Elsewhere 3

Wind blows

Outside it’s warm
Inside it’s cold

There is no excuse for an uninformed electorate. We are all responsible for the direction the nation takes. Despite the dark horrors of our collective past, we absolutely must confront the future with unfettered focus, will, and a desire for genuine change. We need not repeat the past, but this requires deep and profound work: on ourselves and on our social institutions. Striving for money is not good enough. Avoiding society is not good enough. We are society.

Gods birth the world, and these worlds birth gods. They are one that the same, beauteous – righteous – captive

A metaverse

I rather enjoy upstate New York.
It’s nothing like downstate New York.
Downstate you open your mouth
And it tastes like a battery.
It tastes like you’re sucking on a battery.
It gets so you don’t notice it.
I love New York.
But I hate New York.
Nothing is simple.
I’m not a battery.

The human race is not one people. Neither are we even one species really, though it appears that way and it is politically and socially expedient to represent it as such. Difference is celebrated to a point, but ultimately “we must pull together.” That “pulling together” is called the “nation.” But must we? It is exceedingly naïve and flattering (thus widely accepted) to think we are in league with so many billions of others. And surely we are one mind, but subtly and only when we have worked toward that recognition. Knowing one language isn’t enough. Turning oneself off from the world outside one’s walls, one’s borders, one’s routine… is not enough. Also (and this is important) we are as a people a multitude of unique worlds, and even within families there is a great variety that escapes the conventional definitions of scholastic biology. And none of this means our principles of egalitarianism should falter or be set aside by some kind of draconian fascism or will toward self-determination at all costs. Rather, these extreme differences render such egalitarian principles all the more important, for we need one another to achieve even the simplest ends. This need is the source of the modern world’s great, deep, ruining angst and paranoia. Very few people today could survive alone without the trappings of the hive-like society that bore us. And so we crave an acceptance we will never receive from outside sources: a total desire to be cradled by billions. This can be replaced by an internal light and nothing else. No God can do this for you, and no political leader. You are totally alone.

And that makes you powerful.

The great sage does nothing. He sits facing forward, creating thus the whole world. He is engaged and not engaged. Language amuses him. All is easy because he desires nothing. And nothing obliges.

Equality is an impossible goal worth seeking always. Our striving for it is called “civilization.” Our failure: communism, fascism, socialism, democracy…

Did you know the Greeks had calculators?
They did.
I don’t mean modern Greeks.
Modern Greeks – that’s not a story.
Ancient Greeks did.
I know, pretty amazing.

We want so much to delight you
And to be free thus from hauling water
And carrying wood.
But there is so much competition
and so little attention left to snare.


None of this is true.
Words lie.
English is a language good for describing economies.
But love
Love eludes you.

Love eludes us.

Love eludes me,
and I am not a battery.






weekthirtythree

Week Thirty-Two: Audio.


Track for Week Thirty-Two is available for listening.

To the Bank

Take it to the
Drum back
Take it to the blink
Drum it to the take
Back
White lights
Go black
Take it to the think
Tank
Rolls across the desert
Sky
Anubis
And a Horus Eye

So only now you question why?

Take it to the home
Land
An answer
Banned
A shunning stand
Lemonade shams
Glittering
Guzzling
Fams

Drum it to the wild
Roots
Dig deep
Gone white
Downward creep

Break it to the news
Man
Pale doughy buzzard fan
Gone white
Outward seeps

There are only
Human beings

There are only
Human hands

There are no
Homelands

Just space
And bodies
Crucified eternally
Bright heat brilliant
Godlike, resonant beings

I want you to know who I am

Busy busy busy little
Bees
Spelling
Glamours
Casting
Sells

Take it to the bank, man
Because I know you’ve got it down
I know you’ve got a plan
Man
That’s swell

One two three
Fists
Bang, pound upon the glass
The mirror
The rage
The steerer

When does this bus get to
Albany?
I’ve got a date with
a drummer
man

Then westward Ho
Dakotaward
Because you know
Western, western, western
In the west you never
Know

Take it to the situation
The situation in hand
The man overhead, all steal
Steel
Steal
Beams, gussets, functions
Torque

Take it to the
Bank
Down by the riverbed
And make love instead
Please, please, please
Make love instead

Take it to the stream
The dream
The white light burnished
Cream
Hey there
Meditate
Hey now
Escape

