The smell of death surrounds me
Stinking in my nostrils
My brothers carry me to the burial grounds
Throw me on the heap of carcasses
We writhe
We are not dead- yet
Our souls are crushed and oozing from our wounds
We are hurting
You would bury us and cover our stench
Will no one wash us and make us clean?
Let us join the living
Let us dance
Let us sing
We have songs
But our throats are choked with sorrows
The pain snaps our chords
Our songs are sad but beautiful
They are True
Do you see us?
We are the invisible
Only known to you by the discomfort we bring you
The stink and the sharp wailings that scrape at your soft mind
Your fragile wall
Toss us aside
Cover your eyes
Try not to hear
Our groans pounding out of rhythm
Our breaking hearts clanging to the ground
Discord
The melody is wrong
The words are mixed up
The maggots are wriggling from your walls
They are coming for us
Will they devour us?
Who will help us?
We are helpless
Our legs are broken and cannot express our hearts
We wave them at you, yet you do not understand
We are the grotesque
We are the depraved
We are the unsaved
We are calling you
Crying your name in the darkness
But our voices are harsh
The dirt is falling on us
You are pouring your pain on us
Covering us in all our sins
We are drowning
We die alone together
We cannot even comfort each other
Have I only imagined these others with me?
Perhaps I am alone
The writhing I feel is my own body
Twitching
Convulsing
I cannot get right
My left breast is crushed under a heavy boot
As a gentle hand tears the cross from my throat
The death rattle in my chest frightens me
The rasping of my breath as I struggle to stay afloat
In this sea of suffering
How can I expect you to understand
You are higher than I am
I thought we were all the same
I thought I was different
Exceptional
I am the dirt
You walk me and I groan under your feet
You kick my brittle bones
They break and scattered like dry leaves
I am the inherently loved
I am the inherently rejected
I am the inherently wrong
I am the inherently dead
No morning
No mourning today
Nothing has been lost
Broken things are to be thrown away
A flower will grow
An amaranth for your table
Dripping soft and red
Love Lies Bleeding
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
monkey man and me
Monkey Man in your green tree
Sing so happy, swinging free
Monkey Man, I can see
I can see you see me
Monkey Man, climb on down
No, there's no one else around
Monkey Man, hold my hand
I promise I will understand
Monkey Man, touch my face
No, there's no better place
Monkey Man, kiss my skin
Hold me dear, I'll let you in
Monkey Man, can't you see
Just how sweet it can be
Bananas and termites for all of our days
I love you forever now and always
In 2001 in New Delhi there were several sightings of a strange, hairy Monkey Man. A reward was offered for his capture while state side NRI's called for acceptance of and reconciliation with the mysterious Monkey Man.
Sing so happy, swinging free
Monkey Man, I can see
I can see you see me
Monkey Man, climb on down
No, there's no one else around
Monkey Man, hold my hand
I promise I will understand
Monkey Man, touch my face
No, there's no better place
Monkey Man, kiss my skin
Hold me dear, I'll let you in
Monkey Man, can't you see
Just how sweet it can be
Bananas and termites for all of our days
I love you forever now and always
In 2001 in New Delhi there were several sightings of a strange, hairy Monkey Man. A reward was offered for his capture while state side NRI's called for acceptance of and reconciliation with the mysterious Monkey Man.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Whiny Over Water
Downtown, that's where the lights are bright.
Friday evening I was finally able to take my sister out for her birthday. It was sort-of last minute. I picked up an Enigma Magazine at the urging of Jessica P. Wallin, and noticed that Milele Roots was playing at R&B. I have been trying to see them for over a year. The last time I had seen them was with my sister. So we made a date for later that evening!
