He endures the phalanx of tests,
the sort of prodding he has been
avoiding all his life.
He finds no discomfort
in dying for another
yet the chore of cleaning
up his own corpse
he finds so completely distasteful.
He finds it ironic and humorous,
lost of all its patina of greenish foam,
the classical age long gone.
He stares into the mirror
and looks at the sleeping pills.
such powerful little pistils they are,
the gift or humankind's work.
With a violent crack
the mirror shatters and falls
into isosceles triangles in the sink.
Even without his consent
the balance of this universe
holds him in his spin.
(November 5, 2006)
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Dhalias
They expect a certain kind of ending
who am I to disappoint? A child of Confucious;
"Make sure to buy the paper from the right vendor;
Make sure the incense is not broken.
Don't bother with the box, linen will do.
Don't use dahlias, he will come back for those."
They expect a certain kind of ending;
branded in life, the scars will hold, I'm sure.
(November 5, 2006)
who am I to disappoint? A child of Confucious;
"Make sure to buy the paper from the right vendor;
Make sure the incense is not broken.
Don't bother with the box, linen will do.
Don't use dahlias, he will come back for those."
They expect a certain kind of ending;
branded in life, the scars will hold, I'm sure.
(November 5, 2006)
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Bach
Last night Bach held his hand to me through
the hum and vibrations of a weeping cello.
He'd been in Leipzig too long
he was sad, angry and tired.
I had nothing to offer except the pathetic look
on my face. He turned from me, shaking his head.
He bent over and sat quietly for hours.
He then played something in the air;
I was too ignorant to see his images.
when I came back years and years later
I found the sound of lament
expressed in something beyond heaven's melodies.
(2006)
the hum and vibrations of a weeping cello.
He'd been in Leipzig too long
he was sad, angry and tired.
I had nothing to offer except the pathetic look
on my face. He turned from me, shaking his head.
He bent over and sat quietly for hours.
He then played something in the air;
I was too ignorant to see his images.
when I came back years and years later
I found the sound of lament
expressed in something beyond heaven's melodies.
(2006)
Ashen
The sadness doesn't really pass because the storm has gone.
Now the sun shines brightly and burns its mark onto my pale skin
I am still afraid to walk into the light, to be among others.
The scars on the outside are long gone though it itches,
beneath the skin, beneath the China wall of protection;
the organs on the inside, once reliable turns to liquid.
The pillars are no more yet they believe in sodden limestone;
the chalk of my heart now can only draw crooked lines.
The protective circles, the ghost's mandala has lost all magic.
When she holds my hand; the suffering old woman,
there is a bit of me who wants to hang on, to try and heal;
and then the moon falls and sun rises and I turn to ash.
(November 4, 2006)
Now the sun shines brightly and burns its mark onto my pale skin
I am still afraid to walk into the light, to be among others.
The scars on the outside are long gone though it itches,
beneath the skin, beneath the China wall of protection;
the organs on the inside, once reliable turns to liquid.
The pillars are no more yet they believe in sodden limestone;
the chalk of my heart now can only draw crooked lines.
The protective circles, the ghost's mandala has lost all magic.
When she holds my hand; the suffering old woman,
there is a bit of me who wants to hang on, to try and heal;
and then the moon falls and sun rises and I turn to ash.
(November 4, 2006)
once upon a thursday
i hung out with my friend jeremy in the city on thursday evening and friday evening because he will be leaving california to go back to michigan soon so we were all over the place getting him prepared for his drive home and having fun while at it...
you can see the rest of the photos from this adventure here!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Jeudi Matin
Thursday comes
with the influence
of grey clouds
and heaven's tears.
It is autumn
so the slow
dallying drizzle
completes a picture
and settles
my expectations
to the mood
of an earthy Autumn.
(November, 2006)
with the influence
of grey clouds
and heaven's tears.
It is autumn
so the slow
dallying drizzle
completes a picture
and settles
my expectations
to the mood
of an earthy Autumn.
(November, 2006)
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
from my "yet to be lost writings"
"24 Feb, 2006. 21:06h
Sometimes I miss her.
I miss the conversations we used to have. Sometimes I hear music and the universe we shared comes back into my mind the way air fills empty space. Sometimes the melodies are footsteps that I hear in the core of my being. When I turn my eyes to see the person they belong to all I can find are whispers of the dust that has been disturbed. There was no one in physical form. There are the ghost reflections of my mind. There are reflections in space of the person who once stood right where my mind imagined her to be.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath and bring her scent, her ethereal presence into my lungs and for a moment, breathe the air of paradise lost."
Sometimes I miss her.
I miss the conversations we used to have. Sometimes I hear music and the universe we shared comes back into my mind the way air fills empty space. Sometimes the melodies are footsteps that I hear in the core of my being. When I turn my eyes to see the person they belong to all I can find are whispers of the dust that has been disturbed. There was no one in physical form. There are the ghost reflections of my mind. There are reflections in space of the person who once stood right where my mind imagined her to be.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath and bring her scent, her ethereal presence into my lungs and for a moment, breathe the air of paradise lost."
in the genes
so i had the bright idea to send my aunt in france a message yesterday asking if my father wrote much, especially poetry when he was alive and if she might have any of his notebooks or journals.
she replied to me that if he did, she never received any of it. however, she said he did have a gift with language – something that i have seemed to inherited. i didn't have any expectations but was a little saddened. how great it would be if any of his notebooks survived and i could read them.
alors, at least i got some of the good genes...
she replied to me that if he did, she never received any of it. however, she said he did have a gift with language – something that i have seemed to inherited. i didn't have any expectations but was a little saddened. how great it would be if any of his notebooks survived and i could read them.
alors, at least i got some of the good genes...
Prospecting
The machine pulls at the earth
the way my tie pulls at my neck.
Both want something but can’t agree
on what is more valuable,
the blood of the living
or the fossil of the dead.
the way my tie pulls at my neck.
Both want something but can’t agree
on what is more valuable,
the blood of the living
or the fossil of the dead.
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