biography of a past life

 something to remind myself of the old times

once concerned with nothing but little oddities minor curves and slumps and stranger yelps from a small, wounded elephant. still another sleeping sunken cost fallacy. a few other cast lines, reeling up from the last time. another gulp of air again. another trip around a moon cycle. gradual phase out, little lesser shoutings. steam rising. stern tidings and lost wishes. we are all drifting in an empty space, cast off string, easily seen. somehow known. draft from the window, draft from the last gust. gasp. dreading the losses, dreading the leaving. rest, assured. rest and find another peace. before too long.

this xmas miracle/curse

i pluck the leaves from the lily and adhere
it to the daffodil. smell
the floral assault i
made that
with these hands and 
sheers and a
little bit of squinting. focus
unlimited
like lesser constellations like
the pebbles used to wake a paramour from
slumber like
each skip of ice from an angry sky’s tear drops
what is made for me-
for you-
for us- and from one to another.
made monstrous and whole
and beautiful in its otherness.
drifting seamless from
one to another.
the dream-
set an intention.

the thought is what counts this
season.

coffee prayer

 

swill it around, drink it down, let it sit with your feeling

another emptiness

this one, like another, like the others, like no other

all flitting between. the flutter of a half-crazed moth

singing away, this arrhythmic clapping of wings. frittering until the light goes out

to rest again, with feet up

in the dark

no other knows me

little to none, little did i know, little to forget

amounting to ash and dust

soundtracked by passing laughter

echoing down the otherwise barren street. one light, long forgotten.

remember us sinners.

Simple Saturday

 

those grinning flies

lesser and lesser

circle and buzz

around the remains

of yesterday’s feast

slip and stumble and croak

and grimace and smile with your teeth

Flies, all of them, smelling and tasting

With foot jam and little hairs

Probe the world through

The mouth and saliva

Ingest and be whole

Mapquest

Here's another moment

left left right left
and the directions write themselves
right left left right
and the world is giggling with some sense of reserve

up down up down
i imagine you are still finding
yourself out there
down down down up

diagonal patterns and lights whirring
little footfalls, end becomes beginning
up left right down
i'd like to pretend this means something

really, i'm just killing time,
really, killing time
really.

let them know this is what we do now
here
what we do
no directions required
anymore

hope is...

 hope you and yours are well. lots to discuss in the near future. for now, here's this:

i will not allow myself this feeling forever. once before, not again. this time, i am not the scared child of the past. this time, the smaller versions of me are external. they needed the version of me that i needed but couldn’t give myself, wasn’t ready to be. i won’t sink into the worse version of myself that seeps in and burrows in on itself when faced with something this fresh, this angry, clawing, seeking. this is not my rage, it is the beginning of my eyes lighting along the horizon, taking on heat, and letting the feeling and the rays move outward. what will be left in the wake of my vision

these cinders, this kindling spent, this: the world i choose to make my own. nothing has ever been clearer to me, nothing has ever seemed so far away either. i speak in tongues to myself, at night, when not dug too deep into the fear

promise myself something better this time. 

almost forgot

go find yourself

in another nation.

land of time
forgotten. in hindsight

what we all wanted
is rarely

mutual. 

go find yourself

in another nation. 

i can do this for myself
all on my own. this time

starting from a single
whisper, become a

scream.

when you find yourself,

in this other nation,

try to remember me 

for what i might have been

this ailing echo along the canyon.

this birdsong before the buzz saw.

this star blinking in an otherwise dark sky, this long dead light.

i will do this for myself.

all on my own. this time,
for you.

bringer of heck

 free write, I need to feel the pressure of a timeline sometimes...

Little bit of hell
raise this heck entirely
out of the ashes of peace

Little bit of peace
sell me this vision of
that dang future we all dream

Little bit of dream
unrest my slumber-
loosen reality's chokehold

Little bit of chokehold
air on the way up and out
mystical truth telling in gurgles

Let it all come to the surface in bubbles of varying dimensions/it will be given/some will be passed on to the customer/dutiful, loyal servant/i have loved your unwilling embrace-all from a distance/unrequited, of course/even these crooked, frayed shoulders on the jacket of my youth/yes, even those, even they want to know love like there is no tomorrow/feeling/some sort of feeling/and you know it's so good when the needle moves across the record and the sound pours forth/holding court/Let it all be out in the open and let the song tell your people's truth/we've waited with such patience/all along/

Solara 81-95

 it's back.

