Everyone whispers about the sublime nature of god...
everyone yawps about his greatness...
everyone whispers about the beauty of the afterlife...
everyone yelps about the tolerance of this religion...
Yet the milk and honey of these premises are empty...
these suppositions hide behind aspects of intolerance, violence, bigotry, hatred, vandalism and
Murder...
yes
murder.
The Revolution must not be televised...!!!
a revolution is needed... a new form... a new entity.. we must engage the disenfranchised..
What do they yawp about all the wars... Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Somalia, Yemen, Eritea, Gaza
How do they react to all the victims...
The REVOLUTION must be televised...
Why must America represent this angelic mode?
Why must the USA police the world?
Why must New York dictate the financial debauchery??
Why must Washington filter a Pax Americana via a Bellum???
Why must the globe prostrate itself to these aspects of postmodernity??
Who sells the world the tools of destruction?
The Revolution will not be televised...
i must yawp:
a revolution is needed...
we must engage in myriad forms of nihilism...
we must take back the Earth...
we will walk to the rosemary graves...
there,
we will bury our souls... our spirits
there,
we will kiss the cold tombstones...
and
there,
we will take each other's hands and crawl to the
Chthonic sands... and
there,
we will greet the cave swimmers...
the cave swimmers
the cave swimmers
and they will take our hands and help us
with this new chthonic song...
who will televise the REVOLUTION...???
Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Intimations to Astraea
Today the grains of sand
Accumulate...
And
They form a mountain... a mountain with
an
Apex that extends to You...
Oh Astraea
and
Your Pleiades.
You offer me
Myriad of magical tastes...
Scents
Touch... a
Touch that proffers ouvertures to
Other
Worlds...
Ouvertures to other forms
of
Consciousness
Insight
And
Realms...
Oh, how i revel in Your Brightness...
a Brightness that is revealed via
Your beautiful
Orbs...
These Orbs engage me to discover the unknown ...
To unearth the spirits of the
Earth...
To ascertain the mystical which is
YOU
Astraeus.
Oh, how i revel in your ancient messages that
You
deliver
below
to these mere
Mortals...
I entreat
You to venture on a new
Voyage
A voyage to the
Majestical UPLANDS...
offer me another visitation so
i
may
discover
Your magical
Touch,
Scent,
Taste
so i may revel in
Your
Orbs...
so i may lose myself in your golden locks...
in your golden arms...
in your mystical spirit...
Today, the grains of sand endure
a
Metamorphosis...
It is Maia... and your other constellations that have
permitted me to transcend this
Terrestial plane... this chthonic form
Oh, You
Astraeus
will permit me with your magical incandescent
Extremities
to soar beyond the
Chthonic...
Although
Today
i await You here
Here
on this plane...
Here
on this path...
Here
on this highway...
Here:
M
i
l
l
s
s
n
o
w
s
p
h
e
r
e
s
s
t
r
i
k
e
r
s
f
u
l
l
b
a
c
k
s
c
o
r
n
e
r
s
The storm of spheres cascade around me
Here: in this spherical dome
here:at the mills~ warden and 14th~
the spherical realm jolts me..
BUT
i await
Your melodic song
in order to transfix the
Mundane
into the
Sublime...
Oh, Astraeus transform
my moans, my crys, my pain
into
a euphonic melody.
Permit
me to assemble with
one of Your
Pleiades...
so i a may orbit with You...
with you...
AND
with the other muses:
Asterope, Alcyone, and Electra,
And be part of the guiding STARS that
offer beacons to other realms...
For a night traveller
who must venture
into
the
Undiscovered canyons of the world
Oh, Astraea
Soothe my pain...
relieve my suffering...
i await
You here on this
mound...
i await You here on this mundane plane...
so You may render this mundanity
into
A
Sublime
Realm
of
Taste, Scent, Touch and Sight.
here the ancient messages await
here at Uplands i solicit Astraea
here at Uplands i await your
Invitation
of the
Ancient
Message
Accumulate...
And
They form a mountain... a mountain with
an
Apex that extends to You...
Oh Astraea
and
Your Pleiades.
You offer me
Myriad of magical tastes...
Scents
Touch... a
Touch that proffers ouvertures to
Other
Worlds...
Ouvertures to other forms
of
Consciousness
Insight
And
Realms...
Oh, how i revel in Your Brightness...
a Brightness that is revealed via
Your beautiful
Orbs...
These Orbs engage me to discover the unknown ...
To unearth the spirits of the
Earth...
To ascertain the mystical which is
YOU
Astraeus.
Oh, how i revel in your ancient messages that
You
deliver
below
to these mere
Mortals...
I entreat
You to venture on a new
Voyage
A voyage to the
Majestical UPLANDS...
offer me another visitation so
i
may
discover
Your magical
Touch,
Scent,
Taste
so i may revel in
Your
Orbs...
so i may lose myself in your golden locks...
in your golden arms...
in your mystical spirit...
Today, the grains of sand endure
a
Metamorphosis...
It is Maia... and your other constellations that have
permitted me to transcend this
Terrestial plane... this chthonic form
Oh, You
Astraeus
will permit me with your magical incandescent
Extremities
to soar beyond the
Chthonic...
Although
Today
i await You here
Here
on this plane...
Here
on this path...
Here
on this highway...
Here:
M
i
l
l
s
s
n
o
w
s
p
h
e
r
e
s
s
t
r
i
k
e
r
s
f
u
l
l
b
a
c
k
s
c
o
r
n
e
r
s
The storm of spheres cascade around me
Here: in this spherical dome
here:at the mills~ warden and 14th~
the spherical realm jolts me..
BUT
i await
Your melodic song
in order to transfix the
Mundane
into the
Sublime...
Oh, Astraeus transform
my moans, my crys, my pain
into
a euphonic melody.
Permit
me to assemble with
one of Your
Pleiades...
so i a may orbit with You...
with you...
AND
with the other muses:
Asterope, Alcyone, and Electra,
And be part of the guiding STARS that
offer beacons to other realms...
For a night traveller
who must venture
into
the
Undiscovered canyons of the world
Oh, Astraea
Soothe my pain...
relieve my suffering...
i await
You here on this
mound...
i await You here on this mundane plane...
so You may render this mundanity
into
A
Sublime
Realm
of
Taste, Scent, Touch and Sight.
here the ancient messages await
here at Uplands i solicit Astraea
here at Uplands i await your
Invitation
of the
Ancient
Message
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Ode To Venus
Prometheus struggles with FIRE and its significance for
Life
Humanity
Survival
and
Love.
His passion motivates him to share
this
FIRE
with
mere mortals ~myself included~
Yet
the
gods
are
unkind... they are cruel... they are jealous of his love for
mortals
and
FIRE
Thus
Zeus punishes him
for this thirst for
FIRE
Like Prometheus , i, too, am enamoured by
FIRE,
This FIRE
burns
in my Venus... my goddess... my realm, my world, my moment, my NOW
in her eyes, her golden locks, her scent, her gait...
her corporeal form... this FIRE in me burns...
Her FIRE... i feel... i thirst for... i hunger for...
It is in this FIRE
that my VENUS offers...
OFFERS me
Offers me BEAUTY in the form of TRUTH...
TRUTH that neither Prometheus nor Zeus can proffer...
Her Beauty holds the
Key
Her Beauty holds the
Truth
Her Beauty holds the liquids that i must
Read... that i must
Swallow... that i must
Taste... that i must
Eat...
Venus opens to me a whole new metaphysical realm...
A realm of insights into the world of Minotaur that i must understand...
She guides me through the rivers of Hades...
i sense a fear... an absurdity... an ambiguity...
BUT
VENUS
IS
HERE
NOW
with me...
here
IN
THE MOMENT
with me...
AND
her
FLORAL CHARIOT... ITS SWEET SCENTS... ITS SWEET HERBS...
Her MELODIC VOICE...
from these
i
acquire
an
Epiphany ...
i gain
an inclination into the truth of Prometheus" journey... quest... for FIRE
for FIRE
HER FIRE
HER FIRE
that must quench my thirst before i die...
here in Hades...
Venus is my inspiration to engage
my passion, my revolt and my freedom...
to confront the Labyrinths ... the Mazes...
that
BOTH
WORLDS thrust on my path...
so i continue
on this journey like Prometheus who must endure
the gnawing of the vulture all day
only
to receive a reprieve during
the
Night...
so
i
too
must endure
this journey into her FIRE..
A FIRE
i desire...
A FIRE
i await with all my
SOUL
SPIRIT
BODY
i must return to Ardea and Lavinium
to
love her again...
to worship her FIRE
to drink her FIRE
so i will return to Latium
so i will return to Rome
to offer
VENUS
my FIRE
my soul
my spirit
my body
It is this FIRE
that i solicit
that i need
that i cannot live without
Venus
please...
keep your
FIRE
burning
until
i
navigate
through
this
Labyrinth
please
Venus, i need to be quenched
by your
FIRE
guide me to the source... guide me to the origins of this FIRE
Life
Humanity
Survival
and
Love.
His passion motivates him to share
this
FIRE
with
mere mortals ~myself included~
Yet
the
gods
are
unkind... they are cruel... they are jealous of his love for
mortals
and
FIRE
Thus
Zeus punishes him
for this thirst for
FIRE
Like Prometheus , i, too, am enamoured by
FIRE,
This FIRE
burns
in my Venus... my goddess... my realm, my world, my moment, my NOW
in her eyes, her golden locks, her scent, her gait...
her corporeal form... this FIRE in me burns...
Her FIRE... i feel... i thirst for... i hunger for...
It is in this FIRE
that my VENUS offers...
OFFERS me
Offers me BEAUTY in the form of TRUTH...
TRUTH that neither Prometheus nor Zeus can proffer...
Her Beauty holds the
Key
Her Beauty holds the
Truth
Her Beauty holds the liquids that i must
Read... that i must
Swallow... that i must
Taste... that i must
Eat...
Venus opens to me a whole new metaphysical realm...
A realm of insights into the world of Minotaur that i must understand...
She guides me through the rivers of Hades...
i sense a fear... an absurdity... an ambiguity...
BUT
VENUS
IS
HERE
NOW
with me...
here
IN
THE MOMENT
with me...
AND
her
FLORAL CHARIOT... ITS SWEET SCENTS... ITS SWEET HERBS...
Her MELODIC VOICE...
from these
i
acquire
an
Epiphany ...
i gain
an inclination into the truth of Prometheus" journey... quest... for FIRE
for FIRE
HER FIRE
HER FIRE
that must quench my thirst before i die...
here in Hades...
Venus is my inspiration to engage
my passion, my revolt and my freedom...
to confront the Labyrinths ... the Mazes...
that
BOTH
WORLDS thrust on my path...
so i continue
on this journey like Prometheus who must endure
the gnawing of the vulture all day
only
to receive a reprieve during
the
Night...
so
i
too
must endure
this journey into her FIRE..
A FIRE
i desire...
A FIRE
i await with all my
SOUL
SPIRIT
BODY
i must return to Ardea and Lavinium
to
love her again...
to worship her FIRE
to drink her FIRE
so i will return to Latium
so i will return to Rome
to offer
VENUS
my FIRE
my soul
my spirit
my body
It is this FIRE
that i solicit
that i need
that i cannot live without
Venus
please...
keep your
FIRE
burning
until
i
navigate
through
this
Labyrinth
please
Venus, i need to be quenched
by your
FIRE
guide me to the source... guide me to the origins of this FIRE
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A Cree
A magical number evokes a tragic cry~five hundred and one~
The year is 1492 and the mainstream corporate culture and media
Celebrated
A
N
D
C
O
N
T
I
N
U
E
T
O
C
E
L
E
B
R
A
T
E
the horrible atrocities committed by the white european male...
with the complicity of the CHURCH...
~~~~~~~~~~
Dexter and his nation~ his tribe~ still suffers... still feels the residue of the golden CONQUEST
a
conquest
that
s t i l l
LINGERS
a c o n q u e s t
that
C
O
N
T
I
N
U
E
S
to DEHUMANIZE them...
A former colony~Canada~ that has become the COLONIZER:
Let us examine ~ you and i~ the effects of the Canadian Energy policy in the province of Alberta...
Mobil OIl , Shell, Petro-Canada, Syncrude Canada and Suncor Canada have destroyed the ecosystem
of the Athabasca River basin~ a vast level of toxic contamination flows downstream to the indigenous communities
of the CREE, DENE and METIS~
You and i are cognizant that it is for one resource: extract CRUDE OIL from Bitumen, BITUMEN... BIT U MAN
BITE U MAN
OH, ya...
