BEING AND TIME
To be nothing is no thing,
to be something doesn't matter.
To be not or not may ring
some belle époque for the madhatter.
söndag 6 december 2009
onsdag 2 december 2009
NEW SONNET FOR KATIE
Expanding suburbs, silence, solitude
at dawn. The force thus current may awaken
someone, who knows? Our brightest dreams elude
themselves and us, they leave us stirred and shaken.
For nothing we shall ilve, for nothing die
since everything is over in the first place.
This desolation from an arid sky
makes all the world the very worst place.
I look around, but Katie isn't here,
it seems, I feel I couldn't even spell her
name, still there's nothing here around to tear
asunder something which I have to tell her:
real life. Wherever you're around, my dove,
remember: you must never fall in love.
at dawn. The force thus current may awaken
someone, who knows? Our brightest dreams elude
themselves and us, they leave us stirred and shaken.
For nothing we shall ilve, for nothing die
since everything is over in the first place.
This desolation from an arid sky
makes all the world the very worst place.
I look around, but Katie isn't here,
it seems, I feel I couldn't even spell her
name, still there's nothing here around to tear
asunder something which I have to tell her:
real life. Wherever you're around, my dove,
remember: you must never fall in love.
lördag 21 november 2009
SONNETS FOR KATIE
I
Most people seem incapable of learning!
Could anyone but Katie understand
just how the letter M is always burning?
She says: "Bréton is getting out of hand
for you, kind of!" – I know she's only kidding;
her ignorance is nothing but pretense
for social reasons, yes, she knows her ridding
herself of everything that could make sense
to me! She asks me what I'm really smoking,
and I explain I only smoke Rimbaud.
– "Why, then you must be on the verge of choking,"
she says. "Now would you deal me such a blow?
I think You should smoke me instead of them,
'cause I am lightened by the letter M!"
II
"You're wiser, Katie, you could be my mother,
admittedly," I said, "do I confuse
you still…? – The one true state excludes the other,
what do you think, I guess it's too abstruse
of course, so let me clarify, dear sister,
and just stop talking nonsense to you here.
Guess later on I'll send another twister,
just catch it if you can, and keep it, dear…"
"The pessimist I hear, as always," Katie
now said, "honey, you know it's quite abstract.
But you'll go on like that until you're eighty
and propably remain somewhat intact –
Guess I must learn, get wise enough to see
how to survive you, Sir Catastropheee-ee!"
III
I must be be yours, Katie, I said, and only
alone, together, here and now, with you
and always none but you, 'cause I'm so lonely,
blah blah, so be my darling, love me do,
together we shall both be all together,
together we shall both be all alone...
– It was september, calm and cloudy weather.
My heart felt somewhat like some cloudy stone –
"You're nuts," she said, "you're goddamn crazy,
well, nevermind, no news, good news, I bet.
I'm safe as long as you remain that hazy – "
She threw away her burning cigarrette
and laughed out loudly. How I loved her white
big teeth. She hugged me, and I helt her tight.
IV
I followed Katie silently, all deeper
into the park that was this night's alone.
Of course I dreamt. I always was a sleeper
– and Katie keeper of my sleep, my own,
my innermost reality'n my passion
as taught this moment by some pendulum
of secret pain in void and eerie fashion
like hanging in this darkness, hot but numb
with expectations that I couldn't master –
She turned around! She saw me; and her smile,
ironic, hit me like a sweet disaster,
We stood there, eye to eye, for just a while –
And then, of course, I didn't see her there,
but just woke up in moderate despair.
V
Don't ask about the meaning of illusion
and fleeting moments, since I nothing know.
I left the public toilet, confusion
was all around. I wondered where to go.
The light was blinking, whitish water flushing
the floor. Was I onboard a sinking ship
or something like it? Was it time for rushing
right out of here! Oh what a fearful trip!
Then I saw Katie. She was calmly perching
up high on that surrealistic stool,
her dreamy eyes were far away, like searching
the ceiling for - who knows! Perfectly cool
– as she appeared, I thought she was insane
– she hummed a song I never heard again.
VI
Their comport was impeccable and later
they lawyers, doctors, anything became.
But I went always in a daze, a traitor
to me, myself, I felt, and to my name.
The failure of my class, my school, a worthless
dropout into some sort of quarantine.
I tried to consolate myself: if earthless,
diffuse and void my dreamy world, it's mine –
One day did you, Katie, cheerleader
and chairman of the student board, our queen,
our paradigm of charm, consistent feeder
of vain desire, let yourself be seen
to me: some sort of campaigning strip tease??
Your jeans were slowly slipping down your knees…
VII
It was the time when streets around the city
prolonged themselves. Soon would the night
be here at last. Estranged like Walter Mitty
or maybe Kaspar Hauser, out of sight
for other people, somewhat sad, rejected
and destitute in this department store,
society, well, I drifted undetected
– this wasn't all my life, I wanted more!
I stood there, helpless, in an escalator
– and you, a shadow, whispered in my ear:
"Just jump into the safe, don't stay a waiter!"
I turned around, and you were really here –
Katie, please come back! Let yourself be seen
and tell me thoroughly, what do you mean?
VIII
My eyes: you cannot put them out, nor lighten
them up again; they're turned away from you;
your mystery remains opaque; so might an
enigma's darkness tighten; still be true.
You always were an unintelligible window,
my girl; somewhat a neighbor, still afar,
exotic even, like a tamarind, o
dear Katie; be my acid, be my star.
And all along the watchtower your stalker,
– I hear you. There is nothing to be seen.
The man who nowhere goes remains a walker
pursuing Her, his idol and sirene.
My bed was never what I did believe,
my home is shattered and beyond retrieve.
IX
Do I feel good? So tell me first the meaning
of this word, and then let me see your face
for me to reach; the mirror where you're leaning,
on to my heart and speeding up its pace.
I didn't say something about my feeling,
my inclination for deceit and lies.
I fear the truth as told would send me reeling
if it was told by you to snap some ties.
But this won't be tonight, no time for reason,
disturbing like a morning's song of birds.
This season, short, is meant for blissful treason
for which a purple twilight dreamers girds.
Tomorrow is another day. Forget it!
It's never gonna break; we wouldn't let it.
X
I tell you: I was finally together
with Katie, safely buried in her hair,
that fragrant night, and it was early weather
around us; I could see it faintly there.
And then all of a sudden I felt sliding
so softly downwards, landing on her neck,
so gently finding there another hiding –
what amorous and cosy little trek!
On this occasion, much like a commercial
for sweet perfume, now did I really dream...?
Was real that dream, then really finding her shall
remain the hope that will forever gleam.
A womans scent, a virtual no wind's dancer!
I call this air: Nature's Delightful Answer.
XI
I have a memory still to unravel,
an altogether new experience.
A dreamy landscape. Somehow I did travel
therein. The sun was bleak, the stillness tense.
With irreality this world was blended.
I heard a choir from behind the trees.
My journey just went on, it never ended,
this floating presence, this uncanny peace.
The road lay empty and the sun was soundless,
a nondivinity that still awaits
my waking up to you, to me, to boundless
astonishment in front of your portraits -
It's now! A giant stadium, indoors –
The voice I hear, Katie – it isn't yours.
XII
See Katie in the shower! And what next,
the murderer, who pulls aside the curtain?
There's something imminent in this context,
it's dark and horrible, that much is certain.
I dream I am a monk, my rather free
and easy task this eerie night observing
the sky, to stay awake – and now I see
it gradually happening, unnerving,
to say the least, and yet I cannot hear
it happen, there's no scary distant thunder –
And still my spine is chilled with ghastly fear:
I see the clouds be slowly ripped asunder.
The veil is rent! Humanity, beware!
It covered: nothing; there is nothing there.
XIII
I said: "The theologians really know
their topic; are these people smart like eighty-
one people quite like you together, so
just do like me and pray and trust them, Katie,
their knowledge adds to a tremendous mass
of safe and very holy gravitation!"
– "Oh yes?" said Katie, "What if all that jazz
is very simple at the final station
what do you say? I don't want to be rude
not even really to oppose your mission.
But tacitly this concept may include
an untold power, that's my slight suspicion,
I mean, that Truth was never too complex –
You may say 'God'; the real thing still is Sex!"
XIV
A sudden absence! Doors were slowly swinging
wide open; still just darkness to be seen,
as in Communion, a silence singing,
here was a place where I had never been –
What Nothing all this was, intensely glowing
invisibly as from a hidden prism
for gamma radiation, I was knowing
uncanny forces of some magnetism –
Cathedral of the night! No certain measure
can tell us what is guarded here; content
unknown. It's name is Memory, a treasure
like nothing else, Katie; it's Sacrament.
Then back at home. My world had normal size –
The Force behind it all remains – your eyes.
XV
A journey through the minutes of the night
that no one understands; that's life. Absurdly
blessed be your sleep as well, Katie, all right?
It's all but moonshine finally and thirdly.
So do unite your shadow then with mine,
I'm sleepless just like you, my name evading
all kind of human script as we recline
like distant city lighting faint and fading.
As life is gradually turned a whirl
of ignorance and pleasure be upgraded
to dream this very life. You're not my girl,
will never be, and there's no love that faded.
Reality, that's not for you and me,
nor sleep, nor love, nor really real are we.
XVI
I always was a writer wannabee.
I asked my girlfriend Katie how to make it.
She said: "It's fairly easy. Can't you see?
Today there sure's one certain way to fake it.
Just you casually tell'em anywhere:
I have a Jewish mistress! Halleluya!
She leaves your book like she was never there;
she made your point and luck; they're gonna woo ya.
And then, repeatedly, make very clear
that you're indeed the perfect cumshot master,
a comet that will never disappear –
'cause nothing sells like Sex'n Shame disaster.
Go far enough, and you will catch some eyes
– might even win that VERY Nob-le Prii-ize!"
XVII
"These words observe our abject walk",
I said to Katie, "now's their season
of shiny sand…" – She said: "Now, that's the talk,
so rich with feeling and devoid of reason…
walk on please, you've already caught my ear,
I stay enthralled…" – "These gates and their reflection,
like burning water, this compulsion, hear
my call…" – "Sure thing, I'll cure your imperfection
and make us TWO about it, huh? Poe-tree,
it branches out, alright…" I sighed: "You're funny,
honeybunny, aren't you… PLEASE make me see
myself instead and make day real sunny…"
I couldn't help relax myself. The beach
was close, I felt real pleasures within reach.
XVIII
I said to Katie: "I will give you feeling
and carry both of us throughout the night
I promise, rarely tired and never reeling,
as steady as velocity of Light – "
"Oh yes?" said Katie. "Why, that sounds terrific!
What could I more expect from such a nerd?
This last idea is barely scientific
however, honey, rather just absurd.
You see, the simple truth we should unravel
directly is – if only for this rhyme,
ha ha! – not light itself makes such a travel,
since light, essentially, is simply, Time,
relating mass to energy, says Kant,
when Heaven clarifies all dizzy rant."
XIX
It dawned upon me now – nay, t'was a lightning
revealing true reality of this Night,
It made some point indeed to me, t'was brightening,
explaining almost everything, all right?
What did I see? That Life, so ever streaming,
so daily ours, is nothing but a dream,
I tell you, that's what Life's about, just dreaming,
a frictionless transport, persistent stream,
that is: at best, like when? It's your decision,
I shall not interfere with it; it's yours.
To tell you barely nothing, that's my mission!
You're on your own to find yourselves: the Force.
Then I decide that Katie's all divine;
I'll deify myself and make her mine!
XX
Who am I, Katie, tearing skies asunder
just being here? A stranger in the night.
Since I was born – nindeed, this was my blunder
– I follow you, my persevering light.
It happened when I saw your face, your body.
It wasn't many happenings ago.
I never knew this night. It's cloddy.
It's dangerous and bright, I hate it so,
I badly ned some comfort. You deliver,
so I'll stay following your splendid dance,
so fluent all along some dark moon river,
my whishful dream and sight, somewhat askance.
Who is it, that in solitude discerns
your essece then, these swinging faint lanterns?
XXI
Withdrawn as always, taking interest
in Eucharistic Mystery, the changing
of bread and wine to holy substance lest
we all be doomed, since Night is ranging
allover Day; that's just like always me,
now who can tell me how this happen. – Katie?
She says: "It's obvious, why can't you see?
We eat the light, so utter plain and slaty
– like Nothing more! The light you saw is gone,
but now your blood is duly set afire;
since Life in quest of Time goes ever on,
indefinite, how could it then expire,
however we may put it to a test
– there cannot be an answer to this Quest!"
XXII
Yes finally. The earthy weather perished.
How consciousness was flashing at the gate
towards the woods. Your breath I always cherished
just like a fancied drug, to me innate
- I carried it within me for an eerie
and holy tribute to the alien face
of darkness, oracle for abstruse query,
elusive spirit of uncertain space.
And what about your eyes? From world an dire
reality I took them all along
this path in proud and flickering desire,
a secret never heard of, like a song
of nothingness, like you, Katie, who never
existed, and will unexist forever.
XXIII
I said to Katie: "Can you feel the star
berhind my eyes, that heavy retardation
of Time that brings us closer till we are
united in a love supreme, our station - "
She laughed: "Honey, you're still real hot
on relativity, well I can take it;
your energy is cubic - 'k, why not?
To make a thing impossible, just make it
and eat your tail precisely like that Snake
devours your flesh: it's nothing dear; you rim it;
provoke me tell you 'just give me a break';
this dog won't bark, you're on another limit -
where you, Li'l Man, with all that mighty gaze, are
not far from charmin' powers of a quaa-aasaaar!"
XXIV
Be born into the distant Universe
where every human being do belong!
How Life's but sickness, Death our single nurse.'
How murd'rous poetry's quiet; a different song
was never ever heard in life. Let's stay
in absence, Katie; deal me solitude
and beauty. Yet for Nothing must we pray,
for Nothing brings, as Nothing its prelude,
but Nothing: my vertigo, your nightmare,
our splendor, sister. Let's fall victim then
to birth; let's enter Nothing. Nothing's there
as God was not, commandmens will be ten:
Live! DIE! Live! DIE! Live! DIE! Live! DIE! Live! DIE!
in moonshine de profundis low'rd sky high.
XXV
Guess love's not always tender and serene;
uhm, does a man feel bigger with a trigger
sometimes; allright, we kinda had a scene.
- "YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE JUST ANOTHER NIGGER,
Katie!!" - (I wasn't whispering.) - "Prefer me rough
'n ready? Damn, eat DUST, huh!" - "Please get steady,
dude", she laughed. - "What for?" - "Enough's' enough,
I rather want you like my carebear Teddy - "
- "Like h-h-WHAT??" - "Somewhat conservative." - "Please tell
me MORE!" - "Let's say you owe's some cultivation
so try spare's both another Rebel Yell,
gettit? For all this college education
- ain't optin' for some spiritual panorama
confined t'your goddamn SWEET HOME AL-AY-BAAAAAAH-MA!!!"
XXVI
My Poetry! aah, so exquisite; obscure;
indeed mature; how Katie should be reading
in awe! - She says: "Now wouldn't we endure
this Tragedy; your heart is really bleeding,
I'd say not altogether just in vain;
a simple girl gets readily aware a
great star is born in agonizing pain
amounting to a somewhat minor Niagara
Falls of abject Lamento." - "Huh? You're joking?"