Please please plase
It can’t wait
Won’t wait
Can’t wait
Don’t wait
Requires nowness
Perfect hereity
Hereity
Hereity

Clarity

Nowness

White lights
Overhead
And instead
The dove
The bed
Canadians
Americans
Rhythms
Forced
Pushed
Shed

Take it to the governance
Where the brilliance
is all instead
optioned
carted home
and bled
carte blanche
carte rouge
carte blanche
carte red

till the whiteblack
blackwhite Byzantium
ravages the Lover’s Head

And you find your daughter
Dead

And your brother
Mad

Take it to the modern
Take it to the soul
Take it till it blows blows blows
Whitehot blackwhite, murder mystery
Wednesday Night Fights
Gleefully battle Tuesday
And lose it all
To Friday’s gall

Me
I close my eyes
See the knowing lights
You can’t, can you?
You can’t?
Hell!

“We’ll get there later tonight.”

You can take it to the bank

Man
That’s swell






weekthirtytwo

Week Thirty-One: Audio.


Track for Week Thirty-One is available for listening.

Interstation Existentia

The clock tickets
forevermore
The tickets tock
nevermore and on
Well the bus was on time
Let's hope the train is ontime too
Upstate and ontime
A firetrack and bombline
A blowndown happy grime
Let’s hope the train is ontime too

"Mister
Mister
What's the time?"

Well now, Shoeshine
What is the time?
What’s it to you?

"I'm asking
Because I need to know.
I’m asking you
Because you seem to know.
So
Please
Please be kind."

You are, aren't you?
Asking
Well well I'll be kind
I'm a chipper guy
Do I look chipper?
I feel chipper
These walls
Yes these walls
I'm climbing up them
Right now
sitting even in this bench.
I'm the very best
Yes
I am Kingdom Come
And dumb unstunned
And thrumming
And thrumming
And drummed.
Home.
I’m going home.
Yes, I'm a chipper guy.

"Just tell me the time."

Well look at that clock there
up there spinning around
and around and around
Like a grin in time
And space
Like a dying chime
That echoes, rebounds
And sends you back
To your childhood face
Wide open, opened eyes
Pupils like saucers
Like outerspace victims
Like the Great Take
Never happened
And there never was
A Great Lie
That kind of chime.

“Just tell me the time, man.
What’s the time?”

That’s
The question, isn’t it?
That’s the best question
To ask, isn’t it?
That’s the one, isn’t?
“What is the time?”
Well here
the time is midnight
Here midnight is the time.
Here
No chimes
Shuffling feet
Going, going, gone

New York
Like the Old York
Like Kingdom Come
I
Am
The
Time

This is a reckoning
For all kings.
Against all gods.
Against all lies.

Midnight is the time.
Noon
The lie.

Four quarters
A clock
Sweating, mealy sweat
Truth
Reality,
And a Lodge

Go I hence
There to kill the ache
And spinning clocks
Twist
In my wake

And the train comes at five past
forevermore
It's always almost tomorrow
Here

And the midnight hour.

"You're weird."

You're right. Goodbye.

"I've got nowhere to go."

That makes two of us. Isn't that nice?
Except wait
I'm going somewhere.

“Where are you going?”

I’m going back in time.
I’m going up. Whence forth
Forth back
Retrackt
Yes.
I’m going up. Like an elevator
And a pig on a spit
Spinning round.
I’m going up
Carousel round
And down. Time
travels
I slip and bound
Around and around.

Yeah, I’m going up
On an elevator existentia
Lateral and upright

way past worth
of
words
worth more than hurts
and births
Alert! Alert!
Wake up kid.
I’m talking,
Shoeshine.
I’ve been talking all this time.

Lo’, he sleeps
A child
With nowhere to go

How sweet.

Shine my shoes, why don’t you, boy?
I know you know the time.
I gave it to you.
Shine my shoes
Before I go





weekthirtyone

Week Thirty: Audio.


Track for Week Thirty is available for listening.

Fire Escape Manifesto

Tulips in my ear
I’ve got a manifesto
For you to hear

Used to be everyone had one
Now there’s no-one

Well…

It’s like this, Buddy
If you want to live an authentic life
Free from the trappings of verse & death
You have to escape from the Babylon tower
And start looking after your health
Not your wealth
Your health is your wealth
Hey
Your health is your wealth

Is anybody listening?
And would I stop if there weren’t?