BITE U MAN
MAN
WHITE
MALE
EUROPEAN
i YAWP FOR nietzsche... yet i become aware that the ubermensch
subjugated the indigenous...
i must NOW yawp for gianni VATTIMO and
his new battle cry:
a multilinear world...
a small bit for a man like Dexter~ a small task for a Cree... right...??!!! right... clean up an area the size of Florida...
right...????
B
I
T
U
M
E
N
is
N
O
T
for
C
R
E
E
S
BUT for the BIG OIL
and
f
r
a
g
m
e
n
t
s
are open to the CREE, DENE AND THE METIS.
let us see ... you and i... how much we can profit form this ... you and Wisconsin, Illinois, South and North Dakota; Oklahoma and Texas
you and i are aware that 1492 is a pervasive motif... that S T I L
L
subjugates... exploits... the FIRST NATIONS
Well, who will come and go talking of Michelangelo...
Well, who will go and come de-watering the water systems...?
Well, who will come and go talking of Harper...
Well, who will go and come deforesting the boreal forest...!!!!
well, who will come and go talking of the MIKISEW CREE FIRST NATION...??!!!
W
E
L
L
T.
S.
E
L
I
O
T
!!
??
will you and i come and go yawping of 350...
will you and i come and go whimpering of the carbon print...
will you and i come and go yelping of falluja...
will you and i come and go groaning of TENOCHTITLAN...??
will you and i come and go parodying Cortes' edicts...???
well...
how does the world end T.S. Eliot...
our world will end with a plutonium bang... Brother... oh. ya Bro!!!
it will end with a bang...
On the other hand, Dexter awaits the Day
Day
because the Night is uncertain... the Night offers
-20 degrees celsius
AND
Toronto is a cruel city...
( it beckons the European Masters to adorn her with LAURELS;
yet it deserves NONE.)
and an uncertain abode AWAITS HIM amidst the yawps of the cocaine heads and the drunk
while the police protect the laurels of the Capitalists;
Dexter dies each day...
AND
With him dies
a part of our soul... our civilization... our ethics... our DISTURBED
morals...
The year is 1492 and the mainstream corporate culture and media
Celebrated
A
N
D
C
O
N
T
I
N
U
E
T
O
C
E
L
E
B
R
A
T
E
the horrible atrocities committed by the white european male...
with the complicity of the CHURCH...
~~~~~~~~~~
Dexter and his nation~ his tribe~ still suffers... still feels the residue of the golden CONQUEST
a
conquest
that
s t i l l
LINGERS
a c o n q u e s t
that
C
O
N
T
I
N
U
E
S
to DEHUMANIZE them...
A former colony~Canada~ that has become the COLONIZER:
Let us examine ~ you and i~ the effects of the Canadian Energy policy in the province of Alberta...
Mobil OIl , Shell, Petro-Canada, Syncrude Canada and Suncor Canada have destroyed the ecosystem
of the Athabasca River basin~ a vast level of toxic contamination flows downstream to the indigenous communities
of the CREE, DENE and METIS~
You and i are cognizant that it is for one resource: extract CRUDE OIL from Bitumen, BITUMEN... BIT U MAN
BITE U MAN
OH, ya...
BITE U MAN
MAN
WHITE
MALE
EUROPEAN
i YAWP FOR nietzsche... yet i become aware that the ubermensch
subjugated the indigenous...
i must NOW yawp for gianni VATTIMO and
his new battle cry:
a multilinear world...
a small bit for a man like Dexter~ a small task for a Cree... right...??!!! right... clean up an area the size of Florida...
right...????
B
I
T
U
M
E
N
is
N
O
T
for
C
R
E
E
S
BUT for the BIG OIL
and
f
r
a
g
m
e
n
t
s
are open to the CREE, DENE AND THE METIS.
let us see ... you and i... how much we can profit form this ... you and Wisconsin, Illinois, South and North Dakota; Oklahoma and Texas
you and i are aware that 1492 is a pervasive motif... that S T I L
L
subjugates... exploits... the FIRST NATIONS
Well, who will come and go talking of Michelangelo...
Well, who will go and come de-watering the water systems...?
Well, who will come and go talking of Harper...
Well, who will go and come deforesting the boreal forest...!!!!
well, who will come and go talking of the MIKISEW CREE FIRST NATION...??!!!
W
E
L
L
T.
S.
E
L
I
O
T
!!
??
will you and i come and go yawping of 350...
will you and i come and go whimpering of the carbon print...
will you and i come and go yelping of falluja...
will you and i come and go groaning of TENOCHTITLAN...??
will you and i come and go parodying Cortes' edicts...???
well...
how does the world end T.S. Eliot...
our world will end with a plutonium bang... Brother... oh. ya Bro!!!
it will end with a bang...
On the other hand, Dexter awaits the Day
Day
because the Night is uncertain... the Night offers
-20 degrees celsius
AND
Toronto is a cruel city...
( it beckons the European Masters to adorn her with LAURELS;
yet it deserves NONE.)
and an uncertain abode AWAITS HIM amidst the yawps of the cocaine heads and the drunk
while the police protect the laurels of the Capitalists;
Dexter dies each day...
AND
With him dies
a part of our soul... our civilization... our ethics... our DISTURBED
morals...
Apollonian and Dionysian
It will be
De
Li
Ri
Ous
It WILL BE
Mys
Ter
Ious
When our
M
I
N
D
S
Unite..
It will be delirious...
when
O
U
R
B
O
D
I
E
S
merge... merge ... into ONE love... one PEACE... one World
Time must dictate this unification...
I want her to touch my body with HER PERFECT SCENT...
i would love her perfect MIND to ignite my body
It will be both an aspect of Rebirth
AND
R
A
P
T
U
R
E
We will not be able to escape this DYAD... of
Reason
and
Passion...
This must usher in an IMMORTAL
T
E
C
H
N
I
Q
U
E
she cannot misinterpret my sincere intentions... they are all to unify ONE
MIND
LOVE
PEACE
WORLD
we must reject all the ISMs...
we must embrace the METAPHYSICAL...
WE MUST engage both creation and chaos..
we must accept the REVOLUTION... WE MUST REJECT THE CHAINS OF CONFORMITY...conformity...
R
E
J
E
C
T
C
O
N
F
O
R
M
I
T
Y
we must accept a revolution... we must engage in a praxis... we must revel in our mysterious minds...
let us embrace this verse... and impart on a metaphysical journey....
De
Li
Ri
Ous
It WILL BE
Mys
Ter
Ious
When our
M
I
N
D
S
Unite..
It will be delirious...
when
O
U
R
B
O
D
I
E
S
merge... merge ... into ONE love... one PEACE... one World
Time must dictate this unification...
I want her to touch my body with HER PERFECT SCENT...
i would love her perfect MIND to ignite my body
It will be both an aspect of Rebirth
AND
R
A
P
T
U
R
E
We will not be able to escape this DYAD... of
Reason
and
Passion...
This must usher in an IMMORTAL
T
E
C
H
N
I
Q
U
E
she cannot misinterpret my sincere intentions... they are all to unify ONE
MIND
LOVE
PEACE
WORLD
we must reject all the ISMs...
we must embrace the METAPHYSICAL...
WE MUST engage both creation and chaos..
we must accept the REVOLUTION... WE MUST REJECT THE CHAINS OF CONFORMITY...conformity...
R
E
J
E
C
T
C
O
N
F
O
R
M
I
T
Y
we must accept a revolution... we must engage in a praxis... we must revel in our mysterious minds...
let us embrace this verse... and impart on a metaphysical journey....
Friday, December 4, 2009
Mallarme, Baudelaire and Apollinaire
R
a
i
n
Babe RAIN...
pain... babe...
The grecian urn rains its blood... babe...
Let us drink of its blood babe...
We do not have enough time... babe.. let us drink of its blood...
We must engage in this universal praxis
R
A
I
N
Babe... Honduras crys... she moans... she wimpers babe...
pain... babe... pain
Babe, i can't take it any more... icant !!???##@@@ any more...
The class conflict is destroying Honduras... babe...
We have Dole, Chiquita dictating the conditions, babe...
The aristocracy , babe, is singing it si splendid melody, babe
R
A
I
N
Somalia weeps... she moans... babe
P
I
R
A
C
Y
is the the jig that must be perforemed... babe
When are WE rendering OUR decisions to stop creating a toxic dump of their shorelines, babe...??
When are the Europeans initiating actions against their ANGLERS..., BABE...???
B
A
B
E
is it within our power to inhibit these trespasses....., babe...
Babe, i need a few answers... babe, help me.... please...
Babe, did u know this is the 40th anniversary~ december 4, 1969~ of the assassination of a
B
L
A
C
K
PANTHER... Ya, his name is Fred Hampton... ya babe, he was shot by the Chicago FBI and Police..
And
more importantly, the Chicago DA initiated a cover UP.. ya , babe...
ya BABE, a m@#!*%? !?@%$#!? cover UP...
{Mallarme's white anxiety of sail cannot help here... NOR
his "sweet intoxication[s]" NIETHER a toast can be offered...}
a black panther killed, his name is Fred Hampton... ya babe, he was shot by the establishment~ the Chicago FBI and Police..
And
more importantly, the Chicago DA initiated a cover UP.. ya , babe...
ya BABE, a m@#!*%? @#%?*& cover UP...
a
i
n
Babe RAIN...
pain... babe...
The grecian urn rains its blood... babe...
Let us drink of its blood babe...
We do not have enough time... babe.. let us drink of its blood...
We must engage in this universal praxis
R
A
I
N
Babe... Honduras crys... she moans... she wimpers babe...
pain... babe... pain
Babe, i can't take it any more... icant !!???##@@@ any more...
The class conflict is destroying Honduras... babe...
We have Dole, Chiquita dictating the conditions, babe...
The aristocracy , babe, is singing it si splendid melody, babe
R
A
I
N
Somalia weeps... she moans... babe
P
I
R
A
C
Y
is the the jig that must be perforemed... babe
When are WE rendering OUR decisions to stop creating a toxic dump of their shorelines, babe...??
When are the Europeans initiating actions against their ANGLERS..., BABE...???
B
A
B
E
is it within our power to inhibit these trespasses....., babe...
Babe, i need a few answers... babe, help me.... please...
Babe, did u know this is the 40th anniversary~ december 4, 1969~ of the assassination of a
B
L
A
C
K
PANTHER... Ya, his name is Fred Hampton... ya babe, he was shot by the Chicago FBI and Police..
And
more importantly, the Chicago DA initiated a cover UP.. ya , babe...
ya BABE, a m@#!*%? !?@%$#!? cover UP...
{Mallarme's white anxiety of sail cannot help here... NOR
his "sweet intoxication[s]" NIETHER a toast can be offered...}
a black panther killed, his name is Fred Hampton... ya babe, he was shot by the establishment~ the Chicago FBI and Police..
And
more importantly, the Chicago DA initiated a cover UP.. ya , babe...
ya BABE, a m@#!*%? @#%?*& cover UP...
Sunday, November 29, 2009
My Muse:Athena
The music emanates from you... i am
Energized ... i am
NOT
What
i
am
The rhapsodic melody radiates form you , Athena
My Muse...
i revel in your scent...
i am enraptured by your gait...
This euphonic
song cannot escape me
i am trapped within
your gaze...
The weight of the world begins to subside as you articulate a line...
i am enraptured by your voice
AND
i
cannot
evade the
the suggestive look
of your
Eyes
18h 32 m~ monday, november 30, 2009~
i am wondering about the expiration of the
Day
into
Night
and if she is fine...
i am wondering about the inner battle
And
Her powerful will to power...
her Will to survive...
And i am cognizant of her long journey...
( But i want my Muse here~ i would like to revel in
her
Beauty~)
It is truth that i solicit from my Muse...
Athena must proffer me a new insight
Of
This
Chaotic
World
A world that i am not able to comprehend...
{My Muse takes my hand... she engages her wheel on a chariot like structure... and the ride commences...
This is her narrative:
The deforestation of the Amazon forests is pervaisve~ Bolivia, Peru, Brazil~
and the extraction of the BLACK gold BY the MNC Oil : Exxon, Shell, Mobil PROFFERS
ONLY black poison for them to ingest...
(There are faint yawps:
"Viva la revolucion".... "Vive la revolution..."
Donde esta Che... Bolivar...?? Ou sont les sans-culottes...??)
The waters are still toxic; the campesinos are barefoot;
The ancient Peruvian tribes linger in despair...