- "Just slightly overwhelmed, honey, it's oh so
perfectly said, conceptualized, revoking,
profound, misterioso doloroso
etcetera, 'k. I'll read it till it dawns
upon me what it says", she says, and yawns.
XXVII
I said to Katie: "Are you there, my dove,
to hear this distant song? - Hey, whats so funny?
- Receive my avalanche of Perfect Love
before I walk away forever, honey - "
"Let's call this call a call, then, and profess,
my bosom got some faint exquisite nurture;
but who's the prey, and where's the wilderness?"
she said. "Be camera, apply austere aperture,
so might illusion vanish. What canine
intention here, how somewhat over-fillable
this pot of Confidence in Ego; fine;
don't go to far like some redundant syllable
lest both our self portrait, as due reaction,
gets lost in mutually assured distraction..."
XXVIII
Do you think I exist, Katie? How dreamy,
how unessentially mere fugue this "Life";
hey, what about some option you may beam me
up into your Realit-tee! My wife
will never be. Forever you're my sister
and true Platonic counterpoint; our pangs
of unrebirth may bloom as love does blister
untainted yet by carnal Void Big Bangs.
Be sure I'll stay our virtue's staunch defender
tonite; let'scall this quite my cup of tea;
you don't exist, huh? Thoughts returned to sender
whirl 'round this misery of tender apogee
...bartender! Look, my head goes polyphonic;
please let me have another gin and tonic!
XXIX
"O misery," I said, somewhat annoyed,
"despair's our lot! How Nothing stays essential,
how everything's just rubbish, vain and void;
might someone recognize a faint potential
¨
for Truth and Meaning?" - "Sure", said Katie, "rubble
and ash surround us charming like a fart re-
called - still! We all adore your splendid bubble
of Nothingness, that Being is, as Sartre
concisely pointed out." - "Ah that's my girl,
presumably; what nonsense. Shall we focus,
get back to basics, God, and THINGS." - "Just hurl
ýourself on Cosmos' whirl of hocus pocus,"
said Katie, "get a life; it's your voluptas,
Kraków provisional stamps and Chandraguptas!"
XXX
I said to Katie: "Life goes on, alas,
I know myself! Who will survive, the smartest,
the best? Suspicion au contraire; just as
van Gogh, I feel like THEE forgotten artist!"
"You thrive on misery", Katie replied,
that's pretty good for you." - "Hey, love me tender,
bitch; witty pity; happy suicide!
to me, uhuh?" - "All right, let sunset render
some glory to it, Mr. Self Contained,
you ARE the World; let's jump it it now lest we go
bananas both; your mirror shines, blood stained;
my window; l'art pour l'art ! This splendid Ego
makes moi feel quite so-so,"said Katie, "yo,
let's talk about some Michelangelo."
XXXI
SONNET FOR KATIE
"Look here, beloved Thing, said Katie, "splendid
as it may be, your dream, it isn't me;
'cause all there's there in THAT world, yours, is blended
with YOU, Sir! So what's really here to be?"
I sighed: "Ideas, diffuse and elevated,
make still the only Real that shines to be;
the sky, where you and I, forever mated
abide, prevails; it's my Reality."
"Get real, that's banal", Katie said, "you're chronic
in ontological delusion. Gee,
I guess I somehow love you." - "It's platonic!"
I hastily affirmed. - "Obscure idea"
said Katie, - "'k, be sure I somewhat nimbo-
stratospherically will remain your BIMBO!"
XXXII
I rest at home in Katie's absence; bleak
and dull this everyday, my life, this ceiling,
my sky, somewhat unclear; a mental streak
of Somethingness appears and sends me reeling
into some dreamy whirl of Faith and Hope
...and Eros; daylight's razor mustn't sever
a man from his nocturnal blood and dope
and basic instinct; diamonds are forever,
I see the splendor in my Katie's eyes;
she isn't here, nor there, but all around me
on any distance! in this world of lies
and filth, as would a Dogma's Light astound me:
that simple Truth, that makes us all endure,
somewhere is Love, and Love is always pure.
XXXIII
We learn; we live; we die; how payments stamp us.
My Katie had a coke and I a joint
for free somewhere in this world's giant campus.
A student of some talent made his point:
"I AM a poet, natural born truth teller.
I won't allow them bastards grind me down;
the Conference of Dunces makes a seller
post mortem, finally, so let them frown;
they're dead, all right; will I die? Never,
t'was always those already dead that died;
my partner Death will make me live forever."
"I guess you're talking, honey", Katie sighed
and shrugged; "let's call this world a decent thriller
and make your move. Get real; get Serial Killer."
XXXIV
So what about this world of ugly beauty
where Life goes Death, austerity perverse
by overdue prescriptions? Holy Duty
prevails in minight's daylight; calm and terse
our Prayer be; as yet no God will hear it,
since matters as we know them don't exist!
Our world is here, is not, we mustn't fear it
when distant children cry immersed in mist
beyond our desperate eyelids. Katie enters
my virtual room; I see her alien eyes,
where all my absurd Faith in panic centers
antecipations of confirmative surprise -
She says: "If this disease, your life, is mental,
its final cure may still be transcendental."
XXXV
Who sent me to this garden's rim? Nocturnal
disjoint seems just around like Katie. Seize
a true conception, Dear, my name, but kernel
of shadow Name, it's mine, a distant breeze´
prevails, accordingly, throughout this dreamy
undream, "Real-i-tee", somewhat the fence
around, alas, itself, please, Katie, see me!
I'm glowing infrared from due suspense:
our Love, n'est-ce pas; expect our virtual meeting
to come, since Faith/Hope/Joy will never quench
itself. This moment isn't mererely fleeting
like demons, sweetly whispering in French...
She suddenly replies. "Wake up, you rhymer!
These sleepy rants should sometimes have their timer."
XXXVI
Im not myself. I'm just another one,
a man of urge if not respect. Befriend me!
I seek you like a Viking och some Hun,
somewhat astray, where sweet sour fate does send me.
Direction; attitude; ballz East and North!
This Day was Some, and out from due deposit
of Night, its Manhood did indeed surge forth
With all the force collected in my closet,
my Love by Muscle; this was all I had.
"Uh-oh!" said Katie. "May it work, this rapture?
I wouldn't bet on that!" - "Stay cool", I said.
"I'm here." - "Like precious you? For just one capture,
You fuck me or you duck, oh Boy of Boys,
but first you better slug me; your free choice!"
XXXVII
Nowhere is Love! As Beauty might be sending
some fleeting moment's Winter on my mind,
let's keep our breath; these Teens are never ending,
just leaving dreamy futures way behind
in faint brittle peace, uneas'ly remembered;
gradually rest may follow, X-mas still,
somewhere, a daydream, curiously decembered
delivers someone's blood enlight'ning thrill
like Fragrance of new fallen Snow! What hovered
above that second Mind's approach of Yore?
Grow down, get real, Katie, become boylovered,
desimpurity be gone, be gone thy bore!
I plan, somewhat naïvley set for duty,
to make you share with me your distant Beauty.
XXXVIII
went downtown, saw Katie in the nude
on Common Avenue, detracted soltitude
as it were, like a dream-state rosely hued,
like no one else could see her; DAMN! I phewed;
was reciprokelly then, thank heaven, viewed,
bestowed unique hard-on! but NOT eschewed,
contrair-i-lee, he took a somewhat rude
'n readidy attude of Sex Prelude; it BREWED!
And for a start, i hiccuped "Hi!, imbued
with Moooood! She toodledooed: "How cued
your awe-full specie-ally-tee, Sir Lewd,
to prove (alas!), to have me finely screwed,
and hopef'lly afterwards beloved, wooed,
alive, huh? Don't you even DO it, Duu-uuude!"
XXXIX
Nowhere is Love! As Beauty might be sending
some fleeting moment's Winter on my mind,
let's keep our breath; these Teens are never ending,
just leaving dreamy futures way behind
in faint brittle peace, uneas'ly remembered;
gradually rest may follow, X-mas still,
somewhere, a daydream, curiously decembered
delivers someone's blood enlight'ning thrill
like Fragrance of new fallen Snow! What hovered
above that second Mind's approach of Yore?
Grow down, get real, Katie, become boylovered,
desimpurity be gone, be gone thy bore!
I plan, somewhat naïvley set for duty,
to make you share with me your distant Beauty.
LX
When finally I arrived at Kurukshetra,
the Battlefield, I somehow did expect
to see Katie, my Muse, my Thing, etcetera;
I saw myself, somewhat apt to direct
action time! and my heartbeats - were they really
mine, huh? - somewhat irregular, you bet,
was ordered in due sequence, rather freely,
bloods testosteronized to War! To set
things right, we need to fight, discover
our tribe, our truly Aryan Brotherhood;
and there was Katie. Were I now her lover?
Who knows! Fully restored to proper mood
I suddenly woke up; she crouched beside me
like in some dream; did she look apt to ride me.
LXI
When Misery, Fear and Boredom Being barrens
and living Death, impending overdue,
appears as present, due counterapparence
all of a sudden brightly shine anew,
.
conditionally... just as Dream, as certain,
is not; as Nothing is supposed to be
by Jove, or something like him. Raise the curtain!
It happens; and she stands in front of me.
.
"When Angst runs high, a Miracle makes lever
whence faint Ascension´s born forlorn, my dear;
like diamonds, instants are indeed forever.
You're here, you hear?" I yell, "You're finally here!"
Says Katie: "Why, to know what really foments
your life, be gone, and heed your Threshold Moments."
LXII
The space of temporal damnation must be
excluded, Katie; don't tell anyone
about it; rumors run like Scripture. Just be
around, aloof, sincere; it can be done,
uncertainly. The winds towards their Madam,
whence they occur, are here again; who tells
us nothing, dear? Incognito like Adam
I lack your Knowledge; don't see Where she dwells,
so help us God. Where are you? Some aperture
is what I need! The Journey of Escape,
my life, is short. They tell me Love is nurture,
amen; I feel it's just another tape
recording; but the Blood of Our Mylady
run deep inside your Spirt, pure and shady.
LXIII
Expanding suburbs, silence, solitude
at dawn. The force thus current may awaken
someone, who knows? Our brightest dreams elude
themselves and us, they leave us stirred and shaken.
For nothing we shall ilve, for nothing die
since everything is over in the first place.
This desolation from an arid sky
makes all the world the very worst place.
I look around, but Katie isn't here,
it seems, I feel I couldn't even spell her
name, still there's nothing here around to tear
asunder something which I have to tell her:
real life. Wherever you're around, my dove,
remember: you must never fall in love.
LXIV
Dear Katie, I'm indeed your loving stalker,
I roam the empty streets in hapless joy.
I am indeed a man, a lonesome walker.
And you remain my dream, and I your toy.
I seek, from early nine to late eleven,
your bright chimera; might you lurk behind
next corner? Shall we meet, at last, in Heaven?
Who knows, what's finally for us to find.
I must reveal a secret. I'm a stranger
to you, America, where stars shine, bright,
above the stripes of Dream, for any ranger
within the range of Dream. Oh distant light!
I live in Stockholm, Sweden, stalker zone
for me; in Stockholm I will die alone.
Most people seem incapable of learning!
Could anyone but Katie understand
just how the letter M is always burning?
She says: "Bréton is getting out of hand
for you, kind of!" – I know she's only kidding;
her ignorance is nothing but pretense
for social reasons, yes, she knows her ridding
herself of everything that could make sense
to me! She asks me what I'm really smoking,
and I explain I only smoke Rimbaud.
– "Why, then you must be on the verge of choking,"
she says. "Now would you deal me such a blow?
I think You should smoke me instead of them,
'cause I am lightened by the letter M!"
II
"You're wiser, Katie, you could be my mother,
admittedly," I said, "do I confuse
you still…? – The one true state excludes the other,
what do you think, I guess it's too abstruse
of course, so let me clarify, dear sister,
and just stop talking nonsense to you here.
Guess later on I'll send another twister,
just catch it if you can, and keep it, dear…"
"The pessimist I hear, as always," Katie
now said, "honey, you know it's quite abstract.
But you'll go on like that until you're eighty
and propably remain somewhat intact –
Guess I must learn, get wise enough to see
how to survive you, Sir Catastropheee-ee!"
III
I must be be yours, Katie, I said, and only
alone, together, here and now, with you
and always none but you, 'cause I'm so lonely,
blah blah, so be my darling, love me do,
together we shall both be all together,
together we shall both be all alone...
– It was september, calm and cloudy weather.
My heart felt somewhat like some cloudy stone –
"You're nuts," she said, "you're goddamn crazy,
well, nevermind, no news, good news, I bet.
I'm safe as long as you remain that hazy – "
She threw away her burning cigarrette
and laughed out loudly. How I loved her white
big teeth. She hugged me, and I helt her tight.
IV
I followed Katie silently, all deeper
into the park that was this night's alone.
Of course I dreamt. I always was a sleeper
– and Katie keeper of my sleep, my own,
my innermost reality'n my passion
as taught this moment by some pendulum
of secret pain in void and eerie fashion
like hanging in this darkness, hot but numb
with expectations that I couldn't master –
She turned around! She saw me; and her smile,
ironic, hit me like a sweet disaster,
We stood there, eye to eye, for just a while –
And then, of course, I didn't see her there,
but just woke up in moderate despair.
V
Don't ask about the meaning of illusion
and fleeting moments, since I nothing know.
I left the public toilet, confusion
was all around. I wondered where to go.
The light was blinking, whitish water flushing
the floor. Was I onboard a sinking ship
or something like it? Was it time for rushing
right out of here! Oh what a fearful trip!
Then I saw Katie. She was calmly perching
up high on that surrealistic stool,
her dreamy eyes were far away, like searching
the ceiling for - who knows! Perfectly cool
– as she appeared, I thought she was insane
– she hummed a song I never heard again.
VI
Their comport was impeccable and later
they lawyers, doctors, anything became.
But I went always in a daze, a traitor
to me, myself, I felt, and to my name.
The failure of my class, my school, a worthless
dropout into some sort of quarantine.
I tried to consolate myself: if earthless,
diffuse and void my dreamy world, it's mine –
One day did you, Katie, cheerleader
and chairman of the student board, our queen,
our paradigm of charm, consistent feeder
of vain desire, let yourself be seen
to me: some sort of campaigning strip tease??
Your jeans were slowly slipping down your knees…
VII
It was the time when streets around the city
prolonged themselves. Soon would the night
be here at last. Estranged like Walter Mitty
or maybe Kaspar Hauser, out of sight
for other people, somewhat sad, rejected
and destitute in this department store,
society, well, I drifted undetected
– this wasn't all my life, I wanted more!
I stood there, helpless, in an escalator
– and you, a shadow, whispered in my ear:
"Just jump into the safe, don't stay a waiter!"
I turned around, and you were really here –
Katie, please come back! Let yourself be seen
and tell me thoroughly, what do you mean?
VIII
My eyes: you cannot put them out, nor lighten
them up again; they're turned away from you;
your mystery remains opaque; so might an
enigma's darkness tighten; still be true.
