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waiting for the dance

feb. 17. 2010

[my latest vicodin "poem" aka pomme de terre]

the beautiful furies wait in the stormy mountains on velvet settees;
sad medusa sets out the flowered china tea set;
cerberus lies on a pink satin pillow gnawing on a plush toy;
the minotaur adjusts his bow tie;
scylla and charybdis crank up the victrola;
and charon ushers in the guests.

--- the picture is---
George Frederic Watts The Minotaur 1885

force fields and storm surges
geometry of
what you are looking at
geometry of the
Thing At Hand
geometry of
Where Things Go
far away from the storms
analyzing abstractly
geometry of the line and loves and everythings there
pieces of data in the here and far away

mourning someone who maybe hated me
not tearing-hair tears and profound (pounding?) mourning
just a wishful sad wisp of might have been
for someone who was caught up in a huge cultural misunderstanding.
does their ghost hate me?
i didn't mean anything mean at all
i meant sharing and good will
but in another culture
it was twisted into something very scary.
[for youknowwho]
always for you
love whispering just outside the window
soft night winds bring tiny hearts and stars and flowers
tiny tiny glittering things
things and emotions distilled into crystals
like snow or emeralds
swirling patterns against the glass
trying to get in
all you have to do is
open the window
and all the love will flow to you.
probability in atoms
where'd that electron go
probability in life
where'd that love go
probability in the universe
where did that is go
electrons and galaxies
spinning on the chalk marks on the floor
dancing the elegant
circular elliptical curved patterns
around and back again
r being the distance they hold their love
M being the huge heavy heart
M^2 being the virtual sought after real heart
G being all your wishes and desires pushing and pulling
and where can it go and where will it end

[^2 because i can't do superscripts or subscripts in plain text, but r^2 means squared;
M2 is mass number 2 as opposed to M mass number 1]

lanes of mist
rain roads
roses pour over thresholds
petals and leaves straining to cover all surfaces
fill the rain air
rose lair
with soden lost thoughts
drifting on clouds and notes
tones and tendrils of mist
opulent dark valleys open beneath
filled with rivers and forsets
streams running to far away unknown places
blank spots of mystery or nothingness


getting something done
in the real time
in the day time, the now time
while the dreamtime flows on the side
if you knew what the sides were
struggling every day to do a task
and feel efficient
while kozmik ideas lurk in elsewhen and otherwhere
maybe wishing they could jump out at you
maybe not
maybe they're busy with other things
waking up each day exhausted, depressed
wanting to accomplish at least a few things
to feel validated, to feel useful, to have meaning
while out in the universe
pulsars spin, stars go nova
and in the dreamtime spirits float
mist changes shape
spirals of dots turn and dance

I saw these crowns on sale. They were in a big cardboard bin, that really thick corrugated cardboard. Not the kind you can just bend easily in your hands. Maybe the crowns came in that box. They came from far away; had a perilous journey to get here to our town so they can sit in a box for me to pick one out. They might have been put in a different box, though. It could have been for furniture or something, like maybe it was a refrigerator box cut in half. It was pretty big, and there were a lot of crowns. Just tossed in there like potatoes or something. You could tell they used to be shiny, and now all covered with fingerprints and tarnish. But they are good quality crowns, not made in sweatshops, made by artisans. And made out of real gold, too, not those foil covered cardboard things. Thinner cardboard than the box, of course. Not corrugated either. Your thin back-of-a cheap-notebook cardboard. Not that I'm a snob. That's the only kind of notebooks I buy, cheap ones. Now, these crowns aren't cheap. They are a reasonable fair price for a quality item. I can leave this crown in my will and it will be a family heirloom for generations and eventually be an archaeological artifact sitting on display in a museum thousands of miles away, in a country where crowns are unknown and even the concept not understood. But I understand the concepts of my culture as regards to crowns, and I revel in it. I could roll in those concepts, naked on the bed, rolling around like the woman in _McTeague_ who rolls in her money. Well, thinking further, no, really I wouldn't roll in these concepts. But this crown now. I really like it. It fits perfectly, has a nice weight, all of that. So I'm glad I found this store and this bin on this day. It's not every day you can just go out and find a good crown.