The Peruvian president , Alan Garcia, has yawped his political cry:
They are savages... they are savages... SAVAGES...
with this word Athena releases me from her chariot ride.}
I must NOW live the absurd... i donot understand the ABSURD... i am conscious of the ABSURD...
I am tired of the BRUTALITY...
i need
love
I am tired of the TORTURE...
i
need
her touch...
i am tired of the EXTRAORDINARY RENDITION...
i
am
searching
for her
scent...
i
am
not
whole...
am i...?
will she render me
ONE...
i require her inspiration in order to commence this verse
i need to know her well before i write this poem
i am not able to compose this verse...
i solicit
MY MUSE ATHENA...
she must inspire these lines...
Time jolts me... NIGHT is now DAY...
i am not wholly certain...??
~17h 15m~
i
am tired of EXPLOITATION...
i
need her gaze... i need to feel whole... i need to feel human... i need to feel one...
O
N
E
As i calculate the hours that expire, I am waiting for the Highways 70, 76, 80, 90, 94 to usher her forth... into
Real
TIME
(But
i become conscious of the the indigenous populations that had to be either assimilated... executed...
i become cognizant of the duality~ will and idea; man and nature~ and the absurdity that is the human condition;
my desire for Thanatos supercedes Eros...
i search for death in life, and life in death.
How do i resolve this inherent paradox that
is
NORTH
AMERICA...
i
am tired of EXPLOITATION... of the Genocide...)
i
need her gaze... i need to feel whole... i need to feel human... i need to feel one...
A
T
H
E
N
A
m
y
m
u
s
e
help me compose this verse...
help me...
help me with the high of consciousness...
( i am in the lows of this state)
help me publish this verse...
Athena, help me journey into the realms of your poetic chambers...
Athena, prompt me on the next line of verse...
Athena, i entreat you to jettison us in life's next spheres...
Athena, i request of you the euphonic melodies that will release me from this slumber...
Help me compose the next verse...
my Muse...
Energized ... i am
NOT
What
i
am
The rhapsodic melody radiates form you , Athena
My Muse...
i revel in your scent...
i am enraptured by your gait...
This euphonic
song cannot escape me
i am trapped within
your gaze...
The weight of the world begins to subside as you articulate a line...
i am enraptured by your voice
AND
i
cannot
evade the
the suggestive look
of your
Eyes
18h 32 m~ monday, november 30, 2009~
i am wondering about the expiration of the
Day
into
Night
and if she is fine...
i am wondering about the inner battle
And
Her powerful will to power...
her Will to survive...
And i am cognizant of her long journey...
( But i want my Muse here~ i would like to revel in
her
Beauty~)
It is truth that i solicit from my Muse...
Athena must proffer me a new insight
Of
This
Chaotic
World
A world that i am not able to comprehend...
{My Muse takes my hand... she engages her wheel on a chariot like structure... and the ride commences...
This is her narrative:
The deforestation of the Amazon forests is pervaisve~ Bolivia, Peru, Brazil~
and the extraction of the BLACK gold BY the MNC Oil : Exxon, Shell, Mobil PROFFERS
ONLY black poison for them to ingest...
(There are faint yawps:
"Viva la revolucion".... "Vive la revolution..."
Donde esta Che... Bolivar...?? Ou sont les sans-culottes...??)
The waters are still toxic; the campesinos are barefoot;
The ancient Peruvian tribes linger in despair...
The Peruvian president , Alan Garcia, has yawped his political cry:
They are savages... they are savages... SAVAGES...
with this word Athena releases me from her chariot ride.}
I must NOW live the absurd... i donot understand the ABSURD... i am conscious of the ABSURD...
I am tired of the BRUTALITY...
i need
love
I am tired of the TORTURE...
i
need
her touch...
i am tired of the EXTRAORDINARY RENDITION...
i
am
searching
for her
scent...
i
am
not
whole...
am i...?
will she render me
ONE...
i require her inspiration in order to commence this verse
i need to know her well before i write this poem
i am not able to compose this verse...
i solicit
MY MUSE ATHENA...
she must inspire these lines...
Time jolts me... NIGHT is now DAY...
i am not wholly certain...??
~17h 15m~
i
am tired of EXPLOITATION...
i
need her gaze... i need to feel whole... i need to feel human... i need to feel one...
O
N
E
As i calculate the hours that expire, I am waiting for the Highways 70, 76, 80, 90, 94 to usher her forth... into
Real
TIME
(But
i become conscious of the the indigenous populations that had to be either assimilated... executed...
i become cognizant of the duality~ will and idea; man and nature~ and the absurdity that is the human condition;
my desire for Thanatos supercedes Eros...
i search for death in life, and life in death.
How do i resolve this inherent paradox that
is
NORTH
AMERICA...
i
am tired of EXPLOITATION... of the Genocide...)
i
need her gaze... i need to feel whole... i need to feel human... i need to feel one...
A
T
H
E
N
A
m
y
m
u
s
e
help me compose this verse...
help me...
help me with the high of consciousness...
( i am in the lows of this state)
help me publish this verse...
Athena, help me journey into the realms of your poetic chambers...
Athena, prompt me on the next line of verse...
Athena, i entreat you to jettison us in life's next spheres...
Athena, i request of you the euphonic melodies that will release me from this slumber...
Help me compose the next verse...
my Muse...
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thanatos
i am not cognizant why Time proffers
Me
these precious seconds
WHILE
others
Die...
why am i still amidst the
Trees... Flowers... Wind...
i should be among the Leaves...
fertlizing the marshes... the moraines...
Time is too kind to those
Responsible for
Operation Cast Lead
Iraqi Freedom
Afghanistan...
Time is too
Kind to
the
Neo-Conservatives
Many are
still alive...
Time must adress the grievances against the
Earth...
N
O
N
E
O
F
T
H
E
M
are cognizant of their errors...
of their hell fire dronemissiles... apache helicopters... abram tanks... cluster bombs...
D
I
E
*
!
$
$
@
!
()
[ ]
{ }
!
!
?
*
they must all receive the same b*@@%!
they must all expereince the same !@#%^&* horror!!!!
as our brothers and sisters in iraq, afghnistan, pakistan, gaza, somalia, sudan....
Time must NOT neglect its hand against the
I
M
P
E
R
I
A
S
T
!
@
#
&
$
%
^
Thanatos awaits them...
The Wind must usher in this melody of death...
The Earth must offer its ouvertures and
ooze out its liquids to envelop them
AND
all
of
their
A
R
M
A
M
E
N
T
S
.
.
.
@
#
$
%
^
&
*
(0)
+
?
>
<
~
@
Thanatos
Awaits them...
M
O
T
H
E
R
E
A
R
T
H
we must hear your cries... your yawps...
answer
my
sollicitations...
of
T
H
A
N
A
T
O
S
Me
these precious seconds
WHILE
others
Die...
why am i still amidst the
Trees... Flowers... Wind...
i should be among the Leaves...
fertlizing the marshes... the moraines...
Time is too kind to those
Responsible for
Operation Cast Lead
Iraqi Freedom
Afghanistan...
Time is too
Kind to
the
Neo-Conservatives
Many are
still alive...
Time must adress the grievances against the
Earth...
N
O
N
E
O
F
T
H
E
M
are cognizant of their errors...
of their hell fire dronemissiles... apache helicopters... abram tanks... cluster bombs...
D
I
E
*
!
$
$
@
!
()
[ ]
{ }
!
!
?
*
they must all receive the same b*@@%!
they must all expereince the same !@#%^&* horror!!!!
as our brothers and sisters in iraq, afghnistan, pakistan, gaza, somalia, sudan....
Time must NOT neglect its hand against the
I
M
P
E
R
I
A
S
T
!
@
#
&
$
%
^
Thanatos awaits them...
The Wind must usher in this melody of death...
The Earth must offer its ouvertures and
ooze out its liquids to envelop them
AND
all
of
their
A
R
M
A
M
E
N
T
S
.
.
.
@
#
$
%
^
&
*
(0)
+
?
>
<
~
@
Thanatos
Awaits them...
M
O
T
H
E
R
E
A
R
T
H
we must hear your cries... your yawps...
answer
my
sollicitations...
of
T
H
A
N
A
T
O
S
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Wretched and the Blood of the Earth
Where does the human become one with the animal...?
On which terrestial plane do the two become One...?
The footprint ~ in blood, of blood, with blood- lingers on with
Standing Bear, Sitting Bull, Geronimo et al...
Yet we are unable to validate their existence.
We authenticate this history with dysphemisms.
Why are we afraid of the animal...? the bestial...?
We are engaged... we are immersed ... we are complicit...
In Blood, with Blood, of Blood.
Why do we fear the primordial...? Why do we recoil of the mention of the bestial...?
We are engaged in all the savagery... in all the depravity... in all the cruelty:
Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan~ in Blood, with Blood, of Blood~ Sudan, the Congo~
We wear the Blood, we drink of it~the Blood baptises us~ and we celebrate with it...
We laud the blood footprints...
Blood... we relish in its light... we revel in its colour... we smell its scent...
Blood... its light... its colour... its scent lingers... it permeates the temporal and spatial
Of Blood, in blood, with Blood... we cherish
When does the animal become human?
The blood engages us... it solicits us... to walk over the fragments...
The blood lingers... the smell remains... it stains~ its carbon print is indelible~
I feel the fragments from the shattered glass; i cannot remove the shards from the abyss of my mind...
The blood is pervasive: its scent and its blemish still haunts me...
I am unable to expunge the images of Gaza, Tamil Nadu, Falluja, Kandahar, Darfur...
My feet traverse the shards of the shattered glass windows, i cannot eradicate the blood images that are fragments in my inner chamber... I yawp over the rooftops of the Buddhas, but my bellows remain in a vacuum of sealed blood wells.
It is only the oasis of my mind that triggers my crys for the Buddhas of Bamiyan:
It was during the third century CE that these 50 metre structures were erected; they were indicative of a spiritual culture..
The blood lingers... it begins to secrete from all of my orifices...
It is only the abyss of my mind that triggers my yawps...
I begin to walk on the shattered fragments at Bamiyan, Kandahar, Gaza, Falluja; i am unable ~i cannot eradicate~ to expunge from my mind the blood images that seep from the shattered buildings... from the streets of Falluja...
Humans are still primordial... the grunts have been replaced by the AK-47s... by the M-16s
I am unable to yawp over the rooftops of Asia...
No one will hear me...
No one will care...
No one will look up...
No one will smell the scent...
No one will walk over the shards of glass...
No one will see the blood stained streets...
I will be alone... and i will not yawp my barbaric yawp
Because it will be the bellow of a coward not a hero;
Heroes are extinct just ike theTyrannosaurus Rex.
A carbon print lingers... ~just like the scent of the human blood that endures...~
I must find the carbon print... it must proffer answers...
I must return to the shattered glass...
I must continue to walk... walk over this fragmented glass...
I must return to the shards of glass
I must be conscious of these splinters... these fragments... this blood... this pain... this blood that flows~exudes~
I must run... i must continue to run.. Escape is my only refuge..
Yet
Return... is
Death.
But
I must return
Only to confront that which
I appall:
The
Primordial.
On which terrestial plane do the two become One...?
The footprint ~ in blood, of blood, with blood- lingers on with
Standing Bear, Sitting Bull, Geronimo et al...
Yet we are unable to validate their existence.
We authenticate this history with dysphemisms.
Why are we afraid of the animal...? the bestial...?
We are engaged... we are immersed ... we are complicit...
In Blood, with Blood, of Blood.
Why do we fear the primordial...? Why do we recoil of the mention of the bestial...?
We are engaged in all the savagery... in all the depravity... in all the cruelty:
Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan~ in Blood, with Blood, of Blood~ Sudan, the Congo~
We wear the Blood, we drink of it~the Blood baptises us~ and we celebrate with it...
We laud the blood footprints...
Blood... we relish in its light... we revel in its colour... we smell its scent...
Blood... its light... its colour... its scent lingers... it permeates the temporal and spatial
Of Blood, in blood, with Blood... we cherish
When does the animal become human?
The blood engages us... it solicits us... to walk over the fragments...
The blood lingers... the smell remains... it stains~ its carbon print is indelible~
I feel the fragments from the shattered glass; i cannot remove the shards from the abyss of my mind...
The blood is pervasive: its scent and its blemish still haunts me...
I am unable to expunge the images of Gaza, Tamil Nadu, Falluja, Kandahar, Darfur...
