bloor and monroe

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

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

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

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

~~~~

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

Supernova 2110

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sane are never far form madness.

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

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

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

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

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

Ode to the Pleiades

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elegy to Cerberus

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

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

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

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

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

i feel no pain...

i finally feel no pain.

i have been dazed and confused...

Today: i am no longer in disarray...

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

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

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

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

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

Dusk to Dawn with Morpheus

i dream... i die... i sleep, with a light but the burden is heavy...

i die... i dream... i wake, with a burden which is Light...

i sleep, i die... i yearn, but She is not here... Light is my friend...

i wake, i die... i pine for her, yet She is distant, Morpheus must be my guide...

i dream... i die... i solicit Morpheus at Dusk, so He may visit Her during her state of subconsciousness at Dawn...

~~~~~~~~
i am conscious... i die... people are bloody ignorant apes~ at Christie and Dupont many troglodytes have their abode.
~~~~~~

i prompt Morpheus to effect Her slumber, thus She may venture into my realm...
i dream... i die... i sleep... i die...

from Dawn to Dusk... i wake... i die...
~~~~



i am conscious again... why do these bloody ignorant apes covet materialism over human contact...?
~~~~

i yearn for Her... i die for her... i wake for Her... my thirst must be quenched by Her...

i am alone... yet Morpheus disturbs my slumber, i remain with Him until my Aphrodite offers me that kiss...
with it emerges Eros from the disarray ... in turn the integration of Chaos and Gaia permit the Earth to glisten...

TODAY: We, humanity, risk... jeopardize the six billion inhabitants...We risk a global Ice Age...
~~~
I solicit Morpheus and his magical powers over slumber to facilitate ... to invoke... my Aphrodite to dream with me... to join in a mystical slumber... to relish in the beauty of our frames...

~~~~~

BP prompts~ deceives ~ the world to immerse itself in a black slumber...
~people are bloody ignorant apes... and how do i offer a praxis...?
how do i immerse in a new consciousness...?
people are bloody ignorant apes; they have historical amnesia...~
TODAY : 120 Million barrels of oil has spewed into the Gulf of Mexico... and moving even closer to Cuba.

~~~~

i am not alone... Morpheus whets my imagination... he awakens my consciousness... we explore the dark matter of the world...
i explore the nature of my disposition: to be in love with her... Or to dissuade my psyche of Her... Or to purge my memory of
Her...? Should i open my inner chamber and release the river of tears...? Or should i love... revel ... in the ephemeral moments that she proffers..? Or do i engage in a praxis to invoke change...?

i dream... a thousand indecisions... and deliberations... yet i die within the intermission of Dusk to Dawn...
Morpheus, grant me a resolution that i can live with beyond the Dusk... beyond the Dawn... help me traverse beyond the gates of Ivory and Horn... Proffer me an answer that escapes me...

I walk alone, and i observe the Elm Tree through the Gates... Yet i am not able to perceive any Omens...
I live within the realm of Dusk and Dawn...
Morpheus, i need you to reveal the nature of Her Dreams... offer me Her Visions... proffer me Her Desires...
Morpheus, reveal to me the nature of Her inner chamber...

Aphrodite

May is the season of the peony, the rose,the lilly of the valley...

Oh, how I yearn for all of her scents...

Oh, why do you deny us the nightingale's song...?
It is the death knell... that tolls... that tolls for us..
Time will obliterate our beauty... time will atrophy our bodies...
Time will erase the ink from my hand... time will distort the memory of you form my psyche...

Why not accept the ouvertures... of my love... why do you permit me to wallow in the moraine...?

Oh, Aphrodite.. it is the hymn of Carpe Diem that i solicit from you... in order to immerse myself in your scents... your touch...
your gait...

i spiral in the concentric circles of hades... Hades is my guide... disarray is the maxim, and darkness awaits me...

Oh, why do you deny us the lark's song...?
Why do you not invoke Apollo's sweet melodies...
Why do yo deny us the hummingbird's euphonic tune...?

The Watchtowers no longer remain... the Gulf of Mexico is black... the birds' melodies are cacophonic.
The Watchtowers are awash in black sludge... the birds' tunes are silent...
BP is immersed in the black gold... It does not need the birds' songs...
The Watchtowers collapse over me... we are all mere pawns in this cycle of exploitation...

