all of moments real
And imaged on that future screen
Are but hopes and wishes
Dreams...
Not what is
Only that which is is real enough
True love can worship from afar
Without sight
Without touch
Ah sadness-
Without voice
But oh Love that is
How great you are...

XI

From the play Galileo Act IV Scene VI
Galileo during a respite in his ordeal at the hands of the inquisition

How ask you this of me?
Power to harm swells from your dark throne
And fear attendant shrinks my heart
Till it seems I will become mortal still in that cold grip

Not my position or my possessions
Not even those I love
But only that which my self cannot deny
You would be better served to command the tides to stop
More may it be possible
As in a certain manner nature is subject to man
But man is subject to God
And to God it is I answer
Not to you

Should truth then go quiet into the vault
And profit no one?
Not even those for whom no such concerns exist
Truth then bent ceases to be truth

Should I live on as half a lie?
Telling what I am told
Broken not by circumstance and fate
But by the heavy weight of the lie
No longer caring what shall carry me
I cannot answer but rather
Let my silence speak what my reply shall be

If dreams encompass life
And life be but a dream
Drawn about with webs and curtains
Then we see how oracles are shaped in riddles to confuse
Still, I speak more bravely than I am
For you do terrorize my heart
And the flesh so weak
Has made of me a prisoner to fear
Fear of what I do not know
But I fear you
And I do sin against God.

Lord I seek that place where all men find the strength to carry on
Against every barrier and malicious intent
Where broken bridges span by faith
Cross fire and ice
And mortal bodies find those states that science tells us cannot be
Wise men nod but do not speak

I hang upon the hooks
Drawn racks and horror do appear
Like shadows on the mind in search of light
I am alone and stricken in the night
And you are terrible beyond compare
I am afraid

I imagine romances from long ago
I see the headsman wears your face
I am afraid
What will become of me?
The black throne haunts my sleep
Until I wish that I might never wake again
Yet I do know that armies massed
And unknown laws on nature’s wild force
Cannot subdue
Cannot deter
That force incomprehensible
Unspoken
Unspeakable
As silent as virgin space
By most missed
Still
Hidden
Confident over all
Before the dice were ever cast
Before the game, the chase had entered thought
If I know that it lives
Though I may fall
I am raised up and triumph over all.

XII

From the play The Grand Duke of Castille Act I Scene III
Alexander watches his children at play.

Sweet childhood you dance
With open heart and pure believing mind
Not fixed on anything
For gentle is thy grasp
And long the day
Bright the air
Resplendent with awe and expectant face

Who could imagine harm to such as these?
Yet each of us did from such innocence emerge
Into plots and appetites
Some grand
Some hideous and cold
Until we were as hard and complicated as a mountain range
In which may hide an army in ambush
Or a cemetery of night

Perhaps at that moment of division we died
And whatever came after
Was not life
But only it’s echo
Fading
Fading
Gone...

Hare Krishna.

2010-01-05T20:21:00.003+01:00

Hare Krishna

Greetings to the one that rules the 18 million internal
and external universes.
Greetings to the one who created everything out of itself
Who permeates and rules it and is the consciousness of and
In it
and who dwells in me

Greetings to the one who is one alone and the many as one
Who is the substance of things unseen
Who is always more than there is
no matter
How much there may be
The rising sun that never hits the zenith

Greetings to the living light behind all appearances
Who composes the appearances and is not what appears
Greetings to the qualities and virtues that make up the personality of
The ineffable in the cloud of unknowing that shrouds the blinding world and
Humbles everything before it and which
Dwells in me.

Greetings to the unassailable unmoving center
From which spirals the galaxies and worlds
Like the spiral of a closed fist
Of perfect concentration
That holds it all in place that
Moves it all that forms and un-forms and does not
Begin or end and which dwells in me.

Greetings to that which endures and prevails
And is the life in everything
That meets and greets itself knowing and unknowing
That scatters itself into uncountable pieces and
Gathers them altogether again and
That dwells in me

Greetings to the dynamic animating principle.
Greetings to the one that does not know time nor size but
Does know sequence and form

Greetings to the one whose idea is complete in the genesis and
Is the intelligence behind evolution and design and not the result of them.
Greetings to what cannot be known but whose presence can be practiced
And enjoyed and who dwells in me.

Greetings in the before and after that both spill into the endless now
Greetings to the one who commands the superiors and inferiors
Whose every effort serves the entire
Who is the one who waits before
In the midst and at the end of every thought, word and deed

Greetings to the mind inside the mind of every architect in every dream
Who waits and watches forever and who
Abides in me.

Greetings from within the sleep that struggles for awakening
That cries out for union with the beloved
That cries in this moment for awakening to the one
Who dwells in me.

Greetings
many greetings and
much gratitude
Greetings and greetings and
much gratitude

Hare Krishna

Rapping E=Mc2 upside your Head.

2009-12-04T20:36:00.001+01:00

Yes, I'm sure there's some entertaining and well done Hip Hop and Rap but since I'm not going to spend my time looking for needles in a haystack I thought maybe I be where it's at and here's a song off my Rap Sucks album coming soon.

Dog Poet Rapping.......

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down, dumbit down
pimps and ho's pimps and ho's
back on a leash for the devil again
acting the fool only it aint pretend

This must be some law of physics
if 3 pimp rollers are moving backward on a train
and your are standing in the station
maybe humming love in vain
will they arrive in grand central before you
will the same thing happen on another day
even though you are not moving and
they are going the wrong way

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down dumbit down
down to the bottom

saying stupid fresh, aight aight aight
dis this dis that
word up what's the word
for someone who buys into flash
into the temporary life that is
already gone past

burning and raging
till the fuel is gone
and it's cold and it's lonely
and you got to move on.

Call a man brother if brother he be
or you cop to the fact of the real you and me
are the same as the other
that might just be so
but the rest of it's bullshit
believe me I know

aight aight aight aight
rightright right right
dumb it down dumbit down

when I rap I often think of
Spinoza and Descartes if they were
filtered through a buzzard and then
turned into a fart
they both may have some merit
though aesthetics tend to vary
like the Starship Enterprise
from the Staten Island Ferry.

You got your Battleship Galactica
Michael Jackson faggot
dressed up like a Christmas tree
and you're talking like a parrot
every single rap song can't remember what it said
the [Mc]donalds side of music it's disposable and dead
It leaves plastic cartons rotting on the sidewalks of your mind
you're bitch end up for Wal-Mart they are porking your behind

the shit comes on the radio thumping saying nothing
bitch this and punk that
brain rape jackhammer bad fucking technique
nowhere repetition can't get no relief
sounds like machinery from a factory in Hell
dense as a brick of compressed shit
this garbage really smells.

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down dumbit down
gotta wonder where it is this is supposed to go
gotta wonder where this music is headed
what kind of world it means
what kind of flowers grow there
what kind of people go there
what kinda I don't know where
I am where was I going who was
I when I started heading down
into matter, down into denser darker
hotter thicker closer pressing condensing
pushing can't breathe in this hot
smoky Steven Hawkings bent outa shape
so as to make it look straight
like Picasso on crack took a chainsaw
to the world and some retard with a can
of glue pasted it back together one piece
on top of the other pressing and smashing
and no light, no air, no freedom
and I don't fucking care cause I'm
dead now but I thought it was over
shit it ain't over I'm still here pressing
harder pressing into the shit only the music
is like knives cutting me with a bunch of
bitches and ho's and motherfuckas and fuck this
and fuck that, every word a knife and I'm
pressed into the shit

please god give me something
else let me out of this jackhammer thudding
non-stop shit talking nowhere embarrassing
non-art form load of shit that I bought into
with everyone else and all it did was make Wal-Mart rich
and all it did was make the merchants rich
and they sold it like they'll sell anything
their mothers and their children even themselves
if they get a good price saw off the limb
they're standing on,
do a mobius fuck themselves up the ass on TV
for the right money
call Hitler honey, suck Pol Pots dick

aight aight aight aight
hit the clubs with Mick
right right right right
dinner with Stalin- cocktails with Marlon
douche up with Elton dig up red Skelton
my face is melting
cause I took acid with
bitches and ho's and pimps and punks
bitches and ho's and pimps and punks
" " " " " " " "" " " " " " " " " "

nice world dudes
real Michelangelo Beethoven enhanced natural groove
very clean and crystaline
real architecture
real Spanish guitar and pianisimo forte
a la morte...dead..dead and stinking.
stinking bad...bad ...bad...
You got lost and we got had.