My feet traverse the shards of the shattered glass windows, i cannot eradicate the blood images that are fragments in my inner chamber... I yawp over the rooftops of the Buddhas, but my bellows remain in a vacuum of sealed blood wells.
It is only the oasis of my mind that triggers my crys for the Buddhas of Bamiyan:
It was during the third century CE that these 50 metre structures were erected; they were indicative of a spiritual culture..
The blood lingers... it begins to secrete from all of my orifices...
It is only the abyss of my mind that triggers my yawps...
I begin to walk on the shattered fragments at Bamiyan, Kandahar, Gaza, Falluja; i am unable ~i cannot eradicate~ to expunge from my mind the blood images that seep from the shattered buildings... from the streets of Falluja...
Humans are still primordial... the grunts have been replaced by the AK-47s... by the M-16s
I am unable to yawp over the rooftops of Asia...
No one will hear me...
No one will care...
No one will look up...
No one will smell the scent...
No one will walk over the shards of glass...
No one will see the blood stained streets...
I will be alone... and i will not yawp my barbaric yawp
Because it will be the bellow of a coward not a hero;
Heroes are extinct just ike theTyrannosaurus Rex.
A carbon print lingers... ~just like the scent of the human blood that endures...~
I must find the carbon print... it must proffer answers...
I must return to the shattered glass...
I must continue to walk... walk over this fragmented glass...
I must return to the shards of glass
I must be conscious of these splinters... these fragments... this blood... this pain... this blood that flows~exudes~
I must run... i must continue to run.. Escape is my only refuge..
Yet
Return... is
Death.
But
I must return
Only to confront that which
I appall:
The
Primordial.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sarah: The Delphi Oracle
How do i reach out...
How do i mourn this loss...
How do we approach the grave...
When do we walk with the Black Hearse
Where is the window that will let me in...
How do i get there from here...
I will never here the words ever again:
i love you...
I remember the driving lessons... the Tea Cup Leaves reading ceremony:
love, death, loss;
I remember you reading the Ouija Board and providing the responses to my future.
I would always disagree... dismissing the oracle form Delphi!
~ I wish i had a Ouija Board today... so i could tell you that i have love you as well
~ I never returned that telephone call... i wish i did...
I did not visit you in so many years... i do not know why??? The regrets will remain ...
Regrets... regrets...
How do I mourn your loss...
How do i clutch death...?
When will the grave envelop me?
When will the White Horseman stop running...
And
stop pillaging
I would love to intercept the Black pall
Instead we continue to immerse ourselves in the habit of dying
Rather than in the act of thinking...
I wish i could intercept the Black Chariot...
How was i immersed?
April 1965
April 2009
When i speak to the Delphi Oracle again...?
How do i reach out...?
How do i mourn the loss...
How do i reach the tomb...?
How do i walk with the Three Horsemen?
Where is the door that will let me in?
How will i be able to traverse this new threshold... will i be able to absorb the Black Thorns
How do i eradicate these
How do i mourn this loss...
How do we approach the grave...
When do we walk with the Black Hearse
Where is the window that will let me in...
How do i get there from here...
I will never here the words ever again:
i love you...
I remember the driving lessons... the Tea Cup Leaves reading ceremony:
love, death, loss;
I remember you reading the Ouija Board and providing the responses to my future.
I would always disagree... dismissing the oracle form Delphi!
~ I wish i had a Ouija Board today... so i could tell you that i have love you as well
~ I never returned that telephone call... i wish i did...
I did not visit you in so many years... i do not know why??? The regrets will remain ...
Regrets... regrets...
How do I mourn your loss...
How do i clutch death...?
When will the grave envelop me?
When will the White Horseman stop running...
And
stop pillaging
I would love to intercept the Black pall
Instead we continue to immerse ourselves in the habit of dying
Rather than in the act of thinking...
I wish i could intercept the Black Chariot...
How was i immersed?
April 1965
April 2009
When i speak to the Delphi Oracle again...?
How do i reach out...?
How do i mourn the loss...
How do i reach the tomb...?
How do i walk with the Three Horsemen?
Where is the door that will let me in?
How will i be able to traverse this new threshold... will i be able to absorb the Black Thorns
How do i eradicate these
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The Gladstone Hotel
Truth has many different voices...
Why are we in Afghanistan...?
Do we, as Canadians, proffer a disservice... a disloyalty...
to
the Canadian Troops...
If we do not support them unconditionally???
Are they cognizantof their mission? is there a clear objective:
Reconstruction? infrastructure?
Construction of elementary schools?
Peace-building?
Are they protecting...
maintaining the principles of democracy
of justice...
of Freedom...
~~~~~~~
Truth has many grains ...
Mr Margolis sings that he does not use the nomenclature War on Terror
and he should not!!!
he alludes to the forces battling the Coalition forces as RESISTANCE forces NOT
Insurgents...
~~~~~~~~~~
She waltzes by... her hazel eyes, her light tanned skin... her graceful words...
her graceful waltz...
Truth has many scents...
~~~~~~~~~~~
I cannot remove myself from thinking about her... she is in the room...
She is in the ROOM....
All i can think about is searching for a way to be in her space...
Is she a volunteer?
Here
and
there
~~~~~~~~~~
Truth has many forms...
Mr Jay asserts that the Afghani people wholly reject the Taliban!!
Another voice alludes to the Tea Cup
Mr Margolis asserts that one cannot demonize the Taliban
Truth has many melodies...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There are 130,000 mercernaries in iraq... yes... still...
Obama yawps his melody: Change! Yes we can!
Blackwater... Yes we can!
NOW Xe~ Yes we can!
CACI
Dynacorp
Titan
Truth has many triggers...
Yes, we can! Change!
~~~~~~~~~~~
A scent lingers in the room...
Venus has returned...
A blue scent lingers on...
A beige light was germinating at my feet...
And
Truth has many colours
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eyes have pierced this continent... how many oceans must their tears fill
before we realise that blood... the blood is the same colour:
Iraqui, Afghani, Pakistani , Somali, Palestinian...
Eyes have penetrated this mountain... how many glaciers must recede before
we realise that MNCs are not our Saviour... how many children must drown
in columite, tantalite~ coltan~ before we surrender our soul to Dionysus...?
Truth has many hungry souls...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her eyes have engaged the devil... the devil must jig... jig... to the Gaian tune... jig... baby... jig
to the merkin ball... let me grasp the fragments that remain... jig... baby.. jig... because there will be
there will be
NO
No... On
no... ON
On... NO
ON... no
there will be no tomorrow... CAT will prevail... here and there... everywhere... you must jig... jig...
Before
CAT
derails
YOU, Jayounis, Qabaliya
CAT has many arms... extremities it has severed...
Rachel Corrie is one of their victims...
CAT must be proud... they are engaged with Bush's campaign "War on Terror"
A terror that must be stopped first within the American psyche...
Yes, it is a beautiful world!! it is a wonderful world!!
Please, escort me to MOMA, AGO et al
and i will paint the next Mona Lisa, but it will not have a smile ; it will have an AK-47
and i will paint the next My Bridge, but it will not have a landscape; it will rubble and uprooted olive trees
Truth has many cadavers to exhume...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CAT has pierced my soul...
My blood ... my song... my poem are all useless...
And i hear the ridiculous refrain:
Oh, what a beautiful world!!
But
Truth has many shadows... shadows that hide...
Why are we in Afghanistan...?
Do we, as Canadians, proffer a disservice... a disloyalty...
to
the Canadian Troops...
If we do not support them unconditionally???
Are they cognizantof their mission? is there a clear objective:
Reconstruction? infrastructure?
Construction of elementary schools?
Peace-building?
Are they protecting...
maintaining the principles of democracy
of justice...
of Freedom...
~~~~~~~
Truth has many grains ...
Mr Margolis sings that he does not use the nomenclature War on Terror
and he should not!!!
he alludes to the forces battling the Coalition forces as RESISTANCE forces NOT
Insurgents...
~~~~~~~~~~
She waltzes by... her hazel eyes, her light tanned skin... her graceful words...
her graceful waltz...
Truth has many scents...
~~~~~~~~~~~
I cannot remove myself from thinking about her... she is in the room...
She is in the ROOM....
All i can think about is searching for a way to be in her space...
Is she a volunteer?
Here
and
there
~~~~~~~~~~
Truth has many forms...
Mr Jay asserts that the Afghani people wholly reject the Taliban!!
Another voice alludes to the Tea Cup
Mr Margolis asserts that one cannot demonize the Taliban
Truth has many melodies...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There are 130,000 mercernaries in iraq... yes... still...
Obama yawps his melody: Change! Yes we can!
Blackwater... Yes we can!
NOW Xe~ Yes we can!
CACI
Dynacorp
Titan
Truth has many triggers...
Yes, we can! Change!
~~~~~~~~~~~
A scent lingers in the room...
Venus has returned...
A blue scent lingers on...
A beige light was germinating at my feet...
And
Truth has many colours
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eyes have pierced this continent... how many oceans must their tears fill
before we realise that blood... the blood is the same colour:
Iraqui, Afghani, Pakistani , Somali, Palestinian...
Eyes have penetrated this mountain... how many glaciers must recede before
we realise that MNCs are not our Saviour... how many children must drown
in columite, tantalite~ coltan~ before we surrender our soul to Dionysus...?
Truth has many hungry souls...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her eyes have engaged the devil... the devil must jig... jig... to the Gaian tune... jig... baby... jig
to the merkin ball... let me grasp the fragments that remain... jig... baby.. jig... because there will be
there will be
NO
No... On
no... ON
On... NO
ON... no
there will be no tomorrow... CAT will prevail... here and there... everywhere... you must jig... jig...
Before
CAT
derails
YOU, Jayounis, Qabaliya
CAT has many arms... extremities it has severed...
Rachel Corrie is one of their victims...
CAT must be proud... they are engaged with Bush's campaign "War on Terror"
A terror that must be stopped first within the American psyche...
Yes, it is a beautiful world!! it is a wonderful world!!
Please, escort me to MOMA, AGO et al
and i will paint the next Mona Lisa, but it will not have a smile ; it will have an AK-47
and i will paint the next My Bridge, but it will not have a landscape; it will rubble and uprooted olive trees
Truth has many cadavers to exhume...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CAT has pierced my soul...
My blood ... my song... my poem are all useless...
And i hear the ridiculous refrain:
Oh, what a beautiful world!!
But
Truth has many shadows... shadows that hide...
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Lake Ontario ( or Ode to Selene)
Lake Ontario
Saturday, December 13, 1997 Oakville
I
The sounds of poesy are found amidst the sounds of your breath!
Could the force of the moon have pierced our souls?
Language was not necessary to intimate the warmth
Of the moment, two entities coalesced into one wave;
The spirits soared amidst the sighs of ecstasy,
You surrender your mind to the waves of the lake,
Your body transforms the landscape of the shore,
The wind moans among the light of the moon
Only to be absorbed by the oscillation
Of our thoughts that transcend the wind, the waves, and the shore.
II
The waves embraced the shore like the warm, sensuous fringes
Enbraced our spirits, the warm hands that proffer understanding
Grasping for new summits, the firmament offers truths
That the human
Eyes
Cannot transcend or fully fathom.
The silver masts will enlighten the nautical travel through this
Journey of discovery
Into the depths of an intangible and inarticulate consciousness,
Into the depths of your inner being,
Into the depths of your quintessence and into the depths of your river!
III
Are the scents, the silky shapes, the hummingbird’s sighs all part of a dream?
Has my reality been transfigured by this sensitive hummingbird?
Do i wake or do i sleep?
Is the lake murmuring its secrets?
Do i sleep?
Do i wake?
Are the bards with us on this silver twilight?
Is the nautical traveller aware of Aeolus’ powers as these passengers...
Travel
through
Aphrodite’s channels?
Cognizance will proffer growth into a new realm,
A realm that will trumpet...
the golden fruit,
A realm that will continue...
this waking
silver
Dream.
Saturday, December 13, 1997 Oakville
I
The sounds of poesy are found amidst the sounds of your breath!
Could the force of the moon have pierced our souls?
Language was not necessary to intimate the warmth
Of the moment, two entities coalesced into one wave;
The spirits soared amidst the sighs of ecstasy,
You surrender your mind to the waves of the lake,
Your body transforms the landscape of the shore,
The wind moans among the light of the moon
Only to be absorbed by the oscillation
Of our thoughts that transcend the wind, the waves, and the shore.
II
The waves embraced the shore like the warm, sensuous fringes
Enbraced our spirits, the warm hands that proffer understanding
Grasping for new summits, the firmament offers truths
That the human
Eyes
Cannot transcend or fully fathom.