Oh, Aphrodite, please release me from this pain...
Oh, Aphrodite, my mind's eyes are drowning in tears...
I am unable to see the shore... because of the black sludge...
I am unable to smell the lemons of yesteryear... i drown in the black... i eat the black... i touch black...
i swim... i drown...
i sleep... i die...

i die a thousand deaths... within the continuum of this dark sleep... i travel along the contours of your body... in search of sweet melodies... only to to die on the periphery... of your world...

oh, Aphrodite, i need to retrace the contours of your profile.

The cave dwellers swim with me... as i reach for that last magnolia... i reach for its sweet scent amid the black, amid the heavy black pall...

Trippin

She is the sublime...
im trippin...

she is the divine...
im trippin...

she is the sunshine...
im trippin...

she is the nightingale that sings at dusk...
im trippin

she is the lark that raises my consciousness at dawn...
im trippin...

she is the peony...
that awakens my senses: olfactory, kinesthetic and aural...
im trippin

she is the darkness...
that induces my fears... to risk.. to seek adventure... to venture in the abyss of the world...
she
is
the
Sublime...
im trippin...

her space... is where i want to be in...
im trippin...

her voice is a melody... that i yearn to hear...
im trippin...

it is her eyes ... that i wish to drown in...
im trippin...

she has the analgesic flowers that i long for...
im trippin

she will feed them to me... so i can attain that metaphysical realm...
im trippin

it is in her space and her time... that i yearn to die...
im trippin

i soar... i die... im trippin...

she holds the grains of sand that will unlock Pandora's Box...
im trippin...

she has the master chessboard ... i am a pawn... i await her next move...
im trippin...

will she reveal the Masterplan....?
im trippin...

where will this Masterplan have resonance...?
im trippin...

will the Sublime save me...?
im trippin...

i soar... i die... im trippin...
i yearn for the Sublime...

im losing my soul... please do not bury me unless it is in your bosom...
i want to be in YOUR realm... on YOUR chessboard... in YOUR Pandora's Box...
I am immersed in disarray...
im losing my soul... ya...ya... ya... im trippin... losing my soul...
in YOUR SUBLIMITY... I AM TRIPPIN...

A Vision of Iris

Human beings are strange...
Humans are unable to see beyond their noses...
They immerse themselves in excrement...

while...

on the other side of the ocean
we read of the strife... rape... belligerent tribes in the Congo...
one hundred and sixty women are raped weekly...

HERE...

individuals are unable to understand the hard rain...
which will wash way their limited intellect...
the hard rain will burn their limited consciousness...
this hard rain will emaciate their psyche;
many humans... here... remind me of the troglodytes...
we have not evolved... devolution is their lot...

THERE...

The Hutus are still in the intoxicating forest,
but they are engaging in sexual violence...
a violence that is a residue from 1994-95 conflict in Rwanda:
five hundred thousand Tutsis and moderate~political Hutus were massacred by the Hutus...

HERE...

in richmond hill individuals are consuming the Tea Party Rain...
and all its acrimonious gospel...

{Unique Voices charm me... they divert me from my pain...
The Lwa solicit me ... they concoct a potion ... they have immersed me in their voodoo...
One deity engages me in a dialogue ; this is Erzulie Freda's exchange:

This journey you must traverse alone to West Africa : Benin, Togo, Nigeria and Ghana.
Nana Buluku will proffer a golden talisman which will enable you to unlock the Voodoo Talisman Market...
You must drink the nectar of the waters of Mami Wata...
Here Mawu will proffer the sublime nature of things...
Here your Iris and her mosaic vision of the world will appear and prevail...
Be patient...}

{i retort:
Time is our nemesis...
oh, how i long for her...
oh, how i pine for my Iris and her golden wings.. i want to escape with her...
i need to escape form this absurdity that MAN and Woman must grapple...
Oh, Iris, guide me amidst the absurdity which is LIFE..
oh, how i yearn for my Iris and her golden rod... i need her pitcher... i need to drink form her golden netars...
i await Iris' arch of colours... i await her flight... i await her chariot... we must soar beyond this Canadian Kitsch..
Iris, please save me from the Kitsch that surrounds me...

i must yawp over the rooftops of this Capitalist Horde...
i await Iris' nectars, wings and herald's rod...
i must yawp over the crys of the children...
Iris... i need you to permit me to soar over these hordes...
Iris, i beckon you, please, free me from this rabble...
Iris... we need to rise form these thickets... and gain a new foundation amidst the ashes of these
Hollow men and women...}

Nike et Victoria Among the Cupola

It is Nike that beckons us tonight...
The Parthenon radiates with its beauty... its pillars are magnificent
behind one pillar emerges Adonis, and
He stands and observes the skill of his Aphrodite...
Her speed and strength is with her tonight...