End Rap.......

The Frayed Angels.

2009-11-25T21:30:00.003+01:00

the frayed angels shed their wings
and descend
into earth’s turmoil
burying their sunlight
in a cloth
of sleek
and willing flesh

that...

incomplete forever
wanders the thirsty deserts of unrequited desire

in dreams sometimes we touch
that place of peace
where longing ends

where the long road of countless sleeps
beckons into the cross roads of awakening

the punishment of separation ends

the slaughter of innocence

the ravaged hearts
and faces of those
who lost their love

there is nothing in this life so sweet
as the touch
the embrace
of one who has come
across all the vastness
of lifetimes

to lie tranquil in your arms

it is as close to paradise
as we
are permitted to come
here...

the casual couplings
the lust of power to possess
are only shadows of this love

ceremonies of torment and loss

for the more one desires
the greater the effort to have and discard

the greater the distance from ones own heart

every living thing
struggles
to hold
to that one memory of themselves
in which the candle of love
burned
however briefly...
so brightly

All doubt and hate are merely faith
and love suppressed
And the inability to love worse than any death

Death being only the boat
that sails
us through and into
the fields of eternal peace

not even the worst of us can avoid this forever

it for this mercy alone
that forever exists

there is nothing that you can do
for which he will not forgive you

I wish only that I might linger all of my days in love

Forging that bond that spans
all time
and change
and washes away for all time
The weakness and stupidities of my fear

Fear,
which is all that has ever stood
between me
and the ones I loved

Fear
that has made a lie so many times
Of the living truth
I AM

Like all of you

An embodiment of god

all possibilities
at birth were delivered
into our hands
yet we give ourselves into
subjugation to our servants
for ridicule and confinement

Cast out from the castles from where
we
as kings and queens
ruled all things from within the temple of the heart

cast out into the trackless wastes of our own confusions
amnesia driven
hungry and alone
while those created to serve us
spill our wine
eat our food
and laugh at the ignorance that
has closed our eyes
to the beauty of ourselves

never again will I let myself be
tormented by fear

the love killer

the life killer

Death of a sort comes to us all
no matter who we are
we cannot escape that

we can only accept
and wonder
to whom did it happen?

let go all chains that hold the image
down

Earth does not speak unless the spirit flames

these times in which we live
dance like some drunken jester
on the edge
of the abyss

great things are within our reach
even as we wait we can see...

the first glimmer of that dawn
for which
so long
we have waited
to see

It has nearly broken me...

but nothing is beyond repair

truly let this moment be
your last moment
of regret

let your heart see
that you
have not touched the best times yet

take back your wings no longer
frayed and fallen

let us rise and soar
as if no one
had ever gone before.

The Monkey on your Back.

2009-09-27T14:31:00.003+02:00

Who sprinkles pepper in my pot?
Upon my wall who laid this crack?
Who deals my cards, who writes my plot?
How comes this monkey on my back?

—The monkey on your back is you.
The lurker on the landing is
Your nemesis. You know it’s true
You made the killer and his kiss.

\Agent provocateur of sin,
You built the mad menagerie:
The bars you clang, the cage you’re in
You forged in your mind factory.

Never, never, never again!—
And yet the horror’s back, it’s here!
The maggot festers in the brain,
The monkey gibbers in your ear!

by Lasha Darkmoon

I'm breaking with tradition here (and I'm not going to do it again so please don't be sending me entries folks). You're already welcome to print your work in the comments section and if you needed to see it in a blog format, all you have to do is take five minutes to create one and then post the address in the comments. Basically I don't have the time to be an editor for other people's work. I'm showcasing this lady because she is the author of this piece and I wanted to bring the reader's attention to it. It's a fantastic act of writing and exposes a condition I have long known about but never seen treated with this kind of ability. Be sure and email her if you liked the piece.

Two Reflections.

2009-08-29T12:37:00.002+02:00

Ex Station Head Musing

Mexican beaches

whiter than white

sprawled like a fat Cubano chick

with her eyes on my wallet and her heart ready for anything

I told Negroponte it was a good idea

we'd loot the bitch and turn her belly up for

The Pioneers

big handshakes all around

blood in and blood out

it seems to be going around

looks like everyone you can push around

has to take your dick

man

woman

child

it don't matter

they're going down

Lansky had the right idea

but it was a smaller scene

hot latin asses

cold white minds

endless stretching oasis

of callipygian fantasy

undulate

shimmer

truck farm the world

I'll plow your north forty with every beggar boy and girl;

lazier that Gunga Din

one gigantic reservation of people that can't come in

some kind of issue to occupy the common mind

those fuckers want our freedom

which would mean they think we

have

what?

I love it on the rooftops

pissing and throwing shit

look at the savages scramble for it

It reminds me of something

from a long time ago

something

(worries the corner of his mouth)

something...

I don't know

must have been a long time ago

borders arbitrary and changing like a sidewinder tracks

through the Arizona desert

wind takes care of that

wind rain

come and come again

sooner or later

.... why... I....

uh....

huh?

cold breeze at the nape of the neck

Mystic Musing

The road to glory
the road to heaven's gate begins
here on the dusty streets of this temporary
world
How few they are who
set forth in this
darkness and are not distracted in
their certitude of light

this miracle of faith this
breaking dawn within that will not
be diminished or
extinguished by
the false light of this world

how grateful am I
for the magnitude of
you across the centuries of time
your story cuts into my central core and
reminds me of the way you walked and the
land into which you came and the steadfast watch
you give at the door where you in timeless awaiting
for my tardy footsteps to arrive

however inconsistent I
may be
however held for a lifetime in the
thrall of false adventure and
the silly passions of whatever
impersonating flower in momentary bloom
one
day
I will come out of this realm and pass
through the wheel of fire
out of the burning worlds and
horned masters of my frail and wounded heart-
the bas relief of hard resisting mask
the
overlay upon overlay upon the eternal
blinding light that shall as an
orphan come home at last

A couple of Poems for the Night's Fading Light.

2009-05-15T11:24:00.002+02:00

Thanksgiving the Day After.

Thank you for liberty as license
in excess to
make us fat and stupid

like turkey's portrayed
as what they are not
but they taste sweet
like the memory of
what we lost

God Bless us for being a nation of assholes
in every country where
they don't celebrate
what we have
lied ourselves into believing
was representative of our gratitude

where
irony is
the cranberry sauce
and the gravy lines the arteries
of our super highways
in the portable mashed potatoes
of wide load bodies
yearning to be free

where our children are pierced with
navel rings
and tongue studs
the one hidden in folds of flesh
and the other hardening Daddy's
fat cock
while mom cruises the aisles of the
open 24 hours Giant supermarket
in a Valium haze

searching

I been searching

I been searching every day

and generating vipers
like The Bible in hiphop
done by Snoop Dog and
dressed by Diddy
and available in Spanish
and Braille for those who
need to touch what they can't feel and

joined at the hip to
the country we fought to achieve
independence from
who never stopped running the show
and who joins us now
in another nation where
death is the technicolor
dream coat

and we like it better from behind
with a reach around than
we do on our backs and looking
into the face of the rapist
who made sure that the only people
walking on the sea of Gallilee are
Palestinians running too fast to sink

Yeah, I got your
gratitude swinging
I got your illuminated text
and the bloated bodies that
Rumi might have mentioned
if he had been Nostradamus instead

or Nosferatu
in the White House where
they don't get mentioned

We hold these truths to be

we hold these dark woods and
serial killer drop zones in the
ice plants along the sides
of California freeways to be
self-evident.

