Tableaux

Is she aware of the ephemeral nature of our existence... Does my Muse engage in the highs of consciousness ...? Is she cognizant of our Nemesis...? Does my Muse grasp the fleeting nature of our frames...? Will she take me by the hand and guide me to our Oasis...?!?!? ____________________________________________________________ I sit here... yet im not part of this mundane world of ideas and concepts... educators are immersed in tools that limit their intellect... that render their frames frail and weak... that render their intellect subdued... AND one-dimensional... ____________________________________________________________________________ And my psyche... and my Psyche... races toward Her... Only to be proffered a Minotaur that impedes my sentinel... I sit here... and i become more cognizant of the futility of our values... A culture that engages us in kitsch... and more tawdry trinkets... ___________ _______ _______ Is my Muse aware of this fleeting Moon... and its Sun... that will never again articulate a manifestation of Her existence... Does my Muse reject the lows of of consciousness...? Is she cognizant of our Nemesis...? Does my Muse grapple with the greyness of our end... the fragility of our coils...? ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I sit here... And i gaze into eyes of strangers... that linger in the alleys of time... Time and i sit together as we contemplate the epic narratives of Colorado, Milliken mills, Uplands, Orchard Park...

La Cravatte

How taut is it...?
La cravatte...
Who can visit him...?
And at what lengths
Do we set the angst....?
Who wil visit the man with la cravatte....?
And at what lengths...?
Do we visit the man with angst...?
How tight is it, la cravatte...
And is there any residue... or broken glass... to
sidestep before we reach the man with la cravatte...?
Is there a pulse...?
Is there a conciousness to ascertain... for this man with la cravattee...?
Who would visit him.../ HIm...?
This man with la cravatte...?
How taut is it...
La cravatte...?
Who will visit Him...?
To what lengths is he able to attain a
HIGH of CONSCIOUSNESS...?
----______----______----
or DO WE NOTE A... low of consciousness
for this man with LA CRAVATTE...?
_____----____----____----____
La cravatte ou-t-elle...
MERDE!!!! NON!!!!
mon DIEU...!!!!
Il faut faire 'lappel D'URGENCE...!!!
VITE... Il faut l' aider, cet
HOMME
SANS
LA
CRAVATTE...??!!?!
____----____----____----____
D
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ARE FOR idealists.
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m
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La cravatte is what you
make... create... of...
it...
just
like
LIFE
IT IS WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT...!!!

Awakening

blackness surrounds us
then the dawn breaks
and it reveals its colours
jung's collective consciousness lingers in the distant past...
We are a warrior society that engages in the depths
days
months
years
callings for help
reality

bloor and monroe

i see Her... but i do not understand...
i witness homeless men and women... on the stresst of Toronto...
and i see myself.... i feel their pain... yet i am helpless... to their needs... wants...

~~~
why am i so immersed in Her realm... why am i a prisoner still of Her gaze...???
~~~

i traverse the streets of toronto... and all i feel is pain... my city has been transformed... wholly... fully... completely...
into a Police State... the G8~G20 continues to exploit the masses...
THE MASSES...
WHO really CARES about THE masses...???!!!??
____----____----_____----____----_____-----_____
Who is between the S P A C E S...?!

~~~~~
i have visions of Her in my city... i am unable to have a promenade... without Her scent on my lips...

~~~~

i wonder when their pain will subside... i wonder what is was like 200 years ago...
how many of my red brethren were on these same sentinels... where are all the trees... where have all the flowers gone...?
why do we continue to kill them...????

~~~

i wonder when i will ever be able to acquire a new consciousness without Her in my psyche...
at Bloor and Monroe
the homeless men and women make their home...
i am just a hooded pilgrim without a hajj....
i live in a city i no longer recognize...??!!!
today i am ashamed to be a Torontonian...