{april nine, 2010, 20 h}

Their fire is rekindled... their emotions are unutterable...
their hearts are beating faster...

{FC Real is dominating the pitch during the first half...
the dark red~ almost burgundy hue~ shirts are assertive in the opponents' end...
the gold numbers weave in... out ... of the defensive side...

number 50 is a dominant force... a dominant presence
full back...
striker...
she asserts herself}

As she strikes the sphere
i lose myself amidst the sound of her songs
i swim through the labyrinth of spheres
to observe her trek on the grounds of the Parthenon
i admire her strikes... i immerse myself in her space
her time offers me meaning for my being... my ontological quest rests in her space...
her space is my world
her song is my voodoo
her magic today is on these grounds...
Nike proffers her wisdom to her to excel in this campaign
I solicit my muse's wings to carry me through the absurdity of this world...

Dinoysus entertained us with a few libations... 22 h
A new ecstasy... a new realm ... together
Immersed in her scent... engaged in her space...
Under another trance... she has me under a new spell...
I am intoxicated by her gaze... her locks...
as she strikes a new pose... a new gait...

Elegy to Cariati

Spring is the season of renewal... ( christians celebrate the resurrection of jesus christ, jews celebrate the passover : the exodus of 400 years of slavery under egyptian rule.

Today , we celebrate Mamma, Nonna , Bis-Nonna Elvira: today we celebrate her life... ( it is difficult to compose a eulogy that will represent her almost one hundred years)
this is the conundrum ...

nevertheless, let us begin today's journey with this:

i am reminded of a poem by john keats ( a 19th century english romantic poet) and his poem: "ode to a nigthngale..." ( i will read one of the stanzas)

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.



Mamma Elvira celebrated her 97 birthday, on march 1...

yes, for nonna now more than ever it is rich to die... ( on many occasions visiting she stated her desire to die to God; to call her because of all the pain and suffering during her last decade or so. Today she is free of that pain and suffering ... and in a better abode!!!

Today Bis-Nonna Elvira has no pain: no arthitis, no asthma... no migraines...


As keats states the nighingale male has a rich melodious song which he sings at night during the Spring sesaon....

the beautiful melody was offerded to Nonna's grandchildren: she reared and nuturured many... agostino, antonella carlo, cathy, lorenzo, mario michele, marita, nino, patricia, peppino, tina and rosie, who have done the same...

the nighngale's song is Mamma Elvira's song which will continue just as her memory will continue with all her other great grandchildren...

Nonna shared a special line...salute with many grandchildren and children that became a motif "cent anni , nonna!!! cent'anni ( we will celebrate your 100 years in 2013)



Mamma Elvira loved food and introduced many Italian culinary delights to her children: Guarino, Michele , Michellina, Minuzza, and Rosetta, and , ... many have been maintained..practiced... still today

here are a few:


her famous rolled porc~culets stuffed with sausages ( fragiole al a calbrese) in a red sauce

the exquisite marinated eggplnat ( melangiani)

the special chinaquigli ( desserts with raisins, wlanuts and grape jam)

her italian version of doughnuts but very salty...

the special ragu sauce with pork... suasages...and goat... meat

the stuffed eggplants

the stuffed red pepper

the famous home made pastas: lasagna and the memorable potato gnocchi... one serving was never enough!!!!


and... no one will ever forget the 200 + tomato jar preserves... AN ANNUAL EVENT ... which would commence during late august or early september... which seemed to last an eternity.... the transport of dozens ...dozens of bushels of roma tomatoes... ( many grandchildren and children would run... escape this... BUT all would covet these special roma tomato preserves... when achieved) one way or another... somewhere... somehow... this long process would be complete... no one could say NO to mamma nonna elvira's roma tomato preserves...


every time that any of you~ family~ prepare one of these she is alive and smiling...

moreover, family... the importance of family... to mamma nonna bis-nonna elvira holds a special meaning although problems persisted ... in conjunction with many issues, conflicts here and in italy... she needed to maintain to stress... the importance of family...

next, she loved and shared her love of nature~ especially gardening: basil, hot peppers, green bean plants~ and her love of italian music: andrea bocelli... among many others...

