Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The Spirit of the Times, Farther Out Than That

Role playing. On the surface this first poem is a "what if I was like this?" poem. I'm nicer than this surely. Honest, hardly ever rob banks, haven't set a fire in absolutely weeks! People like me goddammit. Yet there is something sour and dangerous going on and there really always is. I pull the ten block radius test on some of my concepts. I believe everyone from saints to sinners is hanging out within a ten block radius of me in any metro area. When I was a victim of identity theft, my bag was stolen from beside my car in my driveway at 4:45 AM on a quiet residential street, and NOBODY but me is up at that time. And because of what happened next it had to be a local who did it. A full blown thief pretty effing close to me.

The next deal, I am sure the potential exists in me, in you, in all of us, for anything anyone else actually does. In a wierd way this is precisely like the dream people asserting we are all the characters and structures in our dreams which are totally solipsistic no matter who is in them. Hitler lived his own nightmare so large that many people had and paid for aspects of the same nightmare. Think that way for a while, how we each participate in each other's dreams and illusions and learn from that how Buddhists came up with the Four Noble Truths.

The Spirit Of The Times

So enter into
The joy of the destruction
As if it were real.

Then pull the black curtain back,
Look behind the face of things.

The dark mother sits
Behind my eyes, embraces me.
I circle with vultures.


I don't know if the truth ever explodes your head (well, maybe blows your mind?), but it has mine more than one time. If it gets a little fanciful, effs again, well I can't really help it when my head overflows with a sudden puff of fluff. By the way, pees and bees are labials too, pee and eff are unvoiced plosives and bee is voiced. In the distance are the ems, voiced labials not plosive.

Farther Out Than That

I found truth today.
It exploded my fat head
Far too effing fast.

See how many effs it takes
Filling futures of fair play?

Fig snacks fill me fine
As I drink the frothy head
Of my friend's fat brew.

By the way, the frothy head of brew is not alcoholic but something more like Starbucks "marrying" Tazo Tea as they said this morning, creating a tea latte line. They got advertising as light news. But it actually refers to the tea brewed up by the brew master over at KROK. You can find Froth From Walt at Over The Wall on this blog.

By the by the way, if you would rather the brew IS alcoholic, be my guest. In that case it is a stout...I have one right here. Never touch the stuff now, so it's kinda old, brewed sometime before 1983...


  1. Actually eff is a fricative...I miswrote. I know this stuff from being a choral singer for years and also from studying linguistics.

  2. Gorgeous. Both of them.

    "Entering into the joy of destruction" reminds me of how wonderful it feels to self-destruct (until, of course, it feels awful). Putting vultures and curtains and mothers into the same small poem is wonderful. I feel like velvet.

    Which reminds me, I saw the movie Blue Velvet a few days ago for the first time. It caused a truth to explode in my head that was quite horrible, painful, bloody, and wretched. I'll never watch the movie again. Putting the puzzle pieces together can be awful sometimes. Truth is often a demon.

    Nice work, as always.

  3. Yes, Charli, a person wonders at what what some people call entertainment. I understand acting in something like that, because a person needs to make a living, and as well making a movie and seeing it are radically different experiences. But why make that one? I refreshed myself with the synopsis, think I probably did see it once. Don't understand the guy who wrote it. Why write that, besides the money?

    Traci Ann's voidofcolor has disappeared?

  4. Wow, Charli, as a recovered alcoholic I have never once framed it "how wonderful it feels to self destruct, until..."

    You are saying that other forms also feel good, that self destructing itself feels good to certain people. That means at a level below the rationalizations. Because of course we don't rationalize until later when we don't want to stop. It just feels good. Meaning, if I were to go back, I would do it again, because it feels good.


  5. Wait. Don't do anything rash here. Get a massage isntead. They feel good too. Or maybe some plastic surgery? I hear that's addictive. Or tattoos? Pretty self-destructive.