I took her up to the Hunter- she's not been since the addition. I told her how I missed the special hidden spot at the end of the parking lot, behind the dumpsters- a friend had shown me a long time ago. He and I played in the aquarium fountains when they were new and then climbed through the woods to sit there. We watched a few people enjoying the river walk and we listened to the tree frogs. I wish I could remember our conversations... philosophy, religion, our histories. Strange how when we are with a close friend just hanging out we simply expect we will always be enjoying the same rituals for years together? Unfortunately, we lose those ordinary precious experiences if we do not pay close attention; because eventually we are no longer close, and those moments become lost in history existing only as a rich velvety colour in our memories. I no longer remember our conversations, but I do remember how much fun we had. So much laughter mingling with the trickling sounds of the fountains and pools- gurgling. Content as we played on the terrace of the Hunter Mansion, looking out over our home town. There were so few people around downtown at that time. Just our voices echoing against the empty buildings. Splashing out across the river. So many years ago. To be remembered again while I was enjoying anew with my sister. Reminiscing over sitting on the retaining wall and the soft green grass, watching Limpopo take the stage during Riverbend. I still remember the child playing next to us- the father keeping a close eye on him. I still can see how strong and agile Yuri was, dancing like a clown on stage and how large that balilika seemed, thumping out it's melodies. Before the Feists moved to Birmingham. Before life became complicated. Before we made choices that changed all of our directions. Before we all lost each other.
I do not want to forget. I do not want to be forgotten.
But more so- I want to remember. I want to be remembered.
Friday evening I was finally able to take my sister out for her birthday. It was sort-of last minute. I picked up an Enigma Magazine at the urging of Jessica P. Wallin, and noticed that Milele Roots was playing at R&B. I have been trying to see them for over a year. The last time I had seen them was with my sister. So we made a date for later that evening!
I took her up to the Hunter- she's not been since the addition. I told her how I missed the special hidden spot at the end of the parking lot, behind the dumpsters- a friend had shown me a long time ago. He and I played in the aquarium fountains when they were new and then climbed through the woods to sit there. We watched a few people enjoying the river walk and we listened to the tree frogs. I wish I could remember our conversations... philosophy, religion, our histories. Strange how when we are with a close friend just hanging out we simply expect we will always be enjoying the same rituals for years together? Unfortunately, we lose those ordinary precious experiences if we do not pay close attention; because eventually we are no longer close, and those moments become lost in history existing only as a rich velvety colour in our memories. I no longer remember our conversations, but I do remember how much fun we had. So much laughter mingling with the trickling sounds of the fountains and pools- gurgling. Content as we played on the terrace of the Hunter Mansion, looking out over our home town. There were so few people around downtown at that time. Just our voices echoing against the empty buildings. Splashing out across the river. So many years ago. To be remembered again while I was enjoying anew with my sister. Reminiscing over sitting on the retaining wall and the soft green grass, watching Limpopo take the stage during Riverbend. I still remember the child playing next to us- the father keeping a close eye on him. I still can see how strong and agile Yuri was, dancing like a clown on stage and how large that balilika seemed, thumping out it's melodies. Before the Feists moved to Birmingham. Before life became complicated. Before we made choices that changed all of our directions. Before we all lost each other.
I do not want to forget. I do not want to be forgotten.
But more so- I want to remember. I want to be remembered.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
amused
The muse,
She does refuse.
I call her to come lie next to me.
She used to come so easily;
Now she laughs and tosses her hair.
I cannot help myself: I sit and stare.
Her heart is fickle as she is fair.
My butt hurts from sitting in this chair
She does refuse.
I call her to come lie next to me.
She used to come so easily;
Now she laughs and tosses her hair.
I cannot help myself: I sit and stare.
Her heart is fickle as she is fair.
My butt hurts from sitting in this chair
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
serendipitydoodah
This is a cleaned up, more put together version of a stream of consciousness rant that I wrote earlier this week on MySpace, but then chickened out of posting for public viewing. This is just a better venue for these particular thoughts? Maybe it is the black background. MoSpace is an orange place. My brother called worried about me after reading my original posting- so I will attempt to lighten the moroseness and smarten the moronism of the earlier draft.
Can't sleep. Thinking about Cap'n Kangaroo.
More precisely- the Rabbit who played the piano- he was the best!!! and SIMON!
"Well, y'know my name is Simon, and the things I draw come true. And the pictures take me, take me over. Climb the ladder with you."
