Month: February 2017

Description:Title Page: Book of Exist

Description:Title Page: Book of Exist

Thunder ending at 4 am, beep of phone death, the covers cold as the lips of muslin tied round the feet of dead men tossed from cliffs like Monte Christo, Dantes rather,

wake with movie echoes, shall I read Tacitus ( i told myself in a conversation last night around 8:30 pm) , I closed my eyes, I envisioned Claudius eating a poisonous mushroom his Aunt watching a gorgeous smile on her lips,

serpents in dens(badly decorated dens)  are men, nothing has changed, the physician tending him ensured his death when evacuation was successful and life seemed possible

(he rubbed a poison feather lightly on his tongue, almost poesy in its daring and juxtaposition, Hippocratic murderings), the stuttering genius of Graves put asunder by a fungi,

men haven’t changed much as said.

Or I was reading The Paris Review ( even writing it i feel a betrayer, a hipster in disguise no true seeker),

and, the History of the Apostle Paul,much is misunderstood about Gospels, I wish

to know what so little know,

how little I know.

 

Timing Can be Blamed

Timing Can be Blamed

We hunt winter as  did troglodytes of old cling to spears and rush mammoths from cliffs for needed fats and furs,

And there is a sickness in the air, it says “The Earth is dying.” But proposes or wants no solution, its own reward is its utterance of fatality, it is childish, and unbecoming, it doesn’t bear up under rationale.

The dawn of today is purple, tomorrow it will be another glorious color, Ill never wrap my mind around it or wrap my mind around wrapping my mind around it.

Love of family, Stoicism in its freedom and in its adherence to reason as nature,

ruins and moss, lichenous river beds, well water dug deep from the earth for my benefit,

fires on cool days ,

Solus is in the obese  Claus beard clouds,

and your skin reeks of the oak split two years ago, you remember stacking wood, bugs fall out, your shirt smeared dark brown of mud oak effluvium , a smile,

cold bloody tasting air in your nostrils, you think of this.

of all the provinces in the nation I reside in, all the roads, overhung with trees, and the ones with overturned buggies from K- Mart, and humans I could have been, I am this one, lit by a screen,

air is an ocean, i am a boat, i also am of no consequence unable to prove me beyond what i perceive, reactions of others mere stimuli in what we imagined is real. perhaps.

 

Perfomance.

Perfomance.

Like a lucky tadpole I’ve made it, adulthood, response to ability, yearnings, unresolved buried deep ,

worldly is ok,

freedom: asides we took note of on the way but discard.

You who go out and about, wish for something that i don’t understand,

i raise my hand in salute to your tasks,

perhaps under rocks already lifted you’ll dissect the corpse of bugs left dead by the previous lifters and in their exoskeletons find the meaning I’ve never really wanted to discover.

Marriages failing across the nation, I’m familiar with you, children lonely, I am you,

burning in chests of dying men, i too am you, left alone, id suffer for a republic, kept together i still do, but quietly and in secret.

Statues erected by men with nothing better to do, may you stand before buildings made by those they spat upon, representing ideals they never upheld, may my children worship you, against my will because of the weight of opinion.

God,

once we embraced,

until my head bumped into the mirror.

Not aligned with another:

Not aligned with another:

Seneca:

Dawn is the crust of the Earths soul.

Pain is confusion, en perpetua perplexia, I, No scholar.

Cold Holidays, Greedy eyes of youths.

Love, haven’t killed ya yet.

Singing songs of death , impossible while living.

Febrile afternoon, let me not dwell on extrapolated mental cartographies.

Guns are devices that fire objects at other animate being.

Thats what guns are.

Stare at antient maps, doll eyes , waxen, travelled back in time, glancing at topography .

I’ll March in the funeral procession, strange Etruscan, pagan, burial ceremonies, ill be present as anthropologist are at rites held by witch doctors.

My son came ,

hugged my leg,

listened to music, headphones on, pulsing beats and lyrics killing  joy of moments,

placed keyboard keys forcing emotion,  walked off smiling as if knowing, his jeans so cool like a model,

drink my beer, dumb as as all dads ever before, dumb as my own, and his before him.

I can hear what might be popular echoing in the broken future, supported by the same architecture of nonsense which held what was thought to be what should be,

Beyond in the mines men labor and glance up seeing if they have their quota,

My eyes glow with lack of understanding, them, me, nothing, the same.

 

 

 

 

Sickness Proximity, and Diagnostics.

Sickness Proximity, and Diagnostics.

A lonely occupation,

sleeping at early exhaustive, consumptive, invalid hours, music, four am, throwing up in the sink.

Lupus ( everytime i utter it i think of the star lupus in the Canis constellation)  says hello in many ways, never wishing me to be lonely, god gifted me with four friends ,which burrow in my nerves and partake of me ,though they wish to love me symbiotically. Who knows? Either way, pain is why I’m here, and why I’m awake, time between pain and stress and love is merely empty air, gods breath,

if i were a creature from a  more dense atmosphere or a less dense atmosphere i would either feel like i was floating on Earth or swimming. I think about this.

Everyone sleeps through my raucous vomiting, as if I’m some raconteur of a father home from a drunk, the walls silent, the wainscoting accusatory,

like a jury in the 50s comprised of angry white housewives.

I must for the dawn stay passive, hopeful, when it rises it never relents, it is, a constant, even under death grey bone clouds it shines, hard to examine for anything other than an increment.

No wonder anthropologist find so much evidence of sun worship, men are so fickle, the sun so constant, at least in our relative frame of existence, which is admittedly small.  Even now we celebrate the various interludes equinoxes, solstices etc. under the guise of other holidays, worse than Pagans who at least knew what they were about.

 

 

Get on the Golden Elevator of Doom

Get on the Golden Elevator of Doom

I say no to foolishness committed under any Law that justifies it, any rule passed by flesh which allows to go on and on with impunity. I piss on the world you’d have me let be, it goes beyond apathy, minds are dead to the cost, eating into the account book of a planets resources and killing the very birthright you were given ( and its not really a right there was no one to assure us of it but ourselves).

All of you must wipe your ass with your holy books, but even then you figure you’d have read some of the parts about compassion and stewardship contained therein.

Caricatures of wealth and power, cheap flaccid, repugnant and filled with vitriol. Wearing ties loosely like fools , badly expensive ties someone told them to wear. Press conferences held to simply assuage the cabinets emotions, they are not here for emotion, go about your business, we are the public ,you asked for us. Do your fucking Job, which is to serve us. That is all.

Summer in A Time

Summer in A Time

It was a blackened darkness,

Everyone in the streets echoed its shadow, filled with empty, they screamed.

True freedom like a billowing flag spurned, Loud, herbaceous , pissed itself in the distance,

and we saluted the wrong pole smiling,

telling of epochs, our foolish bracing smiles.

My brother in the distance silent, my father a believer, machines proving themselves beyond us, killing it all whether our hands held the switch or nay.

Bumbling sounds of my intellect in the morning or night.

Of us who have done with the act of miming, this is no longer a proper recourse.

Something more is required, some block before our brothers to stumble upon, let us manufacture it with all the aim of our forebears in ventures blessed by God.

Waters rising of my volition forgive me for unleashing you on my children,

let them grow used to warm winters,

climates unlike my own.