weektwentynine

Week Twenty-Eight: Audio.


Track for Week Twenty-Eight is available for listening.

Tulip Rage

Every day I wake to rage.
And turning over on the pavement
What he wants is something more.
There is no dissocia. There is no
Such whore. No such
Dice-chucking imbecility! No
There is only
Hope, a-ring
Cobras
Hoods
And hoodies
Driving me up and out of the City
Toward the Woods

I pick a flower from a grave
And experience my tulip rage

The rebellion overflows
And even he knows
That Caretaker there
Not to question me
This raggedy man with the
Yellow flower
Even he would not dare
With his weapon there
Asleep at his side
Electric

I take it
I take it
And go away from graves
Stumbling drunk on dice
But ever so alive

Blood on my brow
Sweat in my eyes

This city is too much
Too too much
Even for me
Even for us

All is lusting
All is lust

Oh, the Caretaker is coming my way.




weektwentyeight

Week Twenty-Seven: Audio.


Track for Week Twenty-Seven is available for listening.

Revolution!

Vacate the Guardsman! go underground!
by the hundreds! and rain joy! upon me
Body-satvas, shanti shanti!

Artaud, le wise gink, whistles in my ear
And is gone as quickly as he came
The mise en scene – misery! Upon grins
The masks
The shivs
Shakespearean wigs! what drama! great jigs!
Elizabethan joy upon joy,
Trumpets sound
Jugglers bound
upon the red cut upon my brow
Tis wisdom, striking diamonds striking hard
Tis wise, the cut upon my brow
All pain, focused, central
I’m seeing like I’ve never seen before but
I am distracted
distracted
distracted
a urine stink on the subway
soap cake cheap food bad cologne
underground rumbling attractions
attractions
attractions
and a friendly would-be nurse approaches

"Are you okay?"

What then is there to say
about the missing Maid
the cut fingered-father
making half that sign of cuckolding
as blood drips from his grizzly fingers
imagine it! sinew! bones!
a gash from a
dropped rope
to fall! a king! in gin!
gnashed bottles like teeth
and all of them around him
red upon red
a king dead
and no grip
never will bring him back

No grip never will bring him back.
No none at all.

A wiped brow
Blood has a way
to stain. Like
more than anything.
Like
more even than wine.

Revolution.

Revolution.

Revolution.
I say.
Now’s the time.

"I said are you okay?
Here.
Let me help you."

She doth
doth she ever
a white cloth
goes a bit red
I cut my head
I cut my head
I cut my head.

But she sees that.
And I'm sitting here wanting
to exit
But in a big way!
To leave the City
for in truth
I want the forest
of my exile
for in fact
the Rebel Bone is there
with all his lessons
and rhymes
and guilts
and I’m to find him.
And finding him

find

There's a king killer
inside of me.
And I want
the sorceror. But I don't
know how to say
what it is that means
to me - to know
he is out there - shaking
resentful Brother
smokebound Brother

an owl
a man
of tribes
with land

by the shores
of dead meat and bones
in a smoke tent
wide and far he roams

cross legged
bent

I know
Because I once did that with him
So too did I vent
And inhale the smoke
Of woodfire
And journey
Westward
Ever west!

I miss him
And he has answers
What went wrong?
Who killed whom?
What went wrong?

You see
I can see him
in my mind's eye
a haunting
Upstate
Away
Alone

I had a daughter once
I remember
And now she’s gone

And I'm not sure if the Bone’s the enemy
or a revelation of the enemy
or a revelation of the same.
For I know him
from days past.
Before I went
in. Before
they took me
away.
Before that split
And the cut
And the death of the king.

Oh Lord
How it hurts
To be alone.

Oh Lord
It hurts worse
To be weak
When one once was strong.

I will take loneliness
before a weak, dumb
dawn.

Those are for the blind.
The bright lights
Chasms, latticed,
Great acid visions

Those are for the strong.

Oh but there’s still
A dream. Of peace
In strength. And freedom
Real freedom
From all bonds.

My kingdom for just once
A moment’s love.
My kingdom for a stone.

“Hush now.
You’re cut pretty bad.”

A tattoo, a bird upon her arm
Minerva, palatial scrawl! How did that get there?
Twas cut! Twas cut into her arm!

And thus the train rolls on,
Guided by the bird
Of flesh
not air

And thus the train rolls on.





weektwentyseven

Week Twenty-Six: Audio.


Track for Week Twenty-Six is available for listening, bringing The Year of the Buffalo to one-half of its journey.

CHIMPS

Witness the bare dry bones of my resurrection
The drunk man at the gate, what horrors
Is he the gatekeeper no surely no
He is the gatekeeper’s thrall

And I that thrall’s thrall,
and so on and ever on

a great joke, all this entropy
laughing itself sick at a cosmic joke
adolescent idiots laughing, laughing
at nothing but their own impotent

CHIMPS
inside
unseen

reviled
unclean

well hey man
you know that ape thing
is tricky

and pretty damned
obscene“heisshitfaced!!!

Yeah. Wow, man. He’s passed out. Look at him there. What’s his sign say?”

I'll read it. It says War Veteran. Will work for fud.

“Yeah. So will I. I love fud.”

And who are you? Sayest I. Who are you?

“I’m nobody. Who are you?”

I am Ray Lahoon.

“What kind of a name is that? Lahoon?”

It is mine. It is my name.

“It’s a freaking weird name, man.
Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

No mind.

[PHONEATSHEAD]“…
Listen I’m out here in the middle of nowhere.
No wait. Now wait a second.
No I didn’t mean that. That’s not what I meant.
What I meant was, he’s away…
Well yes he’s away.
So who cares if you fuck me?
It’s not like anybody’s…
DOYOUFUCKINGMIND?”