You always were an unintelligible window,
my girl; somewhat a neighbor, still afar,
exotic even, like a tamarind, o
dear Katie; be my acid, be my star.
And all along the watchtower your stalker,
– I hear you. There is nothing to be seen.
The man who nowhere goes remains a walker
pursuing Her, his idol and sirene.
My bed was never what I did believe,
my home is shattered and beyond retrieve.
IX
Do I feel good? So tell me first the meaning
of this word, and then let me see your face
for me to reach; the mirror where you're leaning,
on to my heart and speeding up its pace.
I didn't say something about my feeling,
my inclination for deceit and lies.
I fear the truth as told would send me reeling
if it was told by you to snap some ties.
But this won't be tonight, no time for reason,
disturbing like a morning's song of birds.
This season, short, is meant for blissful treason
for which a purple twilight dreamers girds.
Tomorrow is another day. Forget it!
It's never gonna break; we wouldn't let it.
X
I tell you: I was finally together
with Katie, safely buried in her hair,
that fragrant night, and it was early weather
around us; I could see it faintly there.
And then all of a sudden I felt sliding
so softly downwards, landing on her neck,
so gently finding there another hiding –
what amorous and cosy little trek!
On this occasion, much like a commercial
for sweet perfume, now did I really dream...?
Was real that dream, then really finding her shall
remain the hope that will forever gleam.
A womans scent, a virtual no wind's dancer!
I call this air: Nature's Delightful Answer.
XI
I have a memory still to unravel,
an altogether new experience.
A dreamy landscape. Somehow I did travel
therein. The sun was bleak, the stillness tense.
With irreality this world was blended.
I heard a choir from behind the trees.
My journey just went on, it never ended,
this floating presence, this uncanny peace.
The road lay empty and the sun was soundless,
a nondivinity that still awaits
my waking up to you, to me, to boundless
astonishment in front of your portraits -
It's now! A giant stadium, indoors –
The voice I hear, Katie – it isn't yours.
XII
See Katie in the shower! And what next,
the murderer, who pulls aside the curtain?
There's something imminent in this context,
it's dark and horrible, that much is certain.
I dream I am a monk, my rather free
and easy task this eerie night observing
the sky, to stay awake – and now I see
it gradually happening, unnerving,
to say the least, and yet I cannot hear
it happen, there's no scary distant thunder –
And still my spine is chilled with ghastly fear:
I see the clouds be slowly ripped asunder.
The veil is rent! Humanity, beware!
It covered: nothing; there is nothing there.
XIII
I said: "The theologians really know
their topic; are these people smart like eighty-
one people quite like you together, so
just do like me and pray and trust them, Katie,
their knowledge adds to a tremendous mass
of safe and very holy gravitation!"
– "Oh yes?" said Katie, "What if all that jazz
is very simple at the final station
what do you say? I don't want to be rude
not even really to oppose your mission.
But tacitly this concept may include
an untold power, that's my slight suspicion,
I mean, that Truth was never too complex –
You may say 'God'; the real thing still is Sex!"
XIV
A sudden absence! Doors were slowly swinging
wide open; still just darkness to be seen,
as in Communion, a silence singing,
here was a place where I had never been –
What Nothing all this was, intensely glowing
invisibly as from a hidden prism
for gamma radiation, I was knowing
uncanny forces of some magnetism –
Cathedral of the night! No certain measure
can tell us what is guarded here; content
unknown. It's name is Memory, a treasure
like nothing else, Katie; it's Sacrament.
Then back at home. My world had normal size –
The Force behind it all remains – your eyes.
XV
A journey through the minutes of the night
that no one understands; that's life. Absurdly
blessed be your sleep as well, Katie, all right?
It's all but moonshine finally and thirdly.
So do unite your shadow then with mine,
I'm sleepless just like you, my name evading
all kind of human script as we recline
like distant city lighting faint and fading.
As life is gradually turned a whirl
of ignorance and pleasure be upgraded
to dream this very life. You're not my girl,
will never be, and there's no love that faded.
Reality, that's not for you and me,
nor sleep, nor love, nor really real are we.
XVI
I always was a writer wannabee.
I asked my girlfriend Katie how to make it.
She said: "It's fairly easy. Can't you see?
Today there sure's one certain way to fake it.
Just you casually tell'em anywhere:
I have a Jewish mistress! Halleluya!
She leaves your book like she was never there;
she made your point and luck; they're gonna woo ya.
And then, repeatedly, make very clear
that you're indeed the perfect cumshot master,
a comet that will never disappear –
'cause nothing sells like Sex'n Shame disaster.
Go far enough, and you will catch some eyes
– might even win that VERY Nob-le Prii-ize!"
XVII
"These words observe our abject walk",
I said to Katie, "now's their season
of shiny sand…" – She said: "Now, that's the talk,
so rich with feeling and devoid of reason…
walk on please, you've already caught my ear,
I stay enthralled…" – "These gates and their reflection,
like burning water, this compulsion, hear
my call…" – "Sure thing, I'll cure your imperfection
and make us TWO about it, huh? Poe-tree,
it branches out, alright…" I sighed: "You're funny,
honeybunny, aren't you… PLEASE make me see
myself instead and make day real sunny…"
I couldn't help relax myself. The beach
was close, I felt real pleasures within reach.
XVIII
I said to Katie: "I will give you feeling
and carry both of us throughout the night
I promise, rarely tired and never reeling,
as steady as velocity of Light – "
"Oh yes?" said Katie. "Why, that sounds terrific!
What could I more expect from such a nerd?
This last idea is barely scientific
however, honey, rather just absurd.
You see, the simple truth we should unravel
directly is – if only for this rhyme,
ha ha! – not light itself makes such a travel,
since light, essentially, is simply, Time,
relating mass to energy, says Kant,
when Heaven clarifies all dizzy rant."
XIX
It dawned upon me now – nay, t'was a lightning
revealing true reality of this Night,
It made some point indeed to me, t'was brightening,
explaining almost everything, all right?
What did I see? That Life, so ever streaming,
so daily ours, is nothing but a dream,
I tell you, that's what Life's about, just dreaming,
a frictionless transport, persistent stream,
that is: at best, like when? It's your decision,
I shall not interfere with it; it's yours.
To tell you barely nothing, that's my mission!
You're on your own to find yourselves: the Force.
Then I decide that Katie's all divine;
I'll deify myself and make her mine!
XX
Who am I, Katie, tearing skies asunder
just being here? A stranger in the night.
Since I was born – nindeed, this was my blunder
– I follow you, my persevering light.
It happened when I saw your face, your body.
It wasn't many happenings ago.
I never knew this night. It's cloddy.
It's dangerous and bright, I hate it so,
I badly ned some comfort. You deliver,
so I'll stay following your splendid dance,
so fluent all along some dark moon river,
my whishful dream and sight, somewhat askance.
Who is it, that in solitude discerns
your essece then, these swinging faint lanterns?
XXI
Withdrawn as always, taking interest
in Eucharistic Mystery, the changing
of bread and wine to holy substance lest
we all be doomed, since Night is ranging
allover Day; that's just like always me,
now who can tell me how this happen. – Katie?
She says: "It's obvious, why can't you see?
We eat the light, so utter plain and slaty
– like Nothing more! The light you saw is gone,
but now your blood is duly set afire;
since Life in quest of Time goes ever on,
indefinite, how could it then expire,
however we may put it to a test
– there cannot be an answer to this Quest!"
XXII
Yes finally. The earthy weather perished.
How consciousness was flashing at the gate
towards the woods. Your breath I always cherished
just like a fancied drug, to me innate
- I carried it within me for an eerie
and holy tribute to the alien face
of darkness, oracle for abstruse query,
elusive spirit of uncertain space.
And what about your eyes? From world an dire
reality I took them all along
this path in proud and flickering desire,
a secret never heard of, like a song
of nothingness, like you, Katie, who never
existed, and will unexist forever.
XXIII
I said to Katie: "Can you feel the star
berhind my eyes, that heavy retardation
of Time that brings us closer till we are
united in a love supreme, our station - "
She laughed: "Honey, you're still real hot
on relativity, well I can take it;
your energy is cubic - 'k, why not?
To make a thing impossible, just make it
and eat your tail precisely like that Snake
devours your flesh: it's nothing dear; you rim it;
provoke me tell you 'just give me a break';
this dog won't bark, you're on another limit -
where you, Li'l Man, with all that mighty gaze, are
not far from charmin' powers of a quaa-aasaaar!"
XXIV
Be born into the distant Universe
where every human being do belong!
How Life's but sickness, Death our single nurse.'
How murd'rous poetry's quiet; a different song
was never ever heard in life. Let's stay
in absence, Katie; deal me solitude
and beauty. Yet for Nothing must we pray,
for Nothing brings, as Nothing its prelude,
but Nothing: my vertigo, your nightmare,
our splendor, sister. Let's fall victim then
to birth; let's enter Nothing. Nothing's there
as God was not, commandmens will be ten:
Live! DIE! Live! DIE! Live! DIE! Live! DIE! Live! DIE!
in moonshine de profundis low'rd sky high.
XXV
Guess love's not always tender and serene;
uhm, does a man feel bigger with a trigger
sometimes; allright, we kinda had a scene.
- "YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE JUST ANOTHER NIGGER,
Katie!!" - (I wasn't whispering.) - "Prefer me rough
'n ready? Damn, eat DUST, huh!" - "Please get steady,
dude", she laughed. - "What for?" - "Enough's' enough,
I rather want you like my carebear Teddy - "
- "Like h-h-WHAT??" - "Somewhat conservative." - "Please tell
me MORE!" - "Let's say you owe's some cultivation
so try spare's both another Rebel Yell,
gettit? For all this college education
- ain't optin' for some spiritual panorama
confined t'your goddamn SWEET HOME AL-AY-BAAAAAAH-MA!!!"
XXVI
My Poetry! aah, so exquisite; obscure;
indeed mature; how Katie should be reading
in awe! - She says: "Now wouldn't we endure
this Tragedy; your heart is really bleeding,
I'd say not altogether just in vain;
a simple girl gets readily aware a
great star is born in agonizing pain
amounting to a somewhat minor Niagara
Falls of abject Lamento." - "Huh? You're joking?"
- "Just slightly overwhelmed, honey, it's oh so
perfectly said, conceptualized, revoking,
profound, misterioso doloroso
etcetera, 'k. I'll read it till it dawns
upon me what it says", she says, and yawns.
XXVII
I said to Katie: "Are you there, my dove,
to hear this distant song? - Hey, whats so funny?
- Receive my avalanche of Perfect Love
before I walk away forever, honey - "
"Let's call this call a call, then, and profess,
my bosom got some faint exquisite nurture;
but who's the prey, and where's the wilderness?"
she said. "Be camera, apply austere aperture,
so might illusion vanish. What canine
intention here, how somewhat over-fillable
this pot of Confidence in Ego; fine;
don't go to far like some redundant syllable
lest both our self portrait, as due reaction,
gets lost in mutually assured distraction..."
XXVIII
Do you think I exist, Katie? How dreamy,
how unessentially mere fugue this "Life";
hey, what about some option you may beam me
up into your Realit-tee! My wife
will never be. Forever you're my sister
and true Platonic counterpoint; our pangs
of unrebirth may bloom as love does blister
untainted yet by carnal Void Big Bangs.
Be sure I'll stay our virtue's staunch defender
tonite; let'scall this quite my cup of tea;
you don't exist, huh? Thoughts returned to sender
whirl 'round this misery of tender apogee
...bartender! Look, my head goes polyphonic;
please let me have another gin and tonic!
XXIX
"O misery," I said, somewhat annoyed,
"despair's our lot! How Nothing stays essential,
how everything's just rubbish, vain and void;
might someone recognize a faint potential
¨
for Truth and Meaning?" - "Sure", said Katie, "rubble
and ash surround us charming like a fart re-
called - still! We all adore your splendid bubble
of Nothingness, that Being is, as Sartre
concisely pointed out." - "Ah that's my girl,
presumably; what nonsense. Shall we focus,
get back to basics, God, and THINGS." - "Just hurl
ýourself on Cosmos' whirl of hocus pocus,"
said Katie, "get a life; it's your voluptas,
Kraków provisional stamps and Chandraguptas!"
XXX
I said to Katie: "Life goes on, alas,
I know myself! Who will survive, the smartest,
the best? Suspicion au contraire; just as
van Gogh, I feel like THEE forgotten artist!"
"You thrive on misery", Katie replied,
that's pretty good for you." - "Hey, love me tender,
bitch; witty pity; happy suicide!
to me, uhuh?" - "All right, let sunset render
some glory to it, Mr. Self Contained,
you ARE the World; let's jump it it now lest we go
bananas both; your mirror shines, blood stained;
my window; l'art pour l'art ! This splendid Ego
makes moi feel quite so-so,"said Katie, "yo,
let's talk about some Michelangelo."
XXXI
SONNET FOR KATIE
"Look here, beloved Thing, said Katie, "splendid
as it may be, your dream, it isn't me;
'cause all there's there in THAT world, yours, is blended
with YOU, Sir! So what's really here to be?"
I sighed: "Ideas, diffuse and elevated,
make still the only Real that shines to be;
the sky, where you and I, forever mated
abide, prevails; it's my Reality."
"Get real, that's banal", Katie said, "you're chronic
in ontological delusion. Gee,
I guess I somehow love you." - "It's platonic!"
I hastily affirmed. - "Obscure idea"
said Katie, - "'k, be sure I somewhat nimbo-
stratospherically will remain your BIMBO!"
XXXII
I rest at home in Katie's absence; bleak
and dull this everyday, my life, this ceiling,
my sky, somewhat unclear; a mental streak
of Somethingness appears and sends me reeling
into some dreamy whirl of Faith and Hope
...and Eros; daylight's razor mustn't sever
a man from his nocturnal blood and dope
and basic instinct; diamonds are forever,
I see the splendor in my Katie's eyes;
she isn't here, nor there, but all around me
on any distance! in this world of lies
and filth, as would a Dogma's Light astound me:
that simple Truth, that makes us all endure,
somewhere is Love, and Love is always pure.
XXXIII
We learn; we live; we die; how payments stamp us.
My Katie had a coke and I a joint
for free somewhere in this world's giant campus.
A student of some talent made his point:
"I AM a poet, natural born truth teller.
I won't allow them bastards grind me down;
the Conference of Dunces makes a seller
post mortem, finally, so let them frown;
they're dead, all right; will I die? Never,
t'was always those already dead that died;
my partner Death will make me live forever."
"I guess you're talking, honey", Katie sighed
and shrugged; "let's call this world a decent thriller
and make your move. Get real; get Serial Killer."
XXXIV
So what about this world of ugly beauty
where Life goes Death, austerity perverse
by overdue prescriptions? Holy Duty
prevails in minight's daylight; calm and terse
our Prayer be; as yet no God will hear it,
since matters as we know them don't exist!
Our world is here, is not, we mustn't fear it
when distant children cry immersed in mist
beyond our desperate eyelids. Katie enters
my virtual room; I see her alien eyes,
where all my absurd Faith in panic centers
antecipations of confirmative surprise -
She says: "If this disease, your life, is mental,
its final cure may still be transcendental."