outskirts of hell
[Mar. 28th, 2009| 06:26 pm ]

the air presses and stings and it is so hard to move around; the air is so thick.
a painful cold steel clamp is on my brain, sucking out all shreds of warmth and good,
trying to suck out and erase my soul.
doom and fear stalk me, like the creepy crawly feeling horror movies give but more real, far more real, far more ugly, far more violent.
the roiling clouds of despair and destruction fill the sky, fill everything,
all is lost and sad and hopeless and empty.

depressing doldrums doggerel

[Mar. 6th, 2009| 04:54 pm ]

on a treadmill going nowhere
all i do is mark time

i feel like krap - i take vicodin to stop the pain
drink gin to not care
take clonazepam to sleep


wake up go to work come home sleep (or try to)
wake up try to do some household thing sleep (or try to)

creeping along through the gray days
my pointless life
unfolding before me and rolling up behind me
wasting time
being a blight on the universe (very very tiny blight)
not using the gift of life
not doing anything

existing another day
hurry sundown
dread the morning


[Sep. 14th, 2008| 06:16 pm ]

so i've been taking vicodin a lot at night, for my broken wrist (getting better)
and arthritis (unchanging) and all these words keep popping into my head.
in the morning i look at what i wrote i am surprised by some of things that
turn up in the notebook.
i seem to think about the past and hell and oft-heard phrases a lot.
and don't use much punctuation.
one of my favorite books is "the stars my destination" by alfred bester.
get a copy and read it! in it, people can teleport and it is called jaunting.
so here's a recent batch of vicodin soaked words.


i jaunte into your living room
you greet me with a flame thrower
but ha
i'm in an asbestos suit
salvaged from a 1930s science fiction story
tiny fragments of asbestos in my lungs and blood stream
but i don't care
i'm jaunting into your living room
with my vest of explosives
the terrorists told me it would pop open with flowers and candy
but i know instead we'll all be blown to the big rock candy mountain
shards and flames and cinders strewn across the scorched land
off to hell or never never land
whatever we believe
and not caring any more


hurtling onward
in the life
in the universe
riding on the arrow of time
no brakes here
no going back
just forward forward
onward onward
no matter how much you want to drag your feet
linger on a precious golden moment...
no, you can't
zip, it's gone
onward onward
hurtling forward
up the ladder, down the tunnel
on and on
to death and hell


legends of the past
stalk and creep across the stage
power and beauty
reduced to dust and ashes
still raging bright in memory
searing passion truth and music
but slowly falling
drifting into the mist
into oblivion

more vicodin

[Jun. 17th, 2008| 11:35 am ]

more vicodin stuff from may and june:

on being surrounded by physics

bristling with unit vectors like nano fur, i wonder
which way is up
and does it matter.
identity tensors lined up there for the taking
local averages skitter and whir
and the main thing to worry about is the angular momentum.


june 4, 2008

three things are happening now:

the sound of the air conditioner going next door
brings back memories of new orleans -
sleeping on a day bed by the bookcase in grandma cora's sewing room,
the next door neighbor's air conditioner there humming away in the night
in the warm damp dark above the st augustine grass in the yard
(glimpsed through sheer curtains).

and there is a lake smell,
rain smell in the air
that cool green damp smell that comes from
rainy days, clouds, wet grass, wet concrete, wet earth

and reading about comets
thinking about what if we lived on a comet
in a little space station house
on a little mesa of ice and rocks on a comet hurtling around the sun,
in from the oort cloud, spewing streams of gas and small rocks.
we'd watch from our air tight verandah
with the floor to ceiling jet age plastic windows
while sipping gin and tonics from plastic bags
in the space explorer fashion.


alligator textured memories
rough lizard skin and blazing rubies
stomp in the primal firelight -

we're fierce
you think we'll fade
we're important
you must not forget


it is time to turn

always it's dark oceans and roads to hell
always it's the edge of the abyss
why can't it turn and be
the pink dawn over a spring forest
a grassy plain
and a sky full of stars


in first grade i really liked the word
i thought it was the best word,
it was so long,
and it could be anything
it was related to everything.
i remember writing it out in black crayon
on wide lined newsprint
and admiring it
its vastness
its importance
its possibilities.
it was a magic word.


fear of hidden devils
in their deceptive mundane guises
an ordinary situation
sunlit day
generic location
unremarkable happenings
but underneath
are devils lurking?