It’s like this, Chief
When you want to live like there’s no tomorrow
Void yourself of even YourSelf
And be ye’ not ashamed
Start looking at dawns and sunsets
Cash in the old bets
Your dreams are when you’re most alive
Hey
Your dreams are your life in flames

But the flames are bluewhite roses
Frosty, hot and game
Lovers
Your dreams want to make love to you
And so loving, they want to make you
Finally more than you
For you are truly more than you

Do we have your attention?

It’s like this, Lover
This fire escape isn’t my property
Neither belongs it to those inside
They are renters
They just reside

It’s like this, Killer
This guy below is on the black market
And he happens to be black himself
What are the chances?

It’s like this, Settler
We all need a gun
Bullets we can get anywhere
We just need a gun
Something we can shoot off
Like words
Quick, and good fun

To send a message
To be an army
To shoot the moon and sun
Impregnating the former
and answering to no-one

It’s like this
I was accused of manslaughter
Of killing my own daughter
But it wasn’t true
No
It was the Rebel Bone
that had that done

And still she’s gone
Lost
But I’m going to find her
And with her
Anew become

It’s like this, Ranger
The City is all towers
Unsightly, ghastly, long
Streets in rows
None of it owned
By anyone you know

It’s like this, Cowboy
The Forest is all lies
Long lines, craggy manifestations
Fractal pines
None of it owned
By anyone you know

It’s like this, Captain
There’s nowhere to run anymore
Not when you want to live an authentic life
There’s no revolution anymore, nor
Neither rebellion’s chicken bone
Stuck in the throat of authority – no
It’s all fashion
And fashion is a cruel sadness
Yes
But the revolution needs it

Too bad they’re all frat boys now
Uptown, downtown, and all around
Golf and guns and golf and guns
Salute – hail
Too bad there are no men now

They’ve all slipped
And we are slipping

It’s like this, Brothers
You want to feel more alive
Than you do now
So where do you begin?
It’s sure as hell not
By slipping

It’s like this, Sisters
You want to feel the surge
of dark power
So where do you begin?
It’s sure as hell not by
Slipping

So stop
Slipping, right?

There’s always a gas station to hit,
Holy, well lit
Open
24 / 7
Each and every night

Gas is not life
But it sure makes a good
surrogate

There’s always a fire escape
Somewhere
There’s always an exit nearby
There’s always an exit (( in sight ))





weekthirty

Week Twenty-Nine: Audio.


Track for Week Twenty-Nine is available for listening.

Variables

Hoy
Do you not see, hey!
Hoy
Those flowers are not for you

Hey
Those flowers are not for you
Not today
Maybe tomorrow

But not today

See today is Sunday
the rose red day
The Day of the Sun
And I, caretaking,
have begun the beginning
I have begun
“The Begun”

I have destroyed
“The Ending”

I have undone the sun

‘Tis a grave here, this shadow!
Of musicians, of chants, of tribes
These graves are lonesome, windblown, enscribed

“Forget me not. Forget me not.
Nor neither forget how I loved you, and loving you loved life.”

Was she a sister?
A lover?
A maiden?
A bride?

Were she a moment?
A crystal?
A diamond?
A scribe…

Yes! She was a scribe!
And a sister.
And a lover.
A maiden
And a bride!

Oh ache, this
To have lost this.
Oh sweet, sharp
Hideous ache to know
That the Modern Sorcerer,
unknowing! driven! mad!
cares not
once for me,
for my tribalism
for my bower bones
and for the dead underfoot.

Oh ache, to have lost her
A murder, vile
And criminal

Incidental.
Accidental.
And I to blame.

We killed her
And so we killed the dream.

I am victim.
I am slain.
Aye, I am that slayer.
And I too am slain.

In the company of the rebellious bone
All things bleed
And become the same.

Oh
He is waiting to wake up

And destroy
the throne
the tower
the throne

Oh
It is waiting to arise
And return
Home

Oh
And that’s the sorcerer I seek
to drive from the starry dome

I see
I see

You're going north, you say?
North as in upstate?

Well here’s a riddle
for thee

This here is my coffee
This here is my tea
One makes the other
I have milk in neither
for milk would make three

And three is for Tuesday
Two days well hence

While two is for Monday
one turn away
The day of the Moon
the day that doth sway

Break down the dollars
Here’s fifty cents here’s
Break down the dimes
Here’s five cents, no please

Take it
And bugger off

That’s English for
Fuck ye’, you crazy

There’s your goddamned bus