I wish I had a country to love
I wish I hadn't died in the loading zone
I wish I had not
shit in one hand and
wished in the other

I wish

I wish

I wish

we thank you lord for these blessing we
are about to conceive
indivisible
with no kind of fucking justice
in thrall
to the Homeland Security pigs
in the hall.

(there was another Thanksgiving
that wasn't on Thanksgiving where my
Mom made me hotdogs because the chili
the family was having for dinner on the
night I got back from the hospital
was too spicy for my 12 year old stomach ulcer

that I got because
someone was so angry and cruel
that I
burned my insides out

I lost it-

for awhile before
I even knew it was there

my health
my life
my heart broken inside

I cried

I wept

I died

My father called me a
special privileged character
he whipped me
like a dog

that's what I got for Thanksgiving

that's what I got

that's what I got
for Thanksgiving every day
and he was a soldier for life
in the army that protected
the land of
fat blessings
for which Thanksgiving is the
day before shopping is celebrated
and the day after the two day wait to shop)

Suffering
and succotash
cartoons and life
animated characters poping up out of the sidewalk and one of these days

one of these days

"ba ba bada ba bada 'bing' that's all folks."

cartoon spiral sucked back into the real spiral
"buddha budda budda" said the machinegun scream

"Down on your knees!"

"Good grief, it's Daddy!"

For these gifts we are about to receive
from a god that looks like John Wayne Gacy in a clown suit
on a bed of clouds with handcuffs

Thanksgiving
we thank you god for the rain of fire that
we richly deserve
more for the fundies and missionaries than
we do for the porn

What does it take to paint sugar water under the
eyes of starving black children for
photo-ops in a Banana Republic Safari Suit?

the same thing it takes to be in charge of
exploited children
the same kind of photo-op
of men congratulating themselves for
killing half a million people
so that
their buddies in supply and demand can
make enough weapons to defend the bottom line

I am thankful
on Thanksgiving that
I am not you
and grief sticken too that
you are a part of me
Here in the pumpkin pie wilderness of
the land of the free.

In Dreams of Appetite

fast asleep
coiled at the base of life
the love of self and its reflection-

the dreams of appetite…

twined one about the other
one and the same
endless longing for expression
there…
to be reabsorbed and born again

like Nicodemus
the mind asks stupid questions
because
the unknown
is just that

unknown…

and the reality of things always
more simple than we can understand
here
amidst the clamoring of-

the dreams of appetite

oh…for what a length of time…
with nothing to measure itself against
except itself
and emptiness
beneath
the grand empyrean arched
and bottomless
from which falls
the fiery rain

there in the cauldron of confused
and ever changing shape
came forth whatever was wrought
by fear and delight

fantastic beasts
and languorous Venusian witch
to dance
amidst the purity and squalor of-

the dreams of appetite

where is the solid ground?
swallowing sands swell the invisible winds
and serpentine funnels race
through the carnival ruins of
the wreckage left
from the battle for survival in-

dreams of appetite

how we mourn the passing of the patterns
in the kaleidoscopes twist
what special meaning has any one-
among all the rest?

when the colors go
only the backing screen remains
that…is the sum of it….
…across the face of which
parade the wizards and fools who
pursue the mist.

a temporary focus
and uneasy sleep
somewhere…

In dreams of appetite

nowhere to stop
to stop is to forget
beyond galaxies and
beyond that…

homeward past bright angels
whose work is to refine
all circumstance and substance…

guardians of the soul
at that fearsome banquet-
the featureless night
the black table upon which are served-

the dreams of appetite

bardot upon bardo
from Paris to Tibet

elusive spirals
the upward swing into illuminated rooms
where imagination serves us best
but cannot prepare us for
the splendorous rites
performed by those abstaining from-

The dreams of appetite…

far in the unremembered past
there is a music like coursing blood
a shine without shadow
a milk of self forgetting
a rising, rushing wind of living song

it is the provocation of all longing
the unknown source of every want
to be achieved in silence
under lustrous love-hewn stars
when-
silence has
prevailed upon the world
with all it’s might

whatever world there may have been-

in dreams of appetite…

There is No Injustice.

2009-04-12T10:26:00.002+02:00

There is no injustice

There is often the extreme nearsightedness

of selfish intent

for as long as i stand here
and you stand there

the appearance of difference
is the God divided

and worshiped from a bloody altar
that man has built to his own dark needs

everything moves
toward a unity
gone missing

time and time again

until pain has brought forth the blossom
of loves symmetry
but
there is no injustice anywhere
there are no innocent bystanders
there are no accidents
and being sorry doesn't help

maybe...
its not your fault
it may not even be wrong

who knows...?

whose view is vast enough
that passing time does not soon compromise
their line of sight?
who sees well enough

to leave well enough
alone?

beautiful bubbles break inside the oceans foam
the water leaks into the sand
then swims away unseen

the wind stirs the leaves
the grass grows
the bees make honey
the fish laugh beneath the surface
and the horses gallop forever beneath the waves
that will never free them

it is only longing
and there is no injustice anywhere

clouds float by like dreams in a peaceful sleep
and the sky is blue
and the sun is brimming with life
and the moon is pregnant with form

and the coyote howls
and the eagle screams
and longing and hunger will never end

desire is the agent of Gods will

and there is no injustice anywhere

the light changes
and gridlock comes
and the car horns honk in Hells unfinished symphony

where the smoke from hidden fires
blows from the manholes and grates
as Jesus blows on his hands in a broken stairwell

with Bethlehem two thousand years away

its going to be a long night

but there is no injustice anywhere

the heat blisters the streets in these cities of wanting
the mad fire dance
the insane dervish in a suit

it fries the palate
all sense of taste is gone

it burns the bowels

and turns the earth an alkaline white
devoid of life

here in the pushing crowd
where loneliness is king
where no one makes love
but are only ashamed

and cannot speak

eyes do not meet

the money changes hands
but never the heart
nor the mind

a place
is what takes place

if you want something else
then go somewhere else
love will only be a problem for you here

It is incredible
and it is insane
it will not get better
it is supposed to be this way

a million years ahead
or a million years behind
t’was ever thus
the city is the same

the drama does not change
the cataclysm comes
and the fiery rain
vaporizes the stage
so that it might all begin again

and there is no injustice anywhere.

The Big One.

2009-01-17T18:44:00.002+01:00

You want it don’t you…?
You sit so still and quiet
But I can see the squirm
The raw need
The need to do something
The need to be somebody…

You know there’s a price right?
I suppose you have something to offer…
I mean… that’s why right?

And you’ll be good to people when you get there
Won’t you?
Just like all the people that came before you.
You’ll be a decent human being won’t you?

You want it don’t you…?
Don’t grab….
That’s not nice….
Didn’t your mother teach you not to grab
You know, for a moment there you looked like…

Raw need isn’t a pretty sight.
But it will do

Were you told you were a special child?
You were weren’t you?
It is a real drag when they lie to children.
Worse for the rest of us when that child grows up.

Now,
In the world of essential MLM
In the world of smoke and mirrors
In the place of money and power
In the place of finalizing dominating sex
You know you got to be a bottom…
If you want to be on top.

You don’t have to feel bad about what’s gonna be asked of you
It’s an acquired taste
And you will acquire it
Easiest thing in the world

And you don’t have to worry about what it looks like to the angels
Angels don’t come into it
You’ll be dealing with a different sort here
We like you that way

This realm
This plane
You want to play here?
Well
There is a fundamental reality
And a necessary stripping away
Of certain components that would interfere with
Your ability to play here

Certain notions you have to give up
Certain ideas about the right thing to do
This kind of thing can confuse you to the point
Where you will fail in this world
AND
Miss out on the other…

Now I know you don’t care about the other
Or you wouldn’t be talking to me
After all, you are in this world aren’t you?
Well then baby
This is all the world you need

So we need to just lighten up on the things
You don’t need in this world
The things that will hinder you and
Hold you back

The fact is
You’re either all the way this way
Or all the way that way
In between comes the thresher with the big teeth

Many many have come before you
And many more will come again.
It’s always the same thing
The system is solid
Either way.

