Blood tells, but no.
Listen lub dup lub dup lub dup
It is the Traitor who murmurs
about secret chambers holophonic
echoes syncopated beatings dark
repetition and off-by-heart arterial strolls.
Shhh listen
Blood is silent. She will not tell
though the Traitor drag her by her hair
from room to room and demand duet.
In shut the door in shut the door in shut the door
Oh! Shhh
It is terrorous
to be enslaved to the whim of another’s song.
Blood bides her time. She is patient as an ocean.
She is a river! She is a stream of consciousness.
She will not tell. As a prisoner
her right is silence, her dance resistance.
The Traitor is a conductor. Blood is a freedom
fighter. She has a lifetime to memorize
rhythm to practice dissonance. She waits
with the fierce intentionality of a flood.
Listen shhhhhh
She foresees escape and
Lub dup
Lub dup
Lub dup
dreams of sharp objects and bright openings
lubdup
lubdup
lubdup
Then Blood sings!
Another week flies by - Things On Tuesday group already is making me feel more accountable on a weekly basis (not sure exactly how or what that is about ...) Mine is not to question why ... I lie, mine is to question everything!
Alright ... HOT's
- Making a new, in-the-flesh friend. This is a V (!) important thing because I haven't met anyone in-the-flesh I have felt that kindred feeling with, since I moved to Australia 16 months ago. I had begun to despair there would never be another in-the-flesh kindred ever ... ((Majena)).
- Having coffee at funky cafe with new in-the-flesh friend.
- Enjoying two hours of conversation with new in-the-flesh friend, and being sad to end it. (okay I have that pre-school friend feeling here)
- Inspiration in any and all forms
- The elderly lady from the poetry workshop last Saturday - omg's she was fabulous! Age is no barrier to razor wit or emm fashion.
- Reading the wonderful, creative, heartfelt poetic efforts of other VOX poets - I'm stoked about your work people :) (you know who you are!)
- Seeing a possible way forward for my dreams.
- Queensland rain. I've always loved the rain - this has become a larger love since moving to Australia.
- The usual suspects; hot coffee, good poetry, writing anything worthy, my friends (some new!) VOX and otherwise, loving, knowing I am loved, laughter, kid hugs, the silence of the house when everyone else is asleep ....
Otherwise Not's
- My neighbors' sexual escapades in the pool below my bedroom window and resultant sleep deprivation.
- Pots with lids that get hot thereby burning you while cooking. Knowing said pots were EXPENSIVE. (How stupid is this hazardous-to-safety design flaw!?)
- Having my internet "shaped" *punt punt punt PUNT*
- Migraine headaches (currently under the influence)
- People who pretend to listen, pretend to be interested - but really are only looking for an opening to tell you their stuff. Makes me supah sad ... and irritated.
- Horoscopes for Virgos - which seem to ALWAYS focus on work, work, work - our apparently shit love lives and work. Oh, and work. Astrologers: for gods sake, enuff of the one dimensional personality profiling PUHLEEZE.......
- Not writing despite courting the muse 24/7.
- Being v sad Cate Blanchett didn't get an Oscar for Elizabeth II or her efforts in I'm Not There. I HEART her and really wanted her to win!
- The usual suspects; My noisy apartment building (this one is x 100 this week), incurable I-Want-itis, wanting to have a bath and having to clean the tub first, mess, the fecking white area rug in the living room that sheds everywhere...
Peace out and happy Tuesday!
Winter should have meaning for
you.
Louise Glück, “Snowdrops”
Louise Glück, “Snowdrops”
This part is the incantation. It cannot be understood.
It is the moment before power erupts. Auras, rainbow
Whipped into dumb submission before black holes
And grim suns. This traveler is awed.
This is worship. This is native.
This is latent potential.
Love before consequence before fever
Before understanding sparks, ignites
And blisters soft, untried skin.
The heart furls And becomes an alchemical constituent
Rendered in a crematorium. And this place is a crucible And
A strange landscape. And this heart is no innocent.
She is a witch burning. She is a sacrifice.
This is transmogrification. This is a translation.
Understand, this is black ice.
It is the moment before power erupts. Auras, rainbow
Whipped into dumb submission before black holes
And grim suns. This traveler is awed.
This is worship. This is native.
This is latent potential.
Love before consequence before fever
Before understanding sparks, ignites
And blisters soft, untried skin.
The heart furls And becomes an alchemical constituent
Rendered in a crematorium. And this place is a crucible And
A strange landscape. And this heart is no innocent.
She is a witch burning. She is a sacrifice.