Spring is the season of rebirth as well ... Mamma, Nonna, Bisnonna Elvira will traverse the portal to the other kindgom.... the cycle of life : is a cycle of regeneration; she will be in a new form... in a new realm... peaceful... It is ironic that Mamma Elvira passed away during Spring, a season that permitted her to begin to sow... scatter seeds...

Mamma Elvira was happy glancing into her backyard... admiring the fruit of her labour... of her garden...






to conclude ....



our heart aches for Mamma, Nonna, Bis-Nonna Elvira , and we feel a drowsy numbness that pains us because of her loss
My sense is that she would like us to celebrate and remember her free of pain... free of suffering...
let us imagine Elvira happy , happy in her new abode
peaceful among the other Kingdom's GARDEN.
peaceful as the nightingale's song...

let us sing of her life while we are on this terrestial plane
let us sing of ... elvira alberina cariati alfano.. mamma, nonna and bis-nonna to many here...
and let us begin a requiem to her with her secret to longevity :preparing wholesome food, sharing one's heart with someone special and a caring family ... and let us close with the special motif: CENNT'ANNI, CENT'ANNI ...

An Ode To Psyche

i solicit Eros' arrow
to relieve me of this pain
i need nourishment from her marrow .

i wish to swim in her mane
and have her golden locks offer me zeal.
i solicit Psyche's beauty to remove the hard rain.

so our journey may be an extraordinary one
so our trek will take us to new summits
so our escape will have no victims.

Zeus, aid me , arrange a deal,
i cannot bear this silence;
Psyche is the only meal

that i need to sustain me in my hour of convalescence
Oh, Persephone! i need your voodoo
to render her conscious of my existence.

so our journey may be an extraordinary one...
so our trek will take us to new summits...
so our escape will have no victims...

Psyche release me from my mind's tattoo
of you; It is Darkness that tolls for me.
Hermes, i request that you engage in a rescue

of my soul; where are those winged caps to free me?
I need Pan's magical rustic voodoo music
to liberate my spirit, body and mind for me.

so our journey cannot endure...
so our trek will only spiral towards Hades...
so Psyche beckons for refuge amid the moor.

i venture alone in Pan's rustic
Forests; i search for the water nymph of Arcadia;
she must play that melody, it is analgesic

and it will release me from the suburbia
that enslaves me, and its one-dimensional
philosophy and kitsch; i thought Psyche could offer me love amidst
these concrete highways.

Yet it is the Namib desert that must proffer me a reprieve from this pain...
i await its melody...
i await its sand dunes...

Hermes delivers a knell over the Karun :

"Your journey cannot endure;
Your trek will only spiral towards the dry toxic river beds;
Psyche will not solicit your name.

She will not be able to salvage Western civilization;
Psyche cannot change the masses of troglodytes ;
She cannot inspire the Western political eunuchs ."

i venture alone in Pan's rustic
Forests; i search for Syrinx
and her precious hollow reed

The flute must offer me solace amid this mead,
i cannot continue without her reed,
it must offer me a metaphysical seed.

Masters of War

The cycle of violence, destruction and chaos

is

pervasive

our beds are sprayed with USA projectiles and materials :

missiles
cluster bombs
mustard gas
depleted uranium.

It is all excrement...

why is Western Kitsch such a cherished phenomenon ...???
why is it supported by an American military establishment...?
damn... we are polluting the world... shit...
the residue of these toxins inundate the shores of Somalia... Bangladesh...
we blame the pirates, but it is the American MNCs that are the agents of this toxicity...
they should ingest these
Toxins
These masters of war; their excrement is pervasive...

we
are
the masters of war, our passivity sustains this American hegemony.

a one trillion military budget ...

while millions are losing their homes in America
while thousands die form wholly inadequate healthcare
while millions are in prison ~Black teenagers~ for alleged crimes in order to create a caste system

This white ideology must be dismantled ...

Orpheus and Eurydice

This is my pervasive dream:

[i plunge every night into the abyss of hades with Orpheus to search... to trek... for Her

The honey of her lips leaves me longing...
for that
First
Kiss...
That Kiss bleeds in me a myriad desires... thoughts... yearnings...
It is that first
Kiss
that i yearn...
because the sands of the Sahara reflect the manna of her
Eyes...
without her Kiss i travel blind amid the cacti of the Arizona landscape...
i yearn for the Colorado Plateau to replenish me.

i pine for that first kiss..
Kiss...
i yearn for the honey of her lips... mouth... tongue...
i yearn for the unutterable...
i yearn for that FIRST KISS...
i solicit Chloe and Daphnis ... i utter their names to inspire her...