You know when you have sex
It becomes a dining area?
Well, that’s not important for the moment

What you need is
That Chase advantage
You got to get
That Chase advantage

Got to
Sign up and let the big one suck you off

Sign on

Donors get in line
Let the big one suck you off this time

Plasma for the war…
Oh yea

I’m gonna let the big one suck me off this time
I’m gonna let the big one suck me off this time

Get that Chase advantage
Get ahead of the pack
Get the smell of the hunt

I’m getting hard in the pocket
Hey son, let me connect that socket and…ooooeeeee!!!

Let the big one suck you off this time
Let the big one suck you off this time

All the buyers and sellers
Of stuff and of self
Along with the bankers and brokers
And interceding priests,

All the consumers and the consumed
All the press and the products
All of everything that comes into form
All of the manifest that was ever born
Except
The except
But you’ll see the disclaimer at the bottom
And be sure and read the terms of use

All gonna suck a big one this time
All of them waiting at the front of the line
Waiting
Anticipating
That really big one
They’re gonna suck it all this time
Glory…glory…glory
Gonna suck a big one this time

Get that Chase advantage
Get that Rockefeller edge
Get the big one behind you
To push you off of the ledge

David’s got a cup of hot widows’ soup
Gonna foreclose on a few lifetimes
And get the big one to suck him off this time

One day when the kingdom is blazing
With that great big Fourth of July
And everyone understands just what they are celebrating
Maybe we could get the black hole in space
To give us a little real deep lung time
And there’s another in Calcutta that will
Work just fine
Ah, what the fuck-
And never mind

We’re gonna let the big one suck us off this time
Suck us off to notness
Suck us off with no forgiveness
And fuck us up the ass at the same time

Celebrities and wannabees
Get in line

Cause when the big one sucks you off
You have no regrets
Man, everyone forgets

When the big one sucks them off
When the big one blows Stardust on their horn
There’s only one selection on the jukebox
You can’t hear the breaking glass
Or feel the impact of the windshield
At the moment of the crash
Did I mention?
The big ones got your attention…

You are moving through the line
The Game Boy is your mind
Plugged into the action

You lost your taste for Campari
When you found out that Tinker Bell was a man

But you’re waiting in the darkness
With your pants around your ankles
With your passion in your hand
Dreaming of a kinder gentler land

With the big one hard at work
Yea! Oh yea baby!!!
HARD at work
Good and HARD
For this portion of this lifetime
Waiting on the big one
To blow you right the fuck out of childhood
And every tricycle it rode in on

Get that Chase advantage
Mr. Rockefeller gonna treat you just fine
No memory
No tomorrow
No highway left behind
The way they came is gone
They’ve formatted the mind
(At the prompt type Y. Warning, you are about to remove all data from your system. Do you wish to proceed? Oh yes, oh yes!!! Oh God Yes!!!)

Maybe just one cigarette
A few bobby pins
A lighter and
A subway token
No heart will be left unbroken

One hallway full of shadows
Wet concrete and the chittering of rats
Gunfire and weeping in the distance-
too great to define

There may be some disappointment
After
The big one sucks you off
Just turn your head and cough

And get that Chase Advantage
Get 0 percent Interest
No payments till the end
This offer will be repeated
Act today
Do it now
Felators are standing by
They’ll be kneeling in a minute
Everything includes everything
No waiting
No waiting
No waiting
No waiting
Fade…

So, you’re okay with that?
And you know about the quid pro quo?
You know once you get rid of those items
Nothing you do will have any further effect on you.

The reason we called you in
You look like you know
What’s going on
And you don’t mind

Now
Most people
We don’t even have to talk to them
They get right on board and
Don’t even ask where the train is going
They think the smoke trails are coming from the engine

But you’ve got management potential and
We think you can help us with the boarding
Make sure there are no empty seats
And every now and then you get to step in and be
The Big One
At the cosmic glory hole
And remember
You’re draining into your own bank account
And the financial apparatus that
Makes the whole thing move
And shake
And bake
And that makes all of us here
(I know I can speak for all of us when I say this)
That makes all of us here just
A little more motivated
A little more ‘into’ it
We’re all about satisfaction here

Some of our biggest customers are
Some of our biggest customers

See,
In the end
Either way you go
Whichever side of the helix
You got to get down on your knees
Either way
On the one hand
It’s just all about longing
On the other hand it’s all about getting to it
NOW

And keep in mind
Throughout
I’ll be turning into an angel
At the given moment
Be not deceived

9/11 Dreaming of a World of Flesh.

2008-12-21T01:35:00.001+01:00

9/11 dreaming in a world of flesh
..........................................

flesh

in a world of flesh

sees flesh only

the heart and the mind may suspect
but still too often
see
flesh only

back of the flesh in the world of gears
manipulated triggers pull at the limbs
that dance in the world of flesh

orchestration
and the high art of fraud
are an easy task
in the world of flesh

and the tumbling bodies hit
and the dust rolls in clouds from the streets
but another dust comes
from the smoke machines
and the mirror exchange of the press

some say the Arabs were angry that day
some say there's more to the ruse
beneath the veils are a number of things
that
SOMEONE
has put to good use

other intentions have come through the fire
and now they would burn the world

the convenient timing

the fabulous deaths

the great down winding
diminished regrets

in the unseeing world of flesh

now comes
the junk and the tedious songs
on and on
ad nauseum

the Twin Towers Watch
the speeches and banners

"on Comet and Cupid"

and Tiny Dancer

the peacocks are fanning

the demagogues struttin'

the survivors are jostlin'

through cables and grips

very important envelopes of flesh will
inflate their gills
with the shimmering scales of eminence

and gravitas

and their importance as flesh

and

remind
you
of
that

and... remind you... of that

it goes on forever

it lasts for an age

and-
….. THERE'S NO MORE FUCKING ROOM ON THE STAGE!

for the flesh

that encompasses space in a world of flesh

forget Rwanda,
Sierra Leone

the Congo?

where that's at?

I lost my cell phone

where's my goddamn latte?

is this lettuce fresh?

it's so hard for me
in this world of flesh

no one understands what it's like
for ME!

no one understands!

I don't understand

"why can't we all just get along?"

in the world of flesh

in the world of flesh

flesh expands and presses out over the clothing
and all restraint

flesh billows with the fruit of appetite

the soft melting encapsulated lard
of chewy TV goodies

and somebody

somebody...

blew up the church of the flesh

the goalposts of the empire of flesh
came down

the towers of flesh motivating upwards

the upwardly mobile flesh

flesh...

the lightening struck tower

somebody....

somebody....

now walk with me...
take a walk with me…

behind the world of flesh

back into the gears

back behind the tech's

behind the bankers

behind the money

behind the images

behind the ideas

behind the numbers

and behind the initial divide

far from the world of flesh you have

the uninvited guest

the forgotten lover

the fruit of desirous quest

someone forgot

SOMEONE FORGOT!

a lot of fragmented flesh puppets forgot

a whole lot of somebody
seriously forgot

to invite God into the world of flesh

and God showed up anyway

like the sword

as the spirit-
informing matter of it's presence

but it will never do to look for truth in the rubble

it will never do to think in terms
that flesh cannot accept

it will never do to consider
the absolute precision of the act

the fluid grace

that caught everyone flat footed
with a stupid look on their face

things can only be a certain way in the world of flesh

the impermanent flesh demands it

the vanishing melting vulnerable flesh is trumpeting

and cannot hear beyond it's own noise

the flesh is God unto itself

in the land of stuff

where stuff is God

there is never enough
there is NEVER enough...

just the wanting of the flesh
in a landscape of desired things

the temporary paradise on disappearing wings

rage on flesh

RAGE ON!

wrap yourself in the colored images of dream

wrap yourself in the vain exhortation

wrap yourself in the clamoring

clanging detuned symbols
of the empire of flesh

scream
and laugh

and weep
and carry on

it is never a moment too soon
in a world that is too soon gone

one should never disturb the dangerous dreams
of the lords of the kingdoms of flesh

the heart and the mind may suspect

but they can't get there yet

the tiny voice in the silence may speak

but cannot be heard

not in the world of flesh

sometimes a greater noise is needed

from the lover you have forgotten

the lover
who
has not forgotten
you…

I know you're in there….

[BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!!!]

“I KNOW YOU"RE IN THERE!!!!!!”

[BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!!!]

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!!!!!!!”

I know you're in there...

hidden in a world of flesh.

Buried in a world of flesh

His Rachel Corrie Moment (In Memory of Asma al-Mughayr).

2008-11-18T21:43:00.002+01:00

the cross-hairs fix
across the rooftops

wind from the south-
....five knots

and leading
across the space where birds
have flown

but now
in the cold Ashka-Nazi eye

the young girls form
moves in laughing dance

arms gathering the laundry
she dreams
and surely she must hope
of a world and a life beyond today

as finger tightens
upon trigger...

when it came
the explosion was

of such a force that...

he came too

like Romeo's ghost upon
the imagination's palanquin of night

the bearers of the darkness
they toiled
underneath the thrust

of bullet and finger touching
the silenced heart

and
blood like a fountain
sprayed upon the sheets...

....some secret code
that she read as
she fell dying to the roof

this...

his Rachel Corrie moment come
round at last.

Should the Japanese Apologize for Pearl Harbor?

2008-11-10T08:56:00.001+01:00

[I wrote this a few days after I saw that Congress was trying to pass a resolution on the fiftieth birthday to request that Japan apologize for Pearl Harbor.]

"Should the Japanese Apologize for Pearl Harbor?"

the Japanese were not the first
to bomb Pearl Harbor
we were

so i think the Japanese should apologize for Pearl Harbor

just as soon as we apologize to the Hawaiians
for bringing the mosquito and yellow fever
killing thousands

for bringing venereal disease

for the horror of sugar cane

and purple mountains travesties
above the looted plains

for sabotaging the beaches with kiawe thorn trees
to force the natives to drape their bodies
from the hot gaze

of their twisted
goddamned
christian missionary eyes

i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as America
apologizes to the Japanese Americans
for interning them in concentration camps

and as soon as Richard Nixon's Quakers apologize
for stealing their properties

(which were left to them in trust to be returned upon their release
which they were not)

I think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as we apologize for Hiroshima and Nagasaki

(still simulated every year at a Texas airfield)

i will always remember how the blast fused their shadows
into the building walls

THEY DIDN'T GET ANY WARNING EITHER

i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as we apologize to the Native Americans
for the ruin of their culture

the theft of their lands

the whiskey and infected blankets

the destruction of their hunting grounds

and for stripping them of all humanity and dignity

THEY DIDN'T GET ANY WARNING EITHER

i think the Japanese should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as America apologizes
to the African Americans

for slavery

beatings

emasculations

rapes

hobblings and brandings

pretended emancipations

segregation

lynchings

and

the slandering
imprisonment
and murder of their heroes

i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as America
apologizes to Cambodia

for 3640 B-52 bombing raids
and 110,000 bombs dropped
during a war that never took place

and for backing Pol Pot
as the legitimate representative of the people

(i remember to this day
the pyramid mountain of skulls outside Pnom Phen)

THEY DIDN'T GET ANY WARNING EITHER

i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
as soon as Attila apologizes to Rome

Salome apologizes to John the Baptist

on the day that politicians become honest
bankers become generous

no fault applies to love

and the Pope shits in the woods

and should be delivered to the White House

by a woman on ice skates

ten minutes after Hell freezes over

Frogman

If I were Inside You.

2008-11-07T22:23:00.001+01:00

I could form a garden from the wind
Make it stay for your enjoyment
Then turn it back again
If I were inside you

If I were inside you
I would not move
It seems so slow
But you would move
I know

Heaven and Earth

You would be the gate
And they would be the same

Flaming letters would write your name
Upon every living thing

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
I would expand
Till you could not contain

Thunder would break the sky
And lightening would flash

There would be rain

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
The door of everything
Would open
And we would rock upon the water
Till the sea gave up the dead

The fire in my heart
Would be the sunlight in my head

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
Every pore upon your skin
Would open into rainbows
That would tremble and dissolve

Over and over again

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
Because you let me in
I would fold my tent forever

Hell would curl up at your feet
And go to sleep

And I would never leave again

If I were inside you

Elsewhere.

2008-10-14T09:42:00.002+02:00

i have known love
and tasted both delight and sorrow
there on the dark altar of the night

and in the end it did not matter to me
no more than the promise of fortune or revenge
i remained a pauper,

poorer from this multitude of desires
and i am no more wise nor more skilled
by that to which i never gave more than half my heart
because my attention was Elsewhere
always Elsewhere.....

In some Jamaica of the mind,
peering like a dream miniature over a gulls wing
drinking in the sun drenched waters
of another endless ocean

the summer cliffs of Big Sur
wandering in deserts
hitching the nowhere highway
like Quixote in Spain
dreaming of Elsewhere

tracking the Elsewhere
a place i can barely visualize
barely trace the outline
like some blurred face on an old coin

yet it never leaves me for a moment
it penetrates my every thought
until nothing is more important
than to be Elsewhere
to be
where it is

like Marcellus
who won the robe
and was burned to the soul when he put it on
they say the love of God is like a consuming fire
and he could not rest
until it had consumed him

there has been laughter and tears
and visions
and descents into the dark splendor
more than a few times
to educate the serpent in the spine
who is neither good nor bad
but both
alternatively

nothing

i have observed

is consistently anything

nothing but the truth
which cannot be observed

everything in time
turns to its opposite

day to night
hot to cold
the hope of youth into the resignation of age
and the hell of a compromised life

the loyalty of anything
leads ultimately to betrayal
where does one stand...?
on what?
And for what?
we let such little things destroy us
we do not see the Elsewhere
i have never held anything completely

there is a place...
i know it without question
it is the highest note above the keening of the wind
it is beauty and despair
it is the suffering spirit in the house of the rich
it is Lazarus at the palace gates

it is
and i am
and one of us is displaced

nothing is harder than to get there

i write these words because i am in love with it
somehow i am marked by it
too much has happened in this life
too much that can not be explained

of course
it could be only the arrogant mind
that imagines for itself
a high destiny

but my dreams are not of golden plunder
ten thousand horsemen
or a high throned kingdom
though real fame does intrigue me more than the rest
to be anonymous is best
i have seen his name attached to many things

i dream of freedom and
bright sunlit rooms
beautiful faces that speak to me in music
who are they?
i have been here before
but not in this world
this world is only a shadow of it
quite simply shit
brushed with rainbows
that glow in the ghost light of a neon nightmare

can love be accomplished here?
the wind whistles through dead trees
and that is all the answer that this world gives me
and I,
like every other fool
have asked it more than once
out of boredom
to be enchanted and bewildered

lost at birth
abandoned in the great hall of mirrors
slowly borne down the continuum

in these mirrors i have seen my thoughts
the good and the bad
they are the moment
and what the moment says
is like the wind that whistles through dead trees

too many mirrors breed a carnival of despair

after a time
love becomes the supreme effort
it works in every small way
diligent to seal the cracks
through which devotion leaks
into complacency and death

such a love does not sleep
its power is from that Elsewhere place

there is a highway
and it is not separate from life
they are the same
each filled with exits and entrances
lined with attraction
and circumstance
that lead into every possibility of the imagination
none of them lead Elsewhere...

beyond-
the wind that whistles through dead trees
and it is Elsewhere
at last
that brings us everyone to our knees

every stop on the highway
is another death
disguised as justified delay

it is so lonely on the highway
for on every side the only sound one hears
is the wind
as it whistles through dead trees

in the distance are the lights of town
there are warm seductive rooms
crowded with all the postures of approaching death
but in time
taking on the very appearance of life

time blurs the critical eye
and we see what pleases our reasons to stay
and we must stay
out of the fear of the meaning that comes
to one who listens overlong
and understands...

