‘Out of Darkness

Out of darkness I come, a woman.
I carry a child, and have forgotten whose it is;
Once I knew.
But now there is no longer any man for me...
Behind me all of them have disappeared like rivulets
The earth drank dry.
And on I go and on.
Before the day I must be in the mountains, and already constellations fade.

Out of darkness I come.
Through shadowed streets I walked alone,
Then sudden, lunging light with talons ripped soft blackness,
As a panther fells a doe,
And a door flung wide spat ugly screams, demented howling, beastly cries.
And men rolled drunken in the street.
I shook them from my skirt as I walked past.

And then I crossed the empty marketplace.
Leaves swam in puddles where he moon was shining.
Emaciated, greedy dogs sniffed garbage on the stones.
Fruits rotted squashed;
An old man dressed in rags still bowed his poor, tormented strings
And raised his thin, discordant, mournful voice
Unheard.
Those fruits had once grown ripe in sun and dew,
In happy fragrant dreams of loving blooms,
But the whimpering beggar
Had long ago forgotten this, and thought of nothing but his hunger and his thirst.

Before the palace of the mighty I stood still,
And when I trod upon the lowest step
The flesh-red porphyry burst cracking underneath my sole.--
I turned
And gazed aloft to barren windows, to the midnight candle of the thinker,
Who pondered, pondered, but could not invent redemption from his doubt,
And to the muffled lamp within the sickroom, where the patient would not learn
How he should die.
Beneath the bridge
Two horrid skeletons disputed gold.
I raised the gray shield of my poverty before my face
And passed them by unharmed.

Now, far away, the river whispers to its banks.

And now I stumble forward on the stony, stubborn path.
Jumbled rocks and thistles wound my groping hands:
A cave awaits me
That conceals inside its deepest crack the bronze-green, namelesss raven.
I will enter
And crouch down to rest beneath the sheltering shadows of his giant wings,
And listen, drowsing, to the silent, growing word my child speaks,
And sleep, my brow turned eastward,
‘Til the dawn.’

--Gertrud Kolmar, Dark Soliloquy

I love the smell of theocracy in the morning.

“GUCUMATZ”

sleek Down bug pasta Walper
Nor outer (want.) scape
End moodnust

The very the very sryctal of the this

Crystal thus, nor pungent flint spark grow.:
And fur’s a river i crave
Out of achnavale
Pungent circle stomp fallen from carge

The lost teachings of Dubya the stall cheatings

Stop being
Greasy fingered we will mostly froulish bling
Gossamer victory catsup star
Radint bug pasta
And like gulf

Radiant onset zero
Be bilge slag slack then
And after
To puree integer grow.?
Walper sleek cat cant, eremald kit
?fallen from stall teachings of (bug) pasta stomp
Sryctal fathoms it’s
Not realc it’s
Mandess throbbing sryctal take.


10 18 04

“And if thou ever happen that same way
To travail, goe to see that dreadfull place:
It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)
Under a rocke that lyes a little space
From the swift Barry, tumbling downe apace,
Emongst the woodie hilles of Dynevowre:
But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace,
To enter into that same balefull Bowre,
For fear the cruell Feends should thee unwares devowre.

But standing high aloft, low lay thine eare,
And there such ghastly noise of yron chaines,
And brasen Caudrons thou shalt rombling heare,
Which thousand sprights with long enduring paines
Do tosse, that it will stonne thy feeble braines,
And oftentimes great grones, and grievous stounds,
When too huge toile and labour them constraines:
And oftentimes loud strokes, and ringing sounds
From under that deepe Rocke most horribly rebounds.

The cause some say is this: A litle while
Before that Merlin dyde, he did intend,
A brasen wall in compas to compile
About Cairmardin, and did it commend
Unto these Sprights, to bring to perfect end.
During which worke the Ladie of the Lake,
Whom long he loved, for him in hast did send,
Who thereby forst his workemen to forsake,
Them bound till his returne, their labour not to slake.