The silver masts will enlighten the nautical travel through this
Journey of discovery
Into the depths of an intangible and inarticulate consciousness,
Into the depths of your inner being,
Into the depths of your quintessence and into the depths of your river!
III
Are the scents, the silky shapes, the hummingbird’s sighs all part of a dream?
Has my reality been transfigured by this sensitive hummingbird?
Do i wake or do i sleep?
Is the lake murmuring its secrets?
Do i sleep?
Do i wake?
Are the bards with us on this silver twilight?
Is the nautical traveller aware of Aeolus’ powers as these passengers...
Travel
through
Aphrodite’s channels?
Cognizance will proffer growth into a new realm,
A realm that will trumpet...
the golden fruit,
A realm that will continue...
this waking
silver
Dream.
Dawn to Dusk (or beetle)
Dawn to Dusk
The day awakens
But which day is it?
Evening is upon us
What time is upon us again?
Which day is upon us...?
Saturday? Sunday?
All is strange... all is irrelevant
Walls
Yawps
Everywhere.
White... white walls are surrounding him...
me...
him...
Which day is it again?
Noises pierce my space
Where does time travel...
The bell begins to toll yet it does not
toll for me
Immensity... in awe of the immensity
The bells, the countryside, the green
Green pervades here... moments of freedom
Walls, white walls...
Iron bars are suffocating him
The white is blinding
Who will tell us if we can break
the chain?
And jump...
beyond...
In order to find the yellow of the lemons
But his return is always
confronted with
chaos
The ant-like meandering
In the labyrinth of the Minotaur
If only a window
Would allow him to
See the light ...
of the beetle
The day awakens
But which day is it?
Evening is upon us
What time is upon us again?
Which day is upon us...?
Saturday? Sunday?
All is strange... all is irrelevant
Walls
Yawps
Everywhere.
White... white walls are surrounding him...
me...
him...
Which day is it again?
Noises pierce my space
Where does time travel...
The bell begins to toll yet it does not
toll for me
Immensity... in awe of the immensity
The bells, the countryside, the green
Green pervades here... moments of freedom
Walls, white walls...
Iron bars are suffocating him
The white is blinding
Who will tell us if we can break
the chain?
And jump...
beyond...
In order to find the yellow of the lemons
But his return is always
confronted with
chaos
The ant-like meandering
In the labyrinth of the Minotaur
If only a window
Would allow him to
See the light ...
of the beetle
Corners or The Great Canadian Moose
Corners
they sit at corners ... they solicit pedestrians, “Spare some change?”
How many of us recognise their need? as they sit at corners. . .
but our mayor has organised better activities for our cherished citizenry
The great Canadian Moose: they have noble colours...they stand at corners!!
While others sit at corners... who will be their companions? who will see the sadness in their eyes...
they sit at corners...
Lakeshore and Spadina once offered us squeegee kids.. some still stand at corners...
i couldn’t understand what the outrage was all about... they used to sit at
corners...
Instead Toronto is now adorned with the great Canadian Moose... they stand at corners!!
the municipal bylaw forced them off the corners... they no longer sit or stand at corners. . .
Toronto cultivates the “good”... the great Canadian Moose stands at corners now.
.___________________________________
Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates would be proud of our corners
Our polis is cultivating the “aims and pursuits that aim at the good”...
____________________________________________________________
but they sit at corners. . .
The activity of the soul is a noble pursuit...
they still sit at corners somewhere. . .
What is the philosophical view of Toronto’s politicians? What is their view of happiness? The good? Is it equated with the virtue of the soul?with the good?
Oh! oh! by the way... they still stand at corners somewhere. . .
we should sit at corners sometimes...
they, the politicians, should sit at corners... somewhere... sometimes...
what if i might be sitting at a corner somewhere. . .? one day. . .
at a corner. . . somewhere. . .
corners...
corner...
Bloor and Bathurst...
the canadian moose, you, and me... sitting... at corners…
one day… homeless men and women, squeegee kids and me…
-The Great Canadian Moose standing proudly-
at
corners…
you
and
me
they sit at corners ... they solicit pedestrians, “Spare some change?”
How many of us recognise their need? as they sit at corners. . .
but our mayor has organised better activities for our cherished citizenry
The great Canadian Moose: they have noble colours...they stand at corners!!
While others sit at corners... who will be their companions? who will see the sadness in their eyes...
they sit at corners...
Lakeshore and Spadina once offered us squeegee kids.. some still stand at corners...
i couldn’t understand what the outrage was all about... they used to sit at
corners...
Instead Toronto is now adorned with the great Canadian Moose... they stand at corners!!
the municipal bylaw forced them off the corners... they no longer sit or stand at corners. . .
Toronto cultivates the “good”... the great Canadian Moose stands at corners now.
.___________________________________
Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates would be proud of our corners
Our polis is cultivating the “aims and pursuits that aim at the good”...
____________________________________________________________
but they sit at corners. . .
The activity of the soul is a noble pursuit...
they still sit at corners somewhere. . .
What is the philosophical view of Toronto’s politicians? What is their view of happiness? The good? Is it equated with the virtue of the soul?with the good?
Oh! oh! by the way... they still stand at corners somewhere. . .
we should sit at corners sometimes...
they, the politicians, should sit at corners... somewhere... sometimes...
what if i might be sitting at a corner somewhere. . .? one day. . .
at a corner. . . somewhere. . .
corners...
corner...
Bloor and Bathurst...
the canadian moose, you, and me... sitting... at corners…
one day… homeless men and women, squeegee kids and me…
-The Great Canadian Moose standing proudly-
at
corners…
you
and
me
Sonnet to the Anemone
Sonnet To The Anemone feb 10 ,2000
Blue is the scent that it articulates,
Blue is the esssence of its inner core
Lavender to purple-blue are its mates!
The wind summons its foliage evermore,
Anticipate the golden silky head
As it awaits the spledour of the sun!
It is Manitoba’s floral mead;
With the late summer its foliage run
Into your intellect and silky beauty.
i witness your inner patience; ponder
the marvel of your blue scents, your lobes
and the silky grace of your blue flowers.
Your inner core exudes the blue silky seeds
Which enable a soul to grasp the meads.
Blue is the scent that it articulates,
Blue is the esssence of its inner core
Lavender to purple-blue are its mates!
The wind summons its foliage evermore,
Anticipate the golden silky head
As it awaits the spledour of the sun!
It is Manitoba’s floral mead;
With the late summer its foliage run
Into your intellect and silky beauty.
i witness your inner patience; ponder
the marvel of your blue scents, your lobes
and the silky grace of your blue flowers.
Your inner core exudes the blue silky seeds
Which enable a soul to grasp the meads.
Amidst Magnolia
November 18, 1997
Amidst Magnolia
Language articulates an inappellable and mysterious essence
Just like the olfactory resonance of the Western Coast Magnolia.
A creature’s being dictates its essence... existence...?
Amidst the greenery of this platanus acerifolia
We seek shade from the sun’s luminescence.
Yet the inevitable resin that resides from its pale cups effaces melancholia!
And this intellect is capable of clearing a sentinel
Through the plane trees in order to trumpet this flower’s porcelain pink tolling bells .
Ontology is as intangible as the mystery of this flower’s true quintessence.
The quest for being is as axiomatic as the quest for beauty
Yet how does one arrange the various levels of one’s essence?
The sweet chambers of this flower’s mind are as incredible as the immutability of Juno’s beauty
Which quest proffers one to a path of illuminating relevance?
Are the elements of the earth exposed to chance, doubt, viscosity, and mutability?
O, Ariadne weave your golden porcelain thread to open my conscience’s chambers
Guide the scented pale cups, language, ontology to their ultimate bowers.
The harmony of the pink hue announces this saucer’s bouquet of aroma that articulates your cognizance
Of the world, the branches of this inner cove exudes a precious essence.
Amidst Magnolia
Language articulates an inappellable and mysterious essence
Just like the olfactory resonance of the Western Coast Magnolia.
A creature’s being dictates its essence... existence...?
Amidst the greenery of this platanus acerifolia
We seek shade from the sun’s luminescence.
Yet the inevitable resin that resides from its pale cups effaces melancholia!
And this intellect is capable of clearing a sentinel
Through the plane trees in order to trumpet this flower’s porcelain pink tolling bells .
Ontology is as intangible as the mystery of this flower’s true quintessence.
The quest for being is as axiomatic as the quest for beauty
Yet how does one arrange the various levels of one’s essence?
The sweet chambers of this flower’s mind are as incredible as the immutability of Juno’s beauty
Which quest proffers one to a path of illuminating relevance?
Are the elements of the earth exposed to chance, doubt, viscosity, and mutability?
O, Ariadne weave your golden porcelain thread to open my conscience’s chambers
Guide the scented pale cups, language, ontology to their ultimate bowers.
The harmony of the pink hue announces this saucer’s bouquet of aroma that articulates your cognizance
Of the world, the branches of this inner cove exudes a precious essence.
Prelude to a Winter Carol
Prelude To A Winter Carol
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita\mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,\che la diritta via era smarrita.
Dante, La Divina Commedia
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This grey white season, too, shall pass...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you brooding?
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This grey hooded man, too, will cease ...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you pondering?
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This chaotic pounding, too, will efface...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you ruminating?
Beads, beads, o, beads... what is human nature? why is it roaring?
These trees have signaled the obliterated path. But ... but...
Why? But why are they here? Why? o, why, o, why...
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This grey white season, too, shall pass...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you brooding?
Beads, beads, o, beads... what is human pride? why is it mocking thy mother? thy father? thy father?
These trees have signaled the obliterated path. But ... but...
Why? But why are they here? Why? o, why, o, why...
Icicles, icicles, o, icicles...what is human obtuseness?why is it incapacita- ting him?
These trees have signaled the obliterated path. But ... but..
Is this a question for Thanatos? where is hades? who has summoned the
Minotaur?
Icicles, icicles, o, icicles...what is human vanity?why is it suffocating him? These flowers have enunciated the grey toll. But ... but..
Is this a question for Eros? where is Apollonius? why did Lycius elapse?
Lamia, lamia, o, lamia... why have you come hither? why does your aura
petrify him?
These serpents have imprinted an indelible stain on his soul. But...
Is this a question for Apollo? where is Juno? why did she not sing her hymn?
Tundra, o frozen tundra, o frozen tundra... why have the melodious swallows expired?
These horses have sealed an indelible stain on his mind. But...
Is this a question for a child? where is justice? why do his tears turn into icicles?
O Lucifer, Lucifer, Oh, Lucifer... why have your rings come hither?
These rings: Caina, Antenora, Tolomea, and Giudecca have liquidated his soul!
Is this a quandary for philosophy? where is the blue cave? why do these images -Here- manifest themselves akin to Cocytus?
O Francesca, o Francesca, o Francesca... why has Malatesta come here to slay this child?
This mound emanates not one atom of charm! But... but... why are these barbaric horses thundering at him? This child...
Why have your charms evaporated from these statuesque faces?
O,Plato, o Ariadne, where is the golden fleece image to reveal the sentinel to these barbaric , oscillating horses?
This hammering resonates through the walls of his cerebral hemisphere!
Does this quest transcend this child’s precious temporal lobe sphere... ??!!
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita\mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,\che la diritta via era smarrita.
Dante, La Divina Commedia
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This grey white season, too, shall pass...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you brooding?
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This grey hooded man, too, will cease ...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you pondering?
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This chaotic pounding, too, will efface...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you ruminating?
Beads, beads, o, beads... what is human nature? why is it roaring?
These trees have signaled the obliterated path. But ... but...
Why? But why are they here? Why? o, why, o, why...
Flakes, flakes, o, flakes... why are you crying? why are you lamenting?
This grey white season, too, shall pass...
What? Pardon? What is it? Are you brooding?
Beads, beads, o, beads... what is human pride? why is it mocking thy mother? thy father? thy father?
These trees have signaled the obliterated path. But ... but...
Why? But why are they here? Why? o, why, o, why...
Icicles, icicles, o, icicles...what is human obtuseness?why is it incapacita- ting him?
These trees have signaled the obliterated path. But ... but..
Is this a question for Thanatos? where is hades? who has summoned the
Minotaur?
Icicles, icicles, o, icicles...what is human vanity?why is it suffocating him? These flowers have enunciated the grey toll. But ... but..
Is this a question for Eros? where is Apollonius? why did Lycius elapse?