running along the fence
through the greenery and spring flowers,
the horrors lurking on the other side.
how flimsy the fence is,
how can we protect ourselves
and the world
from the evil pressing against the straining slats?
the green world is bursting with life and promise
brilliant light shining through chartreuse leaves
wind and bird songs fluttering through the air
and just beyond the crumbling fence
relentless doom and destruction surges
and presses
and batters
trying to break through


on a boat of fear in troubled waters
where are the lifeboats
where is the life?
the waves surge over the splintered railings
the decks heave and shatter in the dark waves
is the boat fear
or is the sea fear
or is the fear inside you
how can you tell
as you cling to a wet broken board in the dark roiling sea

i'll try to save you
i'll throw you a rope
i'll dive in and pull you back to the safe harbor
back to shore
back to peace


so is it in a handbasket to hell?
we're hurtling downward on the highway to hell
so much pain and destruction in the world
it is so overwhelming
so much pollution, climate change, species dying out, suffering, evil, horror
you have to be numb to keep going on in the minutiae of life.
make that handbasket to hell a homey comfy one,
put some fringe and a vase of flowers in it
hurtle down the fiery slippery road
clinging to a few happy thoughts
see the end of the world
while clutching an embroidered hanky.


seeing the pulse in my foot
the flesh rises and falls
like some alien being stirring just beneath the skin
a regular throb
a thing both me and not-me
i'm a stranger
an observer
in this peculiar land of body
this familiar and mysterious
collection of bones and muscle and skin and blood and nerves
that i am surrounded by
that i am

more vicodin words

[May. 16th, 2008| 08:57 am ]

[the first one came from thinking of my happy past in gay communal hippie crazy 1970s san francisco. there are three books out now i recommend:

Midnight At The Palace: My Life As A Fabulous Cockette
by Pam Tent

Flights of Angels: My Life with the Angels of Light
by Adrian Brooks

Music for Vagabonds - The Tuxedomoon Chronicles
by Isabelle Corbisier

i'm even mentioned and quoted in pam's and isabelle's books! w00t]


the lost world
how can i rebuild it
even a tiny scrap of it
it gleamed bright gold
and laughed and sang and danced
ant then imploded into a small black cinder
and was blown away in the wind
i search for a spark
any pinpoint of light in the void
any way to revive the tiny lost corpse
give it breath
coax a small flower
bring back a bit of the past
to plant in the present
a seed of something good and magic
that can grow into the future
sending out tendrils of gold
lighting the way home


i looked out the window tonight
the yellow tulips in the front yard glow faintly
little sentinels in the dark
beings with their quiet thoughts and petaled heads
what magic flows and eddies there in the stillness
along the new spring ground
beneath the far stars


26 dimensions
whittle them down to 10
... or 11
but being aware of 4
there's still a lot of explaining to do

fold things up so it seems like less
squish things down into imperceptible tininess everywhere

we blunder around in our classical physics world
in the spacetime we can see and measure
stuck in our little finite box of what our brains can deal with

what wonders are beyond our reach
what could we see if all the hidden dimensions uncurled before our eyes
what could we do if we could transcend
sail between the branes
move in time, grasp the infinite
see the whole world for what it really is


night ship

ever since i was a kid
i thought of my bed, my room, my house
as a ship
moving through the night
all that i know and hold dear is packed up in the steamer trunk
and off we go sailing
through the unknown
through the mystery and danger and glamour and romance
thorough the night seas of thoughts and memories and dreams
not seeking a safe harbor
not mapping new worlds
just sailing on
to sail on
to keep sailing through the night seas


magnetic field lines
and rings of electric current
adorn the earth
its ribbons and boas
as it sashays around the sun

the sun churns and dances
flinging arms of prominences in its fandango
tossing petals of flame
singing solar wind to serenade the planets

neutrinos sailing through space
wrapped in their own thoughts
heedless of the rest of us
flipping through their identities
try on this hat, then put on a different one
ready for the easter parade
by the time they've crossed the galaxy

vicodin poetry/doggerel

[May. 3rd, 2008| 11:39 am ]

it turns out i have arthritis in my rib cage, of all places, and the dr. gave me vicodin to take at night. i can't take vicodin every night, it's too much, but i've been taking it a couple nights a week. vicodin makes my mind race and poems and stuff pop into my head, so i've been writing it down.

i love drugs.