...that voice
like some great and solitary raven
perched atop a gutted skull
that is the face of the wind
as it whistles through dead trees

there is no forgetting after that
no drink nor drug can erase it
i have tried
believe me i have tried

in the end
there is some truth
to the mutterings
of those robed and cowled merchants of word magic

after a fashion there is some truth
to these phrases
"be here now"
"we are all one"
"let it flow"
"do what thou wilt"
along with all the others
do not believe them
they work for the bank

the truth is Elsewhere
has always been
Elsewhere
and their words are the origin of the wind
that whistles through dead trees

so many imposters
they have taken us all
perhaps they believed what they said
perhaps they did not
they spoke of somewhere
but not of Elsewhere

now...

i do not know
what I am about...

Elsewhere waits Elsewhere
and i wait here for Elsewhere
and i believe that Elsewhere will come to me

why else has it filled my every dream?
why else has it caused me-
consistently to fail,
from having given so little of myself
to every effort in this world?
from having found no ambition to be strong enough to fill me
from having loved nothing enough to forget how much
i wanted to be Elsewhere

now...
there remain those small duties of life to attend to
those efforts i have overlooked
in my desire to be Elsewhere

not seeing that Elsewhere
forever retreats before desire

that Elsewhere
is just that place where desire ends
so

there are matters to attend to
and time to attend to them
and that is good
and very much like being Elsewhere
and in all of this

the sweetest of musics

the warning and the witness

and the heart of patience itself

is the whistling of the wind
through dead trees

in memory of Elsewhere

What is not Under Discussion.

2008-06-30T16:37:00.002+02:00

somewhere
in your wet
moist
jungle regions

in the undiscovered mystery of your skin
in the beckoning
in the squalor
in the given heart of everything

in your dark parlour

lies the mystery of becoming

a thing activated by and for
the endless expressions of itself.

sinuous and langorous
unique and
infidelitous

incestuously congressing with

the infinite permutations of itself

Saying hello

Waving goodbye

running its hand up your thigh

why?

for the perpetuating image making
congregating pressure to become

and

to expand

to live in temporary splendor or

in the pursuit of one thing after another
as a veil upon the truth..

or...

and generations of imaged beings overlay

and overlay

the white hot starlight at

the sweet silent center that keeps the kitchen warm
and puts the heat into your jeans at alternating locations.

Can you feel it?

Hmmm...

Yes... it's a mystery.

It parts its legs and the world appears.

The dynamics insist that the attractive impulse should be for the thing

magnetized

apart from... and then...
into communion with elements and compounds
cooking up fiery chaos...

but rather does wisdom suggest
you keep your hand close to your chest
and your heart single
when divison is death

Massive impetus...

incalculable pushing out and sucking in
that web of sunlight can grow sticky
and dense..

denser yet....

down into carbon oil and diamonds...

Wow! Look!

It comes out the other side again.

How comes the fire to be fiery hot?
What is the sensation of burning?
What makes water wet?
What is the nature of pain?
There are as many kinds of fire and
motivations ...as definitions of gain

Yes it is a mystery

Things fall and things change

Things hurt and heal

Buddhas shimmer where the sun hits the water
Jesus glimmers in the virgin mind
Mohammed makes a tapestry
and all of it divine and moving on

sense and nonsense
thinking and feeling
pleasure and pain

and

Time

It's a lily pad
It's a lotus
It's all hocus pocus
Its a lie that depends on the I
see for yourself.

Sticky... sticky taffy.... sweet incandescent morsels of murk
flypaper... amber...

screams frozen in Time
Laughter, screams, laughter, screams
You pay for what you get
You get what you pay for...

You are the currency
the moment looking at itself
devoid of understanding the thing on which it rests
it seeks security against the inevitable

instead of shelter
beneath
the incomprehensible

Herein is the wicket and the key
and you're on a Busman's Holiday.

All of this
so simple and so intricate
hiding in plain sight
with or without light
does hinge on one thing...

one question...

is it conscious?

Are you?

Well then...

Nothing more need be added or done
Either it is or it is not

If not... then from where comes the capacity to question?

Ah..

uh huh...

precious, precious jewels drapped in cobwebs
tracked by ghost spiders

blind groping round the corners of the mind
while the buffeting distractions go on
without end
where? where?

slippery as a fish
elusive
monumentally present
overarching and
groined

penetrating
essence

oily

luminous

There where your treasures be
is each personal conclusion
at that point where the teapot
pours out the paisley and
makes a Persian rug or a dungeon keep.

Real Love.

2008-05-05T10:43:00.001+02:00

Love opens things
So love would hurt as much as heal
It would hurt first

Real love-
It would confuse, disarm, weaken and destroy
Everything in its way
Everything that was, in fact,
A part of you
That would conceal
Real love

Real love lasts forever
We do not last as long
until we become
real love

Real love has come to town
Six gun blazing in a town full of lies
Now is the showdown
The duel in the street
Real love is the only thing standing

Real love rides alone
Squints out of one good eye
Nails the coffin shut
Nothing got out alive
But real love

Real love is going to make you cry
Make it worse before it gets better
Tear you up inside

Real love-
Who would want such a thing?
It takes the atmosphere away
Breaks all your toys
Burns down your house
And steals your car
But you’re not going very far
Anyway

Real love has got its hands on you
Burns from the inside out
Nothing left

Nothing but wide prairie
And huge commanding stars

You’ve never been so alone
You’ve never been so complete

Outside this golden ring
The cities burn forever

And you can never fall asleep
Again...

real love

In Search of Rest.

2008-03-27T11:32:00.005+01:00

the image of love in

the mirror

turns...

into a whirlpool of desire

we cannot maintain our balance

and so we fall

was it love?

we are the fuel

and when we are gone

there is no flame

i became brilliant beneath the light of your love

i was alive

and only then was i alive

woven into tapestries of color and sound

where have you gone?

i look for you in every face

but i do not fall in love

i remain apart

one wing in an empty sky

somewhere inside

a woman moves

and at night she often dances

in perfect breath with me

this is the woman with whom i am truly close

this is the only woman

mother of God

sound and fury

silence absolute

beautiful beyond description

terrifying in full approach

the mind dissolves

"be still my child

no harm will come to you

strong men i bring them down

and suck them dry

but my child may dwell in safety"

i looked too hard and too long

i found her and now i cannot return

there is no dream of life that can be believed

there is only the vastness of space

the appearance of time

and the differing weight...

sometimes heavy

like the sorrow of a long past

sometimes light as an angels hand upon your shoulder

steering a course through the stormy heavens

and planetary wars fought in human form

until the last day

she is everywhere

in unseen miniature multiplied

in the air

the earth

the dancing flesh

she takes me in my sleep

flying up the long corridor to my bright home

why is it difficult to leave the fields of play?

here among the doomed flowers

the gravity of bones

the brief exhalation of life

young girls press the pulse

and draw the essence forth

into the raging holocaust

of passion rampant

on a field of blood

"i will protect you my child

i will wash the worlds of form from your heart

i will remove the sword above your head

i will teach you to dance

but you will dance for me alone"

it is the greatest heartbreak

the destruction of the false self

dreamed by the self

and revealed to the self

at separations end

the terror of mortal pain

the agony of life’s constant march

unending loss of everything

unending loss of everything

it hurts to be free

freedom is too much to bear

too difficult to accept

the luminous door appears

and the mind cries out for darkness

it slithers under floorboards and rocks

to hide from immortality

"i will protect you my child

i will hold you as yourself

we are woven as one

eternity and time

forget

forget

forget"

in a world where everything but truth dies

but which few see

in a world that begins and ends forever

that is the playground

for a mind magnetized by dust

in a world were everything is broken

no heart is safe

in a world of mostly water

for it is a world of mostly tears

in a world where love is crucified

no lie is safe

in a world of contrasts

of desperate flights

and measureless descent

where everything is written on

or built out of sand

that flows to the bottom of an all forgiving sea

in a world of waiting

and hoping

where every dream comes true

eventually

and then loses its meaning and disappears

in a world of rumors

and dying swans who mate for life

we move to and fro

in search of rest

impelled by need

in search of rest

tormented by flies and furies

in search of rest

burning in the long night

in search of rest

in search of rest

in search of rest

"i will protect you my child

i have built a garden of delight

it hangs iridescent in the air

it gleams in a drop of water

it spins in the living breath"

a love serene

the emptiness of mind

the holding of one

the mirror of light

the bloom of begotten-

worlds sent forth

in search of rest

in search of rest

in search of rest

I Do Believe (an Easter Poem)

2008-03-22T10:29:00.001+01:00

In that essential stillness

that quiet endless hour...
preceding every dawn
of every day...