But i only receive silence...
Silence...

i yawp in the abyss of the rivers of Hades...
i hear only silence...
Silence...

i trek via the Himalayas ... i crave the manna that will nourish me... that will replenish my soul..
i search for inspiration... i utter Her name in the wild mountains of Pan
searching for that first Kiss...

but

Time...

proffers me darts... darts of silence... Silence...
and
darts that bleed my psyche...



Chronos neither heeds my yawps... nor my moans...

i run blindly into the silence of Sheol... only
to collide with the Minotaur...

Time bleeds the futile responses of sterility... inertia..
Life must emerge from her moist lips..
yet
Time bleeds my seconds... my minutes... my hours...
i supplicate her for that
First Kiss...

nevertheless... my trek must carry me to
Machu Picchu..
and
"The Lost City"... There... i must... bleed...
HERE
i must proffer my body as a sacrifice... to Supai
to both Patchacuti and Manco Capac;
they must deliver me from this terrestrial plane..
i must plunge with Supai... and rest in Life's
Other
Kingdom..
It is here...
HERE
that i must remove the memory of Her
Kiss...
amid Supai's rivers.

Time ...
rains on my psyche...
Time...
Bleeds my atoms...
IT
Bleeds my years... my memories.. and my experiences of
HER..



i petition Supai to erase my memory of
that First Kiss
i entreat Supai to erase my memory of the honey of Her
Lips... that is what i invoke of this deity.


but i am unable to forget... to erase Her from my memory...

oh, Orpheus , i solicit your aid... where are you...?
Has Eurydice succumbed to Styx and its voodoo??

i yearn for Her
i yearn for the honey of her lips
i yearn for that Kiss... that is what i solicit... i implore of Her...
i yearn for the unutterable...]


Yet Time bleeds my precious seconds in my rearview mirror
Yet Time burns the candles that contain the mystery of Her
Yet Time bleeds my precious memories of Her
i am unable to observe Her gait...
i am in a labyrinth of pain.. of torment.. of misery...


i collapse
i collapse...
amid the sterile rivers ... taciturn rivers...

The Labyrinth of Styx { amid Eros' Shadow ~Friday, January 23~}

I

I solicit Phlegyas to help me traverse Life's Other KIngdom...
He refuses... he refuses... damn... shit..

I must trek... i must journey across its nine concentric spheres...
i
must puncture its Other side... i must drink from its river...
i wish to relinquish this thirst for earthly desires..

Phlegyas, offer me Styx... help me traverse this next realm...
i do not desire this mortal frame...

it is Thanatos that i desire
i yawp for Thanatos...

Life has no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Life...
too many have succumbed... too many have been victimized... too many have been exploited... killed:


Gaza, Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Somalia, Haiti, Honduras, Yemen, Sudan...

Hades' rivers are unable to absorb the blood-tears, blood-sweat.
Hades' porter, Charon, will weep with the new landscape that will adorn her
Charon will not be able to use new eyes... to cleanse... to purge... indelible stains from their souls...
The echos from Life's Other Kingdom will burden even Prometheus and ravage his mountain...
The echos of Life's Other Kingdom will also impede Sisyphus' journey with his boulder...
Nothing will be the same... their consciousness... our consciousness will be forever stained...

The rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

[ Schopenauer avouches that one must immerse in asceticism... deny desires... reject this earthly coil... and embrace Thanatos.
yes, it must be the answer... it must be my new Muse.. yes surely... Thanatos is my new realm.]

How many rivers must overflow with human carnage... with human blood...
before the Occident sheds its shell of decadence... greed... apathy... its comfortable morality...
its praise of its postmodernity... ???

All i observe around me is Kitsch... Kitsch... and more Kitsch...
The Western corporate mass media successfully immerses us in excrement...
we eat... we drink... we breath ... their toxic excrement...

The rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

II

Thus begins Day One of my journey... and my quest for Thanatos... in the shadow's valley...
in Life's Other Kingdom... my quest for ascetic pursuits...
Day One and Thanatos must be my Muse...
Styx is my destination... i solicit the power of her river
my new Muse and her tributaries: Lethes, Acheron, Cocytus, Eridanos and Phlegeton.
i need to drink from her source... i desire her toxins... her blood...

III

Day Two commences...
Another suicide bomb strikes Iraq~Wed.Jan 27~
Inside the capital Baghdad, outside a forensics lab~
18 killed, 82 injured~

The rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

it is Thanatos that i desire
i yawp for Thanatos...

