Geists

You just can not talk ghosts with some people… cause they want to talk about ghouls and the like. I have never seen a ghoul, though I have seen plenty of ghosts. Last night a friend was telling me of a cat poltergeist, which I frankly have never heard of before. Haunting… not quite as strange as some may wish it to be. The dude with the cat geist though did not like my suggestion that haunting works both ways. Some remain due to unfinished business, other remain because we simply will not let them go.

I am waiting... I am waiting.. oh yeah... oh yeah

Sitting back in my chair I had the chance to enjoy the quiet and look out my window at the trees. Sure, there is a city back there somewhere, but all I can see out the window is the trees, the birds, and the calm tranquility of the forest which surrounds the house and lawns. There is a world out there but today I am not a part of it.

It might be selfish really to withdraw and be apart from things, but then the truth is that a lot of things are wearing me out. I get to feeling faded like an old photograph left outside too long.

October is looming up quickly and with it the new medical tests. I was talking with my life partner about this, about how tired I am of the whole thing, and how I would so dearly love just to not do this anymore. I know, how difficult it must be for her to hear that, and yet there she is supporting me through this still. My Jenny is my mountain.

I am going to miss some writing deadlines at Pan Historia. These were self imposed and though I normally would move heaven and earth not to miss my own deadlines, I shall this time. The works will not be the way that I want them to be in time, and I do not think that I will sacrifice my time with Jenny to complete them. Some call it priorities, I call it sanity.

The University is now in full swing, and I have filled my allotment of students. The task ahead is rather pleasing to me, though I find myself missing being the student. It is far different being the tutor. I am not sure that I like it as much. What I am hopeful of is that the pleasure of success from the students will transfer to me as well. Education is a team sport. I wonder if this is how an athlete feels when they must give up playing and become the coach? Are they trying to get back the high that they once knew?

GOTHPERA test version

GOTHPERA


the birds


the summer I got sick they thought it was mono

fatigue and persistent pain
bed rest watching the world pass away in brief spells
day dreams
I found it impossible to sleep and could not stay awake
I hovered on the edges of between
reading became an impossible repetition of pages and paragraphs
hushed voice stripped of meaning
the message reverted into droning buzzes
lost behind the empty gestures of comfort and tranquility
I slipped beneath a veneer of life

the sunshine slides across the floor
don’t open the door
let the dust dance
the flecks smiling in the sunshine
it’s just fine
inside

the days poured out of the mornings
into the bright blinding noontime
hunger is a memory
I knew that I should be hungry
I was not
the coffee ignored beside the bed
grown cold buttered toast abandoned
all we have at the end in the longing
the desire to recall eating as pleasure
the warmth of food with aroma
in the absence of flavor
desire dies

let the bird sing in through the open window
stream into the room with the prayer
the birds never promise
the emptiness of tomorrow is absent
shadow fingers across the lawn
around the corner
outside
but I am asleep
dreaming of palm trees wavering over the waves
of the blue ocean surge
the singing of birds

Pandora’s silent scream weighs like lead after the fleeing began
her trembling hand half hide her face
and her beauty was lost to the world
replaced by the discipline of tough love
border lines drawn on paper in seclusion
an old man speaks to a dog in park
barks in commands
there, slow motion dancers practice martial arts
the meaning of the story is jumbled
becomes lost
then hides

the truth is that I watch you
living the flashes of life that you bring
through the closed window
silent movements across the lawn
remembering the song
that birds sang
do they sing
anymore?


doubt


as we stand upon the precipice, the eternal silence of god speaks louder than the texts taught and the unfailing conclusion is that the root foundation for this absence can be nothing short of the actual nonattendance in both the person and the being of a creator

to be undecided or skeptical about
to tend to disbelieve
to distrust
to regard as unlikely
to suspect
to know fear


hope


hope escapes last only because we so choose it to be
afterwards there is nothing but the resounding calmness
the swirling chaos of non existence ceases to be feared
but becomes that which we embrace
the purpose in pointlessness is to cease to seek utility
and to function where no purpose is to be found.


time


there is a past
unreachable but amendable
there is a present
immutable
but there is no future
there is only silence.


growth


grass grows uncontrolled in thick clumps of shaggy green waiting for the evening breeze
the slap of plastic chord on sidewalk cement induces a chant of wordless wonder
this is how girls learn to sing
rhythmic incantations
spells
and then the laughter

through the glass windows it rises muffled
a strangely forbidden language
it is a code of separation
initiation
on the grass even the slapping plastic transmutes into the tribal beat of distant drums