Lamia, lamia, o, lamia... why have you come hither? why does your aura
petrify him?
These serpents have imprinted an indelible stain on his soul. But...
Is this a question for Apollo? where is Juno? why did she not sing her hymn?
Tundra, o frozen tundra, o frozen tundra... why have the melodious swallows expired?
These horses have sealed an indelible stain on his mind. But...
Is this a question for a child? where is justice? why do his tears turn into icicles?
O Lucifer, Lucifer, Oh, Lucifer... why have your rings come hither?
These rings: Caina, Antenora, Tolomea, and Giudecca have liquidated his soul!
Is this a quandary for philosophy? where is the blue cave? why do these images -Here- manifest themselves akin to Cocytus?
O Francesca, o Francesca, o Francesca... why has Malatesta come here to slay this child?
This mound emanates not one atom of charm! But... but... why are these barbaric horses thundering at him? This child...
Why have your charms evaporated from these statuesque faces?
O,Plato, o Ariadne, where is the golden fleece image to reveal the sentinel to these barbaric , oscillating horses?
This hammering resonates through the walls of his cerebral hemisphere!
Does this quest transcend this child’s precious temporal lobe sphere... ??!!
The Blue Abyss
The Blue Abyss
The liquids of the core release the pain of the inner chamber,
The atoms are colliding with the fifth dimension.
How does the chariot surpass the clouds of smoke
Where are the philosophers to aid in the dialectic?
Whitman, Keats is the truth found in the blade of grass?
Oh, offer me thy altar so that we may enter your bower’s mass!
Oh, Whitman why is it difficult to sing of myself?
Oh, Keats sleep is ripe within my atoms.
Wait,the chariot looms in the fathomless dark,
The dunes have released the blue melody,
This blue sings of poesy and its powers.
Oh, how we sollicit your powers!
Are you from the chambers of that dark passage?
Will you offer a blue melody for us to pipe?
Are you seeing the blue notes that linger over that pit?
Do you hear the blue grass that whispers its melody?
Are the blue passages within your reach?
Can you reach the chariot form the blue grass?
Are your feet asleep? Has the grass intoxicated your senses?
Do you ever wish to be released from this sleep?
The liquids of the core release the pain of the inner chamber,
The atoms are colliding with the fifth dimension.
How does the chariot surpass the clouds of smoke
Where are the philosophers to aid in the dialectic?
Whitman, Keats is the truth found in the blade of grass?
Oh, offer me thy altar so that we may enter your bower’s mass!
Oh, Whitman why is it difficult to sing of myself?
Oh, Keats sleep is ripe within my atoms.
Wait,the chariot looms in the fathomless dark,
The dunes have released the blue melody,
This blue sings of poesy and its powers.
Oh, how we sollicit your powers!
Are you from the chambers of that dark passage?
Will you offer a blue melody for us to pipe?
Are you seeing the blue notes that linger over that pit?
Do you hear the blue grass that whispers its melody?
Are the blue passages within your reach?
Can you reach the chariot form the blue grass?
Are your feet asleep? Has the grass intoxicated your senses?
Do you ever wish to be released from this sleep?
To the Almond Flowers
To The Almond Flowers
The greyish -black chariot ascends and disseminates its putrid fumes
But only to be consumed by the Autumn perfumes
Which linger, oh, ever so ethereally!
Oh , i wonder does humanity pipe ever so exuberantly?
Could the blessed tree impart an axiom ...?
Could the first day resound a communion ...?
Are the stealths of steel dazzled by the white-greyish clouds of smoke?
i hear the smell of chestnuts which are within the reach of my vision!
The symphony of the floral almonds could invoke
An aid through this autocratic labyrinth of a confused mission?
Could the debate of the fox be a dream?
Could life’s high meadow evaporate this putrid misty stream?
O, unique almond flower you have uttered a fragrant and liberating song, Will you succumb to the powers of this dong?
The greyish -black chariot ascends and disseminates its putrid fumes
But only to be consumed by the Autumn perfumes
Which linger, oh, ever so ethereally!
Oh , i wonder does humanity pipe ever so exuberantly?
Could the blessed tree impart an axiom ...?
Could the first day resound a communion ...?
Are the stealths of steel dazzled by the white-greyish clouds of smoke?
i hear the smell of chestnuts which are within the reach of my vision!
The symphony of the floral almonds could invoke
An aid through this autocratic labyrinth of a confused mission?
Could the debate of the fox be a dream?
Could life’s high meadow evaporate this putrid misty stream?
O, unique almond flower you have uttered a fragrant and liberating song, Will you succumb to the powers of this dong?
Invocation to thecNectars or A few Lines to Wolfsbane
Invocation To The Nectars\A Few Lines To Wolfsbane
i
i am on a plain surrounded by dew
and the dark, purple hue of the monkshood.
Or is its colour such an euphoric blue?
Can the mind be awakened and find itself trodden?
Is the green an intricate fraud?
The purple flowers of the wolfsbane
Articulate a paradoxical trodden
Nature; we, in turn, are sod for its brain
and the dried roots hold the key to this pain.
ii
Oh, Aconitum, oh, pure Aconite!
i offer my yelp to your analgesic
Elements; could there be an untold fight?
What holds the secret to thy roots of magic?
i smell the purple and blue hues of this analgesic!
Will this cup hold me in your chariot?
Or will the juices guide me to thy tragic
Toll? Are you enough to aid these nocturnal fits?
O, woe is the touch of your blue, moist lips!
A Few Lines To Wolfsbane
iii
The green leaves engulfed by the bower
Have cultivated the elixir seeds
As i trekked the Brevent and stole its flower.
The North Wind slowly approached the meads
And disseminated the narcotic feed;
my inner chambers absorbed its honey!
Oh, if i could only attain that mead
But for one more moment of ecstasy
As that successful creature of a bee
iv
Pervasively hovers from bower to
Flower! It seems to sense the intrinsic risk
with those black anteriors of that hue.
Is it sentient amid the white mist
As it ascends to eulogise its verse?
It has succeeded the trek to Mont Blanc
Eschewing the golden analgesic glass.
Every year aroused pilgrims are drawn
to the zenith ; but how many are pawns
v
To the true power? And Koh-i Baba,
the Dinaric Alps, the Sulaiman Range?
What bustle is tantalised to their barbara?
Yet the world is focused on the t.v. cage
observing the lifeless Arkansas mange!
While the downtrodden are immersed in pain
The babel on the spermary gauge
count is relentless; yet i must drink the bane,
sleep amid the dew, and forget the forlorn pain.
vi
Oh, the intoxicating golden bee!
Its song resonates in my chamber
As i approach the purple honey
it circumscribes its terrain forever.
i must battle with its sting and be, be!
A voice utters from a chariot, “Courage!”
Is the bee aware of the clutter?
am i cognizant of it? and its rage?
Bee, Kosovo and me? express our page
vii
To the empty souls of the world to hear.
The Tutsi and the Hutu abandon
the ideals of peace and love because fear
is their vernacular; humans pardon
sins as grains of sand hear the world beckon:
“Rwanda and Uganda are foul with blood
While the powers of the world abandon
the post-colonial hands; cast in mud
and streams are breeds that will no longer bud”.
i
i am on a plain surrounded by dew
and the dark, purple hue of the monkshood.
Or is its colour such an euphoric blue?
Can the mind be awakened and find itself trodden?
Is the green an intricate fraud?
The purple flowers of the wolfsbane
Articulate a paradoxical trodden
Nature; we, in turn, are sod for its brain
and the dried roots hold the key to this pain.
ii
Oh, Aconitum, oh, pure Aconite!
i offer my yelp to your analgesic
Elements; could there be an untold fight?
What holds the secret to thy roots of magic?
i smell the purple and blue hues of this analgesic!
Will this cup hold me in your chariot?
Or will the juices guide me to thy tragic
Toll? Are you enough to aid these nocturnal fits?
O, woe is the touch of your blue, moist lips!
A Few Lines To Wolfsbane
iii
The green leaves engulfed by the bower
Have cultivated the elixir seeds
As i trekked the Brevent and stole its flower.
The North Wind slowly approached the meads
And disseminated the narcotic feed;
my inner chambers absorbed its honey!
Oh, if i could only attain that mead
But for one more moment of ecstasy
As that successful creature of a bee
iv
Pervasively hovers from bower to
Flower! It seems to sense the intrinsic risk
with those black anteriors of that hue.
Is it sentient amid the white mist
As it ascends to eulogise its verse?
It has succeeded the trek to Mont Blanc
Eschewing the golden analgesic glass.
Every year aroused pilgrims are drawn
to the zenith ; but how many are pawns
v
To the true power? And Koh-i Baba,
the Dinaric Alps, the Sulaiman Range?
What bustle is tantalised to their barbara?
Yet the world is focused on the t.v. cage
observing the lifeless Arkansas mange!
While the downtrodden are immersed in pain
The babel on the spermary gauge
count is relentless; yet i must drink the bane,
sleep amid the dew, and forget the forlorn pain.
vi
Oh, the intoxicating golden bee!
Its song resonates in my chamber
As i approach the purple honey
it circumscribes its terrain forever.
i must battle with its sting and be, be!
A voice utters from a chariot, “Courage!”
Is the bee aware of the clutter?
am i cognizant of it? and its rage?
Bee, Kosovo and me? express our page
vii
To the empty souls of the world to hear.
The Tutsi and the Hutu abandon
the ideals of peace and love because fear
is their vernacular; humans pardon
sins as grains of sand hear the world beckon:
“Rwanda and Uganda are foul with blood
While the powers of the world abandon
the post-colonial hands; cast in mud
and streams are breeds that will no longer bud”.
Ode To Autumn
To Autumn
Autumn anticipates the tumultuous winter cycle
Yet the Japanese Anemone does not subside
To the Northern Wind, its beauty radiates like Psyche’s.
Just as the Day Lillies’s golden hue that resides.
I wish I could stand as firm as the juniper!
The cedars never relinquish their splendid colour
In the midst of such extraordinary Autumn powers,
Among the chorus of remaining flowers.
Oh, sweet nymph, how I long for your euphonic melody!
Although there are flowers that have returned to sweet Mother Earth
Amidst these cascading silver drops that nourish my body
I can still, oh, I can still, hear your melody amidst the silver
breath.
Oh, I can still see the tree that proffers the golden, sweet, fruit amid this phenomenal change,
Oh, I can still envisage dreams in those majestic caves where
Autumn’s Temple celebrates its season’s ripening range.
Autumn anticipates the tumultuous winter cycle
Yet the Japanese Anemone does not subside
To the Northern Wind, its beauty radiates like Psyche’s.
Just as the Day Lillies’s golden hue that resides.
I wish I could stand as firm as the juniper!
The cedars never relinquish their splendid colour
In the midst of such extraordinary Autumn powers,
Among the chorus of remaining flowers.
Oh, sweet nymph, how I long for your euphonic melody!
Although there are flowers that have returned to sweet Mother Earth
Amidst these cascading silver drops that nourish my body
I can still, oh, I can still, hear your melody amidst the silver
breath.
Oh, I can still see the tree that proffers the golden, sweet, fruit amid this phenomenal change,
Oh, I can still envisage dreams in those majestic caves where
Autumn’s Temple celebrates its season’s ripening range.
Gaia
Eros…… what is it ?? my goddess…. The goddess with the earthenware locks
I smell chestnuts… and their ephemeral brown colour… .silky brown locks… as the silk worms weave….. your locks weave themselves into
My soul… my spirit…
The sweet hazel eyes……. That guide me into your inner being….. that convey
A mystery of life…. Only your eyes are able to unlock Pandora’s scented box…
And suspend my suffering, my pain,
My existential angst…
Oh, oh… the Sweet… sweet …Nightingale. … who evokes the sweet… sweet… Lillies of the valley…the peonies… and the manna ash trees…
To love you…
wholly…
completely…
Without reservations… to unravel the mysteries of
Time…
Space…
Ontology…
…
space…
Space… I wish to be in your sweet..
Ash brown… chestnut … chestnut space…
The space you inhabit makes me whole…
One…the Tao… that I need… that I solicit…
How do I break the silence…??? How do I weave through this chestnut labyrinth…
The earthenware maze weighs on me… on us…
It is everything about you that magnetises me to you:
Sea
Lakes
Sky…
Mountains
All hold a mystery…
Eyes that pierce my soul…
Your valleys…. That plunge me in a whirlwind of melodic flower beds…
O your waters so sweet.., the pinkish-reddish hue… so perfect… so goddess-like
Cliffs… chestnut-brown rocks… they make me shiver..