This is transmogrification. This is a translation.
Understand, this is black ice.
This is sleep deprived me, dedicating this poem to my neighbors -
who very much like to fuck in the swimming pool below my bedroom.
Then: The fucking room
Behind DND signs. A fresh paid room
Reeks. Cheap booze Unread
Sex Stale Bibles.
Now: The fucking room
So fucking hot Seventy Eight fucking degrees One a.m.
Free escapades: boys doing boys
Girls doing girls men and women doing
Exhibiting moves Singing siren songs
Oiling the pool with their charms.
Three am water slapped asses Fake flesh
Fake rhythm waving without obvious shrinkage,
Fucking LOUD.
Snapshot:
Three couples in one night. I present: Exhibits [A] [B] [C]
This (nu) (erotic) elementary disingenuous risk
Bringing it home. Awake
In my bed. Timing their O's
Sexy?
No
Sexy?
Not.
No more pool parties.
Play in the fucking parking lot,
The fucking elevator, the fucking foyer.
Or hey, get a fucking room.
(We gotcha on YouTube – search for it)
who very much like to fuck in the swimming pool below my bedroom.
Then: The fucking room
Behind DND signs. A fresh paid room
Reeks. Cheap booze Unread
Sex Stale Bibles.
Now: The fucking room
So fucking hot Seventy Eight fucking degrees One a.m.
Free escapades: boys doing boys
Girls doing girls men and women doing
Exhibiting moves Singing siren songs
Oiling the pool with their charms.
Three am water slapped asses Fake flesh
Fake rhythm waving without obvious shrinkage,
Fucking LOUD.
Snapshot:
Three couples in one night. I present: Exhibits [A] [B] [C]
This (nu) (erotic) elementary disingenuous risk
Bringing it home. Awake
In my bed. Timing their O's
Sexy?
No
Sexy?
Not.
No more pool parties.
Play in the fucking parking lot,
The fucking elevator, the fucking foyer.
Or hey, get a fucking room.
(We gotcha on YouTube – search for it)
Another crash and burn kinda pretty thing
An incredible live performance version.
"Not gonna write you a love song cuz you ask for one ..."
If the song can make me 'bop' after a sleepless night, hell I take my hat off to her!
This may seem a little random,but I've been thinking about Karma. Like how much, I've got in the Cosmic bank -
and wondering what the best-bang-for-my-next-life-buck would be. I think another lifetime as a human would kill me (pardon the obvious) and no matter how I try, I can't see a Bug's Life, being the one for me. A domesticated anything, turns me off. I've done domestication: got the T-shirt, wore the T-shirt til it was thin as rice paper, and burned the damn T-shirt like a pissed off housewife burns her husband's dinner!
Wide open spaces, community, aesthetic harmony. A different place and culture. Nagano Japan comes to mind. Yeah, I am thinking I could get off on a lifetime as a Snow Monkey. It's a tough life, what with meditating, grooming, playing in the snow, and hanging out in hot pools. A Snow monkeys' life is the life for me!
If I end up in some cosmic way station, forced to reflect on the shortfall of my Karma and told to 'pick an animal, any animal' I hope I will remember Snow Monkey.
The poem is the point at which our strength gave out.
Richard Rosen
I do not trade in
Beginnings middles ends
Such trinkets lurk or linger
Elsewhere. Find them for
Yourself.
~ * ~
The room at the end of it,
Is a forest, certainly. Sentinels
live there, who long for my skin
And carve their initials upon it.
Like a miracle, I am made visible.
Afternoon light is perfect for reading
White rooms, which are dead, quiet
But whisper like haunting like
Memories like time like pages
Like you Like I could ever forget.
I sleepwalk through another room.
On a starless night, the snow is
Endless, the sky unforgiving.
Desire freezes upon my cheeks
The way tears do.
This room, pulses with probabilities
Call it ours Call it home Call it like it is
The radiator is on the fritz.
Like blood now and then,
We go cold.
I forgot I love Suzanne Vega.
I am walking in deep snow, along a fence line. It's cold, but I'm dressed for it. I walk for a long time, and there is no sign of anything ahead. The skies are moody. I wonder if it is going to snow. I worry about it a little.
I don't have a watch on. I have no idea how much time has passed. I can't believe I forgot my watch. I hate it when that happens. It is so overcast that I can't even measure the passage of time that way. I worry.
I wonder, as I am walking, if I worry like this because I am a Virgo. If so, I would like very much to change astrological signs. Perhaps I could be a nice Scorpio. I have the constitution of a Scorpio. It is my moon sign.