XXXV
Who sent me to this garden's rim? Nocturnal
disjoint seems just around like Katie. Seize
a true conception, Dear, my name, but kernel
of shadow Name, it's mine, a distant breeze´
prevails, accordingly, throughout this dreamy
undream, "Real-i-tee", somewhat the fence
around, alas, itself, please, Katie, see me!
I'm glowing infrared from due suspense:
our Love, n'est-ce pas; expect our virtual meeting
to come, since Faith/Hope/Joy will never quench
itself. This moment isn't mererely fleeting
like demons, sweetly whispering in French...
She suddenly replies. "Wake up, you rhymer!
These sleepy rants should sometimes have their timer."
XXXVI
Im not myself. I'm just another one,
a man of urge if not respect. Befriend me!
I seek you like a Viking och some Hun,
somewhat astray, where sweet sour fate does send me.
Direction; attitude; ballz East and North!
This Day was Some, and out from due deposit
of Night, its Manhood did indeed surge forth
With all the force collected in my closet,
my Love by Muscle; this was all I had.
"Uh-oh!" said Katie. "May it work, this rapture?
I wouldn't bet on that!" - "Stay cool", I said.
"I'm here." - "Like precious you? For just one capture,
You fuck me or you duck, oh Boy of Boys,
but first you better slug me; your free choice!"
XXXVII
Nowhere is Love! As Beauty might be sending
some fleeting moment's Winter on my mind,
let's keep our breath; these Teens are never ending,
just leaving dreamy futures way behind
in faint brittle peace, uneas'ly remembered;
gradually rest may follow, X-mas still,
somewhere, a daydream, curiously decembered
delivers someone's blood enlight'ning thrill
like Fragrance of new fallen Snow! What hovered
above that second Mind's approach of Yore?
Grow down, get real, Katie, become boylovered,
desimpurity be gone, be gone thy bore!
I plan, somewhat naïvley set for duty,
to make you share with me your distant Beauty.
XXXVIII
went downtown, saw Katie in the nude
on Common Avenue, detracted soltitude
as it were, like a dream-state rosely hued,
like no one else could see her; DAMN! I phewed;
was reciprokelly then, thank heaven, viewed,
bestowed unique hard-on! but NOT eschewed,
contrair-i-lee, he took a somewhat rude
'n readidy attude of Sex Prelude; it BREWED!
And for a start, i hiccuped "Hi!, imbued
with Moooood! She toodledooed: "How cued
your awe-full specie-ally-tee, Sir Lewd,
to prove (alas!), to have me finely screwed,
and hopef'lly afterwards beloved, wooed,
alive, huh? Don't you even DO it, Duu-uuude!"
XXXIX
Nowhere is Love! As Beauty might be sending
some fleeting moment's Winter on my mind,
let's keep our breath; these Teens are never ending,
just leaving dreamy futures way behind
in faint brittle peace, uneas'ly remembered;
gradually rest may follow, X-mas still,
somewhere, a daydream, curiously decembered
delivers someone's blood enlight'ning thrill
like Fragrance of new fallen Snow! What hovered
above that second Mind's approach of Yore?
Grow down, get real, Katie, become boylovered,
desimpurity be gone, be gone thy bore!
I plan, somewhat naïvley set for duty,
to make you share with me your distant Beauty.
LX
When finally I arrived at Kurukshetra,
the Battlefield, I somehow did expect
to see Katie, my Muse, my Thing, etcetera;
I saw myself, somewhat apt to direct
action time! and my heartbeats - were they really
mine, huh? - somewhat irregular, you bet,
was ordered in due sequence, rather freely,
bloods testosteronized to War! To set
things right, we need to fight, discover
our tribe, our truly Aryan Brotherhood;
and there was Katie. Were I now her lover?
Who knows! Fully restored to proper mood
I suddenly woke up; she crouched beside me
like in some dream; did she look apt to ride me.
LXI
When Misery, Fear and Boredom Being barrens
and living Death, impending overdue,
appears as present, due counterapparence
all of a sudden brightly shine anew,
.
conditionally... just as Dream, as certain,
is not; as Nothing is supposed to be
by Jove, or something like him. Raise the curtain!
It happens; and she stands in front of me.
.
"When Angst runs high, a Miracle makes lever
whence faint Ascension´s born forlorn, my dear;
like diamonds, instants are indeed forever.
You're here, you hear?" I yell, "You're finally here!"
Says Katie: "Why, to know what really foments
your life, be gone, and heed your Threshold Moments."
LXII
The space of temporal damnation must be
excluded, Katie; don't tell anyone
about it; rumors run like Scripture. Just be
around, aloof, sincere; it can be done,
uncertainly. The winds towards their Madam,
whence they occur, are here again; who tells
us nothing, dear? Incognito like Adam
I lack your Knowledge; don't see Where she dwells,
so help us God. Where are you? Some aperture
is what I need! The Journey of Escape,
my life, is short. They tell me Love is nurture,
amen; I feel it's just another tape
recording; but the Blood of Our Mylady
run deep inside your Spirt, pure and shady.
LXIII
Expanding suburbs, silence, solitude
at dawn. The force thus current may awaken
someone, who knows? Our brightest dreams elude
themselves and us, they leave us stirred and shaken.
For nothing we shall ilve, for nothing die
since everything is over in the first place.
This desolation from an arid sky
makes all the world the very worst place.
I look around, but Katie isn't here,
it seems, I feel I couldn't even spell her
name, still there's nothing here around to tear
asunder something which I have to tell her:
real life. Wherever you're around, my dove,
remember: you must never fall in love.
LXIV
Dear Katie, I'm indeed your loving stalker,
I roam the empty streets in hapless joy.
I am indeed a man, a lonesome walker.
And you remain my dream, and I your toy.
I seek, from early nine to late eleven,
your bright chimera; might you lurk behind
next corner? Shall we meet, at last, in Heaven?
Who knows, what's finally for us to find.
I must reveal a secret. I'm a stranger
to you, America, where stars shine, bright,
above the stripes of Dream, for any ranger
within the range of Dream. Oh distant light!
I live in Stockholm, Sweden, stalker zone
for me; in Stockholm I will die alone.
MISCELLANEOUS
honky Tonk
Exit time. The chicks glide away
with sleep in hearts of treason.
The Lord stands by, herding unto
himself the buyers, blessing us.
What Do You Know
"Hi
Just wanna tell you this
There's as yet nothing no tell about
meaningful
jealousy, wars, and a nice
feat of urban forestry, BUT
summer feeds blue synopsis
and social science plays little role
There's a home around here, don't
you occur there, just
suddenly?"
Christ
walks away
if only for a second lifetime
Churchlessness reappears
in blazed composure
A dandelion of unique precision laughs
at the terrain
of capital
failure, set astride
some due creeping wind's atonality
...call it Love, evaporation
into the word map's aimless intercep
ture of itself
ever more closely opposite to the chanting parallax
of Being and Time
where nobodies know who are themselves absent
Truth
The Moon
shines
on a cat
Meow
Cradle of rhe West
The world's archipelago
pools its resource,
some blue boats
stack against the desert island.
At a cry under tables
some jug is overturned,
visitors shot
for dumb questions???
Prelude to Tornado
eddies in the libraree!
Inexorable Approach
First, the poem
then comes the poem's words
then nothing
then comes the meaning of life
then comes the mailbox
*
an intermediate place
means so much
*
then comes the steamer
then comes the passenger's cigarette
then death
now heaven
here comes the Big Dipper
As It Is
The day
absconds. When
the mountain
touches the night
it's here.
...
The man on the bridge
views the world, not
lit neither dark. It
glitters
Fog Lifting
The dilemma of repetition seems to be
a gradual encirclement of paramount indifference,
not to mention the problem of waking up like
not in the very same sidesweep, like some five
six hundred childless women of the approaching train
eastwards down, gone, back with the wind, forever
withering away in the indirect light.
'
Backyard Poem
Late house
silence
true music
reality
appears quickly
The late house
the murderer's
window
so strangely lit
just a moment ago
Music therefrom
It's an extraordinary time
he writes now
crying
a backyard poem
about the inexplicably beautiful
Eyes of this evil solitude in the night
Nobody knows who she is
Few know tomorrow
In late houses live
we who live
in the end
and beginning
of our lives
and that of someone else
with solo music
and tears tears tears
ever closer an oblique deep yard
where two three four five six trees ex-
plode in the same silence.
Total Relapse
Don't be residuous,
Bubba, let's all make a last
night's stand at Eloquence Bluff
What the fog are you ranting about
Precisely
Pat
Nothingson wasn't even appomattoximatively close
to his own 5th appendix
- oh, HIM
You better throw the dick
of our definitely blue balloon
raising Mr. Deppidupity Bananarama
in utter disarray
Uhuh
Here comes the Moon finalinally
turning the swamp thing on the damnjunkies
- now will you PLEASE cut the flag off!
+
star quality
the laser man
squints
at some flash
floating above a distant chimney
takes a shot at it
a quasar is born
+
snowbaby says
one day the night will come,
says Snow-Baby, everything
is just about existence
let's take each other's hands
so let's take each other's hands
and slowly rock along the street downtown
and slowly rock along the street downtown
and slowly rock along the street downtown
in pursuit of an everlasting smile catching up with Reality
+
see the light
a shining paper was
upgraded to Kon Tiki
on final escape from
the ink of meteorology
the Word's nuclear
spiral sought measure
through all whirling
spines' cumulus cloud
...all along the watch-
ditch of the one Eye
the tune from Above
penetrated Eclipse
now zen in the deviant
art of Itself delivers
the pendulum swing
to all Führer portraits
Let There Be Light Again
The Day Is
Night,
Your
Eyes
Cosmetic
It Says
It says
nothing. Nothing
it says, not
that
either. And it
says
nothing.
As Nothing But
only dance as compared, but as what meaning be
your aggregate calamity while then but also FOR
three days below the Night was gone coincidentally
by sexialities' unreeling, Sister? This is mere dance
This is gamma raid compart/ment like without
indeed within / whatfor? to make our exercise com-
pact, go home and do your handwork, mister! THUS
be goode threw luv Aherrican enchantery; let's dance
The City
The city. There is really nothing to explain.
You know what I'm saying, man? The city.
There's nothing to explain, what do you mean?
I said: the city - 'k? There's nothing to explain,
so shuttafuckup, just once upon a lifetime.
I say what want, it's after all a free country,
so I said: the city, thats exactly what I said,
meaning what? You bet, I mean: the city!!!
Personal Opinion
Or to be more specific outright bestiality,
they sometimes come out lest the distant
Shroud will collapse into 77 scoopy denials -
Tom Sawyer's enterprise wasn't really good.
The one different Prophet as it were enables
himself to proposition of the Proposition;
otherwise appears. If you mess up the deck
with moonshine its integrity will be in doubt,
won't this apparently happen to just anyone,
right. So: this must in effect be the Jedi,
uhuh, just why is it HE was incarcerated too...!?
NOT classified great feat of Humanitarianism!
Dorian Gray
Nothing proceeds
from this quiet
silence except
precisely the fact
that your eyes,
honey, confront
no train's backward
stampede into my
mirror, and yet there's
all nobody there.
While Asleep
To breath in persis
tent night thunder of
big cities beyond
yards children know
makes private music
life rest ininter-
rupted; I stand
by streets way home,
myself that open
window in this dis
tant roomwhere I '
sleep while awake.
Negative
God fails daytime -
People pray and succeed.
Slowly He climbs down from his Work,
dark with doubt; it's getting late.
God leans home from the trapeze,
just like His Highness the Moon,
ascending to skies and sinking
through watery depths like a glass...
O god, o stranger in the night,
o dancer in white! O rhythmic approach
towards mirrors' void, from our distant sleep,
and in the breeze gently.
Shy Guy,
the mental image of a wah wah woman
may cause a middleskate ontonicer
~ but all the ruminated concept of such awe
to follow in the wayke of rather con-
sequence, you know: a firm balloonery
for such emotion could surrender us as, err,
lave ons'bject, newermind; she doesn't like
it much in any case, be calm and fiery
Prelude
Here it is, everywhere, grand centre of occasional
time's commercial whirl of smiles and cities –
Beneath winds, erratic, gone like a morning dream,
our days remain devoid of end and beginnings.
But in the silent park beyond all districts' rim,
abode of absence, light may be discovered, low
laid in undebrush, where sweet fragrance softly
falls asleep, and Freedom is its simple errand.
In the Mood
I'm eating potatoes
while the rain begins, Birkenau Blues
takes place in yards surrounding Birth's
Meteorite adjacent to this afternoon's uncertain
traffic at the Gate
of Twilight below the month's
long drainpipes; oh rain; that zone detecting
smile stalks deep definition of your window's root
...where I see what's
unhappening, same shit as the rocket
furrows down the lane, still remnant
to observe myself while this gaze evolves.
No Title
It dawns without a vengeance
In the metamorphous moment
The son went in with the door
And all there is left of then is
As God as his white Word is
Three points below the Himalayas
This is but yore, imagination –
Night makes a call. Hilarius,
Go for the window and find out
If the street outside is there
It
In the mentally; and thus
It; and thereby, err, pastor
Offstooping dewe intercurse
Propenderable song! and it.
Then we sighe Uhuh! and it
Is all for thee fffffew too
BAM BAM seventineering
Boops; just it; so fimple.
Was it; on speake 3 nightmass
Ohoy, what? god wath eye was
Deaper anxyliety over then
But nowe, and not it either.
Swedes
Jesus
was a typical Swede, so was
Judas, Pontius Pilate
worst of us all
About What
What Me Bumbler, about
what!? Don't mention it again, forget
the past and get a life kinda
Decent Well Nigh Citizen, huh? Recall the shit.
And so you say, TWANG! That's QuickTime,
wouldn't call it sucha good idea though,
you know, been kinda thinkin' lately,
kinda finding my way home sweet home,
to put the plight stately
t'was never ever my clever policy to be
or not to be, you know, in the kinda blue,
kinda takin', you know, GREAT
great never toodledoo overdue late
care not to bother anybody kinda
motherfuckin' nevermore, that's
IT. Hark! you know, we gotta leave.
We gotta join the Communist
Wackadoo Party for the case of junk food,
somethin' like that. Gimme another one.
Uhuh, nevermind, just you go take
some pretty damn good blind date not
to think real deal things over, k?
I wouldn't call this Time too goddamn
remarkable, you know, no, you,
err, know, Einstein, that's me. What about you
too? Wanna tallymebanana, wanna
fuck? Wanna be? Wanna kinda pedigree? Hell
YES! We gotta join, you know, the Communist Party.
Can there be light
I feel there's nothing. Can it be you?
Can can you bother. Time be suspicion,
Night's tall breath something whatever,
but how do we nothing not about Things
Peculiar in abstence af some totally
distant Ungod; can you feelt it? I mean:
what; not indeed; so can you be there,
cornerbabe? Never let Mind know yo're not.
The Hit
Tough victim on the roll downtown tonight.
Offender's pale eyes approach deep Time
where this night's ignited.
Cold street lamps row hedging perspective
on due sweet solitude moves not, one shot
terminates that one evening.
Grand Solitude
The night lights!
Yes, extremely
we turn our arcs together
to a map of the night, a...
network of meaning - YES;
unite!
