Buncha goddamn chippers...what you think you see is just the merest samplin kept about for the medicinal value. And as for the ATF, they've all been out to get me from the start. And them that ain't is rootin for them that is. And don't think I don't know they're watchin. I sit here all night in my shorts, cleanin my piece and waitin for em to bust in. I know yer watchin...The ATF is a buncha pussies. It's the other ones - the ones they don't talk about - that are really out there. You know the ones who comes thru the wall and sit on the foot of the bed and giggle? I know em by name...You just keep talkin yer shit. I can see trees grow. I can hear mountains! I can see music! Buncha goddamn chippers.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
dead modem
Rip me from the womb unborn
And toss me moist and naked screaming
Into a nest of stinging scorpions
Free me from my flesh tormented
In miniscule, envenomed tortures.
And toss me moist and naked screaming
Into a nest of stinging scorpions
Free me from my flesh tormented
In miniscule, envenomed tortures.
Swab with salves my ruined body
Scrape away my weeping boils
And renew my tattered remnant
Force me into new environs
Expunged of flaccid indolence.
Scrape away my weeping boils
And renew my tattered remnant
Force me into new environs
Expunged of flaccid indolence.
Forged from some new alchemy
Of hermetic arcane wisdom
I emerge free of accretions
My ruthlessness conspicuous
And all my cumbersome attachments
Castings of small vanities.
Of hermetic arcane wisdom
I emerge free of accretions
My ruthlessness conspicuous
And all my cumbersome attachments
Castings of small vanities.
I float above my old companions
Anomalous and atmospheric
Crawling in and out of pockets
Whispering conspiracies
With spiritual ventriloquism.
Anomalous and atmospheric
Crawling in and out of pockets
Whispering conspiracies
With spiritual ventriloquism.
Enveloping my lover sleeping
I am firm, substantial moment
Breathing in his exhalations
I am pierced beyond redemption
I dissolve, become base matter.
I am firm, substantial moment
Breathing in his exhalations
I am pierced beyond redemption
I dissolve, become base matter.
Sonnet 20
My love buried, broken and encumber'd
From disuse and neglect - I'd long forgot
Or even spoken of that muse - had brought
Me naught but pain. Rejected unnumber'd
Times, its ill effect upon my mood
Left me distrustful, sullen and jaded
At the thought of new beginnings. Faded
Was the image I'd traced for years. I'd brood
No more on past wounds and hurt pride, but live
In solitary contemplation, trust
No more faint promises of hope, let rust
My edge. After love I'd no longer strive.
And in a couplet's sudden space you burst
Grace made you my best love, I your first.
From disuse and neglect - I'd long forgot
Or even spoken of that muse - had brought
Me naught but pain. Rejected unnumber'd
Times, its ill effect upon my mood
Left me distrustful, sullen and jaded
At the thought of new beginnings. Faded
Was the image I'd traced for years. I'd brood
No more on past wounds and hurt pride, but live
In solitary contemplation, trust
No more faint promises of hope, let rust
My edge. After love I'd no longer strive.
And in a couplet's sudden space you burst
Grace made you my best love, I your first.
Sonnet 18
Two combatants, they contend, and striving
Against each other tearing tender flesh,
They rend themselves where once they sought to mesh
The hearts that would otherwise be driving
In unison toward a common end;
And then their struggles abate and both rest
From fighting, the wounded lovers, lest
They finish the test - they have to mend,
Or this contest would finally end - ease
Into their corners, treat their stripes and face
That they do not know how they reached this place
Of battle, how can they this conflict cease
When the alternative to bloody war
Is indifference, to touch no more.
Against each other tearing tender flesh,
They rend themselves where once they sought to mesh
The hearts that would otherwise be driving
In unison toward a common end;
And then their struggles abate and both rest
From fighting, the wounded lovers, lest
They finish the test - they have to mend,
Or this contest would finally end - ease
Into their corners, treat their stripes and face
That they do not know how they reached this place
Of battle, how can they this conflict cease
When the alternative to bloody war
Is indifference, to touch no more.
Sonnet 17
How irrevocable the sudden shifts
Of feeling, loosing the bonds of two lives
So long held together. One holds, one strives
To break free; and with us one falls, one lifts
Himself with new supports - all those new friends
Who swarmed in dazzling, new interests found
Apart from what was shared before; unwound
The cord becomes, and finally it ends.
A counterfeit memory all I hold
Of what once was authentic to us each.
I trace the outlines vainly try to reach
The substance that is quickly growing cold
And with your newfound happiness I see
The biggest part of us it seems was me.