the new world

the new world is somewhere else
someplace pristine
someplace unsullied
someplace we haven't already trampled and wrecked
let's go off to the new world
pile bags into wheelbarrows
load up the space ships
say goodbye to the past
forge on to the bright new future in the new world
start off fresh
free to make the same mistakes
circle in the same ruts with shiny new things
head down those old well paved roads to hell
in the new world


getting something anyway
[a true story]

i built an antenna to listen to jupiter and io
and i got bob uecker
cassiopeia a got drowned out by baseball
long earthly radio waves stumbled and rumbled
and got caught in my net
silvery signals from space slipped away

fill the creel with whatever you can find
fish or radio waves
baryons, leptons, matter, forces
something to show and talk about later

* note: when i was trying to get signals from jupiter and cassiopiea a, and got am radio instead, i made a simple antenna out of an old porch screen with a wire run around it that connected to a short wave radio. i have ideas for art projects, sculpture conceptual art radio telescopes, but i haven't made them yet. well, actually i _did_ get some signals i _think_ might have been from jupiter. but i got a lot of bob uecker, too.
just in case you'd like to try it, here are a few links (as of may 24, 2021. or google diy radio telescopes or loop antennas):
make an antenna out of your porch railing or other things
make an antenna out of copper wire
order a diy radio telescope kit from nasa
make an antenna out of a plastic table or some boards and wire
i didn't make a circular loop, just ran a wire around the edge of the screen, and just propped it up in the back yard with old pieces of 2x4s to aim it.

[trying to write how i felt but not getting it]

distant roaring
storm on the horizon
huge night air filled with swirling wind
curtains billow and sigh

roaring hugeness
night opens up into empty space
rumbles, drones, chimes and buzzing
fragments of thoughts never finish forming

dark wind
precarious balancing on a membrane of now before it breaks into then
pieces of time slipping away
bright promises and glimpses of hell swirl and shimmer
and are carried away out the window on the night breeze

business lunch

the old cartoon characters sit at the lunch counter,
with pennies in their plastic pocketbooks to buy
the coffee, drawn with swirly lines of steam,
and blurry halftone colored pie from the rotating display case.
their ink on paper cutout bodies folded to sit on the red leatherette covered stools
big conversation balloons of tissue paper appear out of nowhere
and fade away at the end of the sentence
exclamation points and stars hover over heads
and double lines appear in the air to accentuate their gestures.
after the corny jokes and well worn observations are finished,
they wink and high five each other
and fold up, vanishing into another dimension
leaving a scrap of paper on the counter with the tip,
"buy low, sell high".

from early april --

spring walk

i want to soar over the misty forest
stride in seven league boots
gray springbud branches lacy beneath me
and then lie down on the forest floor
an old log with new life sprouting out all over me
mushrooms and seedlings and bugs
tiny insects dancing on the moss
spring flowers blanketing me as i sleep


dust patterns in the dark house
rain patterns in the night
thinking of space junk and dancing shoes
put on those ruby slippers
those seven league boots
those high heel sneakers
and stride and strut
on the sparkling trail of earth's new manmade ring
in a flash
all the space junk is transformed into goblin treasure
bits of screws and insulation and lost gloves
twirl and sparkle
and transmute into lead crystal goblets and sequined lace doilies and pastel petit fours
a miniature milky way closer to home rings the earth
a glittering dance floor
to tap and twirl through
floating and spinning upside down
making eddies in the cosmic canapes
and stellar gewgaws
jeweled snuff boxes, opera glasses and napkin rings
tip toe
stomp and pirouette
until the sun's radiation is absorbed enough to break the spell
and back you are in bed on a rainy night musing,
the space junk pieces of metal and plastic
silently orbiting far above


[Apr. 13th, 2008| 12:27 pm ]

popeye laughs
arf arf arf
on his pedestal,
in his toga with the anchors embroidered on it
a kozmik statement
summing it all up in one syllable
it is and it was and it will be
for all of us
for the world and all time
a laugh to set us free
arf arf arf

pleased as punch about winter

[Feb. 12th, 2008| 11:05 am ]

this has been the best winter in years, a real winter, a winter winter.
all these winter thoughts went through my head last night when i was half asleep:

* * *

snow gives me power
cold gives me strength
dark gives me clarity
the air brings me energy in each icy breath
pearl sky at night
and glittery sleep
frozen lake and black skeleton trees
white drifts and ice
give me power to do, to dream
to be alive.