Peaks…delicate but strong…
Meadows… I have not witnessd as sweet as yours… that make me long to embrace them… to caress them…
Your scents…. So hold me.. so entice me… so envelop me…..
And the inner chambers which speak intangible axioms…
Time… reason…. How can I continue… without you… ???
Time… how do i measure your essence??? Existence???
How do I manage time… how will time manage us… how will time treat us…?? …
How does time permit me to break this burden of silence????
Black… more black… black weighs its arms upon us… the abyss of time and space…
A distant time… space… a time that will destroy us both… before we can revel in the warmth of our bodies… black release me… release us…. Before we drown in the depths
Of the winter… seasons that will destroy us… love that will destroy us… the truth…
Love is suicide… love is suicide… love will drown us… love will entomb us…. This love will only be tragic…. Silence must remain… the silence must free us… Silence must
Bury us…. Silence… one truism… one axiom… love can only enslave us….
We must engage in something good.. we must free ourselves… we must engage the world…in a revolution…. We must revolt… falluja, rawalpindi, darfur kandahar….
We must rebel… and engage in a world praxis…is it love…??? We are only ephemeral spirits in a material world… how can we engage the world in a revolution…????
The ice holds us… it calls out to us… but no one beckons its toll…it is alive
Alive… alas Alive…
It has a message…. Yet it is clouded in arcane arcane…(Dante’s second sphere- his phantasmic realm -awaits us… Minos I solicit truths…)
“Arcanum…” is his response, Mortals do not understand…..
_________ _____________________ ________________________ ____
We are immersed in a new world Order… China, the EU, India, the –Stans… a multicultural
Order… multi-power
Order
How does this Order affect our atomistic lives…???
I would like answers form the barbaric yawps of this
Order…
An order which has engulfed us…
I need you to liberate me form this order…. Gaia… O Terra….!!!
Offer me chaos…
Destruction… the Dionysian rhapsody….
Babel…
Babylon… Falluja… Karbala… Kisumu… Naivasha.. Rawalpindi… Dakota…
Oh, my sweet chariot… can you help me transcend this Order….
I no longer have bullets… ammunition… ICBMs to change… challenge… this World Order
Oh,my Chestnut Sweet Chariot…. Can you solicit the Gods… Goddesses- oh, how I have
Foundered… fragmented… fractioned… my self…- oh how I need a
Fragrance to usurp my soul..spirit…
The Rift Valley implores… craves the burden of the light.. beseeches my fragmented self..
Oh, how I wish I had a modicum of truth… the Cartesian rift – between body and mind-only enlarges the gulf among McWorld and Jihad…
Sartre… Camus… Merleau-Ponty … Marx…Where is my revolutionary praxis….???
----- ------------------------------------ -------------------
All of you… all of you… have
Only offered Cold… Dry flowers
Flowers… flowers… scents… blues… for the damned…
NOT the sweet …
YET
It iis the SWEET Uranium that you have all bequeathed
Isotopes 232… 282 are for the saved… THE CHOSEN ONES …
The disenfranchised….
Ophelia affirms , “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance..” but did she also assume an antic disposition…???
A new pedagogy is required for the oppressed and… the oppressors…
If I only had a pen… a few scraps of paper… I would compose the verse.. the prose
For this new revolutionary pedagogy… A Pax Americana… is solicited by Dante’s Spheres
Gaia… Terra..
The Rift Valley waits us… the soil absorbs red… the ink is ready
I begin to mark the spheres of this inferno…
I have no need of Virgil… the red stained scroll is my mentor… and I await
The Nightingale’s sweet melody
In order to summons us…
Body… flesh… carnal desires engulf us…
All dissolves… all fragments… all…- hazel eyes… chesttnut locks… even the
Dionysian Rhapsody will fade…-
There are no axioms… no dialectical method…
Only…
Prometheus and his boulder…
Bonne chance mon ami…
The triumph of life awaits us all… -I believe Beckett’s omnipresent Godot is dispossessed….
Hazel chestnuts release their red amber .glow…. sweet inferno… as you jig…jig… jig..
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Dionysian rapture beneath the merkin ball awaits us… jig… jig…jig.. and more jig..jig… jig… jig baby… -(my) carnal ball- jig…
I can only observe you and
Your wonderful gyrations…
as i am entranced by your entire body… I wish I could be with you… and articulate the intangibles…. the unutterables… jig… jig baby… jig baby… until dawn… jig… dance… my nymph… dance Nymph… lead us into the other realm… where light awaits us… dance nymph…
Continue… continue… your spirit of rapture… let us meet in the next realm….
I smell chestnuts… and their ephemeral brown colour… .silky brown locks… as the silk worms weave….. your locks weave themselves into
My soul… my spirit…
The sweet hazel eyes……. That guide me into your inner being….. that convey
A mystery of life…. Only your eyes are able to unlock Pandora’s scented box…
And suspend my suffering, my pain,
My existential angst…
Oh, oh… the Sweet… sweet …Nightingale. … who evokes the sweet… sweet… Lillies of the valley…the peonies… and the manna ash trees…
To love you…
wholly…
completely…
Without reservations… to unravel the mysteries of
Time…
Space…
Ontology…
…
space…
Space… I wish to be in your sweet..
Ash brown… chestnut … chestnut space…
The space you inhabit makes me whole…
One…the Tao… that I need… that I solicit…
How do I break the silence…??? How do I weave through this chestnut labyrinth…
The earthenware maze weighs on me… on us…
It is everything about you that magnetises me to you:
Sea
Lakes
Sky…
Mountains
All hold a mystery…
Eyes that pierce my soul…
Your valleys…. That plunge me in a whirlwind of melodic flower beds…
O your waters so sweet.., the pinkish-reddish hue… so perfect… so goddess-like
Cliffs… chestnut-brown rocks… they make me shiver..
Peaks…delicate but strong…
Meadows… I have not witnessd as sweet as yours… that make me long to embrace them… to caress them…
Your scents…. So hold me.. so entice me… so envelop me…..
And the inner chambers which speak intangible axioms…
Time… reason…. How can I continue… without you… ???
Time… how do i measure your essence??? Existence???
How do I manage time… how will time manage us… how will time treat us…?? …
How does time permit me to break this burden of silence????
Black… more black… black weighs its arms upon us… the abyss of time and space…
A distant time… space… a time that will destroy us both… before we can revel in the warmth of our bodies… black release me… release us…. Before we drown in the depths
Of the winter… seasons that will destroy us… love that will destroy us… the truth…
Love is suicide… love is suicide… love will drown us… love will entomb us…. This love will only be tragic…. Silence must remain… the silence must free us… Silence must
Bury us…. Silence… one truism… one axiom… love can only enslave us….
We must engage in something good.. we must free ourselves… we must engage the world…in a revolution…. We must revolt… falluja, rawalpindi, darfur kandahar….
We must rebel… and engage in a world praxis…is it love…??? We are only ephemeral spirits in a material world… how can we engage the world in a revolution…????
The ice holds us… it calls out to us… but no one beckons its toll…it is alive
Alive… alas Alive…
It has a message…. Yet it is clouded in arcane arcane…(Dante’s second sphere- his phantasmic realm -awaits us… Minos I solicit truths…)
“Arcanum…” is his response, Mortals do not understand…..
_________ _____________________ ________________________ ____
We are immersed in a new world Order… China, the EU, India, the –Stans… a multicultural
Order… multi-power
Order
How does this Order affect our atomistic lives…???
I would like answers form the barbaric yawps of this
Order…
An order which has engulfed us…
I need you to liberate me form this order…. Gaia… O Terra….!!!
Offer me chaos…
Destruction… the Dionysian rhapsody….
Babel…
Babylon… Falluja… Karbala… Kisumu… Naivasha.. Rawalpindi… Dakota…
Oh, my sweet chariot… can you help me transcend this Order….
I no longer have bullets… ammunition… ICBMs to change… challenge… this World Order
Oh,my Chestnut Sweet Chariot…. Can you solicit the Gods… Goddesses- oh, how I have
Foundered… fragmented… fractioned… my self…- oh how I need a
Fragrance to usurp my soul..spirit…
The Rift Valley implores… craves the burden of the light.. beseeches my fragmented self..
Oh, how I wish I had a modicum of truth… the Cartesian rift – between body and mind-only enlarges the gulf among McWorld and Jihad…
Sartre… Camus… Merleau-Ponty … Marx…Where is my revolutionary praxis….???
----- ------------------------------------ -------------------
All of you… all of you… have
Only offered Cold… Dry flowers
Flowers… flowers… scents… blues… for the damned…
NOT the sweet …
YET
It iis the SWEET Uranium that you have all bequeathed
Isotopes 232… 282 are for the saved… THE CHOSEN ONES …
The disenfranchised….
Ophelia affirms , “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance..” but did she also assume an antic disposition…???
A new pedagogy is required for the oppressed and… the oppressors…
If I only had a pen… a few scraps of paper… I would compose the verse.. the prose
For this new revolutionary pedagogy… A Pax Americana… is solicited by Dante’s Spheres
Gaia… Terra..
The Rift Valley waits us… the soil absorbs red… the ink is ready
I begin to mark the spheres of this inferno…
I have no need of Virgil… the red stained scroll is my mentor… and I await
The Nightingale’s sweet melody
In order to summons us…
Body… flesh… carnal desires engulf us…
All dissolves… all fragments… all…- hazel eyes… chesttnut locks… even the
Dionysian Rhapsody will fade…-
There are no axioms… no dialectical method…
Only…
Prometheus and his boulder…
Bonne chance mon ami…
The triumph of life awaits us all… -I believe Beckett’s omnipresent Godot is dispossessed….
Hazel chestnuts release their red amber .glow…. sweet inferno… as you jig…jig… jig..
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Dionysian rapture beneath the merkin ball awaits us… jig… jig…jig.. and more jig..jig… jig… jig baby… -(my) carnal ball- jig…
I can only observe you and
Your wonderful gyrations…
as i am entranced by your entire body… I wish I could be with you… and articulate the intangibles…. the unutterables… jig… jig baby… jig baby… until dawn… jig… dance… my nymph… dance Nymph… lead us into the other realm… where light awaits us… dance nymph…
Continue… continue… your spirit of rapture… let us meet in the next realm….
Orange Rain
orange death (orange rain)
eight pm, july17, 2000.
the highway is engulfed with human tears
400... 401... 402... 403... 407...
tears that rain form within... huron, iroquois, cree, ojibwa
voices lamenting a past: 1649, 1650, the dutch and french bourgeois
rain... which releasing repressive baptismal waters tears that rain from without... huron, iroquois, cree, ojibwa
voices wishing to discover, voices abhoring the conquest
r m f f l R B
a i o o a a a
i s g u n m l
n t r e a a
s r
a
grey is m
em a ncipated!
d h
e a
a z
t a
h r
d
s grey
has
entrapped us!
p
o
p o
æ o l
o s
grey l s
being... becoming... red ...
red ... flashing... hazy ...stopping??!!...stopped?! stop?!
pensive about the images seen in life’s rearview mirror
orange death
400... in retrospect... the valley is so distant
pools of mist disappear . . one observes orange beyond this imminent death... orange evokes... orange embraces... orange
awaits us... orange solicits us... orange save us, emancipate us.
eight forty-five pm!
destination secure, grey fades into orange
- and what has become of chief nawash and the war of 1812?
the ojibwa, the huron, the iroquois, the petun, the neutral no longer enjoy campfire smoke. british and french, upper and lower Canadas have transformed their nations
orange? red? grey? black?
remains... what remains
of the memories?
our conquest?
a
trivial
400
drive
eight pm, july17, 2000.
the highway is engulfed with human tears
400... 401... 402... 403... 407...
tears that rain form within... huron, iroquois, cree, ojibwa
voices lamenting a past: 1649, 1650, the dutch and french bourgeois
rain... which releasing repressive baptismal waters tears that rain from without... huron, iroquois, cree, ojibwa
voices wishing to discover, voices abhoring the conquest
r m f f l R B
a i o o a a a
i s g u n m l
n t r e a a
s r
a
grey is m
em a ncipated!
d h
e a
a z
t a
h r
d
s grey
has
entrapped us!
p
o
p o
æ o l
o s
grey l s
being... becoming... red ...
red ... flashing... hazy ...stopping??!!...stopped?! stop?!
pensive about the images seen in life’s rearview mirror
orange death
400... in retrospect... the valley is so distant
pools of mist disappear . . one observes orange beyond this imminent death... orange evokes... orange embraces... orange
awaits us... orange solicits us... orange save us, emancipate us.
eight forty-five pm!
destination secure, grey fades into orange
- and what has become of chief nawash and the war of 1812?
the ojibwa, the huron, the iroquois, the petun, the neutral no longer enjoy campfire smoke. british and french, upper and lower Canadas have transformed their nations
orange? red? grey? black?
remains... what remains
of the memories?
our conquest?
a
trivial
400
drive
Hegel's White Sheets
White Sheets (or Hegel’s Mind) 1988 december
The emptiness of the wares
Is an idea the juxtaposition of
a
concept
two
concepts..?