LXXXI

pieces assembled and disassembled by an untrained eye /my own/. endless variety. for shame for sooth for all of us another grumbling naysayer, well wisher on hiatus. from the sound of the song above, at least the ones with wings, they seem to be attuned to the proper frequency/they shall know us by our primal shouts and the glue all over our hands.

LXXXII

Wisdom-decanted-strewn about in reckless patterns/the eggs are shaking-forming cracks along the edges/new will become old and weathered-inheriting the birthright/only the eyes of something nocturnal-primed with a tuning fork-ready to see the unending soul train line clapping off rhythm-some guy with a tie around his head/this is living, isn’t it?

LXXXIII

I’ve seen/this present and future/slurring themselves together/whisked by a fork with a broken middle prong/runny eggs, half congealed in the burning pan/smoke crawling to the alarm/the batteries, long dead-of course/yesterday’s responsibility becomes today’s should-have-been-handled/revising the ad-hoc to-do list with the power of hindsight/look into this soul/know it for what it might just be/tomorrow and yesterday and today/

LXXXIV

a mess won’t clean itself. this,

mess, this display of common,

vulgarity-dripping with spent coffee

grinds, with the shrapnel of yesterday’s 

crumbs. we’ve succumbed to a slovenly

detente, waiting for those who might

fix the situation to accept their fate. their

calling. it will not be me.

LXXXV

Lost in the hours/frittering/careless blooms/bitter tinctures/medicine in

name only/this pastime, the consolation round/the little way each second

wilts from the flower/gathering at the base of the stem/left to darken and 

shrivel/among good company/let the dust collect as well/marking the passage

of a moment to the next/

LXXXVI

sell me this peace. Let me know /beauty/ at whatever [price] this <sign exchange=to a conversation rate/less than what you’re hoping for/name this price. name whatever demands, and I can meet them/with gusto/verve. I want the grandeur to move through me/once more. Let me be still, let me /know/ this, once more.

LXXXVII

been here/before/enough to walk with confidence/eyes closed and blindfolded/scales of justice in my outstretched arms/dodging root systems and rocks of assorted sizes and shapes/passing judgment on casual wrongdoers and those of a more nefarious strain/even those caught in the web/of something more complicated//my feet dance my path to the destination/where everything will take care of itself/

LXXXVIII

victory at last/i stand/exulting myself/slings-arrows, whatnot/want not/what has it cost\\withering shell of myself/worth it\\yet another promise i have kept/one with enough dirt to bury both itself and me/as i let myself descend/to rest/to my just reward\\ 

LXXXVIX

hello/this is my mess now/you should be proud/me-dutiful disciple-to your method acting/this molten hot coal in my stomach/single hand clapping/otherwise empty room/just me, this disarray, and the feeling between us/these vibrations sealed in a tomb-off the coast of a nearby tourist trap/enough with the merriment and the speculation/let us begin-in earnest/

XC

where i end and you do not begin/and where this is all one stripe of the tiger/and this is another interruption of service/and you called for anyone who would listen/and no one called back, though it is of note that you did so in a pidgin-binary and morse/who in their right mind would harken to that call\\and you’ll love it all/i want to believe it/so much/

XCI

no/less than/off-centered and sleep deprived/the image slips between boundaries/losing itself//no/revise the initial opinion/condensed, almost/unmoored in space/another frictionless arena/no applause//no/more than/nothing/this one becomes/more\\

XCII

They’ve made you like this [noir in nature] (broken appearance)/let you know-yourself-barely/<disrupted a few key processes> and set /in/ motion, 

the hovering doubt; this elegant distaste; the lamentable fog that swirls around

your form in public settings. come on. stop acting so surprised by what 

you’ve been made

to be.

XCIII

cue the evil laughing again. cull those who don’t have the right vibrato. an art, this laugh. meet us, usual haunts, usual conditions, use the password-we won’t reveal it here but it rhymes with…careful, careful, eager beavers. no, that was not a hint, it was a chastisement. we have lost the luxury of being careful. they’re starting to catch on. we are not trying to be ironic here. no, parking is not validated either. you’re all missing the point here.

XCIV

cut rate children’s programming after the camera’s departure. golden smiles of miscreants and moderate malfeasance. no one sure if this is scripted or a vision of some kind of kinship. the critters in their postures, they aren’t clueing anyone in here. just wrinkle your brow in amusement, onlooker. how often do you see something like magic anymore? why not choose to believe it might still be possible?