So reads the night Words
and the dazzling mirror's breezetime
assigns to a face distant presence:
missing, not even yourself, you're here --
The Game
you read the game
you read the night
you read smiles
you read the news
you witness
the crime
in a woman's
eyes
you learn
darkness
in a red
card
she reads
your intentions
you learn ever more
about the incessant night of the future
Promise
Night. Silence.The end is the best
beginning of it all. And the tiptoed
stars keep their breath till nothing
happens and the ominous
gibberish
Moon
finally
murmurs: 'I'll Be Back!'
Night Walking
Life is as presence concerned to be thrown IN
into a revolving drum of social madness.
The welfare systems soothing detergents help
sometimes people abstaining from pyromanic acts.
Our collective anxiety is hidden in hysterical hilarity
and media's shameful exploitation of our needs
pounce like torturer's beats our sore spots.
Silent hounds approach with lowered heads, smiling.
But on the highway a lonely man walks safe past
midnight in the clearing sheen of the sodium lamp rows.
Miscellaneous cars pass like people in a symbolistic film
and in his breech a good guy marksman follows you smiling.
In the Countryside
Desolate farms. And everywhere
is landscape; self-
generating photo of a ?lace.
That buildings are effective
should be an uncontested assumption,
and there is no content, only
harsh humanity and marital life -
NO! It all makes an empty impression.
Exit time. The chicks glide away
with sleep in hearts of treason.
The Lord stands by, herding unto
himself the buyers, blessing us.
What Do You Know
"Hi
Just wanna tell you this
There's as yet nothing no tell about
meaningful
jealousy, wars, and a nice
feat of urban forestry, BUT
summer feeds blue synopsis
and social science plays little role
There's a home around here, don't
you occur there, just
suddenly?"
Christ
walks away
if only for a second lifetime
Churchlessness reappears
in blazed composure
A dandelion of unique precision laughs
at the terrain
of capital
failure, set astride
some due creeping wind's atonality
...call it Love, evaporation
into the word map's aimless intercep
ture of itself
ever more closely opposite to the chanting parallax
of Being and Time
where nobodies know who are themselves absent
Truth
The Moon
shines
on a cat
Meow
Cradle of rhe West
The world's archipelago
pools its resource,
some blue boats
stack against the desert island.
At a cry under tables
some jug is overturned,
visitors shot
for dumb questions???
Prelude to Tornado
eddies in the libraree!
Inexorable Approach
First, the poem
then comes the poem's words
then nothing
then comes the meaning of life
then comes the mailbox
*
an intermediate place
means so much
*
then comes the steamer
then comes the passenger's cigarette
then death
now heaven
here comes the Big Dipper
As It Is
The day
absconds. When
the mountain
touches the night
it's here.
...
The man on the bridge
views the world, not
lit neither dark. It
glitters
Fog Lifting
The dilemma of repetition seems to be
a gradual encirclement of paramount indifference,
not to mention the problem of waking up like
not in the very same sidesweep, like some five
six hundred childless women of the approaching train
eastwards down, gone, back with the wind, forever
withering away in the indirect light.
'
Backyard Poem
Late house
silence
true music
reality
appears quickly
The late house
the murderer's
window
so strangely lit
just a moment ago
Music therefrom
It's an extraordinary time
he writes now
crying
a backyard poem
about the inexplicably beautiful
Eyes of this evil solitude in the night
Nobody knows who she is
Few know tomorrow
In late houses live
we who live
in the end
and beginning
of our lives
and that of someone else
with solo music
and tears tears tears
ever closer an oblique deep yard
where two three four five six trees ex-
plode in the same silence.
Total Relapse
Don't be residuous,
Bubba, let's all make a last
night's stand at Eloquence Bluff
What the fog are you ranting about
Precisely
Pat
Nothingson wasn't even appomattoximatively close
to his own 5th appendix
- oh, HIM
You better throw the dick
of our definitely blue balloon
raising Mr. Deppidupity Bananarama
in utter disarray
Uhuh
Here comes the Moon finalinally
turning the swamp thing on the damnjunkies
- now will you PLEASE cut the flag off!
+
star quality
the laser man
squints
at some flash
floating above a distant chimney
takes a shot at it
a quasar is born
+
snowbaby says
one day the night will come,
says Snow-Baby, everything
is just about existence
let's take each other's hands
so let's take each other's hands
and slowly rock along the street downtown
and slowly rock along the street downtown
and slowly rock along the street downtown
in pursuit of an everlasting smile catching up with Reality
+
see the light
a shining paper was
upgraded to Kon Tiki
on final escape from
the ink of meteorology
the Word's nuclear
spiral sought measure
through all whirling
spines' cumulus cloud
...all along the watch-
ditch of the one Eye
the tune from Above
penetrated Eclipse
now zen in the deviant
art of Itself delivers
the pendulum swing
to all Führer portraits
Let There Be Light Again
The Day Is
Night,
Your
Eyes
Cosmetic
It Says
It says
nothing. Nothing
it says, not
that
either. And it
says
nothing.
As Nothing But
only dance as compared, but as what meaning be
your aggregate calamity while then but also FOR
three days below the Night was gone coincidentally
by sexialities' unreeling, Sister? This is mere dance
This is gamma raid compart/ment like without
indeed within / whatfor? to make our exercise com-
pact, go home and do your handwork, mister! THUS
be goode threw luv Aherrican enchantery; let's dance
The City
The city. There is really nothing to explain.
You know what I'm saying, man? The city.
There's nothing to explain, what do you mean?
I said: the city - 'k? There's nothing to explain,
so shuttafuckup, just once upon a lifetime.
I say what want, it's after all a free country,
so I said: the city, thats exactly what I said,
meaning what? You bet, I mean: the city!!!
Personal Opinion
Or to be more specific outright bestiality,
they sometimes come out lest the distant
Shroud will collapse into 77 scoopy denials -
Tom Sawyer's enterprise wasn't really good.
The one different Prophet as it were enables
himself to proposition of the Proposition;
otherwise appears. If you mess up the deck
with moonshine its integrity will be in doubt,
won't this apparently happen to just anyone,
right. So: this must in effect be the Jedi,
uhuh, just why is it HE was incarcerated too...!?
NOT classified great feat of Humanitarianism!
Dorian Gray
Nothing proceeds
from this quiet
silence except
precisely the fact
that your eyes,
honey, confront
no train's backward
stampede into my
mirror, and yet there's
all nobody there.
While Asleep
To breath in persis
tent night thunder of
big cities beyond
yards children know
makes private music
life rest ininter-
rupted; I stand
by streets way home,
myself that open
window in this dis
tant roomwhere I '
sleep while awake.
Negative
God fails daytime -
People pray and succeed.
Slowly He climbs down from his Work,
dark with doubt; it's getting late.
God leans home from the trapeze,
just like His Highness the Moon,
ascending to skies and sinking
through watery depths like a glass...
O god, o stranger in the night,
o dancer in white! O rhythmic approach
towards mirrors' void, from our distant sleep,
and in the breeze gently.
Shy Guy,
the mental image of a wah wah woman
may cause a middleskate ontonicer
~ but all the ruminated concept of such awe
to follow in the wayke of rather con-
sequence, you know: a firm balloonery
for such emotion could surrender us as, err,
lave ons'bject, newermind; she doesn't like
it much in any case, be calm and fiery
Prelude
Here it is, everywhere, grand centre of occasional
time's commercial whirl of smiles and cities –
Beneath winds, erratic, gone like a morning dream,
our days remain devoid of end and beginnings.
But in the silent park beyond all districts' rim,
abode of absence, light may be discovered, low
laid in undebrush, where sweet fragrance softly
falls asleep, and Freedom is its simple errand.
In the Mood
I'm eating potatoes
while the rain begins, Birkenau Blues
takes place in yards surrounding Birth's
Meteorite adjacent to this afternoon's uncertain
traffic at the Gate
of Twilight below the month's
long drainpipes; oh rain; that zone detecting
smile stalks deep definition of your window's root
...where I see what's
unhappening, same shit as the rocket
furrows down the lane, still remnant
to observe myself while this gaze evolves.
No Title
It dawns without a vengeance
In the metamorphous moment
The son went in with the door
And all there is left of then is
As God as his white Word is
Three points below the Himalayas
This is but yore, imagination –
Night makes a call. Hilarius,
Go for the window and find out
If the street outside is there
It
In the mentally; and thus
It; and thereby, err, pastor
Offstooping dewe intercurse
Propenderable song! and it.
Then we sighe Uhuh! and it
Is all for thee fffffew too
BAM BAM seventineering
Boops; just it; so fimple.
Was it; on speake 3 nightmass
Ohoy, what? god wath eye was
Deaper anxyliety over then
But nowe, and not it either.
Swedes
Jesus
was a typical Swede, so was
Judas, Pontius Pilate
worst of us all
About What
What Me Bumbler, about
what!? Don't mention it again, forget
the past and get a life kinda
Decent Well Nigh Citizen, huh? Recall the shit.
And so you say, TWANG! That's QuickTime,
wouldn't call it sucha good idea though,
you know, been kinda thinkin' lately,
kinda finding my way home sweet home,
to put the plight stately
t'was never ever my clever policy to be
or not to be, you know, in the kinda blue,
kinda takin', you know, GREAT
great never toodledoo overdue late
care not to bother anybody kinda
motherfuckin' nevermore, that's
IT. Hark! you know, we gotta leave.
We gotta join the Communist
Wackadoo Party for the case of junk food,
somethin' like that. Gimme another one.
Uhuh, nevermind, just you go take
some pretty damn good blind date not
to think real deal things over, k?
I wouldn't call this Time too goddamn
remarkable, you know, no, you,
err, know, Einstein, that's me. What about you
too? Wanna tallymebanana, wanna
fuck? Wanna be? Wanna kinda pedigree? Hell
YES! We gotta join, you know, the Communist Party.
Can there be light
I feel there's nothing. Can it be you?
Can can you bother. Time be suspicion,
Night's tall breath something whatever,
but how do we nothing not about Things
Peculiar in abstence af some totally
distant Ungod; can you feelt it? I mean:
what; not indeed; so can you be there,
cornerbabe? Never let Mind know yo're not.
The Hit
Tough victim on the roll downtown tonight.
Offender's pale eyes approach deep Time
where this night's ignited.
Cold street lamps row hedging perspective
on due sweet solitude moves not, one shot
terminates that one evening.
Grand Solitude
The night lights!
Yes, extremely
we turn our arcs together
to a map of the night, a...
network of meaning - YES;
unite!
So reads the night Words
and the dazzling mirror's breezetime
assigns to a face distant presence:
missing, not even yourself, you're here --
The Game
you read the game
you read the night
you read smiles
you read the news
you witness
the crime
in a woman's
eyes
you learn
darkness
in a red
card
she reads
your intentions
you learn ever more
about the incessant night of the future
Promise
Night. Silence.The end is the best
beginning of it all. And the tiptoed
stars keep their breath till nothing
happens and the ominous
gibberish
Moon
finally
murmurs: 'I'll Be Back!'
Night Walking
Life is as presence concerned to be thrown IN
into a revolving drum of social madness.
The welfare systems soothing detergents help
sometimes people abstaining from pyromanic acts.
Our collective anxiety is hidden in hysterical hilarity
and media's shameful exploitation of our needs
pounce like torturer's beats our sore spots.
Silent hounds approach with lowered heads, smiling.
But on the highway a lonely man walks safe past
midnight in the clearing sheen of the sodium lamp rows.
Miscellaneous cars pass like people in a symbolistic film
and in his breech a good guy marksman follows you smiling.
In the Countryside
Desolate farms. And everywhere
is landscape; self-
generating photo of a ?lace.
That buildings are effective
should be an uncontested assumption,
and there is no content, only
harsh humanity and marital life -
NO! It all makes an empty impression.
PROSE POEMS
Rest And Movement
During those long, pensive august eventides of yore the peasants of Upland used to gather in their gardens and on their verandas for teatime; quiet, happy and comfortly seated they spent their pleasant time stirring their cups.
If a tea cup on a saucer is stirred with sufficient skill and intensity, it begins to rotate itself; the pace of rotation to being a matter of the person's knack and training. With an ever improved ability applied speed may be increased indefinitely. When the spin is sufficient, radioactive decay is generated, and it rapidly reaches injurious levels that occasionally may even prove fatal.
Today, the art of drinking tea is all but forgotten, this fact possibly to some non-negligible extent explaining the improvement of general health having taken place during the last decades.
But still in the fifties textiles were spun and weft by an outmoded technology inducing radioactivity to the cloth; the more textiles vibrated, the higher quality, was the common judgment among the public in those days.
Fashion unfolds in perceptible stillness. – We return to actual presence – having faith in nothing partcular, awaiting the course of time and seeking solace in the market's cityscape evolving around a a minor set of whirling compass directions.
Orphan of Unresidence
There was a fragrant quality of thaw somewhat across the window-envelope in her opinion, and she pulled off her glassware instantly. I felt my body detonating in its uptight opposition. It was an early day with great speed exercise. Where did we come home, sister? To nothing; and it was high noon unmannerly to contact the carpelan in charge.
Illumination
At 41 years of age I accomplished my spiritual breakthrough while riding the staircase handrail in the marvellous white interior of a distinguished house in Stockholm. It was about ten minutes after a session during which i had readily obtained the Yellow Belt of Hatha Yoga. The miracle occurred in the moment the Master's manager assistant came out from the apartment in order to take in the school's brochure standcase for the night. He got sight of me and and put up a mien of consternation unrestrained.
I replied!
In an uninterrupted way I here recall an intensely closed door beneath a semicircular window faintly glowing from the lighting inside. I don't know if it's really there. In the church I nowadays rarely visit there are no stained glass revelations occuring frequently. Just as exactly I understand that capability for dreaming as inherence must be the the goal of Life in its quality of personal development. Every single fucking difficulty of enterprise and aquirement was obliterated in this definite opportunity's childhood experience of a razor's edge purity all devoid of strife.
Exile
During the course of the evening the small town is gradually depopulated. Small groups of cheerful people pass by on the calm streets. Voices and steps is heard approaching and dying away. They are all on their way to the park. Deep in there is a seat of worship. Those desirous for pleasure may there leave the ground. And their sleep bars everything out, their smile waves and bobs on a spider's web of silvery bright light.
Close to an open window one may monitor the increasing remoteness of all and everything around here. In the end, only the sounds of silence remain, a somambulant's slow tour of inspection through the scattered places. The vigil is deep and definitive. The house is empty from rooms.
On the afternight, quiet rain makes an edge to the street lighting. All people absent. There's only one still around. We see him slowly walk away. On the short, glittering street outside the window do we see him slowly walk away, his shadow falling steeply down sideways into each gate in turn.
Impulse
Suddenly happening: the sound of a car's door slammed emits a sharp fragrance of unsynchronized moments, wherein the room capsizes and the windows floats free like a world image of trees' foliage and houseroofs. The man is illumnated – the Lord of a moment! He travels in all directions and will never come back, because they all branch off, while the home is falling, falling / falling down on spot / falling up everywhere we find him present.