* * *

frozen world
quiet world
hush of morning in snow laden green branches
promises of cold magic
frost angels
ice fairies
sparkles of breath
breathe in crystals, exhale glittering frost
dark beings moving in the pale cold world
dark trees dreaming in the silent snow
night air full of diamonds
glittering streets
pale blue twilight
pink icy dawn

* * *

a hole opened in my chest
and stars shot out
streaming into space
dreams, hopes, aspirations, fears

last night

[Dec. 28th, 2007| 08:18 am ]

[yesterday evening, when things were beautiful]


catching hold of string theory
like it is a big steer in the sky
like donald duck's golden space cattle in the old comic book,
herding the theories with wonder woman's golden lasso,
heading down the old milky way,
5-branes and instatons trotting along,
gravity hiding behind the next mesquite tree over there,
thinking it can sneak away from us,
black holes spreading out from here to the chuck wagon
where cookie waits for us to arrive famished
and chow down on leftover half baked ideas and beans and coffee.
then it's roll out the bedrolls,
lie down on a plain of interstellar dust,
dream of rattlesnakes and gravitons square dancing
at the cosmic hoedown.

[note: the instatons are existing one after the other,
so give the appearance of trotting along]

[this morning, after upsetting occurrence late last night]

i feel like giving up
i feel like giving up on my art
i fee like giving up on being there for people i love
i feel like giving up on the future
i feel like giving up on hope
i feel like giving up on life

vicodin made me do it

[Dec. 12th, 2007| 02:43 pm ]

[so i have this staph infection on my leg and the doctor gave me antibiotics and vicodin,
and the drugs made all these words go through my head last night and i wrote some down]

i lie in bed in the land of ice and snow
i have a vision of a canyon filled with light
rocks basking in the yellow glow
rocks dreaming of what they used to be
sand and bones
minerals spewed from our beloved mother magma
light pouring over all
light from comets in their strange orbits around the sun
all of us in the cosmic dance
the wheel of the universe in our tiny souls

all life is sacred
my life and microbes
the clash of the tiny titans
who will prevail
we are all sacred

let me take you to the dreamworld
tunnels of cat purrs
walls of caterpillar fur
sacred cocoon
dream of the snow
the leaves
the stars

my teenage writing

[Nov. 8th, 2007| 01:18 pm ]

Louisville, Kentucky April 23, 1968

Over the bridges the swarms come
like magic insects into a towering Martian city of glass
The bridge is wide and gray
it strides across the river
in huge boastful steps
across the deep slow brown Ohio
In its strong wide concrete hands
it carries the swarms
all rushing to a glorious doom
The steel girders with hundreds and hundreds of rivets
dwarfing the lumbering trucks and hurrying cars
it soars into the awaiting city
The expressway curves
moving smoothly in concrete tendrils
a beautiful growth on the red brick face of the city
The onrushing traffic like blood in the giant veins and arteries
under the hovering overcast sky
under the smoke from the factories
past the peering eyes of the second and third stories
of buildings the expressway pours
Red gingerbread lined up rooftops and chimneys out in all directions
tall square gray glass
sleeping castlelike churches
dreaming heedless of the serene yet frantic movement about them
all the wonderful towers and windows
all containing many lives in their crazy complex patterns
The road surges onward
piercing through and flying above the mazes
under watchful and silent eyes
past the industrial fairytales
and elfin lace of thick sooty iron
past the frozen sentinels of the Ralston Purina soybean elevators
and the sacred billboards singing hymns of Churchill Downs
past the exposition center
and its curling checkered tracks
and empty baseball stadium
on through endless houses
hot and uncomfortable in the now peering sun
past the last marker
the strange white and pink filigreed Frank Lloyd Wright office building
and the city is packed into
bad memories again
gone like a dream horizon
lost in hidden promised earth folds.

time last night

[Oct. 19th, 2007| 09:41 am ]

[lying in bed at night, listening to the wind, half asleep]

time slows down
and trickles into a sticky pool
small glimmer
swirling inward to one soft quiet breath
and then wells up again
flinging fingers of now out into space

back where i belong

[Aug. 14th, 2007| 10:02 am ]

empty fog being walking on this earth
vapors of fear and doubt seep in
fighting back but failing
too weak
too stupid too lost
giving in to the siren addiction seduction trance failure
into the downward spiral
ratcheting down the screw threads of sewage and despair
cogs and gears of fear and embarrassment and lethargy and disgust
impeding any retreat
ensuring the downward path
into the vortex of vapidity and foolishness
into the darkness and dregs
into the shame and drear of hell