Still nothing ahead, or to the sides. Walking in snow is really tiring after awhile. My feet are starting to feel damp. I begin thinking about everything I can remember about people who die in the snow. I worry about that. I comfort myself by saying at least when they die, they seem to get all warm and fuzzy and sleepy.
There are worse ways to go.
A flake of snow lands on my nose. It did so! I am sure of it! I spend at least five minutes staring at the sky. I need another flake to fall to prove the first one to myself. It doesn't happen. I am suspicious. I begin walking again. As soon as I do, another flake lands on my nose. My life runs a lot this way, I think.
Nothing happens while I am watching or waiting for it.
When there is nothing, it is easy to become disoriented. I notice all the fence posts look the same. I pause at the next three or four posts. I work to give them personalities of their own. I give them a history and a voice. This reminds me of many of my relationships. I stop. I worry about that.
I worry some more about things like snow blindness (so far my eyes seem good but I wish I had a pair of sunglasses). I check the pockets in my parka. There are ski goggles (!) in there, and dry gloves. Chapstick and a chocolate bar. Weird. I put the goggles on. The moodiness is amped up. I change my gloves, slick on some Chapstick, cherry. Cool. That's exactly what I'd have chosen. I eat some of the chocolate.
I do not worry about calories. I am liberated. This is a good thing.
Time. I have no idea. I tell myself watches are over-rated. Time is a construct. I can exist outside of time. For now, time does not matter. It has ceased to exist. I watch the clouds trudge across the sky. Where there is movement there is time. Physics, right? I know I am lying. I wonder if I should worry about lying to myself.
I continue walking. I have not gotten to anywhere at all. When you have been walking a long time and getting nowhere, you begin to wonder if you should turn back. I worry about turning back. I forget where I was at the beginning. I realize, I do not even know what country I am in.
I wake up.
I think about getting up, a shower, a cup of coffee. Its hot outside. I can hear someone in the pool. I think how insane it is to sleep until noon. I want to write. The sleeping pill is still exerting its influence. Walking in snow is soooo tiring. I fall back to sleep.
The snow drifts are waiting.
I don't have a watch on. I have no idea how much time has passed. I can't believe I forgot my watch. I hate it when that happens. It is so overcast that I can't even measure the passage of time that way. I worry.
I wonder, as I am walking, if I worry like this because I am a Virgo. If so, I would like very much to change astrological signs. Perhaps I could be a nice Scorpio. I have the constitution of a Scorpio. It is my moon sign.
Still nothing ahead, or to the sides. Walking in snow is really tiring after awhile. My feet are starting to feel damp. I begin thinking about everything I can remember about people who die in the snow. I worry about that. I comfort myself by saying at least when they die, they seem to get all warm and fuzzy and sleepy.
There are worse ways to go.
A flake of snow lands on my nose. It did so! I am sure of it! I spend at least five minutes staring at the sky. I need another flake to fall to prove the first one to myself. It doesn't happen. I am suspicious. I begin walking again. As soon as I do, another flake lands on my nose. My life runs a lot this way, I think.
Nothing happens while I am watching or waiting for it.
When there is nothing, it is easy to become disoriented. I notice all the fence posts look the same. I pause at the next three or four posts. I work to give them personalities of their own. I give them a history and a voice. This reminds me of many of my relationships. I stop. I worry about that.
I worry some more about things like snow blindness (so far my eyes seem good but I wish I had a pair of sunglasses). I check the pockets in my parka. There are ski goggles (!) in there, and dry gloves. Chapstick and a chocolate bar. Weird. I put the goggles on. The moodiness is amped up. I change my gloves, slick on some Chapstick, cherry. Cool. That's exactly what I'd have chosen. I eat some of the chocolate.
I do not worry about calories. I am liberated. This is a good thing.
Time. I have no idea. I tell myself watches are over-rated. Time is a construct. I can exist outside of time. For now, time does not matter. It has ceased to exist. I watch the clouds trudge across the sky. Where there is movement there is time. Physics, right? I know I am lying. I wonder if I should worry about lying to myself.
I continue walking. I have not gotten to anywhere at all. When you have been walking a long time and getting nowhere, you begin to wonder if you should turn back. I worry about turning back. I forget where I was at the beginning. I realize, I do not even know what country I am in.
I wake up.
I think about getting up, a shower, a cup of coffee. Its hot outside. I can hear someone in the pool. I think how insane it is to sleep until noon. I want to write. The sleeping pill is still exerting its influence. Walking in snow is soooo tiring. I fall back to sleep.
The snow drifts are waiting.
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