Princess of Spades
Suddenly happening: the sound of a car's door slammed emits a sharp fragrance of unsynchronized moments, wherein the room capsizes and the windows floats free like a world image of trees' foliage and houseroofs. The man is illumnated – the Lord of a moment! He travels in all directions and will never come back, because they all branch off, while the home is falling, falling / falling down on spot / falling up everywhere we find him present.
Princess of Spades
You know, I think I never met worse trickery, the night girl said, turning, so to speak, the tooth brush outwards. It dizzied. Emitted essence cold. He felt irradiated. Your eyes are probably still sour, he thought. And the darkness swung by and by in many colored lanterns.
If you lose one of them, it is still the same darkness.
Oboe
An O is suspended in the dusk behind the eyelids. There is room for an entire city district. It is not like a mirror, nor like a kind of lens, the city does really exist. There is space enough for it. There we see the houses, where people live together, sleep, make love, there we see the children playing. Those tiny green parentheses - what can they be? Probably thicket and shrubbery. And all that white? Can it be winter now? Maybe it's just open ground.
A smaller o is connected to the big one. It contains nothing. The silent, empty corridor between them is dimly lit up like by a row of large diffuse windows towards a distant sunset. From some site somewhere just round about here the constant activity of soundless elevator machinery deprives the transitory awareness about it's existence of all it's gravitation.
Then follows quiet organ music.
Melancholy
It's Silence outflänking me everey day.
It's the invisible walls everywhere. They do not watch me in a friendly way. I return these lonngwinded glances, and nothing is what I see. Consequemtly I refse to make a halt, to doubt myself, I will not stay in front of them, I'm going to walk right through.
You see, I'm sick and tired of life. There's no quality left in it. All that still means something to me is the street lamps of dark late summer nights in poutskirts of the city, these lonely lights, individuals uncountable, my quiet unworldly friends. Very soon I will join them.
Light And Shadow
This enormous fatigue that overwhelms me in middle life; an infinite, sunny afternoon, windless, dry and depressing. The tenement houses of the people turn away in the background, the traffic of the world is dying and dying distantly, entire districts mourn their lost children. And yet. The inexhaustible wells of secretive joy. At the border of the night the marksmen take their positions. Laser breech sights start playing, crossing red lines in the flourishing darkness beneath the bridges of Stockholm.
Advent
The fashion show: interplanetarily splendorous, boundlessly insignificantly beautiful and vaguely debasing. A nearby local slides away on the waves of popular opinion. The sleeping man moves his hand to his mouth, forming a sign sipping itself. Else it is time for truthful action; a church clock carefully inclines its hands, christmas commerce dyes sideways the snow and deep inside this ambiguous sheen of a different reality authentic people's emergences and everyday disappearings go on.
Ten Years After
Like the uncountable cool lanterns the rain carries within itself all turned around nourishing the warmth of time I did arrive, and indeed I am still here, but the landscape I remember now has left my face behind it all forgotten in its profound perception of itself – me, that is, the man who lightened in the rain these very same moments now sorting themselves out between themselves. The world is sight and lense where all mirror is and happened.
And the water is a child learning to forget. And the air is an age without teeth. But the wish of the rain is to sow and get rid of all memory very much in the manner the sand of an hourglass will fall to dawn again to hide its one darkness, where our green fields still remain forever and ever waiting to be cleared.
Suddenly
The sound of traffic and brisk wind above the rocking resilient ground market square you're crossing, the dithyramb within you! - What's all this your joy really about? Perhaps you're, somewhat finally, kind of falling in love? Astutely calculating some exquisitely triumphant career move? Just happy about some jet dark skin dot proved not melanoma? Well, maybe we can't be much definite about it, anyhow: long long time since you felt so inspired.
Still this ubiquitous impending Misfortune. Look at that bum, lying prostrate on the ground, there, in the flickering shadow of the central fountain, in the middle of all this busy crowd people knowing nothing, keeping his arm raised in some gesture of definite defiance or despair. Suddenly Bright Night Light enfolds out of his chest, a protuberant blaze of KOREAN FIRE
and you scream you panick you run for your life ever ever deeper down into the internal peripheral ever ephemeral net set faint web of obscure nearly non-existent lanes of the central capitol city district; but there's no way there, never no escape, there's not way anywhere to hide, no way way whatever way getting back away from this way this day that stay all the way the prey for this that Black Sun's poisonous, all flesh penetrating rays of a Basic Insight.
When Your Dog Is Under Assault
Gradually the house of yore becomes visible in the eyepiece, we see the doorway slowly opening up by itself, and once again we can hear the faint voice of the broadcast from the trauma's epicentre -
"Suspicion roves about the room. Suddenly the banisters' end becomes a paw. Good God! Don't attract the porter's attention. Calm your breath. Go on scrutinizing the interior, just like nothing happened. The reponsibility assessment is not altogether crystal clear..."
And the animal remains absent. The town recedes into a state of afterday / alterway, timidity... We hear someone faintly coughing in the outskirts of the area stricken by catastrophe.
***
There's a spaceship leaving now for the suburbs.
And this is our theatre: the interior incomprehensible void of a huge tank where no echo can be heard. The not yet perfectly square mirror at the opposite end of it still keeps turning; we are watching, watching a star.
April Diagram
What I first of all do recall afterwards is precisely the instantaneous quality of this entirely unexpected new dawn of pure folly - this crossword's clarity in my window.
It's in effect rather analogous to an optical illusion, shaped by Meaning's x-ray fluoroscopy of its black text. Accordingly, you somehow get a "bright idea" reading through these very lines casually.
It's the elevation of the eye, cancelled against a column of rising horizons. It's contemplaton in a state of inner sincerity and due repose, dyed with youthful delight and inexperience.
It's spring itself very slightly opening the blinds towards the hillsides out there, where sunshine flows and the camp guardsmen readily turn their backs on you, all busy rolling up the snow.
Equinox
Yo weren't endowed the wonderful gift of eloquence from above.
Invisible smoke filled the house. The green elevator kept rushing up and down. The light flickered. The beautiful girl turned away –
And you said nothing.
You didn't posses the marvellous talent of eloquence.
As it is
Quick decay. Out of control. At tangens zero: disaster. Either you slug her and fuck her where she lies or simply you blow. There is no third. Free choice.
Game Over
They behaved impeccably. They were scared like hell. No blame. Theyr're decent people. Helpless. Like sheep. I have nothing against them. I don't bother them anymore.
I suspect they suspect I'm Antichrist, or something like that (if such an entity be thinkable).
0=:o)
Their trouble. Doesn't concern me much. Kinda veg wolf.
Pettiness Pitfall
Ordinary Man lives in the state of Fallout. Immersed in everyday concerns and pleausures, forgetting he's gonna die. Suddenly: he's there, at gunpoint, surpriiii-iise; the Murder in front of him. No escape. What does do? He collapses completely, pisses and shits in the pant, crying Mommy Mommy Mommy HEEEEEELP MEEEE! And BANG he's dead.
Fallout is environmental, second-hand Reality. We're all gonna die. There's no escape. We're all at Murderer's gunpoint, and we all know it. So what does Ordinary Man do? Denies Truth, runs for Fallout, immerses himself in everyday things, hoping this will serve as camouflage. It does not. There's nowhere to hide. Big Brother Sees You. There's no escape. We're all the Murderers victims. Death is the Murderer. So what do we do about it. What are we all gonna do. Just asking.
Under Siege
Welcome to the 7th floor, we've got a problem here. He has occupied the kitchen, pretending to be asleep. In order still to maintain a tolerable state of things, we places him on two stools, like a plank, and covered him wit a mattress.
Innocence
Feel free to ask me about the meaning of the moment, that bewildering self portrait on the mirror in front of us, consider as well those picturesque butterfly clouds drifting low abo ve some future landscape's hindsight perspective up the road, but for Heaven's sake don't you ever tell me your certain name, because I wouldn't have the brightest idea about what it should be supposed to mean in the third place; I can assure you I am all at a loss how to call myself into the present state of these issues. Failure is an option. I didn't even see who I was. All I recall is that someone had recently opened the front slot of his pants, while the fluorescent tubes twinkled and a smooth retro virulent BUMP tottered him out of balance head on into the glazed tiles on the wall in front of itself or some thing even close to it; hands up instantly: and, believe him or not, that comfortably ecce-homoo-styled dickhead emerging positively astride himself with Identity expressed one's opinion on what the heck was going on SLASH precisely that state of uneternal Blitz; shadows all gone he pulled himself together for some finish of accomplshment; indeed composure. By then the water had ben flushing since a middle age.
He went out into the postal workhall. Whitish, gradually albescent Nevermore intensely fragrant water covered the floor.
Only Madonna was there, crouching on her high workstool, her left foot inserted into a compadrtment of the assortment set stand, leisurely flipping a pack of phone bills, quietly singing:
And Jesus loves to riiiiiiiide me
He says I'm really gooooooooood
And spruces walk besiiiiiiiide me
Might call it holy woooooooood
He says I'm really gooooooooood
And spruces walk besiiiiiiiide me
Might call it holy woooooooood
Baby Kundalini
Here she is: the stripper. Watch her perfect body. Your spine is her shining pole. My, she's really something. Wanna screw her? Dont, you even THINK of it, dude! Se her grim, suscpicious gaze. Right into you eyes. She reads you. You can't escape. There's nowhere to hide. Seems she doesn't quite like what she sees.
Here's the stripper. Watch her perfect body in the dark, and that shining pole, her thing, your spine. Don't you even THINK, dude! That pole mustn't move. Must be steady. She wouldn't allow you to insult her sisters whose bodies are not as perfect as hers. She knows your gaze, and she returns it. Any moment she may jump at you, and tear you to pieces.
Here she is: The Temple Vestal. She's the Splendor of Chastity. She leaves no taint on that shining pole, your spine. You must be as chaste as she. This is your single chance to get what you cannot do without. A life without that ain't worth living.
The show is over! Silence and awe. Here she is: Baby Kundalini. The Holy Virgin. He Splendor of Chastity. She stands perfectly erect. Her left hand on the shining pole. Meet her gaze. See her crown. It grows. It branches out. The Lotus.
lördag 14 november 2009
ANECDOTES
Nordic Brotherhood
A Swede, a Norwegian, and a Dane were shipwrecked and stranded as sole survivors on a desert Island somewhere to the nort of Iceland. The waves brought a bottle to the shore. They opend it eagerly. A powerful Djinn oozed out forming an exquisitely fragrant shiny cloud with a dim smiling face remarkably reminiscent of Ayatollah Khomeini. And the Djinn spoke:
"Each one of you will have one, and only one wish fullfilled immedately. Let me know."
The Dane happily thought about some Carlsbergs at his favorite Strip Club in Copenhagen, and... WHOOOOOSH!... gone was the Dane.
The Swede's thought went to his dear computer at home sweet home, and Internet, and his Blog, and... oh yes, his family. WHOOOOOOSH! Gone was the Swede.
The Norwegian felt sad missing his buddies on the island, the Dane and the Swede, and... WHOOOOSH! There they were again.
Next day a Koskenkorva vodka bottle was stranded. Our trio picked it up, opened it eagerly, and managed to pull out a scrap of paper. Only one word on it:
TERVE
http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/terve
NEW
During those long, pensive august eventides of yore the peasants of Upland used to gather in their gardens and on their verandas for teatime; quiet, happy and comfortly seated they spent their pleasant time stirring their cups.
If a tea cup on a saucer is stirred with sufficient skill and intensity, it begins to rotate itself; the pace of rotation to being a matter of the person's knack and training. With an ever improved ability applied speed may be increased indefinitely. When the spin is sufficient, radioactive decay is generated, and it rapidly reaches injurious levels that occasionally may even prove fatal.
Today, the art of drinking tea is all but forgotten, this fact possibly to some non-negligible extent explaining the improvement of general health having taken place during the last decades.
But still in the fifties textiles were spun and weft by an outmoded technology inducing radioactivity to the cloth; the more textiles vibrated, the higher quality, was the common judgment among the public in those days.
Fashion unfolds in perceptible stillness. – We return to actual presence – having faith in nothing partcular, awaiting the course of time and seeking solace in the market's cityscape evolving around a a minor set of whirling compass directions.
+
Let's not ptetend
we stay alive
forever. Lend
what shall arrive
some second breath;
the time is rife
as always. Death
must bring us life.
+
Why should I, like Jesus, love them so
and care in all possible ways
for those common people? They're dull, fat and slow
and I just want them out of my face.
+
Existential ease...
Don't give it to me, Lord, please,
I have it already,
it comes with age,
and if somewhat steady
if not a sage,
I'm happy that way,
'cause age is OK
but youth was always – disease.
+
Desolate farms. And everywhere
is landscape; self-
generating photo of a ?lace.
That buildings are effective
should be an uncontested assumption,
and there is no content, only
harsh humanity and marital life -
NO! It all makes an empty impression.
+
Living alone
All on your own
Stalking this Zone:
the World: all entirely unknown
By all but you
Perfectly due
To nothing and all the way desolate too –
Sudden buddies smile and are gone
Into positively naught but a ton
Of mental nothingness, mindless rewind
Of memories and forebodings aligned
To your Mean Mute Murderous Mourning Mind
Reflections thereof - now all there's to find
the Yards, the streets, the distant sound
Of traffic, the walls, the nights downtown,
the Long-stretched housefronts, the road expanses –
Lost opportunities, dreams and chances
Pretty girls hug you just like in dances
And then disappear into nothing at all
But urban wilderness and its call
Eerie and alien, behind some wall
Of civilized Nothing, void like the skies,
Here's all your life, the cries, the sighs
To live alone - it's all your tremendous FREEDOM!
And always these dry tears in your eyes.
If a tea cup on a saucer is stirred with sufficient skill and intensity, it begins to rotate itself; the pace of rotation to being a matter of the person's knack and training. With an ever improved ability applied speed may be increased indefinitely. When the spin is sufficient, radioactive decay is generated, and it rapidly reaches injurious levels that occasionally may even prove fatal.
Today, the art of drinking tea is all but forgotten, this fact possibly to some non-negligible extent explaining the improvement of general health having taken place during the last decades.
But still in the fifties textiles were spun and weft by an outmoded technology inducing radioactivity to the cloth; the more textiles vibrated, the higher quality, was the common judgment among the public in those days.
Fashion unfolds in perceptible stillness. – We return to actual presence – having faith in nothing partcular, awaiting the course of time and seeking solace in the market's cityscape evolving around a a minor set of whirling compass directions.
+
Let's not ptetend
we stay alive
forever. Lend
what shall arrive
some second breath;
the time is rife
as always. Death
must bring us life.
+
Why should I, like Jesus, love them so
and care in all possible ways
for those common people? They're dull, fat and slow
and I just want them out of my face.
+
Existential ease...
Don't give it to me, Lord, please,
I have it already,
it comes with age,
and if somewhat steady
if not a sage,
I'm happy that way,
'cause age is OK
but youth was always – disease.
+
Desolate farms. And everywhere
is landscape; self-
generating photo of a ?lace.
That buildings are effective
should be an uncontested assumption,
and there is no content, only
harsh humanity and marital life -
NO! It all makes an empty impression.