~~~~
today... today... i am closer to that realm... that Other kingdom...
and i still have not reached Her...
She has yet to reciprocate my love
i long to die in Her arms... but there are only Silent Walls
which are now immersed with the cries of the protesters...
~~~~~

the Toronto rain continues... there is not enough of it
to purge me of Her... Her scent... Her vision... Her touch..
i am a pilgrim without a mission... a poet without a muse... a prophet without a scroll... a painter without a canvass...
a gravedigger without a spade... a homeless man without a hovel...
~~~~~~

my realm fills with atoms... i am unable to ponder the destruction that i have caused... the chaos that rains on Her
Psyche...
will She ever forgive me... will She ever forget...
the tears are many... but i refuse to show Her...
my realm fills with words... i am unable to hear them... i am unable to ponder the disarray that i have caused Her...
my realm fills with yawps from my city... a city which is now foreign to my eyes.... at Bloor and Monroe.
i see them decay... i see them with their hits... i see them struggle... i see them searching for nooks...
why am i so immersed in a love that will never reify itself...?????
every night... a thousand daggers pierce my soul... my body...
only to reawaken with Her vision in my psyche...
~~~~

The sane are not far from madness...
i am a madman plunged in a river of dementia...
i am immersed in a city that i do not recognise....
a city that purges , represses ... oppresses its citizens...
~~~
at bloor and monroe i yearn for Her...
but i only see empty alleys...
empty promises...
empty ouvertures...
insecurities...
and one hundred indecisions...
No, the universe does not hold axioms...
No, death has no humble abode...
No, i am not sober... She has intoxicated me...!!!!!
Yes, the Earth is an absurd plane...
Yes, we only have our vulnerability...
Yes, we only have love to proffer... amid this absurdity...
at monroe and bloor i plunge into the abyss that is Toronto.

Supernova 2110

i selected neither my name, my race, my ethnicity, nor my language ...
yet i choose you... i choose you... amid the atoms, protons, neutrons, gold, black gold and uranium.

What we have... what we are... must become Supernova.
This state which is grey... our state... which is grey... must transform itself into an ocean blue...
and be imbued with the golden sand dunes of the Sahara Desert.

i keep observing... seeing so much blue... a blue lagoon, a blue desert... and i need to quenched by you.

i can only imagine us on this terrestial plane... field... alone... with one flower which reflects our entities.
This flower is the peony... and its scent emanates from you... amid this desert i sense You and only Your scent... a scent that
lingers in the inner chambers of my psyche which jettisons us n this new
Supernova state...

Supernova... yes, here it is... Supernova... yes, here we are in new spatial dimension with no history... with no borders..
with no baggage, with no inhibitions...

here there is a peace... in this vast space... in this vast universe... which has yielded us in this Supernova state.
No one will hear my tears... no one will see my ouvertures ... no one will observe my yawps... no one will perceive me on my knees... as i profess my amorous chants to my Blue Peony.

Down there, on the terrestial plane there is a madness:
BP~and its spoils of the Gulf of Mexico
Gaza and its three year blockade
The occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan
The Hell Fire Drone missiles launched into North and South Waziristan.

The sane are never far form madness.

We must plunge in this state of Supernova.
You penetrate me like honey that transpierces the bee's honeycomb.

Yet this silence must subside... it is tragic... Time must evaluate us.
History will assess this decadent Western civilization.
History holds no prisoners.... history will be our judge...
How will History assess our Love...??

My Blue Peony, please release me from my present cell.

History must mediate all these crimes committed in the name of Neo-Liberal Democracies;
History will not evaluate the American Empire favourably.

Here we are: Supernova,
Here i taste you... you taste differently...
Here you are wholly ethereal;
Here we are: Supernova,
Here i sense your scent... your scent is ambrosial;
Here we are: Supernova,
Here i feel your frame... your frame is sensuous.