XCV

march/uninhibited/this day is the sunshine made/for you/dear ones/giving yourself to the flow of feet/of the swell of other people/the street cannot hold you/dear ones/this calculated showing of joy/this/takedown of fear/this/ownership of family/one that is forged/one that is cultivated/less of the conscription of yesterday/now/we take one step forward/and ascend/

lamentations, etc

This is something else. Solara is at 200 now (I know, never a half-measure) and that may be my focus for the next few posts. More on the way in terms of projects.

Such depth of knowledge

Not really.

Gross injustice

This feeling.

Slide it over

to me

through me

I am becoming wisdom 

again

Letting it steep

slow drip

from a funnel

in a dark cavern

Sounds of water

I am so pleasantly surprised

So absorbed by it all

Transfixed

and transformed.

Made whole.

This Grin

 Here's something spontaneous.

take it home; another pet staring in the window; claw marks on the banister; broken in; let me see the way the whites of the eyes give us some peace; this mind, at rest

another stripling; a home to hold; let them settle in for it; drink the air; deep sense of relief

an infinite well; all senses dulled into one another; in the grip of a feral hiss; in heat; this is 
what gives us all pause; such longing on craven display; such a clever landscape painted for us, another undercurrent at work; painter's vice; limited to something burned into a canvas; something hung up on rusty nails above the portrait window

it is yours to keep; yours to ponder over; yours to debate with colorful language; always your own

lay claim to it; shrugging from distemper and other maladies; begging for food at odd hours of the night; this destiny is yours.  

Solara 66-80

 a return to the Solara.

LXVI

What we’re waiting for/together/is some kind of magical pyramid scheme that will help us all /transcend/ into wearing monocles and hiring associates to carry our gold on their backs at all times. Who could /blame/ us either? Though, I think monocles are hard to balance. Also, anyone /who is/ anyone has cryptocurrency. Hard to insert the gold into the computer, I imagine. I’m going to /live my life/ in-0-1 combinations. Affluence in a cloud. Affluence forever. Digital/ monocle//. Forget the rest of /you/.

LXVII

Once monoliths. We are like the hulking beasts of our past. Lunging to the present. Clawing to the future. Half of my desires are lost in the passing of one minute to the next. The other, a fierce sunlight, bearing down on the sundial. Merciless, an eye eternal. I could easily be lost to the reveries and delights of any given yesterday. Remain at attention. Stay a course. Survive.

LXVIII

It might /begin/ as a sliver of mercury floating its way towards salvation. It might /begin/ as the gentle lulling of a breeze against the window. It might /begin/ as the sun peaking out from the endless night. 

It /becomes/ a storm. It /is/ the end. For now, let us /bask/ in its simplicity. /Before/ too long. /Before/ we must change course.  

LXVIX

My evening was ruined/no fault of mine/or yours/or anything for that matter. Nothing to be done about it/really/when we get down to it. Outside the scope of our control/of our collected wisdom/and experience. What can be done about cosmic events? Certainly, I am no expert/neither are you/I suppose.

LXX

what, peace and /heaven/, when. where/each/collide. how, in song/we are all made purer/minor miracles of flesh/bone/salt. give in to this /endless/ wandering gaze. somewhere, like all lost objects/come to be /found/ again/with no sense of urgency. written for us, above our vision/in slivers of/the/ infinite.

LXXI

I once dreamt/the afterlife/in a side room of my elementary school/illuminated as statues/seen only by lightning. God had jokes about hell and I missed /my family. Eternity was a long time/perhaps/definitely. Ten and dreaming of a heaven-in the building where I was /learning/forgetting/obscuring myself. I’ll never forget the lightning, the awareness there was a border I couldn’t cross. Then, in an instant /I arrived./

LXXII

I didn’t want a prayer card. They gave it to me anyway. Nothing was saving this soul /or my own. Still, I was polite and took it. The words were imaginary. The /picture, some stock/ image /underwater/. I wondered where I really was. What had I done? I spoke the words. /Began to rise/and found myself home /finally/ or that’s what I’ll /tell myself/ 

LXXIII

You could. Try to take water in hand. Hold it. The source. Slipping. I’m being profound again /aren’t I/held, my hand/my breath. All of this, a patient game of waiting/who will blink, /first/ more sounds from far away. More light rays, in the flux of waves. My chest, this fire/this staring into/another void. Water slips from your hand/ again/ 

LXXIV

Don’t pull me into your ideal version/unhinged material and beauty. Aggressive and color stripped/swelling violins/selling me something I /never/ knew I never /wanted/. Taking me beneath the waves, this siren song/this web of impulse deregulation/this hug of the waves, dragging me deeper/beyond the surface. Never let me have my own ideas again.

