Sorrows Past

Aching memory,
Vast and old,
Cherished family,
Casks of gold,
Sacred tombs where
Mortals rest,
Flowers wither on
Sacred breast,
Sobbing winter,
Dry leaves fall,
Colors splinter
accross the hall,
Where faded glory,
Songs of sorrow,
Dance and mingle,
Dawn tomorrow,
But tonight we
Are the dance,
In a melancholy trance,
And on our cheeks,
The tears are blood,
Pained by memr'ys
Aching flood
Vast and old,
We lose our souls,
Wither away,
And sing our song,
Alone at lost,
For far too long.

Numb

Everything bland,
Everything debased,
Everything gray.

Blistering Hate

I am angry and I hate myself,
I twist my insides all day long,
I am knotted, bruised and torn,
I wriggle, cacophonous voices yearn,
I shudder, shaken, dripping wet,
Drowning in my intellect,
I wander, roam and weep inside,
And stand, blurry, fake and dazed,
I seeth with rage til midnight comes,
Then I sink again into despair,
I pity all and none beside,
Yet I never seem to learn.

Blizzard

I am Blizzard,
I am Rain,
I wash the world,
And scream again,
I consume all the sorrows past,
And within,
Cosmos,
Vast, lost, windswept steel,
Riding on a broken wheel,
I'd give anything to feel,
I hate and I cry, I scream and I die,
And then I am reborn again,
I smile and I sigh,
Softly will I sing,
Heartily laugh,
Dance with joy.
I am Blossoms,
I am Spring.

The World

"The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of matter and of the stars, but that within this prison we can draw from ourselves images powerful enough to deny our nothingness."
-Andre Malraux

Sweet Destination

"Here lurks no Treason, here no envy swells,Here grow no damned grudges, here are no storms,No noise, but silence and Eternal sleep"

-Titus Andronicus, in the tomb of his fallen sons

Orchid Reign

Teardrops whisper through night's sky,
White, the Orchid doth reply,
Wonders question knowing why,
Mortals stumble, fall and die,
Upon the kiss of sudden's bloom,
With noble flair and woven loom,
Heroes feast in sorrow's tomb,
Waxing on of treach'rous doom,
A tapestry of passion's flame,
Born of ancient worldly fame,
Halls of spirit, speak thy name,
Meander through a faeries game,
Drama of a mighty king,
Courtly love a hidden thing,
Thy heart soars by magic wing,
Above which the Angels Sing!

Downward

I thrash and sing,
Don't feel a thing.
I riddle in a jumbled world,
Drowning in my thoughts,
I witness as the joke unfurls,
Downward in inkblots.

Everything

Bliss, ever present,
Wind blowing,
Smiles,
Dancing, songs,
Light playing on swaying branches,
Stipple-patterns on water,
Seasons changing,
Tears,
Savage pain,
Opinions, judgements,
Chattering minds,
Chirping, howling, animal screams,
Laughter,
Feeling,
Love.

Weaponry

The War on Terror rages. Powerful forces protect us from harm. We desire safety, and ease. But it goes too far. Nothing challenges anymore, there is no fear. Respect, audacity, Mystery and trembling have all fallen to commodity culture and Home Security Systems. Plato used to fear Art, for it was a powerful force in society; a challenging, mighty weapon. No longer. Art is now a coffee-table decoration, a trinket with blinking lights and moving parts, of which the question "What does it do?" now seems more appropriate than "What does it say?".

Green

I am cooking in my juices,
And I cannot find my way,
I am slicing up some bruises,
On a Moony Sort of Day,
With my Ego on my shoulder,
And my Id upon my knee,
I can hate just like a boulder,
Let it go and I am free.

Mirror

Reflecting me,
Mirror,
Outshining me,
Mirror,
Enveloping me,
Mirror,
Embracing me,
Mirror,
You are my,
Mirror.

Kiss

This kiss is eternal,
Ephemeral,
Here and now,
Gone again,
It is a fleet flicker,
A true mirage,
Soft and precious,
Unbound,
It cannot be preserved,
Captured,
Duplicated,
Recorded,
Measured or weighed.
It is free,
And it gives us
freedom.

Elements

I scent the air and it surrounds me,
I love the way you hold your head,
I touch the sky and it confounds me,
You are my daily bread.

I kiss the stone and it forgets me,
I love the softness of your skin,
I hug the earth and it begets me,
You are my soul's way in.

I swim the waves and they swallow me,
I love the strength in your bone,
I wrap up warm, but chills follow me,
You and I are alone.

I feed the fire and it scorches me,
I love the heat within your soul,
I breathe in and make the torches free,
You are what makes me whole.