God breathes into the world of sleep
whatever power might be taken
to reach
that waking moment
in the warm falling rain of his grace...

In every year
whenever the wheel has turned
into the place where it must turn again

or stop

for want of hope
or lack of dreams...

God breathes once again
into the greater whole...
this soft malleable whiteness
this stone...

he blesses
this unformed essence of extraordinary love
not yet fashioned with object
or desire...

it awaits our cleansed and contrite heart

awaits our innocence returned

awaits our renewing hope and certain will

that we might approach closer to the mark...

We have fallen back
upon the dying leaves

upon the sidewalks of shouting cities

into the guttering run
where flows the secret mind of our hidden deeds

more times than we can
through mercy
recall....

Every breath
every morsel of food
every chance of redemption
every possibility of hope
rests upon the bleeding power
that has bought and paid for every coming minute of the age...

Every twisted ugly thing

Every kindness unseen

every gentle thought

every whip hand falling
or whatever we may have turned it to...

all paid for by the living vision
of the one who dies

who is crucified
in the simultaneous instant of every act....

everything is permitted and fed
that we might, through the gift
of this unspeakably great thing
come to see how we might be....

and the certain possibility of that
for everyone of us

no matter how dark the way

how far afield...

is the 'ceaseless' intent
of the one left bleeding....

what freedom is
what love is
what peace is
we have no clue

only the yearning
and the road that leads us there...

Many have filled this void with words

Many heroes come
and seeming villains to meet them in their time

all sleeping now
in places deep and waiting...

but this one does not sleep

Is born anew in every breath

shines from each shining eye

cannot and will not forget

carries us past the trouble and regret.

In tongues forgotten he has come
to every race
in every time

dressed as everyone

always unknown and alone
and waiting...

this immeasurable gift

unappreciated

not understood

remains...

lays on the common ground

is tossed aside as worthless

is unseen among the items in the cart

it feeds us

grants us life where there would be none...

endless granted, giving life...

full and safe and perfect

I do believe....

Bend over and Wait.

2008-03-07T10:40:00.001+01:00

true love is a dream
that wakes up
and blends everything into itself

life has meaning
everything makes sense

sometimes it is more than this
sometimes much less
without it

then life becomes all expectation
hope running nervous at the edges
that are frayed
where they have been gnawed by doubt

too weak in the end to hold together
under the terrible weight of disappointment
which is always the result
of seeking true love
while being unable to truly love

real love is more rare than a bankers tears
more rare than sacrifice in a politician
yet it is what gives us life
still

we dream and wonder

and bend over and wait...

the physical eye is aflame and
intoxicated with form

golden Barbie’s and volleyball gods
symmetrical curves and perfect lines
youth without brains and
as cruel as a cat

the fruit of imagination
the object of desire

the plain ones cry-
"choose me!"
"no me!"
"sprinkle me with fairy dust."
"smile and break my heart."
bend over and wait...

"image is everything."
in that case imagine Agase sodomized with a tennis racket
an excellent image
caught by Canon
seeming...
somehow...
vulnerable in this new light
lets see that one again
i know
bend over and wait...

life is television and television
is life
there on the mindscreen to digest
serve it with blood in a beaded glass
put the shine of romance on your beckoning ass
while you
bend over and wait...

ah
the wait
the expectation...

small bumps of excitement dot the cheeks
the sphincter contracts
and in a circular twist
its length is rimmed with invisible tongues
slick sweet death to the max
"oh!"
"now!"
"now!"
"now!"
bend over and wait...

visible beauty
the desperate lie
they came here
and confused attention with love
notoriety with fame

and not even death and rebirth
has given them any depth

these tragic shells with nothing inside
they slide through the scenery
as the scenery
crying to the world

"long for me!"

"desire me!"

"lay awake at night and dream of me!"
(clench your stomach tight with need)
but
"don't touch!"
"don't touch!"

let them milk your desire like bees among the flowers
and
bend over and wait...

they slide like snakes in the moonlight
over dark glass
they mate with their own vacant forms
moving millimeters apart

never touching
and always out of reach

two dimensional poster art

the blue television light flickers
and halos their face
lit with the blood-light of swallowing fate

they dance before you and sing

"bend over and wait."

"bend over and wait."

they break the heart like glass
with their cold hard beauty

hard and cold and hard and

adamantine

and valued
as diamonds are

by those who covet what cannot feel
bend over and wait...

bend over and wait...

we are presently dead
actually asleep
and in a dream

buried in flesh

everything is backwards

we wake up when we die

god is playing hide and seek
while you

dream of being serviced by a cyborg
that television said was real

television said
"get excited!"

television said
"let them sit on your face!"

television said
"you should live for this."

and

if they are late?
yea
you know

bend over and wait...
.....................................

A Trilogy for Bushligula

2007-12-20T20:11:00.002+01:00

Birth of a Leader

this
twisted abalone shell
whose
lips
curled round
the writhing black linguini interstate
Hot breath burnin!!!!
burnin hot!!!!!
[is that all you got?!!
IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!!]
And bush bent over for the devil
because he liked it!
like he likes the
Satanic whips descending
on snakeskin buttocks
mule fucked
and blood wet
To the tune of
natural things
turned into cinderblocks and shit
He’s got the numbers hidden under his hair
tattooed by demons in vitro-embryo
when Barbara got the ectoplasmic astral-hyena
enema
visitation
Up the backdoor
Into the secret clubhouse
Republican living room
[“is it just me or does something smell really bad in here?]
something
crawled up in here and died
Just before
George W.
got shit out on to a Petri dish
In the basement of the illuminati castle laboratory
Somewhere to the Midwest
Of Geneva
Sail on.....
Sail on...you ship of lies and
useless things
Into the middle of the river of darkness
And sink within

With Apologies to Ferlinghetti

lost in the bushes
with the WMD's
and all that compassion
running like the clap from
an infected dick
and everybody lost and nothing got found
back in the day
when the lies seemed so real
but were not enough to win
so they let the court steal the country
and the heart and the mind
as the neo-cons got up as one
to kiss his red behind
spanked in private
kissed in public
and came all over himself
couldn’t remember where or when
hum a few bars
I’ll get back to you
Do lunch
Do your wife and kids too
If you
Fuck around
all the kiddies that got left behind
along with truth
justice
and the American Way
getting skull-fucked by
Spiderman
Cock-blocked by the frogs
On the Champs Elysses
lost in the bushes
and fucked behind the bushes
and discovered in the bushes
somebody needs to beat the bushes
till the tigers appear
♫and the beast ran away on the spear ♫
Halliburton
and Venell
up on the hooks
drying in the sun
Justice jerky
“Did it make your nipples tough?”
Got to be a Lecter moment
while the twins hit the bongs
could be from Laura’s dimebag
go to girl in college
dead man on the highway
and the Iraqi children bring the water home
that shimmering radioactive water
from the nuclear containers
that they found in the caverns
while we
were protecting
the oil ministry
and the museums were smashed and looted
and someone’s
having tea with Osama
on the beach at Tripoli
WMD’s sitting in sun-chairs on the sun blasted shore
of purple mountains travesties
Maui Jim sunglasses and
cocktails at six
with the great whore
of Babylon
who squats on the banks of the Potomac
where the necessary work gets done
and the vultures soar
over the looted plains
the blasted limbs of children
that will never dance again
in the streets of Baghdad
As Nintendo jet fighter pilot bush
lands on the aircraft carrier
with his sock stuffed crotch
packed like a Piñata
waiting for history
to kick him in the nuts

“Bad Leroy Bustin’ Caps”

no actual caps were injured in this simultaneous outpouring.