Is the philosopher aware?
is
Cognition. . . open to all...?
Do we all cherish it?
Cognition? Consciousness?
... ... ... ... ... Cognition... Consciousness...
The prolonged cries
The screams of the empty atoms are not
Ephemeral.
And what about cognition?
It is fleeting
Nihilism is transformed into another dimension,
A catatonic state.
And the silence disseminates a veil
over Life
A silver veil, a cloudy veil, a putrid veil
The shrieks are pervasive, they are accentuated by
White sheet s, cold white sheets
And he is now catatonic
Narcissism?
It will fly with
The wind and naturally
the rain will sweep all away; yet
some residue remains... which part?
Minds are. . . the mind is a vessel
The silence returns but that too is ephemeral
Mutability: that is the nature of life
The quality of the spirit is
Perpetual
What would Hegel say about the spirit ?
If only for an instant
Could we reach out to him
Amid these atoms if only we could
Wake him
The emptiness of the wares
Is an idea the juxtaposition of
a
concept
two
concepts..?
Is the philosopher aware?
is
Cognition. . . open to all...?
Do we all cherish it?
Cognition? Consciousness?
... ... ... ... ... Cognition... Consciousness...
The prolonged cries
The screams of the empty atoms are not
Ephemeral.
And what about cognition?
It is fleeting
Nihilism is transformed into another dimension,
A catatonic state.
And the silence disseminates a veil
over Life
A silver veil, a cloudy veil, a putrid veil
The shrieks are pervasive, they are accentuated by
White sheet s, cold white sheets
And he is now catatonic
Narcissism?
It will fly with
The wind and naturally
the rain will sweep all away; yet
some residue remains... which part?
Minds are. . . the mind is a vessel
The silence returns but that too is ephemeral
Mutability: that is the nature of life
The quality of the spirit is
Perpetual
What would Hegel say about the spirit ?
If only for an instant
Could we reach out to him
Amid these atoms if only we could
Wake him
Operation Cast Lead
Operation Cast Lead 2008 December 31, 2008
The new year is emering… but it is only the same of the old…
Why is there a need to celebrate… to jig… how can the world jig…
How can I be a part of the Dionysian…?? How can I be part of this urban decay
Gaza City is in in teras… blood, ruble, more blood… shrapnel… more crys..
Are we not all complicit… how does our silence contribute to this
The world leaders are timid… to express the reality of this apartheid state
When will the bombs stop… when will the IDF stop killing innocent civilians..?
When will state leaders be cognizant of this atrocity…?
How will the Gazana recognize their dead…?? How will the Palestinians count their dead..?? How will the families bury theie dead…?? How will they clear the dead from the urban rubble…??
Is the force used proportional …?? Let us count the ways… let us measure the destruction… let us count the dead:
Over four hundred palestians; four Israeilis; over fifteen hunded wounded palestianins; over a dooozen wounded. Is this proportional? F-16s, special tanks, cluster bombs;
Quassam rockets… the media reports over two hundred launced…. Are there more than four Israeli casualties…???
How does one value life…??
I am not a poet… I am a consumer who must conform to the Western Capitalist ideals…
And remain silent like a key hole… waiting for the key to open the aperture…
Much like a Merkava releases its load on Khan Yonis
No, I am not a poet, but I am theo-democrat who must accept the Democratic gods and
The principles of peace, freedom and remain like a key hole: waiting, silent for the golden key to unlock pandora’s box like the Negev releases its load on Jibaliya.
i am not a poet… yet I am a Christian fundamentalist who must conform to the Christian precepts : our god is great and remain silent about the greatness of this god, waiting like a key hole to be locked just like F-16Is lock onto their villages: Kuba, Wahsh, Nazla; and maintain the secrets of this great god…
I am not a poet, conversely I am a communist who must conform to the ideal of a classless society: eliminate the modes of production, labour and the the bourgeois: waiting like a key hole to be disengaged by marx, engels and Sartre… as AH-64D Apache Longbow engage their targets at Rafah
The new year is emering… but it is only the same of the old…
Why is there a need to celebrate… to jig… how can the world jig…
How can I be a part of the Dionysian…?? How can I be part of this urban decay
Gaza City is in in teras… blood, ruble, more blood… shrapnel… more crys..
Are we not all complicit… how does our silence contribute to this
The world leaders are timid… to express the reality of this apartheid state
When will the bombs stop… when will the IDF stop killing innocent civilians..?
When will state leaders be cognizant of this atrocity…?
How will the Gazana recognize their dead…?? How will the Palestinians count their dead..?? How will the families bury theie dead…?? How will they clear the dead from the urban rubble…??
Is the force used proportional …?? Let us count the ways… let us measure the destruction… let us count the dead:
Over four hundred palestians; four Israeilis; over fifteen hunded wounded palestianins; over a dooozen wounded. Is this proportional? F-16s, special tanks, cluster bombs;
Quassam rockets… the media reports over two hundred launced…. Are there more than four Israeli casualties…???
How does one value life…??
I am not a poet… I am a consumer who must conform to the Western Capitalist ideals…
And remain silent like a key hole… waiting for the key to open the aperture…
Much like a Merkava releases its load on Khan Yonis
No, I am not a poet, but I am theo-democrat who must accept the Democratic gods and
The principles of peace, freedom and remain like a key hole: waiting, silent for the golden key to unlock pandora’s box like the Negev releases its load on Jibaliya.
i am not a poet… yet I am a Christian fundamentalist who must conform to the Christian precepts : our god is great and remain silent about the greatness of this god, waiting like a key hole to be locked just like F-16Is lock onto their villages: Kuba, Wahsh, Nazla; and maintain the secrets of this great god…
I am not a poet, conversely I am a communist who must conform to the ideal of a classless society: eliminate the modes of production, labour and the the bourgeois: waiting like a key hole to be disengaged by marx, engels and Sartre… as AH-64D Apache Longbow engage their targets at Rafah
Sunday, March 8, 2009
White Ants and Caligula
White ants -Caligula may23.2004ed one may 22 2006 ed two
white ants
here we are...
Observe us within these walls
Here the Dionysian and Apollonian emerge...
and these white ants... deliver... the new edict...
here, we collide
outside, they collude
there ... there.... , i believe it is there.... that we hear the yawps... more ...yawps...
here, we have not witnessed
Change... but...
Yawps... yawping...
one Caligula has been replaced by another
Abu Ghraib is the norm for the king ants
and who are the hooded ones... the hooded ones... that race by us... by me...
The white ants hail their leaders
while we crawl and yawp within this putrid...putrid...
Cell
a cell that darkens with each passing day
and we..we ... the red ants are weaving in and out of the odours, blood, feces and decaying flesh.. flesh... yawp... and more yawpings...
Duality... spirit... flesh... duality...
within...
outward...
Mind...
Flesh...
Atwood affirms the duality evident in men and women... the duality of the soul and body
Merleau-Ponty... Marcuse ... offer Western Society its One dimesional Man... Woman... and still here...
Surplus Repression.... Repression... not evident here in Baghdad...
But... all forms of Oppresion...
Silence... but for a brief moment... Silence... only ...ephemeral
The white ants sollicit
Truth... Yes.. Truth is what we desire... proffer us Truth...
We have only flesh to offer... truth... does not exist... it is in constant flux... please sollicit
Sisyphus... Prometheus... truth... is a paradox.... we are walking paradoxes....
Sisphyphus has his -boulder -mountain... Prometheus has his cliff.... alabtross
And
the white ants sollicit facts
i utter only: release me... release me... from this pain
Truth.... truth is only for... the Gods....oh, Zeus... oh ,Zeus... please summon
Apollo and Arachne...
Silence.... One Dimensional Man... Woman... are all present as well here..
The Queen ants retort: This is only the
Genesis ... Genesis... Genesis... of your pain...
And
Abel... will not aid you here..
But Cain will release the melody
for your pain... pain...
pain...
Veritas... Verita...
Veni.. Vedi...Vici.... Allah.... Salaam Maalekum Salaam... Allah... Salaam
No..Kellog...Brown and Root ... manufacture the truth here... Remember KBR...KBR.. KBG
-Release me, please, release me-
There are no visible signs here, except
The hooded ones that continue to file by my Cell
Will i be... will i... will.. i have the...
The will to power.. power... power...
Hope is the only thing that remains
Hope from the torturous king and queen ants
here we collide, here we struggle with our burden
there, we here the yawps that linger into the early dawn
Some red ants slowly return,the yawping has subsided
Silence... Silence...
A cell is now empty...
Empty...
-Oh! welcome....... niccolo... ??
i think... of... machiavelli ??... another red ant yawps..
dov'e il principe?...
Silence...Silence...
The prince visits... Kabul... Falluja... Guantanamo... North Guantanamo....
But...
Hope remains
Hope ...
Waiting... didi..gogo.?...vladimir..estragon....? are you there...??i can't go on....
Cain... meet your postmodern Abel...
hope... in tomorrow...oh, Apollo... Oh... Arachne....
white ants
here we are...
Observe us within these walls
Here the Dionysian and Apollonian emerge...
and these white ants... deliver... the new edict...
here, we collide
outside, they collude
there ... there.... , i believe it is there.... that we hear the yawps... more ...yawps...
here, we have not witnessed
Change... but...
Yawps... yawping...
one Caligula has been replaced by another
Abu Ghraib is the norm for the king ants
and who are the hooded ones... the hooded ones... that race by us... by me...
The white ants hail their leaders
while we crawl and yawp within this putrid...putrid...
Cell
a cell that darkens with each passing day
and we..we ... the red ants are weaving in and out of the odours, blood, feces and decaying flesh.. flesh... yawp... and more yawpings...
Duality... spirit... flesh... duality...
within...
outward...
Mind...
Flesh...
Atwood affirms the duality evident in men and women... the duality of the soul and body
Merleau-Ponty... Marcuse ... offer Western Society its One dimesional Man... Woman... and still here...
Surplus Repression.... Repression... not evident here in Baghdad...
But... all forms of Oppresion...
Silence... but for a brief moment... Silence... only ...ephemeral
The white ants sollicit
Truth... Yes.. Truth is what we desire... proffer us Truth...
We have only flesh to offer... truth... does not exist... it is in constant flux... please sollicit
Sisyphus... Prometheus... truth... is a paradox.... we are walking paradoxes....
Sisphyphus has his -boulder -mountain... Prometheus has his cliff.... alabtross
And
the white ants sollicit facts
i utter only: release me... release me... from this pain
Truth.... truth is only for... the Gods....oh, Zeus... oh ,Zeus... please summon
Apollo and Arachne...
Silence.... One Dimensional Man... Woman... are all present as well here..
The Queen ants retort: This is only the
Genesis ... Genesis... Genesis... of your pain...
And
Abel... will not aid you here..
But Cain will release the melody
for your pain... pain...
pain...
Veritas... Verita...
Veni.. Vedi...Vici.... Allah.... Salaam Maalekum Salaam... Allah... Salaam
No..Kellog...Brown and Root ... manufacture the truth here... Remember KBR...KBR.. KBG
-Release me, please, release me-
There are no visible signs here, except
The hooded ones that continue to file by my Cell
Will i be... will i... will.. i have the...
The will to power.. power... power...
Hope is the only thing that remains
Hope from the torturous king and queen ants
here we collide, here we struggle with our burden
there, we here the yawps that linger into the early dawn
Some red ants slowly return,the yawping has subsided
Silence... Silence...
A cell is now empty...
Empty...
-Oh! welcome....... niccolo... ??
i think... of... machiavelli ??... another red ant yawps..
dov'e il principe?...
Silence...Silence...
The prince visits... Kabul... Falluja... Guantanamo... North Guantanamo....
But...
Hope remains
Hope ...
Waiting... didi..gogo.?...vladimir..estragon....? are you there...??i can't go on....
Cain... meet your postmodern Abel...
hope... in tomorrow...oh, Apollo... Oh... Arachne....
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