I remember it raining as condensed mists looking pout into the grey fog
or the night perforated by yellow lamps
only the sunlight light days are clear
liberated from the murk and the mire of oppressiveness
and still the gnawing teeth of boredom chewed through the walls
mind aching listless boredom


question


an expression of inquiry that invites or calls for a reply.
an interrogative sentence, phrase, or gesture.
a subject or point open to controversy
a proposition brought up for consideration by an assembly.
the act of bringing a proposal to vote.
uncertainty
to doubt


believe


to accept as true or real
to credit with veracity
to expect or suppose
to think
to have firm faith
to have faith, confidence, or trust
to have confidence in the truth or value of something
to have an opinion; think


the time of forgetting


I’m not your answer. I’m not your solution.
I’m not here to offer you absolution.
you misunderstood me right from the beginning
you misunderstood why your head it was swimming
you’re drowning in tears of your own sweet creation
you’ll die from your fears, your loves and hesitation

tomorrow there’ll be one less infirmity.
tomorrow you’re free from your life’s agony.
yes, I won’t remember the long and forgotten,
the dearly departed in the ground lying rotten.
the sky it is bleeding. the sun it is setting
the night as it comes is the time of forgetting


the name


the room was dim
in the corner the strange priest dressed in black played with sanguinary rosary beads
blood clots
nodules and nodes along the strand of life
ending in self immolation
sacrifice flowing through his pallid fingers
the puffy dry lips mumbling phrases in Latin
the dead language
the language of the dead
thirsting for a taste of wine
roses held in the shadows as the darkness
whispers chuckled and spoke through silence
the dreaded name
fear held all other voices at bay in silent reverence
cancer


feel


to perceive through the sense of touch
to perceive as a physical sensation
to touch.
to examine by touching
to test or explore with caution
to undergo the experience of.
to be aware of; sense
to be emotionally affected by
to be persuaded of something on the basis of intuition, emotion,
indefinite grounds
to believe; think


milk


it becomes uncomfortable because they can not truly believe in any other outcome
it haunts them
a form of failure
out of order
if we had just
if they could just
then silence
if we just ignore

families are hardest
the aching want
the pressed silence
denial
maybe
hope
there is no hope
thin veils tossed aside easily
there is comfort and hiding
don’t upset your aunt
the secret
I become the family secret

there are so many secrets
whispered conferences behind closed doors and pregnant pauses
school?
what’s the point?
the point is that I do not want him here all day
the point is that I can not cope
wouldn’t it be possible?
if only
if we just
if they could just
do you know what that would cost?

I do not recall when or why I stopped sleeping
and started to wander the house at night
relishing the silence
the dark cool halls
carpet soft against the soles of my feet
the brash charge of the cold linoleum
I was conquering comfort
building tolerances
searching the darkness

if only
if just
her voice breaks down
he is drinking all the milk
but he will not eat
she is breaking done
he wants chocolate milk
oh for Christ’s sake
what is happening to us?

and there it is
what is happening to them…

I stop drinking the milk


let go


let go!
let go!
I’ll never know until you let go.

let go!
let go!
you’ll never know until I let go.

let go!
let go!
when we let go we’ll know


I didn’t want to tell you


I didn’t want to tell you this.
I didn’t want to make you cry.
I thought that it was just a cyst,
but now it seems I’m going to die.

I understand that it’s frightening
but there is nothing you can do
life went fast and it’s quickening
the end will come and then it’s through

and the clouds are falling from the sun
and if we try to run there is no where to go
even though we know there is nothing we can do
still I think of you.


virulence


this isn’t the plague
though people avoid you
yet it’s more than they say
they’re trying to elude you

take a nap.
have a rest.
do your best.
avoid stress.
don’t die.

breathe in
breathe out
try not to
toss about

it is just an infection
escaping detection
it isn’t the plague
it only seems that way.


flesh


the other self stands naked in reverse reflection
a refraction of the self grinning back
recognition is not an identification but an error in discernment
we are the inhabitants of living flesh that is not our own


the picnic


they would drive into the country along back roads as anonymous strangers
walking with metal cooler boxes and folding chairs
never questioning the worn path’s existence
this was their private place
the picnic place
it was escape

here she would walk along the beach twenty pound lighter in perception
her present self absent
a taste of freedom
he shirtless would fuse and fiddle with the portable fire
his flesh sweating in the heat and burning in the sunlight
in sandals his socks dark anchors
heavy leaden leads
even on vacation he was chained to employment
life had narrowed and eroded him

in youth they had come here naked
splashing diamonds emerging from the water
wrapped in intricate emotional embrace
they were laughter
enticingly erotic
now she stops at bra and panties
the grayness of age over powering the bleach and advertised brightness
her anchors and chains a confinement denying escaped
she is shaped
she sees through the critical eye of judgement discerning failure
his eyes see the sweeping expanse of picnic
an allotment of time boxed off