Only You

Sweet lilacs grow,
Perfume the air,
And in the morning's dew,
Sing songs you know,
And travel where,
Your Love seeks only you.

Meaning

I'm feeling pretty purposeless today. How do so many people cope with lack of direction and a sense of meaninglessness in their lives? The postmodern society we live in allows the ultimate freedom of expression and creativity, but does so at the expense of clarity of purpose. People question why religious fundamentalism is so popular today, and that, to me, is the answer. It's a genuine comfort to have a unified, clear purpose, even if the ends of that purpose are not justifiable.

Since I refuse to entertain that option, I have thus far been doomed to wander between interests, paralyzed by so many possible viewpoints and options for action. There are so many theories, causes, beliefs and opinions available to me, I have become numb to my own internal compass. I can't tell what's right or wrong in most cases. Hell, I can't even tell the difference between pleasure and pain sometimes. What do I like? What do I want? What makes me happy? What SHOULD I like, want, be happy with? Does anyone care?

Sweet

There is a sickly sweet feeling, a kind of syrupy coating to reality. It is filled with terror, sharp as razors, and yet bouncy soft in places, at times. Things are too bright and hard outside, too dull and squirmy inside. Intellectualizations buzz around my head, clouding everything in a cacophany of interior monologue. And yet deep, at the core, is a howling, shuddering silence.

Descent

Seeking with my hidden eyes,
Happy wiles and foetid lies,
Crooked looks and corn-fed dreams,
Nothing is as nothing seems,
Curses, spoken,
Feelings broken,
I am the last,
It goes so fast,
And inside razors play their game,
And nowhere do I make my name,
Nausea is my hidden king,
Uneasy, anxious, everything.
The heroes are all getting old,
The story will remain untold,
Of a world worth all the strife,
Of a place that's filled with life,
Of a time cut by a knife,
Of the last true man and wife.
Of the last true man and wife.

Mysterium Tremendum III

Today, I found a strange and beautiful creature. It was clear and diaphenous, scintillating with a faint violet and white light. It floated by my mind. I reached for it, but was too slow, and it floated away. I was too slow, and it floated away. It floated away.

Missing

I am missing,
My soul, burning,
Yearning for presence,
Pleasant silence.
I am missing,
My life, swirling,
Hurling forward lost,
Tossed in the sea.
I am missing,
My blossom, fragrant,
Payment for my sins,
In the world.
I am missing,
You.

Wolf

The Wolf pads lightly,
Through the brush,
The rush of wind bristles fur,
Wish it were a normal Wolf,
But it's not.
It's huge and monstrous and vague,
Blurry edges, bloody smiles,
Miles away in a tiny bed,
I lie,
Shudders fill my little head,
I die,
A thousand murderous, gnawing deaths,
I cry,
Padding feet and dripping smiles,
Worm their wiles into my mind,
I hear it coming, bushes rustle,
A distant flute plays,
Peter speaks,
The cock crows thrice,
Darkness swims,
The windows rattle,
I cower,
The Wolf Howls.

You should BOOGIE

Everyone needs a good BOOGIE. The music taking hold of your muscles and making them twitch. You shake it, it feels good, you shake it some more. Lots of head-wobbling and booty-gyrations make for the intense, cosmic, entry into the reality of the universe and the divine YES to all of life that is BOOGIE.

And laughter is missing from dance. Everyone's too cool for their own good. We need to dance, to laugh, to spin and to live. The music should be groovy and fun, with a compulsive, groove-inducing beat. Then just let it rip, wherever you are. BOOGIE down.

And by the way, does no one appreciate camp any more? That self-deprecating silliness that 60's punk and old blacksploitation flicks perfected? Laugh at yourself, stop your constant posing and be naked before God and everyone. Enjoy being yourself, and let people see it!BOOGIE!!

Bitter

Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
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Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Rip me to pieces and sell the chunks
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
Bitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitterbitter
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Mysterium Tremendum II

Today I found a strange and beautiful vase. It was made of a scintillating crystal, with a pearly shimmer. I coveted it. It shattered. Now there are meaningful little shards everywhere, and I don't know how to put them back together. But as I sift through them, I see a pattern. I didn't break the vase. It's been broken for a long, long time.

Burn

Acrid smoke,
Burn baby.
Soul alight,
Burn baby.
Fingernails broken,
Burn baby.
Cement smile,
Burn baby.
Street life,
Burn baby.
Soul afire,
Burn baby.
Come inside,
Burn baby.
Butane dreams,
Burn baby.
The pipe's the thing,
Burn baby.
Losing weight,
Burn baby.
Soul a'smolder,
Burn baby.
Ashen face,
Burn baby.
Lies to sell,
Burn baby.
Out of gas,
Burn baby.
Soul is out,
Burn baby, burn.