Life has no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Life...
too many have succumbed... too many have been victimized... too many have been exploited:

Guantanamo, Bagram, CIA Secret Sites: Syria, Egypt, Poland, Ukraine...

i
must puncture its Other side... i must drink from its river...
i wish to relinquish this mortal coil...
the undiscovered country awaits
me

i
Hurt...
it Hurts..
HURT
me...

the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

i wear laurels of ash
i wear my trousers rolled... and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiate me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

IV

Day Three... is here...

Haiti is in its second week of its post-earthquake effects...

QUANDARY: Is it a humanitarian aid mission

or

a US military occupation??

the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

The Robertsons and Limbaughs attribute the Haitians' desolate condition to
VOODOO and COMMUNISM...?? (shit! damn!!) Lobotomies are surely needed for these two charlatans;
r they on this terrestial plane...????

i wear laurels of ash
i wear my trousers rolled... and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiate me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

A Pastun tribe in Afghnaistan is ready to fight the Taliban and
receive $1 million in US aid...
The world is wholly... fully... completely absurd...

[i
Hurt...
it Hurts..
HURT
me...

Life has no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Life...
too many have succumbed... too many have been victimized... too many have been exploited... murdered :

George Tiller, John Lennon, Martin Luther King, Medgar Wiley Evers]

V

i embark alone on Day Four...
As i commence this trek... searching...
i read of two Iranian men executed before dawn for their dissidence~protesting the June 2009 fraudulent elections~
and i weep...

This is absurd...

i
Hurt...
it Hurts..
HURT
me...

the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

i wear laurels of ash
i wear my trousers rolled... and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

VI

i plunge into the fifth Day... alone..
amid the estrangement that i feel...

The Obama Adminisitration continues its policy of launching
Hell Fire Drone Missiles into North Waziristan...
( yes, this is certainly an example of its desire to reach out to Muslims...)

i
Hurt...
it Hurts..
HURT
me...

the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

i wear laurels of ash
i wear my trousers rolled... and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

Obama's State of the Union address pervasively {29 times}
referred to "jobs" in the domestic front... as an objective in 2010
how will he achieve this...??? if war is the aim of his foreign policy:
Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and Yemen???

Life has no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Life...
too many have succumbed... too many have been victimized... too many have been exploited... killed:
Nissir Square, Falluja, North and South Waziristan, Kandahar .

the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

Night raids are also pervasive in Afghanistan...
US soldiers bearded and tattooed raid civilian homes...
without due process they apprehend alleged "terrorists"
and send them to Field Detention Centres...
Some are discovered dead kilometres from these
Centres...
The Afghanis are on the
Fringes...
in their own country...

the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

All i observe around me is Kitsch... Kitsch... and more Kitsch...
The Western corporate mass media successfully immerses us in excrement...
we eat... we drink... we breath ... their toxic excrement...

VII

i fall into the abyss of the sixth Day... it engulfs me...

EVERYWHERE

i see

DARKNESS...

i am immersed in pain... a pain that does not subside...

i
Hurt...
it Hurts..
HURT
me...

The Guardian reports today~Sunday, January 31, 2010~ that a CIA drone missile has killed
Hakimullah Mehsud, an important Pakistani Taliban leader~Tehrik-e-Taliban-in North Wazirstan.

The rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

What is the essence of this conflict: West versus East...? Christianity versus Islam...? Postmodernity versus Primordiality...?
Is this the essence of it... of this conflict...???

Or is predicated on an Occidental foreign policy... an American PAX AMERICAN~ a psuedo-strategy of peace, liberty and democracy~

i wear laurels of ash
i wear my trousers rolled... and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

VIII

The snowflakes are whispering my name on the Seventh Day...
and they summon me to join them on their voyage...
this trek ushers me toward Tel al-Hawa...
it is here that the IDF used phosphorous on civilians...

The Goldstone documented this in September 2009; today Haaretz, The Guardian, The Independent ...
reported the reprimand of high ranking IDF members...

Life has no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Life...
too many have succumbed... too many have been victimized... too many have been exploited... killed:

The rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts...

i wear laurels of excrement
i wear my shirt sleeves untucked.. and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

a female suicide bomber, today~monday, feb 1, 2010~ hits pilgrims in Iraq... kills 46.
Thanatos must surely proffer portals to other realms... Right!!??
why would she engage in this act...

how many rivers must overflow with human carnage... with human blood...
before the Occident sheds its shell of decadence... greed... apathy... its comfortable morality...
its praise of its postmodernity... ???