walking


she stepped off the sidewalk into the smooth reflective surface of the puddle
her eyes steeled, looking ahead
she knew but made no sign to indicate that the cold water had in anyway been unexpected or unwanted
a determined walk across the street
she was a motion through changes in shade and shadow
she disappeared into the small variety store
people disappear across the city into and out of doorways
a moment there then they are gone
like car keys left in the bowl by the door
sometimes they return
steam rises in streamers up from the grates and we wait for the magician to perform once again
an awkward silence and stillness rips a hole in time
the steady unwinding regardless of the hands the watch stops and I walk into deeper gray
only I do not know if I am walking away or towards


the garage sale


they held a garage sale
tables on the lawn
for a moment they were swept away in the event
memories diminished amid the excitement
it was a recognition subderma of the future
or rather it was the recognition of the abeyance of future...
a form of role play abrogation of position and standing
survival is discarding
to dispatch
dispose
and jettison weight


the doctor


in transition the changing amalgamation of cells erupts into a chaotic infusion as the immune system begins to execute indiscriminately. during the mitotic process eukaryotic cell mutations beneficial to survival are prevalent in superior numbers amongst the cancerous formations. biology is a numbers game without house rules, score cards or a timer. when it is over, it is over.


decomposition


she smiled and with an out-stretched hand introduced herself
I am glomerulonephritis
you are leukemia i presume
that which infects our lives becomes us
consumes us
we were born dead
we are plague.

I can not eat the candies
and the flowers slowly wilt
they fade after the visitors have gone
the television chatters like a monkey
inanely flashing irrelevancies
distortions and distractions...
watching talk shows is like having a brain tumor
there is no meaning
just voices talking
saying nothing
meaning nothing.


the laughing girl


she comes in through the darkness
a smile and barefoot
it is 2 o’clock
darkness tells me it is night
her presence tells me it is night
she sings softly without words
beckons
then evaporates.

if I follow I find that I can not find her
I have grown slow
or she has grown fast
I laugh at the madness
I decide to walk
bare feet on linoleum
passed the now quiet common room of fretting parents and frightened children
passed the lies of sleep
I pick up a small stuffed cat
ragged tatters of a toy
looking into the dead glass eyes
remembering the forgotten

her laughter startles me to instinctually hold the toy as if it were alive
a hand gently soothing that which has had no life
her hand is small, pale
she gently reaches to the cat which I clutch tighter
the thought of mine banishes all other thoughts
a gentle pet and a smile
along my spine the warmth runs

sparks of affection
the tenderness long escaped floods
a river of kindness erupts through the dams
and I am crying
weeping with exultation
her smile shines
a star brilliant in the darkest night
she glows and radiates within me
alive
my god I am alive

the coolness of her palm upon my glistening cheek
the earnest searching of her eyes
the wavering tenderness as a breeze blows across me
her wordless song fills with meaning
a heart beat
two hearts beat
in my hand a stuffed child’s toy squirms and mewls

oh darkness my eyes have seen the light
oh darkness my eyes have seen the light
oh darkness

alone
silence
but the tears upon my cheeks cool their fire
and I smile
she is here.


it’s so very quiet


it’s so very quiet
I hear the blood squish running through my veins

it’s so very quiet
the clock? time just hammering on the wall

I feel I want to riot
I’d rather go insane
than be the ghost, the pallor walking in the hall

but when the sun goes down
when the night clouds rise
I can see again
but I realize
it is only the toxin wearing off.

it’s so very quiet
and there is nothing here really for me to do
I sleep all in sedative
and dream all night of different times with whom?

but when the sun goes down
when the night clouds rise
I can be again
but I recognize
it is only the venom wearing thin.

it’s so very quiet
and I think I’m rather tired
and the sunlight is burning in my eyes
it’s so very quiet
and I am glad you came to visit
I know this must be very hard on you

but when the sun goes down
when the night clouds rise
I can be again
but I identify
it is only poison beneath my skin.


infectious


I did not expect to fall in love
facing death tends to alter the way that you look at people
they become even more temporary
you know that they will abandon you
you don’t want to get close like that
but she just kept coming
it was like I had no choice
or that she would not listen

Some people are like that
but she was infectious
tiring
but when she was not there it was colder
and I would find myself waiting for her
but I wanted her to listen to me too
I did not realize that I had been silent for so long
so long I had forgotten how to speak

Silence
Forgetfulness
Isolation
and then a contagion of a person
an infection in a smile
a laugh
even a touch
how could I understand her?
I would look at her from a different world
Universe
I did not know
how could anyone have known?