+
Living alone
All on your own
Stalking this Zone:
the World: all entirely unknown
By all but you
Perfectly due
To nothing and all the way desolate too –
Sudden buddies smile and are gone
Into positively naught but a ton
Of mental nothingness, mindless rewind
Of memories and forebodings aligned
To your Mean Mute Murderous Mourning Mind
Reflections thereof - now all there's to find
the Yards, the streets, the distant sound
Of traffic, the walls, the nights downtown,
the Long-stretched housefronts, the road expanses –
Lost opportunities, dreams and chances
Pretty girls hug you just like in dances
And then disappear into nothing at all
But urban wilderness and its call
Eerie and alien, behind some wall
Of civilized Nothing, void like the skies,
Here's all your life, the cries, the sighs
To live alone - it's all your tremendous FREEDOM!
And always these dry tears in your eyes.
Hicoo Quintets
Five Hicoos For A Summer Day
Did you talk about
God, in front of this landscape?
Don't do it again!
What's time's absence
of these fragrant surroundings?
It's name is – Taboo.
Dont't you matter flowers
of this bleak sunshine, oblique
with impunity –
So strangely so certain
is love, that hate only can
never defeat it.
Gates of the landscape:
forest, lake, hesitant clouds –
Moment, aperture!
Five Hicoos For A Soul Sister
In this dark landscape
- no fear! The peril is real,
so is your fire.
Anguish to enjoy -
A bad moon rising, indeed
it keeps you awake.
Outside your garden:
the world, strange reality,
just another dream?
Soul sister, you shall
not despair. These alien stars
accept your friendship.
Prisoner, yearning?
Held captive by distance, why?
Fly, bird! Fly, fly, fly!
Five Hicoos For Nothing
Galaxy out of
my mind by Night, circumsized,
saturnical twist -
and don't you put my
patience to some acid
test of any kind,
opus only counts
tiny islands far away
shining in the night -
until suddenly
that black ball appears, rolling
off my black paper's
austerity of no
transport's delay, remember:
we're already here!
Fiove Hicoos For Poetry
Poetry: autumn,
a grey sky, whirling jackdaws,
an old city church -
(Legend of a Fall:
original sin; verbal
capture & escape.)
The usual perils
in a strange world; words often
collide, birds never.
(Freedom: authentic
flavour of approximate
presence here and now - )
Nonsense; deviant
grace of a windy moment;
ONE jackdaw - flying!
Five Hicoos For A Horn Star
Dear sister Alien,
deep outside all home, you won't
set mine ablaze there
- that ash is PURE / your
hysterical amiety
all too apparent,
how can it reach me?
What makes a smile mean. What does
a man mean, peril?
Inside you be safe,
we're but lone ranger stars out
there, safety first means -
"Please come visit my
threshold of pure snow! I am
the Son of Satan."
Five Hicoos For Hell's Angels
Love of a pure heart,
splendor of chastity, roads
to Eternity -
This landscape is mine:
the wind! the speed! the spirit!
Body, Soul, Spirit.
Love, Drugs, Violence;
three flowers of Innocence,
Lord, from me, for Thee.
Dark light found: a beech,
birds, objective, a lake NOW,
wherever roads end.
Five Hicoos For Something
Meet me somewhere on
this instant bridge, flung across
that Abyss of Fear!"
Communication
in a birch, a sad café,
yellow evening rain –
"Life is always twice
upon a lifetime; never
fail sunset again..."
Window, enigma,
this rain, persistent, changing
diminutively –
"Dont look like mirrors:
'Is This Me?' Trust me, always
in love with your face.
Did you talk about
God, in front of this landscape?
Don't do it again!
What's time's absence
of these fragrant surroundings?
It's name is – Taboo.
Dont't you matter flowers
of this bleak sunshine, oblique
with impunity –
So strangely so certain
is love, that hate only can
never defeat it.
Gates of the landscape:
forest, lake, hesitant clouds –
Moment, aperture!
Five Hicoos For A Soul Sister
In this dark landscape
- no fear! The peril is real,
so is your fire.
Anguish to enjoy -
A bad moon rising, indeed
it keeps you awake.
Outside your garden:
the world, strange reality,
just another dream?
Soul sister, you shall
not despair. These alien stars
accept your friendship.
Prisoner, yearning?
Held captive by distance, why?
Fly, bird! Fly, fly, fly!
Five Hicoos For Nothing
Galaxy out of
my mind by Night, circumsized,
saturnical twist -
and don't you put my
patience to some acid
test of any kind,
opus only counts
tiny islands far away
shining in the night -
until suddenly
that black ball appears, rolling
off my black paper's
austerity of no
transport's delay, remember:
we're already here!
Fiove Hicoos For Poetry
Poetry: autumn,
a grey sky, whirling jackdaws,
an old city church -
(Legend of a Fall:
original sin; verbal
capture & escape.)
The usual perils
in a strange world; words often
collide, birds never.
(Freedom: authentic
flavour of approximate
presence here and now - )
Nonsense; deviant
grace of a windy moment;
ONE jackdaw - flying!
Five Hicoos For A Horn Star
Dear sister Alien,
deep outside all home, you won't
set mine ablaze there
- that ash is PURE / your
hysterical amiety
all too apparent,
how can it reach me?
What makes a smile mean. What does
a man mean, peril?
Inside you be safe,
we're but lone ranger stars out
there, safety first means -
"Please come visit my
threshold of pure snow! I am
the Son of Satan."
Five Hicoos For Hell's Angels
Love of a pure heart,
splendor of chastity, roads
to Eternity -
This landscape is mine:
the wind! the speed! the spirit!
Body, Soul, Spirit.
Love, Drugs, Violence;
three flowers of Innocence,
Lord, from me, for Thee.
Dark light found: a beech,
birds, objective, a lake NOW,
wherever roads end.
Five Hicoos For Something
Meet me somewhere on
this instant bridge, flung across
that Abyss of Fear!"
Communication
in a birch, a sad café,
yellow evening rain –
"Life is always twice
upon a lifetime; never
fail sunset again..."
Window, enigma,
this rain, persistent, changing
diminutively –
"Dont look like mirrors:
'Is This Me?' Trust me, always
in love with your face.
tisdag 27 oktober 2009
PROSE POEMS
Rest And Movement
During those long, pensive august eventides of yore the peasants of Upland used to gather in their gardens and on their verandas for teatime; quiet, happy and comfortly seated they spent their pleasant time stirring their cups.
If a tea cup on a saucer is stirred with sufficient skill and intensity, it begins to rotate itself; the pace of rotation to being a matter of the person's knack and training. With an ever improved ability applied speed may be increased indefinitely. When the spin is sufficient, radioactive decay is generated, and it rapidly reaches injurious levels that occasionally may even prove fatal.
Today, the art of drinking tea is all but forgotten, this fact possibly to some non-negligible extent explaining the improvement of general health having taken place during the last decades.
But still in the fifties textiles were spun and weft by an outmoded technology inducing radioactivity to the cloth; the more textiles vibrated, the higher quality, was the common judgment among the public in those days.
Fashion unfolds in perceptible stillness. – We return to actual presence – having faith in nothing partcular, awaiting the course of time and seeking solace in the market's cityscape evolving around a a minor set of whirling compass directions.
Orphan of Unresidence
There was a fragrant quality of thaw somewhat across the window-envelope in her opinion, and she pulled off her glassware instantly. I felt my body detonating in its uptight opposition. It was an early day with great speed exercise. Where did we come home, sister? To nothing; and it was high noon unmannerly to contact the carpelan in charge.
Illumination
At 41 years of age I accomplished my spiritual breakthrough while riding the staircase handrail in the marvellous white interior of a distinguished house in Stockholm. It was about ten minutes after a session during which i had readily obtained the Yellow Belt of Hatha Yoga. The miracle occurred in the moment the Master's manager assistant came out from the apartment in order to take in the school's brochure standcase for the night. He got sight of me and and put up a mien of consternation unrestrained.
I replied!
In an uninterrupted way I here recall an intensely closed door beneath a semicircular window faintly glowing from the lighting inside. I don't know if it's really there. In the church I nowadays rarely visit there are no stained glass revelations occuring frequently. Just as exactly I understand that capability for dreaming as inherence must be the the goal of Life in its quality of personal development. Every single fucking difficulty of enterprise and aquirement was obliterated in this definite opportunity's childhood experience of a razor's edge purity all devoid of strife.
Exile
During the course of the evening the small town is gradually depopulated. Small groups of cheerful people pass by on the calm streets. Voices and steps is heard approaching and dying away. They are all on their way to the park. Deep in there is a seat of worship. Those desirous for pleasure may there leave the ground. And their sleep bars everything out, their smile waves and bobs on a spider's web of silvery bright light.
Close to an open window one may monitor the increasing remoteness of all and everything around here. In the end, only the sounds of silence remain, a somambulant's slow tour of inspection through the scattered places. The vigil is deep and definitive. The house is empty from rooms.
On the afternight, quiet rain makes an edge to the street lighting. All people absent. There's only one still around. We see him slowly walk away. On the short, glittering street outside the window do we see him slowly walk away, his shadow falling steeply down sideways into each gate in turn.
Impulse
Suddenly happening: the sound of a car's door slammed emits a sharp fragrance of unsynchronized moments, wherein the room capsizes and the windows floats free like a world image of trees' foliage and houseroofs. The man is illumnated – the Lord of a moment! He travels in all directions and will never come back, because they all branch off, while the home is falling, falling / falling down on spot / falling up everywhere we find him present.
Princess of Spades
Suddenly happening: the sound of a car's door slammed emits a sharp fragrance of unsynchronized moments, wherein the room capsizes and the windows floats free like a world image of trees' foliage and houseroofs. The man is illumnated – the Lord of a moment! He travels in all directions and will never come back, because they all branch off, while the home is falling, falling / falling down on spot / falling up everywhere we find him present.
Princess of Spades
You know, I think I never met worse trickery, the night girl said, turning, so to speak, the tooth brush outwards. It dizzied. Emitted essence cold. He felt irradiated. Your eyes are probably still sour, he thought. And the darkness swung by and by in many colored lanterns.
If you lose one of them, it is still the same darkness.
Oboe
An O is suspended in the dusk behind the eyelids. There is room for an entire city district. It is not like a mirror, nor like a kind of lens, the city does really exist. There is space enough for it. There we see the houses, where people live together, sleep, make love, there we see the children playing. Those tiny green parentheses - what can they be? Probably thicket and shrubbery. And all that white? Can it be winter now? Maybe it's just open ground.
A smaller o is connected to the big one. It contains nothing. The silent, empty corridor between them is dimly lit up like by a row of large diffuse windows towards a distant sunset. From some site somewhere just round about here the constant activity of soundless elevator machinery deprives the transitory awareness about it's existence of all it's gravitation.
Then follows quiet organ music.
Melancholy
It's Silence outflänking me everey day.
It's the invisible walls everywhere. They do not watch me in a friendly way. I return these lonngwinded glances, and nothing is what I see. Consequemtly I refse to make a halt, to doubt myself, I will not stay in front of them, I'm going to walk right through.
You see, I'm sick and tired of life. There's no quality left in it. All that still means something to me is the street lamps of dark late summer nights in poutskirts of the city, these lonely lights, individuals uncountable, my quiet unworldly friends. Very soon I will join them.
Light And Shadow
This enormous fatigue that overwhelms me in middle life; an infinite, sunny afternoon, windless, dry and depressing. The tenement houses of the people turn away in the background, the traffic of the world is dying and dying distantly, entire districts mourn their lost children. And yet. The inexhaustible wells of secretive joy. At the border of the night the marksmen take their positions. Laser breech sights start playing, crossing red lines in the flourishing darkness beneath the bridges of Stockholm.
Advent
The fashion show: interplanetarily splendorous, boundlessly insignificantly beautiful and vaguely debasing. A nearby local slides away on the waves of popular opinion. The sleeping man moves his hand to his mouth, forming a sign sipping itself. Else it is time for truthful action; a church clock carefully inclines its hands, christmas commerce dyes sideways the snow and deep inside this ambiguous sheen of a different reality authentic people's emergences and everyday disappearings go on.
Ten Years After
Like the uncountable cool lanterns the rain carries within itself all turned around nourishing the warmth of time I did arrive, and indeed I am still here, but the landscape I remember now has left my face behind it all forgotten in its profound perception of itself – me, that is, the man who lightened in the rain these very same moments now sorting themselves out between themselves. The world is sight and lense where all mirror is and happened.
And the water is a child learning to forget. And the air is an age without teeth. But the wish of the rain is to sow and get rid of all memory very much in the manner the sand of an hourglass will fall to dawn again to hide its one darkness, where our green fields still remain forever and ever waiting to be cleared.
Suddenly
The sound of traffic and brisk wind above the rocking resilient ground market square you're crossing, the dithyramb within you! - What's all this your joy really about? Perhaps you're, somewhat finally, kind of falling in love? Astutely calculating some exquisitely triumphant career move? Just happy about some jet dark skin dot proved not melanoma? Well, maybe we can't be much definite about it, anyhow: long long time since you felt so inspired.
Still this ubiquitous impending Misfortune. Look at that bum, lying prostrate on the ground, there, in the flickering shadow of the central fountain, in the middle of all this busy crowd people knowing nothing, keeping his arm raised in some gesture of definite defiance or despair. Suddenly Bright Night Light enfolds out of his chest, a protuberant blaze of KOREAN FIRE
and you scream you panick you run for your life ever ever deeper down into the internal peripheral ever ephemeral net set faint web of obscure nearly non-existent lanes of the central capitol city district; but there's no way there, never no escape, there's not way anywhere to hide, no way way whatever way getting back away from this way this day that stay all the way the prey for this that Black Sun's poisonous, all flesh penetrating rays of a Basic Insight.
When Your Dog Is Under Assault
Gradually the house of yore becomes visible in the eyepiece, we see the doorway slowly opening up by itself, and once again we can hear the faint voice of the broadcast from the trauma's epicentre -
"Suspicion roves about the room. Suddenly the banisters' end becomes a paw. Good God! Don't attract the porter's attention. Calm your breath. Go on scrutinizing the interior, just like nothing happened. The reponsibility assessment is not altogether crystal clear..."
And the animal remains absent. The town recedes into a state of afterday / alterway, timidity... We hear someone faintly coughing in the outskirts of the area stricken by catastrophe.
***
There's a spaceship leaving now for the suburbs.
And this is our theatre: the interior incomprehensible void of a huge tank where no echo can be heard. The not yet perfectly square mirror at the opposite end of it still keeps turning; we are watching, watching a star.
April Diagram
What I first of all do recall afterwards is precisely the instantaneous quality of this entirely unexpected new dawn of pure folly - this crossword's clarity in my window.
It's in effect rather analogous to an optical illusion, shaped by Meaning's x-ray fluoroscopy of its black text. Accordingly, you somehow get a "bright idea" reading through these very lines casually.
It's the elevation of the eye, cancelled against a column of rising horizons. It's contemplaton in a state of inner sincerity and due repose, dyed with youthful delight and inexperience.
It's spring itself very slightly opening the blinds towards the hillsides out there, where sunshine flows and the camp guardsmen readily turn their backs on you, all busy rolling up the snow.
Equinox
Yo weren't endowed the wonderful gift of eloquence from above.
Invisible smoke filled the house. The green elevator kept rushing up and down. The light flickered. The beautiful girl turned away –
And you said nothing.