Of feeling, loosing the bonds of two lives
So long held together. One holds, one strives
To break free; and with us one falls, one lifts
Himself with new supports - all those new friends
Who swarmed in dazzling, new interests found
Apart from what was shared before; unwound
The cord becomes, and finally it ends.
A counterfeit memory all I hold
Of what once was authentic to us each.
I trace the outlines vainly try to reach
The substance that is quickly growing cold
And with your newfound happiness I see
The biggest part of us it seems was me.
Sonnet 16
Encased in amber lying in plain sight
The memory of life with you remains
But inaccessible it only stains
My hours; loving you was never quite
As satisfying as it now would seem
In retrospect, though I would otherwise
Have argued in the past. But wounded eyes
Govern those perceptions, beautiful dream
Of mine, and I am left tracing the lines
Of a fading image behind a shell
Impenetrable, receding; my Hell
Is my creation - Heaven intertwines.
Forgive me if I linger overlong
The power of this image is too strong.
Sonnet 15
What happened to the chamber we prepared
To insulate us from all intrusions
Constructed with eternal illusions
For your protection no effort was spared.
Somehow my mortar must have been at fault
Or perhaps my bricks brittle had become
From hasty laying on there must be some
Good reason that you would reject this vault.
But love from me grew into oppression
Hardening a once elastic bond
Now bitter where you once had been so fond
In retrospect only a possession.
Affection purchased quickly dies away
In rigid chambers living things won't stay.
To insulate us from all intrusions
Constructed with eternal illusions
For your protection no effort was spared.
Somehow my mortar must have been at fault
Or perhaps my bricks brittle had become
From hasty laying on there must be some
Good reason that you would reject this vault.
But love from me grew into oppression
Hardening a once elastic bond
Now bitter where you once had been so fond
In retrospect only a possession.
Affection purchased quickly dies away
In rigid chambers living things won't stay.
A Rhythm
I resist awakening
beneath oppressive comforters
refuge in a routine
clocks and meals and calls and meetings
face buried in a book
glancing up to watch for hazards
acting on an impulse
wishing to be somewhere else
bringing down the structure
afraid to dance or jam or fight
seeking anaesthetic
anything to numb the craving
quieting the noise
bracing for the consequences
staying out of time
giving up on understanding
I don't live in days
beneath oppressive comforters
refuge in a routine
clocks and meals and calls and meetings
face buried in a book
glancing up to watch for hazards
acting on an impulse
wishing to be somewhere else
bringing down the structure
afraid to dance or jam or fight
seeking anaesthetic
anything to numb the craving
quieting the noise
bracing for the consequences
staying out of time
giving up on understanding
I don't live in days
Friday, November 5, 2010
November 5, 2010
Am I a vehicle of consciousness, or am I consciousness? Am I so attached to my body, this life and its temporal and tactile nature that I should perish with it?
That's kind of a ridiculous question, I think. I'm never quite sure what people are looking for when they seek some notion or another of eternal life. I suppose the question for me is whether or not there is some way for me to steer some path between pure oblivion, whatever that is, and becoming pure undifferentiated consciousness, which is probably difficult to distinguish from the former, actually. This is purely academic, since it's one circumstance we all share and it's rather unavoidable. But is there a proper way to discipline my mind, such that there is some recognizable me in the All afterward? Is that even the point?
I think that's what the aim of the preachers was, in some sense. They promised me some romanticized notion of a my current life, only never-ending and somehow dramatically ennobled, such that I'm, well, finally the guy my dog always thought I was, for real. But it's me just the same. This late in life, somehow, I don't buy that. I don't think any of us get out that easily with our consciousness intact. Perhaps we do, only purged of our fears and attachments; but then, isn't that what differentiates us in the first place? Isn't that what it means?
That's kind of a ridiculous question, I think. I'm never quite sure what people are looking for when they seek some notion or another of eternal life. I suppose the question for me is whether or not there is some way for me to steer some path between pure oblivion, whatever that is, and becoming pure undifferentiated consciousness, which is probably difficult to distinguish from the former, actually. This is purely academic, since it's one circumstance we all share and it's rather unavoidable. But is there a proper way to discipline my mind, such that there is some recognizable me in the All afterward? Is that even the point?
I think that's what the aim of the preachers was, in some sense. They promised me some romanticized notion of a my current life, only never-ending and somehow dramatically ennobled, such that I'm, well, finally the guy my dog always thought I was, for real. But it's me just the same. This late in life, somehow, I don't buy that. I don't think any of us get out that easily with our consciousness intact. Perhaps we do, only purged of our fears and attachments; but then, isn't that what differentiates us in the first place? Isn't that what it means?
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