[Aug. 5th, 2007 07:52 pm ]

empty mind
empty world
empty space
damp cicada night
alone with pale thoughts
dead inside
but still trying to listen
still trying to find some bread crumbs leading home

i am [popeye vs descartes]

[May. 15th, 2007 08:06 pm ]

[spring evening
thin rain, mourning dove, distant traffic
old stuff turns new(er) ]

i am

i am a million miles long
i am more dense than a neutron star
lasting forever
i am a tiny speck
less than an instanton
here and gone in almost never
i am everything and nothing

i am a huge slug
jabba the hutt sprawled on the groaning bed
i am a miniscule lost terrified microbe alone in a roaring wilderness

i am at a turning point
which will it be
back to hell
or towards the unknown

this morning's depressing doggerel

[May. 15th, 2007| 09:03 am ]

most of the universe is empty space
most of matter, most of us is empty space
it is comfort and it is fear

thinking over past mistakes
thinking of life and emotions and self
thinking of why and how
i still don't understand anything

the shambles of the past keep me from loving and trusting in
the present
the future looks bleak
behind the plans and hopes and dreams lie
pain and loneliness and decline


"The above image is a map of the large-scale structure of the local universe created using data from the Sloan Digital Sky Survey by Michael Blanton and collaborators. This graph the distribution of 147,986 galaxies in distance for field within 6-degrees of the Celestial Equator. The left and right halves show regions surveyed in the northern and southern galactic hemispheres, respectively. The Earth (in the Local Group) lies at the center of the map. The blank regions above and below are inaccessible because of obscuration by dust in the plane of the Milky Way."...

lumps of now like gumdrops

[May. 5th, 2007| 10:46 pm ]

we exist in moments
we perceive lumps of time
lumps of now
that stream away into memory.
they don't really stream away
they are still "there"
wherever "there" is.
we hurtle forward
but don't hurtle forward
we think and dream forward
but time is still "there".
so i am in now on my bed
with my beautiful kitty jayne
purring on my stomach
soft and warm and sharp claws
and outside, through the window
come spring night sounds
distant traffic
breeze in budding trees
sleeping flowers
faraway airplane drones and faint thunder.
in this now i have:
a glass i could fill with gin
some chocolate bars i could unwrap and eat
a half done sudoku i could finish.
little potentials
little pleasures
little pieces of life.
but i am lying here,
jayne purring
violet jumps up and snuggles at my feet
stella meows in the hall
who knows where ida is, prowling downstairs.
a dog outside barks faraway.
we are all sailing in our little spaceship
through life
through the universe.
life is little lumps of now.
the lump of now i am in as i write
has contentment and love and peace
that's good enough isn't it...


[May. 4th, 2007| 01:08 pm ]

stuck in spirals
tendrils of hell can be so sticky
all wrapped up in a web of pink glue
lost on the outside
alone looking in
wistful but armored
lead wheels trying to race downward
expanding and heavier at each turn<


[Mar. 28th, 2007| 07:56 pm ]

[more poetrydoggereltherapy tonite]

i am alone on an empty world
a last living speck on a small dead planet,
a sad lost scrap of rock sailing through space

empty space
no life or death
no love or thought
not even dust or starlight
just darkness and emptiness

the world dissipates into the void
and i dissolve into nothing
a little pile of atoms fizz away into nonexistence

nothing is left
not a speck
not a memory
not a sigh

feb 23, 2007

melancholy night snowy night
silent snow
secret snow
tightrope walker trying to find the way
snow whispers
shadow whispers
swirls of memories
shreds of dreams
lost and found and lost and found
wondering wondering
stars and fire
ice and moondust
heart of ice
heart of dreams
snow life snow life stars night snow night
love in frozen crystals
thoughts wrapped inside lattices of reverie
galaxies spin
towards nothingness and
the snow falls

feb 24, 2007

the mouth of hell smiles seductively
the demons in pandemonium decided to change their names to mine
should i listen
should i turn away
but the silken ropes of love and fire and snow that keep me here haven't broken yet
i still have time


a tad of commentary-
i use the phrase "silent snow secret snow" too much. it is a mantra of mine. i got it from the story, "silent snow secret snow" by conrad aiken. it was also dramatized on tv on night gallery or some such. but it is how i feel a lot, the snow coming in, covering everything, filling everything. cold and white and quiet and soft and everywhere.