You didn't posses the marvellous talent of eloquence.
As it is
Quick decay. Out of control. At tangens zero: disaster. Either you slug her and fuck her where she lies or simply you blow. There is no third. Free choice.
Game Over
They behaved impeccably. They were scared like hell. No blame. Theyr're decent people. Helpless. Like sheep. I have nothing against them. I don't bother them anymore.
I suspect they suspect I'm Antichrist, or something like that (if such an entity be thinkable).
0=:o)
Their trouble. Doesn't concern me much. Kinda veg wolf.
Pettiness Pitfall
Ordinary Man lives in the state of Fallout. Immersed in everyday concerns and pleausures, forgetting he's gonna die. Suddenly: he's there, at gunpoint, surpriiii-iise; the Murder in front of him. No escape. What does do? He collapses completely, pisses and shits in the pant, crying Mommy Mommy Mommy HEEEEEELP MEEEE! And BANG he's dead.
Fallout is environmental, second-hand Reality. We're all gonna die. There's no escape. We're all at Murderer's gunpoint, and we all know it. So what does Ordinary Man do? Denies Truth, runs for Fallout, immerses himself in everyday things, hoping this will serve as camouflage. It does not. There's nowhere to hide. Big Brother Sees You. There's no escape. We're all the Murderers victims. Death is the Murderer. So what do we do about it. What are we all gonna do. Just asking.
Under Siege
Welcome to the 7th floor, we've got a problem here. He has occupied the kitchen, pretending to be asleep. In order still to maintain a tolerable state of things, we places him on two stools, like a plank, and covered him wit a mattress.
Innocence
Feel free to ask me about the meaning of the moment, that bewildering self portrait on the mirror in front of us, consider as well those picturesque butterfly clouds drifting low abo ve some future landscape's hindsight perspective up the road, but for Heaven's sake don't you ever tell me your certain name, because I wouldn't have the brightest idea about what it should be supposed to mean in the third place; I can assure you I am all at a loss how to call myself into the present state of these issues. Failure is an option. I didn't even see who I was. All I recall is that someone had recently opened the front slot of his pants, while the fluorescent tubes twinkled and a smooth retro virulent BUMP tottered him out of balance head on into the glazed tiles on the wall in front of itself or some thing even close to it; hands up instantly: and, believe him or not, that comfortably ecce-homoo-styled dickhead emerging positively astride himself with Identity expressed one's opinion on what the heck was going on SLASH precisely that state of uneternal Blitz; shadows all gone he pulled himself together for some finish of accomplshment; indeed composure. By then the water had ben flushing since a middle age.
He went out into the postal workhall. Whitish, gradually albescent Nevermore intensely fragrant water covered the floor.
Only Madonna was there, crouching on her high workstool, her left foot inserted into a compadrtment of the assortment set stand, leisurely flipping a pack of phone bills, quietly singing:
And Jesus loves to riiiiiiiide me
He says I'm really gooooooooood
And spruces walk besiiiiiiiide me
Might call it holy woooooooood
He says I'm really gooooooooood
And spruces walk besiiiiiiiide me
Might call it holy woooooooood
Baby Kundalini
Here she is: the stripper. Watch her perfect body. Your spine is her shining pole. My, she's really something. Wanna screw her? Dont, you even THINK of it, dude! Se her grim, suscpicious gaze. Right into you eyes. She reads you. You can't escape. There's nowhere to hide. Seems she doesn't quite like what she sees.
Here's the stripper. Watch her perfect body in the dark, and that shining pole, her thing, your spine. Don't you even THINK, dude! That pole mustn't move. Must be steady. She wouldn't allow you to insult her sisters whose bodies are not as perfect as hers. She knows your gaze, and she returns it. Any moment she may jump at you, and tear you to pieces.
Here she is: The Temple Vestal. She's the Splendor of Chastity. She leaves no taint on that shining pole, your spine. You must be as chaste as she. This is your single chance to get what you cannot do without. A life without that ain't worth living.
The show is over! Silence and awe. Here she is: Baby Kundalini. The Holy Virgin. He Splendor of Chastity. She stands perfectly erect. Her left hand on the shining pole. Meet her gaze. See her crown. It grows. It branches out. The Lotus.
onsdag 1 april 2009
TRADITIONAL
Being and Time
To be nothing is no thing,
to be something doesn't matter.
To be not or not may ring
some belle époque for the madhatter.
Sweet Revenge
The face of William Munny
might somewhat due enliven
the guy who whas so funny,
then forever unforgiven.
Holy Shit!
The Pride of Wyatt Earp ent-
ails unfitting noise;
so does the wily Serpent
give Eve uncertain choice.
Urban Aria
Living alone
All on your own
Stalking this Zone:
the World: all entirely unknown
By all but you
Perfectly due
To nothing and all the way desolate too –
Sudden buddies smile and are gone
Into positively naught but a ton
Of mental nothingness, mindless rewind
Of memories and forebodings aligned
To your Mean Mute Murderous Mourning Mind
Reflections thereof - now all there's to find
the Yards, the streets, the distant sound
Of traffic, the walls, the nights downtown,
the Long-stretched housefronts, the road expanses –
Lost opportunities, dreams and chances
Pretty girls hug you just like in dances
And then disappear into nothing at all
But urban wilderness and its call
Eerie and alien, behind some wall
Of civilized Nothing, void like the skies,
Here's all your life, the cries, the sighs
To live alone - it's all your tremendous FREEDOM!
And always these dry tears in your eyes.
Obscurity
There was a time
when I was dead;
let's give a dime
for wine and bread.
Some light may stir
some holy Church
where Lucifer
dwells in the lurch.
My Religion
My life is not for your religion.
I feel it is somewhat for me.
I see some individual pidgeon
whose name is Free
descending; it appears to be.
Somehow I will remain a sinner,
this life my gradual death. Who cares?
My house is dark. Some sorrow thinner,
I know my fares,
approach the silent Man Upstairs.
Way Home
There's much in the world that you can't explain.
It's revealed for you to remember
by the whispering voice of a distant train
or a midnight rain in november.
Horizon within! You can always find
the keys to Enigma. Let's mention
one basic Truth: of spirited Mind
Is Nature naught but extension.
Internal expanses! In dreams, ridden
by fear and longing you roam
that deep Southeast in your soul hidden
...on your random journey back home.
The Night Before
Dark nights washed by distant rippling trees
and alien winds covering your eyelids, purifying
like everything, move on with splendid ease
leaving us a message: life will never cease
its sleepy course in vain
in order to attain
rebirth, since Death is not and Life is dying.
The heat around Time's corrner waves a scent
for creedence revival of some virtual vampire
as deep inside. A force considered spent
returns from utter non-existence that was meant
to keep us out of breath -
Is Life both Life and Death?
Riddle of the Night! The Day be hot and dire.
A Love Supreme
A perfect match; a perfect match.
From blood to blood I will dispatch
impulses of a Love supreme,
as echoed by a low-pitch scream,
repeated; and we both feel good,
'cause I am Bismarck. You're Hood.
Valuable Souls
Murder, plunder, rape and arson,
works by us, men like Wolf Larsen,
and so are symphonies, sermons, deeds,
allt those marvels mankind needs.
po we are the really valuable souls!
When waves go high, when thunder rolls,
then one of us must always be the skipper,
a pope, a Mozart, or a Jack the Ripper.´
Ultimate Epigram
Why hope, why love? The truth to prod
us ain't all too complex;
our fear of Death is cured by God,
our will to live by sex.
The Clown
My cheerful audience! Ye may bemoan
but all absent people, only
to forget that I, the Clown, alone
will indeed remain - lonely.
Reaching For Higher Ground
Out of your main existence virtually realized
you travel by the night itself to distant Being.
It happens every night, when the world is down-
sizedinto dreams, illumination, and subjective Seeing.
This way you're reaching out for somewhat higher ground
and deeper waters, to finally there unravel
- absolutely nothing but the light that keeps you bound
to ignorance of future journeys, and of this recent travel.
A Poem About Itself
The Meaning of life: to learn in time
the meaning of life. To find the rhyme
was in this case quite easy –
No friction at all!
It went like a ball,
shiny and clean,
see what I mean
– what about all the poem, though?
Is it a good one? Certainly no,
just horrible, stupid and greasy.
Lucifer Talks To You
Look upp, you fools! And hear my calling
you ´round in nightmares' lurid maze,
a realm of haze,
in awful shape;
there's no escape,
the world's a shambles, just appalling,
'k? Look up and meet the Gaze.
I find your world somewhat amusing!
In face of our society
I'm here to be,
you close your eyes;
is that so wise?
Who is, again, that guy accusing
YOU for staying blind? It's me.
666
Lesson of that terrible Number
will make you bolt from hapless slumber,
Wake up, too late! You're deep inside
yourself, where there's nowhere to hide.
You can't escape dark Love; bright Hate!
We all did know our ultimate Fate.
Nowhere To Hide
Ye all live towards Death.
So what can you do
about it? Keep your breath?
We aren't few.
The world's an awful place.
So what can be done
about it? Pray for grace?
There IS none.
My Life
My name is Peter.
No good to marry.
A hopeles fleeter.
Please me carry,
distant waves!
You're my wife.
Mankind slaves,
its prison: Life.
Consciusness
Let's not pretend
we stay alive
forever. Lend
what shall arrive
some second breath;
the time is rife
as always. Death
must bring us life.
Unforgiving
timeWhy should I, like Jesus, love them so
and care in all possible ways
for those common people? They're dull, fat and slow
and I just want them out of my face.
Reflection
Existential ease...
Don't give it to me, Lord, please,
I have it already,
it comes with age,
and if somewhat steady
if not a sage,
I'm happy that way,
'cause age is OK
but youth was always – disease.
To be nothing is no thing,
to be something doesn't matter.
To be not or not may ring
some belle époque for the madhatter.
Sweet Revenge
The face of William Munny
might somewhat due enliven
the guy who whas so funny,
then forever unforgiven.
Holy Shit!
The Pride of Wyatt Earp ent-
ails unfitting noise;
so does the wily Serpent
give Eve uncertain choice.
Urban Aria
Living alone
All on your own
Stalking this Zone:
the World: all entirely unknown
By all but you
Perfectly due
To nothing and all the way desolate too –
Sudden buddies smile and are gone
Into positively naught but a ton
Of mental nothingness, mindless rewind
Of memories and forebodings aligned
To your Mean Mute Murderous Mourning Mind
Reflections thereof - now all there's to find
the Yards, the streets, the distant sound
Of traffic, the walls, the nights downtown,
the Long-stretched housefronts, the road expanses –
Lost opportunities, dreams and chances
Pretty girls hug you just like in dances
And then disappear into nothing at all
But urban wilderness and its call
Eerie and alien, behind some wall
Of civilized Nothing, void like the skies,
Here's all your life, the cries, the sighs
To live alone - it's all your tremendous FREEDOM!
And always these dry tears in your eyes.
Obscurity
There was a time
when I was dead;
let's give a dime
for wine and bread.
Some light may stir
some holy Church
where Lucifer
dwells in the lurch.
My Religion
My life is not for your religion.
I feel it is somewhat for me.
I see some individual pidgeon
whose name is Free
descending; it appears to be.
Somehow I will remain a sinner,
this life my gradual death. Who cares?
My house is dark. Some sorrow thinner,
I know my fares,
approach the silent Man Upstairs.
Way Home
There's much in the world that you can't explain.
It's revealed for you to remember
by the whispering voice of a distant train
or a midnight rain in november.
Horizon within! You can always find
the keys to Enigma. Let's mention
one basic Truth: of spirited Mind
Is Nature naught but extension.
Internal expanses! In dreams, ridden
by fear and longing you roam
that deep Southeast in your soul hidden
...on your random journey back home.
The Night Before
Dark nights washed by distant rippling trees
and alien winds covering your eyelids, purifying
like everything, move on with splendid ease
leaving us a message: life will never cease
its sleepy course in vain
in order to attain
rebirth, since Death is not and Life is dying.
The heat around Time's corrner waves a scent
for creedence revival of some virtual vampire
as deep inside. A force considered spent
returns from utter non-existence that was meant
to keep us out of breath -
Is Life both Life and Death?
Riddle of the Night! The Day be hot and dire.
A Love Supreme
A perfect match; a perfect match.
From blood to blood I will dispatch
impulses of a Love supreme,
as echoed by a low-pitch scream,
repeated; and we both feel good,
'cause I am Bismarck. You're Hood.
Valuable Souls
Murder, plunder, rape and arson,
works by us, men like Wolf Larsen,
and so are symphonies, sermons, deeds,
allt those marvels mankind needs.
po we are the really valuable souls!
When waves go high, when thunder rolls,
then one of us must always be the skipper,
a pope, a Mozart, or a Jack the Ripper.´
Ultimate Epigram
Why hope, why love? The truth to prod
us ain't all too complex;
our fear of Death is cured by God,
our will to live by sex.
The Clown
My cheerful audience! Ye may bemoan
but all absent people, only
to forget that I, the Clown, alone
will indeed remain - lonely.
Reaching For Higher Ground
Out of your main existence virtually realized
you travel by the night itself to distant Being.
It happens every night, when the world is down-
sizedinto dreams, illumination, and subjective Seeing.
This way you're reaching out for somewhat higher ground
and deeper waters, to finally there unravel
- absolutely nothing but the light that keeps you bound
to ignorance of future journeys, and of this recent travel.
A Poem About Itself
The Meaning of life: to learn in time
the meaning of life. To find the rhyme
was in this case quite easy –
No friction at all!
It went like a ball,
shiny and clean,
see what I mean
– what about all the poem, though?
Is it a good one? Certainly no,
just horrible, stupid and greasy.
Lucifer Talks To You
Look upp, you fools! And hear my calling
you ´round in nightmares' lurid maze,
a realm of haze,
in awful shape;
there's no escape,
the world's a shambles, just appalling,
'k? Look up and meet the Gaze.
I find your world somewhat amusing!
In face of our society
I'm here to be,
you close your eyes;
is that so wise?
Who is, again, that guy accusing
YOU for staying blind? It's me.
666
Lesson of that terrible Number
will make you bolt from hapless slumber,
Wake up, too late! You're deep inside
yourself, where there's nowhere to hide.
You can't escape dark Love; bright Hate!
We all did know our ultimate Fate.
Nowhere To Hide
Ye all live towards Death.
So what can you do
about it? Keep your breath?
We aren't few.
The world's an awful place.
So what can be done
about it? Pray for grace?
There IS none.
My Life
My name is Peter.
No good to marry.
A hopeles fleeter.
Please me carry,
distant waves!
You're my wife.
Mankind slaves,
its prison: Life.
Consciusness
Let's not pretend
we stay alive
forever. Lend
what shall arrive
some second breath;
the time is rife
as always. Death
must bring us life.
Unforgiving
timeWhy should I, like Jesus, love them so
and care in all possible ways
for those common people? They're dull, fat and slow
and I just want them out of my face.
Reflection
Existential ease...
Don't give it to me, Lord, please,
I have it already,
it comes with age,
and if somewhat steady
if not a sage,
I'm happy that way,
'cause age is OK
but youth was always – disease.
tisdag 3 februari 2009
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