Sorry.

“Sorry.”

Where I am?
I mean what is the name
of this street here.
And this one crossing it.
Cruciform.

“Hold on a second.
WHATDOYOUWANT?”

I am Ray Lahoon.

“Sure you are.
LISTEN. Buddy. You see that
building there?
I work in there.
YES THERE.
That’s where I work.
Is that where you’re coming from?”

Yes. That’s where I’m coming from

“Well listen now. This is
The only place I get reception.
RECEPTION. With this.
Phone. So can you just… keep walking?”

I am walking.

“No. You’re standing still listening
To my PRIVATE CONVERSATION.
I would have this conversation indoors
If I got reception. But I don’t. So
I’m having it out here. Is that
A PROBLEM?”

No. No PROBLEM.

“WHAT?”

I said no problem.

“GREAT…
… [time elapses]…
Yeah, so… Yeah there’s this guy.
Yes. I think he’s just got out.
Did you just get out, Ray.
Ray Lahoon?”

I just got out.

“He just got out.
Yeah. He’s just standing here
staring at me.
I’m going to go.
Goodbye.
I…
FUCK.”

It was said you would have a message for me.
What then is your message, sir?

“I don’t have anything to tell you.”

No but you do.
You already did.
Look at this
This city!
There’s no forest!
It’s all brick
Granite
Concrete
And gloam.
And you are
With another man’s
Girl. How long has that
Been going on, huh? A long time
Or is it something new? How long do
You think it will last before he catches on
And does something unspeakable to you?
You know they tore out my father’s fingers
From the knuckles.
You know who did this?
I’ll tell you

“Get the fuck away from me, man.”

Okay. Okay.
I’m going.

CHIMPS
Unknowing
This man
Red in the face
From a tan
Burned
And from shame
Learned.

“Where are you going to go?
I've always wondered...
you know. Where a guy like you
goes."

To find the Rebel Bone.
I thought everyone knew that.
I thought that was known.

“I didn’t know that. Hell. Is that some biker dude?”

No.
No he’s not.

“Well good luck,
You’re at the corner
of Modernity and
Nobody Gives a Damn. Creep.


Creep.
That too
Is my name.
I’ll take it.
It’s better than none
No name at all.
Just an ape.
Clawing at walls.

I strum and hum
past the drunks and bums
And the pavement
Is my drum
and the Great City
my Idol




weektwentysix

Week Twenty-Five: Audio.


Track for Week Twenty-Five is available for listening.

Exile's Giddy Approach

Lahoon is I
Lahoon I am

Once blind
Now I see

And grief
And grieving
I am

And grieving
I no longer believe

In the Promise
Of the Lords
Of the Tower
Of the Stones

In the Hopes
Of the Lords
Of the Tower
Of the Stones

Still I am in their throws
Fealty
Complete
And gross

My father
In their hands
His own hands
Torn from their bones

To be a thrall
Is all

The height
Of love
Is dying
For a cause

No!

Still so I am Dumb
A pantomime show
Swirling, drugged clean
Alone
My clan
Of one Torn
I am Slow
A pantomime show
A dumbshow! Look
Damn you all there behind me! Look
this streak of white – my face
painted
is a pale-ghost
shadow
with blood upon my cheeks
and one eye
where ought be three

Swimming I, as high as the angels’ on the head of a pin
For I heard that many angels must fit there
As great bullcock workers fit in stalls and shackles
And cubes and positions of sale
And squealing the wail
Upon the wind they wail
For nothing
For nothing at all
Oh yes I heard that many angels must indeed
swirl too over my pulpy head!
As clans fit in swirling bytes and bytes of blood
Like rain they draw the blood
Like fire the draw the mud
Up from the earth
And into veins
Then drain they
Verses of
strange refrain
all in vain

all in vain

For “Science”
sweet Lord
Is a God
Krishna, Krishna
The Bull is Up
The Bull is Down
Thinking mind
The left
The right
The bend
The tide
And Nature
Is our Bride
newfound

A whore
She gives it all
And charges
Nothing
Till she tears us down
Slow
Entropic
Clown

I am no longer myself
And no

I’m not all right

And no
Everything isn’t fine

Lahoon I am
Lahoon am I

We are all famous
Like those angels swimming, wisely afloat
Who needs must moan
Touching
For angels that close
Must touch
Unblushing
For angels too desire
Must touch

I am Mind
With a diamond
for an extra eye
where ought be three
two have died

But one
Enough

Still throbs
It does! It glows
Shadow
And grows
Lines Outward
Untouched

This line creates a tree!
This line, a barren field
This one, a gravesite
This one, a shield
Upon a brickgate sealed

And there the Gatekeeping Man
Stands, halberd in hands
And a cell phone to his ear

Speaking sweet nothings
To nobody
And nobody’s there to here

Oh to stand here!
A free man now
Free from tyranny
And cast out into the woods
To find the Sorcerer
To kill the Enemy!
What glee
What giddy giddy glee
There is in me

One foot the next
To walk and walking
Stand
One foot and again
The grave and the stand
To approach the Gatekeeping Man

Lahoon is I
Lahoon I am
Oh loathsome
Oh swimming! fear, great State
great Tower’s land
Behind

A stink on our knees
But still we bend
A king that won’t bleed
But still we’ll bend

The offensive rattles of a cage
You don’t see
Shake them, I shake them
With each step a thorn
I come to believe –
My separateness is wrought
from the woes of belief

Lahoon I am
And leaving
I grieve

Grieving
I cease to believe





weektwentyfive