I wish I could draw the world as I imagine and then jump into it just like Simon.
I find myself in a place of inexpressible restlessness. When I have recently tried to articulate these inner wrestlings, I get all the advice and answers that I knew I would. All the same things that I have told myself to try to invalidate my thoughts and emotions. I have tried to negate myself. My closest mates don't understand that I am telling them the truth about myself- that I have never been honest with anyone, and now I am trying to be honest. They think I am deluded, that I need counseling... Christian counseling. Problem is I am feeling more in line with Neitzsche at the moment- I guess everyone thought he was crazy too? Ah well, me (Sorry grammar guys and gals, slipping into the vernacular works better)... me and the horse-kissing madman, we'll hang out one day sipping our morning tea or cocoa (no coffee- it "spreads darkness") and talk about how everyone should have just realized that they were all holding themselves back. I wanna be a SuperMan. But...
"Simon, stay within the lines, Love. Don't draw your own reality- that is bad. Look at the mess you've made of things. Here is a colouring book. Mum will wash the fence, now you go play nicely."
Poor Simon and I
Are Going down
Down to the bottom
Of the floor
Just searching for
That enchanted
Chalk line door.
Perhaps I am just bummed 'cause all I really want to do is hop into our tangerine dream and drive- nowhere. Follow the Double Yellow Lines. Wherever those ribbons of moonlit sunshine take me. Are they like a spelunker's ropes that someone rolled out in order to find his way back out of the darkness? Will they lead me in or out? If in, will I find someone at the other end? Someone who understands and says, "You are not crazy, but you are also not normal and going through what everyone else goes through. You are uniquely you finding your own way, though I say, why are you using my guides?! The unusuality of this whole night is like a dream! Where shall we to next?" If it leads me out, will I stumble into the light, and be dazzled? If so, I may go back into the darkness, once again hiding my discontent (without even having to use my super power of invisibility- now you too know my secret). Of course, here I am on a small dark spot of the internet exposing myself. I guess my brother is right, "Blogging is the new exhibitionism." Should I jiggle a bit? ha ha ha. Physically, there's really not much to jiggle, but this brain sure is rattling.
Okay, back up, look up, there are clouds hiding the moon, but she is out there. A cold white eye staring, a giant spotlight glaring, a delicate chalk circle flaking on a blackboard from a time when it was still okay to dream.
I think when I finally implode, when I supernova and finally set off an explosion of self, when I finally do something beautiful, I will have them scatter my ashes in space. I wish they could scatter me on her face, and I could be cold and beautiful too. Unable to feel pain or anything else. No need to be ashamed. No need for anyone to pity me because I am higher than most anyone else has ever been. Just dirt that shines.
I need to find an expression, some form of utterance for this thing I have been living with- this symbiote. I would love to shout so loud that the roof flies away and all I am left with is black sky and at least this one silent wall- holding the chalk drawings of a dreamer.
Can't sleep. Thinking about Cap'n Kangaroo.
More precisely- the Rabbit who played the piano- he was the best!!! and SIMON!
"Well, y'know my name is Simon, and the things I draw come true. And the pictures take me, take me over. Climb the ladder with you."
I wish I could draw the world as I imagine and then jump into it just like Simon.
I find myself in a place of inexpressible restlessness. When I have recently tried to articulate these inner wrestlings, I get all the advice and answers that I knew I would. All the same things that I have told myself to try to invalidate my thoughts and emotions. I have tried to negate myself. My closest mates don't understand that I am telling them the truth about myself- that I have never been honest with anyone, and now I am trying to be honest. They think I am deluded, that I need counseling... Christian counseling. Problem is I am feeling more in line with Neitzsche at the moment- I guess everyone thought he was crazy too? Ah well, me (Sorry grammar guys and gals, slipping into the vernacular works better)... me and the horse-kissing madman, we'll hang out one day sipping our morning tea or cocoa (no coffee- it "spreads darkness") and talk about how everyone should have just realized that they were all holding themselves back. I wanna be a SuperMan. But...