LXXV

You’ve decided for me/stuff that turns a dream to cinders/ashes. Decocted and reduced-left in the pot too long. Lost in the reverie-turning to a weathered paste. I’m heavy of foot again/loss on my features/stolen from me. Sing me this symphony, wind/let me set it and -not- forget it, /this time/

LXXVI

I think I /finally understand./ it all./each rendering of the impossible /begins with the/.end point in mind/scrolling through infinity—left to our own descent 

into madness/and the multiplication tables turning [in on themselves]./ever the gyre/endless manifestations: in a sequence/

in a volume beyond

numeric representation. All of our hands are /raised/. 

LXXVII

I won’t deteriorate any longer. In our conversations, you’ve shown me versions of myself. Reworded me for clarity and reformed my broken stabbings of sentences for something listening, somewhere, and we haven’t really been speaking. Even still, I am in debt to the caverns you have shown me, have left me to wander. Even as you, yourself, continue your own excavation, elsewhere.

LXXVIII

and still persistent. very much in the throes of some kind of fever. pressing forward when the shakes set in. easing the symptoms. letting off the adrenaline rush. stuck in some sense of purpose’s flight patterns. thirst never quite quenched. again, a rush. again, the old sense of wonder. it never goes away, does it?

LXXVIX

this will eek out of me/running away with the feeling/in spurts and shouts and shouted gulps of hot air/in the worst moment possible/letting it buoy itself behind air/fueled by shrill projection/less of a spectacle, but no one is looking away/break and crack and fall into the smaller, jagged pieces and distortions of the feeling consuming the whole of my attention/focus, viewer/let it seep its way from me to you/drink and/be full

LXXX

Disappointed/denial, in retrospect/sunk in feathers/free and floating//glass cracking from the edges to the center/uneven/scratched to the point of concern//each sound, sharper than its predecessor/even this mockingbird’s lament/this robin’s aria/this crow and its pointed stare/focused and waiting/drenched in our disillusion/nothing is the way it was/promised//

I heard that 311 song playing and this happened

A little levity, I suppose.

"Rainstorm, take me away from the norm

Wooaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I got to tell you something..."

I suppose you do. Words meant for me

Have a way of arriving in my brain.

Yours are no exception. You still left

It unsaid

Resolving on a chord and changing

The record over to some new song

With rap and rock fused together

A display of 

Machismo

For the masses

I am a wounded bird

Waiting for your message

I know it already

So what do you have to 

Say for yourself?

Will the rain come

To bail you out again?

I’m sure you’re hopeful.

"And it goes like this"

Airing Out the Feeling vol 3

 once more, a solara-free saturday. there is definitely more coming, i promise.

No path, like this one, the one necessary 

for some kind of rest. Slippage and breakage
Tender thy farthings. I am a bucket of impatience
Punctured nerve endings, like shell shock

Immune to the siren song of deeper breaths

Patience

Grow out from me, solid oak exhaustion

Shake this in a broken cup. Clink and a clack

I am so much of the noise ratio. A pillar

of vibrant waves of sound. Glimpse
these stress responses in glances

Never head on.

Corner dwelling, hands over eyes,

active terror response, having been
seen at last.

Grow out from me, shrieking,
Pink cloud of impulse control
Let it grow
Forward

Blot out an agreeable starry night

Hands and hissing, 

Reject Light

Remain in cover

Of shadow and another

Darkened room.

Double plus blackout.

Grow out from me, empty

Glass bowl.

Let them see what you’ve been

Feeling, Leonard. Let them know

What is willing and what is being

Dragged by the scruff, nails and
Loud repudiations trailing behind.

Let it be left behind.

A monument to what it isn’t

or even what exactly it is.

Just so.

Like that. And let it stay

behind.

giving and taken

 another Solara break, probably will just post it on a different day. I've been stepping out from the AI and doing more daily writing of my own. Some of them have been rather fun, so here's a recent one.

giving/what it is giving/some lore/some sense of outrage/boils up through me/giving/what in terms of the gift is the gift and what is the curse/lingering air collecting in pockets of lung/pockets meant to be filled/

less given/more to give/these are the words/pushed forth in some air/foolish love of my life/feel it/

giving/once again/
so much to be taken/
lessons in the abstract/made terrestrial/made with permanent marker on a wall that has been painted over/each time/a new coat/

giving/all of the given/lined up in infinite rows/lines reaching to the very back/giving the sense of eternity/a bad name/

this one/that one/too/lest i work to make you forget/what will be given to me/given to you/this is mine to give/mine alone/take it/foolish–love/i must insist/made for you/