  6. I'm with you on the tatoos...

    I love a discrete small tatoo on a woman, just like various piercings if not too many.

    But wow, some of the people I know. To change yourself into a painting canvas or a jewelry box seems extreme to me. I won't pierce myself, nor do I have a tatoo.

    I was never that self destructive actually, if you don't count smoking and drinking. But actually self destruction is not the only frame for alcoholism. Me, I was just convinced I could not live in this world without it and didn't want to die.

  7. Me, I am a canvas. No longer blank at this point, and rapidly becoming an artist's recreation. Self-destructive, yes, but in a colourful way.

    I enjoyed the first poem especially. I think we all fear the dark mother, het must learn to embrace her, too.

  8. head is exploding digesting 2 marvelous poems simultaneously....

    i feel like a dipthong..... here's a neat thing i found

  9. Rachel, I was not talking metaphorically, and you wouldn't either with some of the tatooed ladies I know in your sights. The way you speak. Well that just might be happening rightcheer.

    Ghost, I hope if your head explodes you contain it on your side of the blog. And house rules, if you make a mess, CLEAN IT UP! I do. As in calling eff a plosive and realizing at 4 AM it's a fricative. So is "th" voiced and unvoiced. Mouth part against upper teeth.

  10. So enter into The joy of the destruction As if it were real...... it's a dusty little zeitgeist

  11. Christopher, my skin-canvas isn't a metaphor, either. Though probably nowhere near as extreme as some!

  12. Ghost, especially the video thing is tough for me. I'm a cheep cheep cheep dinosaur with warm blood and feathers...my home line is 28.8 because it is old and impure. My work line is 56k but my time is limited by actually having to work. I can touch base a bunch but only briefly each time. But I am happy to let the links stand for whoever wants to follow.

    Rachel, like I said, I am okay with tatoos basically as long as I don't have them (none on me, nor piercings either) but the extreme work on man or woman is difficult for me. I wouldn't know how to make a choice that is so difficult to take back. That doesn't mean I don't think anyone can. I hope it's real art. I have heard stories of mistakes of one kind or another, and then an overtat to fix it.

  13. wow.... are you on a modem? i used to like how they sound...... i kinda miss it.

    i'll remember and use mainly words here..... or special symbols to convey affect A╖±T║±╣

    i'm sure that would be just as helpful as un-viewable music videos :)

    interestingly, there is a meme in current politico-economic jargon referring to "creative destruction"...... while some destruction may be creative and necessary, sometimes i think the idea of destructive goodness is just an excuse for destructiveness.... whether it is inwardly or outwardly directed.

    Freud said ".....sometimes a cigar is just a cigar...."

    sometimes destruction is just destruction....

  14. Well, the internal one...I would do 56k fine except the phone lines are so old the signal degrades. So we go slow at home...

  15. Christopher-- I am fortunate to be working with a real artist. Tattooing, I am comfortable with... though not on the face and neck, or other highly visible places. Other things, like alcohol, I am very uncomfortable with. I think we each have our own definition of hell.

  16. Rachel, I appreciate your comment. Sometime in some other venue, or as well as it comes up over time here, I will tell you my story. I didn't actually go to hell in alcoholism until my wife failed and fell. I was a functional drunk that had ruined his marriage doing that. We sort of put it back together as I stayed sober. 10 years later, she was a high functioning depressive who cracked open and became alcoholic and depressive. That'll kill you. It killed her. I had to watch. Sober.

  17. I'm sorry to hear that, Christopher. It's horrible to witness the self-destruction of someone you love.

  18. Rachel, Thank you for your comment. If it was not for AA and Al-Anon during the eight years it took for her to die, I have no idea what would have happened to me. If I had been a drunk at that time, OMG. We divorced by agreement against our love for each other, knowing it was the only chance we each had at life. It killed her anyway.

  19. Brutal. I'm sorry you couldn't both save yourselves, Christopher.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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