For My Wife

Timeless,
Our souls are beyond this structured clock,
Work of light is bound within,
Without the soul we shatter glass,
Ash and destruction are our lot.

Ageless,
Our selves are myriad in wonder,
Lands of reality span before,
After the rain the mists arise,
Lies and illusion cloud our connection.

Eternal,
Our pain is just an unscratched itch,
Which is truth, the seer or the seen?
Lean on me and I will alight,
Upon the windows of the night,
Might is knowledge, heart and love.

Above,
The eternal muse sings,
Brings me to my secret place,
The pace is too much for my mind,
But I am kind, and will return,
Eternal fires burn, and burn, and burn.

Within,
My self of selves, of selves,
The shelves hold books that lie unread,
Dead without the human soul,
And in the winter of the cage,
I age as shadow time goes by.

Always,
I am victorious over myself,
I am strong despite the time,
I am true beyond all measure,
I am whole, a splendid treasure,
And I will wait for you, sublime,
And make you soar on wings of mine.

A Moment,
Springs upon our eyes,
And dies before it can be touched,
There is so much to say and do,
My wish is full with the scent of you,
I will joy in moments passed,
Whispers shared and mem’ries vast,
I will strive to be,
And in the striving, set free,
The soul that loves you on and on,
And will hold that moment gone.

Forever.

The Radiance of Being

I am, I am,
Fire, whispers,
I am haunted,
Vaunted layers of soulless grinding,
Minding manners in a cage,
I Rage, I Chafe, I Struggle on,
Alone! Alone!
Inside my mind,
I am blind and I am soft,
Aloft on wings of pure retreat,
Elite in thought but low in deed,
I need, and cannot deny it,
I bleed, and will not belie it,
I feed, and gain not by it,
For all the toil my soul endures,
I ache for the soil my eye demures,
The dirt of work and created things,
Where wings are beaten, grass is trod,
God, his essence pooled throughout,
Seeks to recompense the doubt,
And in the silence of the dawn,
Sings a song of hope reborn,
And we reply with our own,
Known, yet frightened,
We are haunted,
Fire, whispers,
We are, We are.

Mysterium Tremendum

This morning I found a strange and beautiful flower. It was a dark, rich purple, fading to white in the center. The petals were severe and jagged, but symmetrical. It had a savage beauty that I could not resist. When I plucked it, it sighed like a dying man.

Incarnation Theology

I worry about the nature of the Christ. I have begun a fairly in-depth study of the Bible, tracing important themes throughout the "Old Testament" and into the life of Jesus of Nazareth, now considered by Christians to be both the predicted Messiah, the Christ, and also Divine (not necessarily one and the same thing, by the way). I haven't gotten far enough in my studies to come to any firm conclusions (as if there were any such thing in Theology), but I'm beginning to think the truth of Christ might be something terrible. I don't mean terrible in its current usage, but in the older "terror-inspiring" usage. It might be that Jesus was really the Christ, the incarnate and divine Creator of the Universe. It might be that God took on human form as the only way for an infinite being to communicate mutually with the finite. If that's the case, how did we fare? Did we understand God's intended message? Did we get it? And really, if humanity generally understood it, why do things still suck so badly? And if the message is popular Christianity, why are so few Christians I've met truly admirable?

Poetic Malfeasance

Riddles of a dying Muse,
Eternal on the moor,
A candle touches waiting fuse,
As onward soldiers pour,
Into the breach! of agony,
And suffering delight,
With uttered prayers on bended knee,
The Men renew the fight!
The killing rages on and on,
Beneath the weeping sky,
And falling thickly blood upon,
The victims howling "why"?

The First Wave

Here I am. I reveal myself here, torn and bloody. This is my soul, painted with electrons. I have voices, I speak multitudes, I scream like a razor-train chugging through your skull. I bleed, here, for all to see. I am a Vaudeville Barker, barking at a non-existent crowd: "Step right up! Step right up! See the amazing Waste of Humanity! He has powers beyond mortal man, but cannot bear to let anyone see them! See him cower, stricken in a dingy corner! Step right up!"

And that's me too. I'm the coward AND the freak. I am so many things that I can't even remember them all. Some of the things I am aren't even real; I just don't know which ones.

I don't have any place for comments. I don't really give a damn what you have to say. Not here, anyway. If you want to have Your Say, create your own Blog. Why should I make it any easier for you than it was for me?