Life's Other Kingdom beckons her and me...
why am i such a coward...???

i
Hurt...
it Hurts..
HURT
me...

Time burns our love,
a love for which Hades has a reservation;
a fire will perennially burn that will reflect our love.
a love that is rich with pain, suffering and misery .
nevertheless, Hades invites us to drink form it s cup of Time,
to eat from its red ambrosia,
to suck its silver lilly,
to lick the purple fig paste.
and to adorn our bodies with golden balm...
a balm that Chronos will pervasively preserve in a Grecian Urn
so that we may rise from its ashes to love anew...

BUT

it is Thanatos that i desire
Now...
i yawp for Thanatos...

Life has no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Life...
too many have succumbed to the powers of love yet they have been unable to transcend its thorns... its dry buds...

and we remain unquenched...
we search for the metaphysical...
we observe the bifurcations along the sentinel...
yet we are unable to render choices...
we collapse in the moraines of
Time...

and alone in the Sahara Desert
knocked about by the Zephyros...

i hurt...
it hurts...
hurt me...
i need to feel pain ...

IX

Time bleeds the seconds that i live... Time burns my minutes.... and Time carves this Eighth Day... my wounds are
Deeper today...
and
Time is unable to dress my bleeding abrasions..

{Her scent lingers still in my mouth...
Her touch~her fingers and her hands~ freeze my orientation...
Her lips grasp for fresh summits...
Her hair envelops me and sends me to new realms...
realms i am unable to articulate in words...

But
Time does not reply... Time has created a myriad of
Fjords...
she is silent... i die...
she is distant... i expire...
she is aloof.. i hurt...}

***Today~Tuesday, Feb 2, 2010~ Somalians witness more carnage...
Civilians are the victims in decades of conflict between Muslim insurgents and Christian government military forces...
Time does not spare Mogadishu.. its wounds no one is able to gauze...
Time ushers in vultures that scavenge the city..***

Life's Other Kingdom beckons me...
but i remain... i remain complicit...
and a coward...???

why am i such a coward...???
Time still does not reply ... i solicit axioms...
BUT
only to receive these inner voices:

"the rivers of Hades will not be able to contain the blood and soil of our barbaric acts..."

i wear laurels of excrement
i wear my shirt sleeves untucked.. and
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me BUT
Thanatos...

Time offers me no meaning...
we will not be able to triumph over Time and its incessant erosion...
too many before have succumbed to it... too many wounds continue to fester...
Time... She will not weep for me... Time will only add more toxins to these incisions of the heart...

X

The Ninth Day beckons...

These are its voices:

Where is your mind?
Has Time not eradicated all your senses...?
Have you not succumbed to the futility of existence...?
When will you yield to Time and its forces...?
Do you not hear Time's silence...?
Will Time's rearview mirror ever proffer you any axioms ...?

The sweetness of her voice will only offer you more misery...
The melody of her touch will only proffer you more pain...

{The USA launched another Hell~Fire Drone Missile Attack~18 Missiles, Wednesday, February 3, 2010~
against the tiny village of Deegan, in Datta Khel, North Waziristan. CIA sources... independent sources... are unable to authenticate whether the casualties... are
Civilians...}

i wear laurels of ash... laurels of excrement...
i wear my trousers rolled... and my shirt sleeve untucked...
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me
BUT
Thanatos...

XI

The days have become months...
am i the agent of grief...?
am i the agent of pain...?
am i the agent of misery...?
these months of disconnect cause me estrangement...
without her...

i wear laurels of ash... laurels of excrement...
i wear my trousers rolled... and my shirt sleeve untucked...
i sink... i sink... in the Western excrement of kitsch... kitsch asphyxiates me...
NOTHING can save me
BUT
Thanatos...

Life's Other Kingdom beckons me...
but i remain... i remain complicit...
and a coward...???


i must engage in a praxis... i must immerse myself in something good...
i must revolt... i must trek across this desert...
Alone...
Life beckons me... IT solicits from me
a
praxis...

Thanatos II ( The end of postmodernity)

Is this all a dream...
am i dreaming now...
have i always been dreaming...

[ Is the hell that the Haitians living now a dream..?]

am i yet in a dream...
how much longer... for the eternal dream...

[Our brethren in Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan must be living through horrific dreams?]

who will awaken me form this dream...
that is capitalism... postmodernity...
is this the zombie state that we all solicit..??