Ode to the Pleiades

i enter a new realm , Bishop's Cross, and i am afraid...
yes, shit!! damn..!! for the FIRST time i have fear...
Fear of the Unknown... fear of rejection... fear of being vulnerable...
fear of showing my tears... of wearing my emotions on my shirt sleeves...
fear of losing contact with you... i await the PURPLE RAIN... It kisses my lips as i observe the Pleiades.

i solicit the Pleiades... here in this dark realm... surrounded by a forest...
Under the sky awaiting my Artemis ...

but i am today... yes, i am for the first time in a state of anxiety...
unsure... unclear... of the sentinel that awaits me...

i yawp for unequivocal clarity.... yes, that is what i solicit that Zeus and Leto grant my muse
Unequivocal clarity... direction...

i desire her touch... her scent... her kiss... her energy...
Her gait is my manna... her scent is my nourishment...

Why am i so immersed in my Muse's space...?
When today so many suffer in Gaza... a three year naval blockade...
i feel so helpless... i feel so estranged...
Why does the Truth elude us:
Gaza, Hamas, IDF commandos...?


Why am i unable to understand her psyche...?
Why does Love elude us...?
Why are we blinded by the Other...?
~~~~

I feel the Hard Rain... i envisage my Muse... she must battle on the pitch... she must engage the Minotaur...
i admire Her colours blue, red and gold.... her number 50 is special amid these stars...
i admire her gait amid these forests and hills...

i am afraid that june 4 proffers me something ominous... his way stirs...
a waking shadow that lingers too long can only collapse amid these crys...

All in all i am plunged in a moraine... and i am not sure how to release myself from Her...

I solicit the Seven Sisters: Maia, Electra, Taygete, Alcyone, Celaeno, Sterope and Merope to either release us... or
fuse us... amid these stars, these forests, these hills...
unite us amid these strangers... amid this chaotic world... amid these barbaric minds.

If not , Hermes must be my guide to the Other KIngdom
He must release me from this pain...

i fell on black days... i hear and feel the PURPLE RAIN... this liquid must nourish me... us...
i accept the Purple Rain... i become one with it...
that is all i desired from You... to become One with you...
as you battle on the wet pitch...
as you yawp enthusiastic entreaties...
i accept the Purple Rain...
i absorb this Hard Rain...
oh, i would relish our touch in this Purple Rain...

Elegy to Cerberus

Today... yesterday... tomorrow ... ~ Time has no meaning... no relevance...
The Rearview mirror obliterates... effaces... the landscape of the Uplands' Meadows:
the sunshine is gone...
when she is gone, the sunshine disappears.
there is only darkness. there is no sunshine. no... no.. no...!!!
I have this life... and i have to compose something good...!???

Yet Cerberus beckons me... he solicits me... to immerse in the duality evident in Man and Woman.

~~~~~
i must travel over untrodden ground alone... without my Muse... i am unable to acquire inspiration...
i am unable to smell her scents...
i am unable to penetrate her psyche.

i am not on this terrestial realm... plane... i have entered the next One...

Cerberus awaits me... he beckons me...

i feel no pain...

i finally feel no pain.

i have been dazed and confused...

Today: i am no longer in disarray...

Cerberus beckons me... ~ i respond in kind...

i have~ i must~ progress beyond this terrestial plane; value does not rest Here.
It is in the Other Kingdom.
It is beyond this mortal frame.
It is beyond the sensations of this
realm.

I must be like the Stoics...
i will be like the Stoics...
i must refuse all.
i will relinquish my five Personas... they will become obsolete.

i will die Here...
And be the Lazarus i have refused to be...
i will solicit Thanatos... He will be gentle... he will soothe my pain...
Hypnos will proffer to me those sweet nectars...
Ye Gods... Ye Goddesses...
i anticipate Ye sweet analgesic properties...
i will imbibe them... slowly... i anticipate the Last Drop...
~~~~
Although the Gulf of Mexico and its indigenous peoples must endure the Black Gold,
i will transcend this realm.
BP will superimpose its Golden Tender as i transcend the mundane... the horror...
the exploitation that is Capitalism~ the M@#&*?%...
~~~~

Thus, i will be ready for Cerberus who awaits me...
He beckons...
He prompts me to reject all the terrestial vices...desires: Eros
He whets my imagination with other metaphysical seeds...
i will acquiesce...
i will accept disarray...chaos... Thanatos...