seasonal mood disorder

[Feb. 1st, 2007| 12:25 pm ]

my seasonal mood disorder is kicking in now. i am elated in winter but depressed to suicidal in spring, a slug in summer, and awakening in fall. it has to do with length of days, color of daylight, temperature and humidity influencing my brain chemistry. i am on prozac and lamictal right now, and it sort of works, but things are slipping. i am surprised it is starting this early, usually i am ok til almost the equinox. maybe it is because we haven't had much winter here this year.

this is something i wrote as a teenager, a part of "Valentines Day 1967 Tuesday". it sure hits the nail on the head about my seasonal mood disorder. maybe i should have posted the whole thing. i forgot even writing this.

... the silent death songs of the snow
it lies still upon the night sky now
without a memory and unaware of their animation
Here Orion is and I feel like crying. The desperation I feel when
the seasons whip past. you can't catch hold long enough
If the world were an eternal winter
with everything dead (how beautiful)
and we wouldn't know, having no
summer to compare it to.
Winter is dying now, and spring waits
lurking in its bright shadows to haunt me
(how I dread that)
If only Orion could stay, stamping
the snow from the stars
and the trees' raking fingers aching to
reach his starry feet
and the geese flying away in October
never to return

(if you really want to know, i have an old rant about depression at )

words that might turn into poems someday

[Jan. 28th, 2007| 10:45 pm ]

pure white light
crystalline darkness


tendrils of fear and sadness seek fissures to invade


[Jan. 25th, 2007| 10:11 am ]

i tend to be sad a lot anyway, and was especially saddened recently to find out sara was dead.
sara and i used to live together in a commune, and later kept in touch, but then she moved a couple times, and i hadn't hear from her in several years, and i'd try to find her address with no success. this time i was searching the web and found her obituary. she died 5 years ago and i didn't know it til now.
i put pictures of her on my memorial to dead friends page
juan suggested i write poetry, so i wrote some, and it is good therapy, and i got some positive feedback, so i'm posting some.
the first two i think are kind of creepy,
and the last three kind of popped into my head the past couple nights.


i'm sad i'll never get to talk to sara again
i'm sad i'll never get to talk to dennis again
i'm sad i'll never get to talk to [
" david
" reggie
" tommy
" timmy
" sunflower
" poppy
" buzzy
" ivan
" ori
" kirk
" marce
" randy
" tomata
" ...] again

i can't tell them what happened next

i put an iron cage around my heart
rusty iron bands
with a broken lock rusted shut
and no key to ever open it
with each death the bands get thicker and harder
more encrusted with rust and lichens and
salt crystals from unused tears
a fortress to keep the sadness in
more deaths more iron bands
more ragged bundles of pain and sadness
shoved away on back musty shelves
in tiny rotting rooms
in the ruined ramparts molded by rusty iron bands
each death is another splinter
each death is another battering ram
each death is another iron band
to protect me from nothing
to make me a robot to continue in the days
a sad little cog filled with nothing

i still can't cry
the lock is too tight
and if i cry i will melt away like the wicked witch
and be gone forever


i took all my anger
and packed it into a little ball
neutron star dense
black hole dark
particles of rage and fury and hate
compacted into an evil slurry
eating away at my soul
its gravity sucking in all my anger
packing it all tighter and tighter
tying my hate into knots
compressing my rage into hard ugly crystals
i keep all the fury pressed into my rotten festering core
and slather a layer of love outside of it
to keep it all in
i turn the hate at myself
struggling and scrambling
so i can protect the world from harm



so i found myself floating face down in a swimming pool
and i forgot to watch my life pass before me
so i'm not sure what to do now
except for continue on towards the perfection that is nothing



you touched me with a magic wand,
a tap on the head to make things right
to put some steel girders where i had thin threads
to step back from the abyss and turn toward the garden


i heard a faint buzzing noise in the night
it was all the golden opportunities, missed chances, and regrets
flying past me while i slept

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