if you can't follow this break out a copy of Fruity Loops and mixmast your ass into the realm of unforgettable I wish I could do that air-rap fantasy midnight idol gasoline inflamed saturday night special (PEACH SCNAPPS ENHANCED ALSO

MAIDEN VOYAGE IN THE AFTERMATH OF 2CB-J...VERY COOL.. IN RETROSPECT I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST WROTE ALL THIS BUT YOU KNOW, THERE IT IS.

see whut IT IS
un huh what it is
i come into the block white non-homeboy
not ganged up...looking fish country
but, could talk
could fight
just like it was in real life and not in this
made up rap for commercial release
this one is made up rap for commercial release

yeah, I went up on a hard two to ten
if I was good they give the nickel back again
less worries when I go look for a job
uh huh
less worries when I go look for a job
says here you get a nickel back
but I'm not thinking about that
becaus right now in my
mental penitentiary
the rules are different you got to play
the song my way
just like it really was
oh yeah, i'm living proof
just like it really was
had a tattoo on my arm that said inshallah
muslim saw this whilst i was back-slapping off some part of a group who played----

---their look this way while i fuck you in the ass
capers which i tumbled to and did a surprising flamenco- off the cuff caporeira paco delucia enhanced double back at you thunderfuck
and the muslim said cease and desist
what is the meaning of this
and i said just what it says..
whatever god wills and i threw in a few bismillahiroCKman'sirahim's i don't know what comes next
just like it was
in real life
and not in this penitentiary of the mind
so they thought cause i said the palestinians had a right to a statehood that i was cool
meanwhile, the nazi skinhead contingent
of the aromatic body enhancing
not prone to desirable human contact
groping... dug my perceived anti-jew
not true
i expect i could find one i like
it's a taste you get accustomed to...

piss yu off good...push any buttons yet?
oh trust me there are buttons i haven’t pushed yet
i see right fucking through ya
uh huh...just like it really was

just like it really is
in this mental penitentiary see I got some cachet
i proved i could fight and i hate everybody
so that can't be bad in here
but that's not quite how it was
i was much nicer than that ...when i could afford it- otherwise i warned people who never paid any fucking attention anyway
so...like i said
i got some cachet in my mind
and unless you have actually faced down bad leroy with his pounding klipsch-horn enhanced dick speaking in tongues
then you just part of this bad poetry caravanserai
this unending bordello of unrequited masquerade
is that my lovers lips?
is that my lovers mind?
read it back to me slowly
while i admire the expanse of my endless behind
just like it really

so, cut to the chase
in my mental penitentiary
new fish come in today george bush
cocky for a white boy
looks like he might know sumit
walks likes he's connected
if he is
we ain't heard of it
word is, in here, man gotta prove his shit
or that man a bitch
man can lone gun and walk away
but he got to clean his plate when yo deliver it

so george he comes in all high in the saddle
my daddy this, my daddy that, and karl rove turn on the lights here
in this place where the sun never shines
and i have fucking been there and so

yeah sometimes the sun does shine
but don't expect it will call on you today

when i remembered, huh
this is this punk ass bitch was president of the united states
this was this lying theivin, run away from his cushy deferment vietnam evading career landing dick enhanced robotroid don't you wish your daughter would marry somebody like me worthless piece of shit pretending posturing side of the

mouth talking got no fucking friends in this jailhouse dead man walking or worse...much worse
in this penitentiary of the mind from the miserable rotting fucking you don't want to know what kind of scum lives here in this penitentiary of the mind...

and i'll clue ya
this is the way it really will be
in the moments now being orchestrated for his special lord faultenroy and attendant beasts

let this ongoing poem be just as passionate and violent an uproar
as i may create
but there is a seething foment in the pustulence beneath
and so you will
hear the next version
of this
and you will hear the next version
of this
unless of course (it's poetry after all- loophole
no need for the disclaimer kiss my ass)
you get brass knuckles back i speak for a whole lot of angry mother fuckers
and since you don't know the meaning of fair play
maybe you will appreciate when we do it your way

lies
intimidation
slander
get in my range motherfucker
oh but george you are
here
in the penitentiary of the mind
when they made plans to take you out
(copy the secret service on this re...penitentiary of the mind...undisclosed location...george is in trouble guns don't work)
when they went to take you out
they came to me george
asked me if i wanted first up
ya know george i'm basically non-sexual prison wise
just like it really was
but i got to make an exception
so they brought you to me george
your white fishbellied butt winking in the 60watt bulb dangling in erie reminiscence of some forgotten film noir where my heart was broken..

...

but that poor ceramic figurine
is endlessly tumbling now
like the snow in citizen kane
and you can kiss the rosebud of my tormenting ass
cause you're mine now goergeree
gottacha
gioereorej
gotcchaha
in the peni..t.t.t.t.t.tentiary of the mind

and I'M HARD NOW GEORGE I'M HARD
LIKE I'VE NEVER BEEN FOR A MAN
SO HELP ME GOD
AND YOU SQUEAL LIKE THE PIG YOU ARE
WHEN I DELIVER THE PORK TO YOUR SELF RIGHTEOUS CRYSTALINE BEHIND...NO LUBRICANT GEORGE
DO YOU MIND???
OH PLEASE, PLEASE MIND...
IT EXCITES ME SO IN THIS PENITENTIARY OF THE MIND

LA LOI DONT LE REGNE VOUS EPOUVANTE A SON GLAIVE LEVE SUR VOUS FRAPPERA TOUS, LE GENRE HUMAIN A BESOIN DE CET EXAMPLE..

oh, that's right yu don spik french
too bad
big leroy is going to interpret

so george..mr white boy supreme now in this tank fulla we find out right now what you got or you givvin it up know what i mean?

and your punk ass got no respect in this world
i'll be the livin witness of that
watch your back?
you ain't got no back
sept what i'm pile drivin into you except for
when i relax like that
you in the penitentiary of the mind asshole
we ain't got the in house sound system like we like it yet
but you ougta hear your fat friend rove yodel, yeah, he's next door
dick's gone...i'm sorry to say
big Leroy used his dick as the kiss of life
mighta got in tha way
so i gotta ask you george
you like it when i do it slow like this
or do you like it when i fuck you really hard like you been doing everybody else until now
big wake up call huh? mr i used to be the president of the united states and now you crying for your satan worshippin momma and aint' this a kick in the ass
cause it's satan that got you now
it's your very best friend right here with you ALL THE WAY TO THE END...A...L..L....TH...E WAAAAAAAAY AH HAH HAH HAH HAH
YOU KNOW GEORGE I GOT TO QUIT
MY HEART AIN'T IN IT
BIG LEROY YOU GOT SUMPIN YOU WANNA SAY?
WELCOME TO THE BIG TIME MR PRESIDENT
WELCOME TO THE FUTURE
EVEN THOUGH IT AIN'T CAUGHT UP YET
WELCOME TO HOW IT REALLY IS
AND HOW IT DO PLAY
IN THIS PENITENTIARY OF THE MIND (CLOSED CAPTIONS MULTI LANGUAGE ENABLED..NOT SIMULATED...REAL ACTORS WERE USED AND WILL BE USED AGAIN AND AGAIN)
in the penitentiary of the mind...yeah george i'm fucking and humiliatin you every way i know and i will do worse until you come after me and i wish everyone else would do the same
until the sound was so loud
the oceans roar and the thunder would be just
sand rubbing their knuckles together in my mothers hands
back when i still believed this was a decent land
back when i still believed in god
and now i know it's just up to us
and maybe that is god after all
cause i could never..no matter how you have shamed the human race you fucking traitor
i could never disavow that still small voice...inside...
oh i hear it like angels dancing across glass
never did fabric rustle so...
it is you isn't it???
i hope so
in this penitentiary of the mind
lots of hopes and dreams here lord
lotsa childs left behind

i'm coming george...i'm coming and i wont stop and you can crush every fucking voice in the world and still this will ring high and clear above everything you and your robots seek to control...you can't stamp out human freedom..

especially not in the name of freedom...and our voices grow every day.
and not
just in
this
penitentiary of the mind...kma