"Simon, stay within the lines, Love. Don't draw your own reality- that is bad. Look at the mess you've made of things. Here is a colouring book. Mum will wash the fence, now you go play nicely."
Poor Simon and I
Are Going down
Down to the bottom
Of the floor
Just searching for
That enchanted
Chalk line door.
Perhaps I am just bummed 'cause all I really want to do is hop into our tangerine dream and drive- nowhere. Follow the Double Yellow Lines. Wherever those ribbons of moonlit sunshine take me. Are they like a spelunker's ropes that someone rolled out in order to find his way back out of the darkness? Will they lead me in or out? If in, will I find someone at the other end? Someone who understands and says, "You are not crazy, but you are also not normal and going through what everyone else goes through. You are uniquely you finding your own way, though I say, why are you using my guides?! The unusuality of this whole night is like a dream! Where shall we to next?" If it leads me out, will I stumble into the light, and be dazzled? If so, I may go back into the darkness, once again hiding my discontent (without even having to use my super power of invisibility- now you too know my secret). Of course, here I am on a small dark spot of the internet exposing myself. I guess my brother is right, "Blogging is the new exhibitionism." Should I jiggle a bit? ha ha ha. Physically, there's really not much to jiggle, but this brain sure is rattling.
Okay, back up, look up, there are clouds hiding the moon, but she is out there. A cold white eye staring, a giant spotlight glaring, a delicate chalk circle flaking on a blackboard from a time when it was still okay to dream.
I think when I finally implode, when I supernova and finally set off an explosion of self, when I finally do something beautiful, I will have them scatter my ashes in space. I wish they could scatter me on her face, and I could be cold and beautiful too. Unable to feel pain or anything else. No need to be ashamed. No need for anyone to pity me because I am higher than most anyone else has ever been. Just dirt that shines.
I need to find an expression, some form of utterance for this thing I have been living with- this symbiote. I would love to shout so loud that the roof flies away and all I am left with is black sky and at least this one silent wall- holding the chalk drawings of a dreamer.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
luv the v-dub
We replaced the stolen orange buddy scooter
"Little Orange Dragon"
with a VW GTI Fahrenheit
"Pokey" (as in Gumby's orange horse-pal.)
Yeah, got a thing for orange.
Doubtless, I will seem a bit small-minded when I admit:
I LOVE THIS CAR!!!!
Attached? You betcha!!!
Pop the top, and let's go for a drive!
-----
It's not Celsius, Baby!
It's Fahrenheit;
So please, can you try to get it right?!
GTI bring on the speed,
An orange streak of fire!
Give the adrenaline that I need.
A rush is all that I require!
Turn up the temperature!
(Going faster)
Shifting into such sweet rapture-
Flying towards our "...ever after"
Down shifting for the curve,
I feel the confident grab.
No need for us to say a word.
The best time we're ever gonna have
Is in this car- flying,
Smiling, without even trying.
Is this all that we've been denying?
Turn up the temperature!
(Going faster)
Shifting into such sweet rapture-
Flying towards our "...ever after"
"Little Orange Dragon"
with a VW GTI Fahrenheit
"Pokey" (as in Gumby's orange horse-pal.)
Yeah, got a thing for orange.
Doubtless, I will seem a bit small-minded when I admit:
I LOVE THIS CAR!!!!
Attached? You betcha!!!
Pop the top, and let's go for a drive!
-----
It's not Celsius, Baby!
It's Fahrenheit;
So please, can you try to get it right?!
GTI bring on the speed,
An orange streak of fire!
Give the adrenaline that I need.
A rush is all that I require!
Turn up the temperature!
(Going faster)
Shifting into such sweet rapture-
Flying towards our "...ever after"
Down shifting for the curve,
I feel the confident grab.
No need for us to say a word.
The best time we're ever gonna have
Is in this car- flying,
Smiling, without even trying.
Is this all that we've been denying?
Turn up the temperature!
(Going faster)
Shifting into such sweet rapture-
Flying towards our "...ever after"
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