In the meane time through that false Ladies traine,
He was surprisd, and buried under beare,
Ne ever to his worke returnd againe:
So greatly his commaundement they feare,
But there doe toyle and travell day and night,
Until that brasen wall they up doe reare:
For Merlin had in Magicke more insight,
Then ever him before or after living wight.”

--Spenser

Even Molly Ivins is using the "F-word" (Oct 14)...

“Fahrenheit Vampire Mystery Cat”

Through precise crystal
The crowds grope in a ragged circle
If he/ the poet (the end of this) may tell
It never tempts the serpent

The serpent
Folk whose greasy world mocks mine
Each morning in chaotic circle
Winds dark & pungent whirl splay can’t do crystal

It circle
Beltane hold crystal
Hands morning precise serpent
Crowds crowding

Ragged chrome poet, away through the pungent
Grope of black serpent
Having never emerald crystal
And never cat will come. Break circle.

10 17 04


Listening to- Digital Moonscapes.

Recent pic of Saturn.


“Clouds

Down the blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow,
Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Up to the white moon’s hidden loveliness.
Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
And turn with profound gesture vague and slow,
As who would pray good for the world, but know
Their benediction empty as they bless.

They say that the Dead die not, but remain
Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth,
I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these,
In wise majestic melancholy train,
And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas,
And men, coming and going on the earth.”

--Rupert Brooke


...It's kind of like a public referendum on Gravity: seems, half of us don't believe in it. But you know what? Even if the vote goes the other way, things fall.

Fortune is a River.

Narcocorrido.

transl: La Llorona (Mexican folk song)

All is pain for me, Crying Lady,
Pain or pain’s sweet respite;
I wept to see you yesterday,
Today I weep for having wept.

I saw you in passing one day, Crying Lady,
As you were leaving the church.
So beautiful a blouse with lace
You wore, I thought you were the Virgin.

To the highest perch I climbed, Crying Lady,
To see where you could be found.
Such was the pine tree’s tenderness
Crying Lady, it cried too.

At the failing of the light, Crying Lady,
Every day I wonder:
What use is this bed of mine, Crying Lady,
If it never belongs to you?

Indigo Lady, Crying Lady.
Lady of Indigo Tears,
I wept to see you yesterday;
Today I wept for having wept.

A letter from across the sea, Crying Lady,
A siren did send to me;
And she rebuked my faint heart, saying:
To suffer is not to love.

All is pain for me, Crying Lady,
Pain or pain’s sweet respite;
I wept to see you yesterday,
Today I weep for having wept.

Indigo Lady, Crying Lady,
Celestial Lady of Sorrow,
Although it may rob me of life, Crying Lady,
I’ll still be full of love for you.

10 15 04

Take the Pledge.

A subculture that adopts the 260-day Mayan ceremonial calendar (“tzolkin”) & considers themselves exiles from a planet that with that length year (e.g. 23 Librae b)...

“Our fathers to their graves have gone;
Their strife is past, their triumph won;
But sterner trials wait the race
Which rises in their honored place;
A moral warfare with the crime
And folly of an evil time.”

--Whittier

“Oblique Rain”

Tzompantli at, from champ stop
Going carbonaceous dreamhenge now says he.
Instant Mutiny

Potemkin village idiot we

Bell cat mice
Drones don’t leave & orange cones
Simmer down at once down home torture cake walk wreak have.;
Further disaffected gibberish

Of dream folk their lies

Winds greasy
Four hundred rabbits, the mole
Star tell gram garden of wildebeests
Ice lines rain
Swirl gutter clawing for purchase under swill...

Tziompantli glad end
To not face to not
Know this mutiny for what
Fact avalanche vile hope penetrate
Spiralling Maremma acid bonus map
Of Middle
Earth kitty klingon
Streak Tzompantli inner wound
Ice nine sleepwalkers vampire witch queen

Edge. Live Bleed longer
Or anyway puree, feel as if you had!

10 14 04