[The Gazans' dream has progressed for over forty years...
one Intifada after another... who will awaken them form their nightmare...?]

Is my dream manufactured... ?? who will render me conscious... again...??!!!
Im tired of prozac.. PROZAC.. shit... damn...
shit... damn...
who is to blame for this m@#$&*@%?*%@ ...???
shit... damn..!!!

keep playing along...
The Becks... the Limbaughs... the Robertsons...the O'Reillys...
will assist YOU... their religious zeal is intoxicating...
Nauseating...
Excremental...
They manufacture the thirty seconds bites...
FOX is their fecal temple where everything lives:

racism
discrimination
anti-immigration
homophobia
xenophobia.

shit... pass me some more prozac...
give me a hit... where is the lala...

no... no... this is all a dream...

[ The Times of London is reporting that the cost of the war campaigns in Iraq and Afghansitan has reached $1 Trillion]

a mere dream...
somebody f@%$#&* wake me...
there are m@$#%^@#!%&*^ cops that are filling black adults with. projectiles...

[Sean Bell
ny, ny
november 25, 2006
50 shots]

someone.. shit anyone... shit... pass me some more prozac...

Remember :Sean Bell
new york, ny
november 25, 2006
50 shots]


someone.. shit anyone.. please narrate a bedtime tale: Dr Seuss...
shit... pass me some more prozac...
am i dreaming yet... ??? read another nursery rhyme~This Little Piggy Went to the Market~
no... damn... no!!!! Shit... No... Shit...!!!
im not in REM sleep...

One

All i wholly wanted...
all i wholly desired...
all i really...
all i...
all i...
desired...
was to have ONE...
ONE...
ONE...
More day...
with you... to revel in your scent... in your space... in your gaze...

all i really wanted was
ONE...
ONE...
more day
One day
but i keep waiting... i keep waiting...
and my days become years...
and my days become decades...
and my days become centuries...

i would trade any of these for One Day
for one more day with
You

i would trade the
Pain
Suffering
of
the last two weeks
with
ONE
day
ONE
day
WITH YOU

all i wholly desired are the aspects of life that offer us that will to exist
EXIST:
poetry, beauty, nature~and its landscape~ music
all of these are you
You

i would trade the pain... suffering... of the past two weeks for
just
ONE
KISS
one kiss...

oh, ya babe... for just one kiss...
oh, ya babe... for just one KISS
ONE KISS

i do know ...?? i dont know...??? i dont know anymore...
the difference between
RIGHT
AND
WRONG

my freedom... your freedom...
all these choices open to us... babe... babe ...
all these choices... closed to us... babe... babe...

i dont know... i dont know anymore...
the future is unclear... ambiguous... babe..

whether the snow will usher me into a new sleep...
a sleep that will last an eternity...
a sleep that will lead me to that TERRA INCOGNITA
i dont know anymore... i dont anymore...
i dont know anymore where i will be... i dont know anymore...
where i will be...

the snow keeps falling... it starts calling... it starts calling...

{im not sure where i am... im not sure...
i see white.. a lot of white...
Ahead of me is the White Desert, Egypt...
im not sure how i arrived...

the journey continues... it opens to the
Sand Dunes of the Sahara...
they keep calling to me...}


Here again:

the snow keeps falling once again... it starts calling again ... it keeps calling again...

there is an intangible fear emitted from the snowflakes...
a fear of the future...
Is it not unknown to both of us, babe?

Who has any answers to where we will be in five years? ten years?

All i know is the present... the now... the today as my only
Reality... my only existence... my only pain... my only suffering...

Could i have
One
more moment with you amidst the snowflakes of the Uplands...
One
more moment with you amidst the White Desert of Egypt...
One
more moment with you amidst the Sahara of Africa...
One
more moment with you amidst the Canyons of Arizona...
Could i have...
Could i...
Could...

Would you be...
One
with me?
Could you have
One
more moment with me?

One
more moment with you...?

One...?

so that you can rap, babe
so that you can rap with me, babe
rap about the Technique... Grae..
Away with Me...
Take Away my breath...
One
more moment with you...
babe, so that you can enlighten me with
Yael Naim and The Raconteurs...

And
Toxic
Love;
so
we
can travel long,
Too Long...
A Trek... that is
Steady as She Goes...

One...
more
time
to get
Caught in the Hustle...
One
more moment with you amidst the cornucopia of verse
and the goddesses of rapture... Athena, Astraea..

so all of you may inspire
One
more
Verse...
One
more
Verse...