ewig_fasclo

Wed, 20 Dec 2006 09:46:08 GMT

to talk of the thing is at the very least to invoke it;
i wonder what being truly wonderful means.
silk screens
on another trendy t-shirt of some pattented image i may not have seen so imagined
but still get no better of seeing in such a similarly redundant context,
so bring in the next article of your manifesto to nothingness.

my ability to love is great,
but you have to let me in.
those conversations we have go nowhere when we cue into the nostalgia thing,
and i know you mean well,
but i also know that the challenges you allow the both of us to face are minute and minscule to the letter and the minor consonants.

I SOMETIMES LIKE TO SPEAK IN BOLD.
but even if i don't show it
i know the importance of our presence in this psycho-centric vortext doesn't escape us.

promise me,
the next time we sit down to speak
all three of us
we won't allow our karma to get in the way of who and what we all know we really are.

Sat, 09 Dec 2006 02:06:45 GMT

how do you remind yourself that you don't know anything?
how do you unlearn all the lessons that you taught yourself when you weren't even you?
the meaning of this life is starting to seem like
the uncovering of some lesson that my ancestors couldn't figure out,
so i can return with it to the source,
for their sake and for them.
how do i break with this and become the dilapidated prodigal son?
how do i learn new science?
no just reiterating experiments because of the faulty methodology
they were based upon in the past,
when the only way you could learn about your heritage was by digging up its bones.

how many lines do we come from?
how many gardens and trees
have coddled me?

when genocide became more than homocide,
when blood nurtured the soil
and my great great great great grandfather
made a decision about his life that still reverberates down to me
and when i began to realize what was really going on
in my dreams
and in my most banal moments;
when i was sent here before i knew what it was
and what it meant
and upon which I agreed
to take this task upon me
like those judicious knights
we heard about in the world’s mythology…
and thought we could be them
that's really all us
but then we get stuck
and find no outlet for release
because our manifold selves
have been conspiring
against us
and dragons mean different things
and we have,
before we knew who we were we,
been conspiring with
and against
ourselves.

making them for me, on my behalf.
there is no present me,
with each passing generation
the soul and what alliance it has forged
i can’t awaken
the eclipse
hasn’t taken anew
what you think you know
it isn’t
in there

look into where no thoughts lie
and fear resides

and ask questions of it there.

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 22:29:04 GMT

happy ambiguity
writ on walls
of the temples of new
with as much meaning as
a parthenonious suburban
micro-home.

in old habits,
she wonders
where the root comes in.
her knowledge of history is little.
her brother tells her to read more
but she would rather
surf the web
listen to cliches in the air
dance
and paint pictures of her imaginary lover
that she knows better than to think
exists anywhere but in her own mind.

funny

he has his own vision
and fits quite well within her's,
seen from a far distance
he's made the most with little tools
that have been extrapolated again and again
to give him a vision so clear
of nothing that
in the redundancy of apathy and involvement
he otherwise could have gleened.
he needed this
silly thing
living inside someone else's mind is a tricky thing.
and he asks himself where the exit is.

and little do each of them wonder
that in their happy distances
and mythic homes and bedrooms
that something divinely human, and unknown
and oft-repeated
fills each with rich imaginings
and awe.

even a fragment can be a person.

Sun, 03 Dec 2006 09:41:18 GMT

full moon
celebrated
old friendships
recalibrated
destinies
generated
fear and worry's torrents
quite sedated.

on this night of plenty like no else and every other
i know it
even while i
listen to the sound of death creaking on the floorboards in the next room.

Fri, 01 Dec 2006 21:23:23 GMT

there is no danger at this moment,
nor is there likely to be any.
the odds are great,
and i speak without touch of sarcasm.
transfiguration, legitimation
spiked down to the plumb of the earth,
where young lovers are drunk in a dance of lust and abundance

giving birth for you.

overripe, overflowing
into
equilibrium
and the darkest of the elements,
suffering
and laughter
mixed in kind.
the very character of life
fermented,
and drunk.
her rage, her love, her capricious gestalt of new.

for in the night vomit of the city,
can be found the spoils of the night's goodtime.
with her hair falling out,
the old woman
once again
sprouts anew,
inside her daughter's loins.

old kings, new queens
broad kingdoms.
repeating

disruptions means excitations means life mutated and grew.

Thu, 30 Nov 2006 19:21:32 GMT

Blathering, I'm sitting on a bus, suited in dark, medical orderly green, top to bottom. The day is hot, sweaty and all manner of things are sticking to my body. The crowd of people makes me want to wretch, the heat they generate, the excess, the discomfort. The fat man next to me seems nothing more than my thought of him. His existence as peripheral to my soul as it is to my field of vision.
They make an announcement over the bus' pa. We're offered the luxurious oppurtunity of novelty, originality and strangeness that's sure not to last but serves the day and the moment well. I take off my pants, both because it's hot and because they said I was allowed to. I wish there had been a another, better, more spontaneous reason. But here I am, doing it, satisfied with something even only marginally meaningful, though still unexpected.
There's a pretty girl in front of me. Blonde. I don't usually like blondes. They make me think of Barbie, of boringness, and the same same old dull life that they've been trying to convince me of since before I was born. Downloading messages from my mother's psyche, I was already very very well sold on it before the doctors took me into their gloved hands, and looked at me from behind their masked faces, and smiled so I couldn't see them. They remind me of my mother, those blonde girls. This girl, though, she's different. Very pretty. Nothing like all of that. Something in her, an antithesis, totally contrary, to placidity, to that parasitic lifestyle.
I wonder what she thinks of my legs. She might like them. I wonder how she feels about conformizing to messages of non-conformity, if she understands both its pitfalls and its benefits. I wonder how that strikes her. What she thinks of the hype.
Another part of me gets to talking to her. Another, not this same self-defacing part. He's more noble in presence, kind, interested, and altogether less like me. I think that he's still wearing his pants might help. He carries a message of genuinity through non-conformity, even if it isn't true and is only a mask of his fear. Communication, I begin to think, never exists.
I want her, but he does and moves. She likes him too. I can tell from her arms, and her ring-tone like laughter. Confident, eased.
Off the bus, I feel I owe it to him. I lie down, an old dog, and bury my face in the crevice at the the underside of my elbow. Her and him, keep going round-about, I'm interested, but pretend not to be. Jealous, but trying to evolve, intoo something more advanced than petty, squalid emotions.
She gets bored of him. I should have suspected it. Everything he got from me. I can't rid myself of knowing that, how his ease, his confidence, is only a shallow reflection of my debased, cynical wisdom. I cannot evolve past this. I cannot evolve.
Evolution, I can.
There are no negative meanings in sentences as recognized by the unconscious mind. To say 'don't think of this thing' is to think it.
Through my defects, I succeed.
In uttering thoughts of nothing, I am all.