nocturnal wanderer


Her eyes shine in wet virtues
I could believe in those eyes
she had the knowledge
the secret rituals complete with the meanings of the rhymes
it was upon her lips to chant down
to incant
she could invoke the ancient nature
but she only laughs
a mumbling murmur of laughter

I am dreaming I think
the flaxen hair in halo swiftly through the corridors
the songs of the radiator
the click and clack expansion and contraction
clocks measure in tics and tocks but time is expansion and contraction
it moves like the grass grows - in clumps
swift as we run
agonizingly slowly as we wait

The girl exists
she is genuine
it is the nocturnal wanderings
the lightness of her step
the hint of her laughter in the dreaded spells of silence
barefoot her progressions is the soft beat of the heart of the missing rain


supernova


star light star bright
the first star I be tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might
supernova

to burst violently as a result of internal pressure.
to shatter with a loud noise:
to make an emotional outburst:
to increase suddenly, sharply, and without control:
to change state or appearance suddenly:


clarity


a statement conveying fundamental character.
a statement of the meaning of a word,
the act or process of stating a precise meaning or significance;
formulation of a meaning.

the act of making clear and distinct:
the state of being closely outlined or determined:
a determination of outline, extent, or limits:

the clarity of detail;
the degree of clarity


nowhere


this is a body out of mind syndrome
it is like a well
a deep dark well
I imagine it to be bottomless
featureless in the dark space between sight and sleep
confined and defined by an absence
an emptiness of features
this well features no features

the pinpoint is the circle of light receding
no thing survives here
at this depth
even the cold can not exist here
this is nowhere.

the endless sea

for Susan
and those who have lost a love
death defeats only those who forget



bowed low beneath the onset of the north wind,
shuddering,
the sweet banshee’s howls scrape at the heavy moon low on the horizon,
drifting upon the sea
the scent of Bermudan flowers on the gales
a taste from far away
amid the torments of the pounding rain
into the endless sea of fear…

the loneliness is deep-rooted in cold soil
dawning
drowning
a darkness that cultivates a life in repose
the rain hides the tears in staring eyes
the halo of hair kiting on the sea of stars
reflection of the endless sea of fear….

we are mocked by foolish storms
the sky’s filled chalice runneth over
weeping
seeping
the day lost to the dreams of night
everything and everyone lies below the endless waves
sweeping
waving
in the endless sea of fear...

when it cuts,
deep as pain
lightning flash
falling
shattering
thunder…
then the tranquility of emptiness
the endless sea of fear…

thought in perpetual dead reason.
the blade kisses the night
there is no life for me watching the sea
waiting for he
this is no life for me watching the sea
waiting for he
the tears that i have bleed for thee
into the endless sea of fear…

and of love?
the harvest is a dark pool of blackness
ripping
dripping
devilish and cruel
forever in the night waiting
the rush of the dream is the sweetest pain
the clock is made of flowing tides
the endless sea of fear
helpless
endless
lonely

The Conspiracy Channel

TONIGHT
On The Conspiracy Channel

What is behind the massive Tea Bag protests in the United States. Is it because they are round? Is it because of the number of perforations? Or is it just because ever since the Boston Tea Party no nation on earth has had such crappy tea?

“I am a typical American and I went to England and their tea is just so much better than ours. I think I got addicted to it because when I got home and make a pot of American Tea I thought that I was going to puke. I had the shakes. It was awful. I went to Emerge and they charged me $700 for a Coca Cola enema. I'm not paying for that! Who is going to pay my medical bills? Not Tea, that's for sure.”

What is behind this? We here at Conspiracy TV will take you behind the scenes to a typical Tea Plantation where you will see for yourselves that the tea producing nations are deliberately shipping inferior tea to the United States of America to sap our political will and resolve. You will be shocked. And stunned. Very stunned.

A Republican Rep who wishes to stay anonymous said, “Just say No to Tea. At this point in time there are reasonable grounds to believe that coffee is safer. Tea drinkers voted Obama into office. Clearly tea affects one’s political judgement. Just say NO to Tea and vote Republican to save the United States from this International conspiracy.”


That's TEA
on Conspiracy
Don't you dare miss it.
Your future is at stake!

the harvest of the morning

Since the early poem posted today was a little depressing I figured that I would share one that was a little more joyful. I wrote this for a friendly competition at Pan Historia.


the boasting river canyon roars sleepily
seeping with blackened desire
and sneering darkly in happiness

autumn's sun appears slowly into the morning
as time decays with tenacity
the dawn paints indigo flushes

fruit ripens
and the stars twinkle through the fading night sky

the yearning butterfly sighs lightly
flailing with bloated longing
heavy with mirth

autumn kneels into chilly air
when nature retires with ease
each dewdrop sparkles in jealous green streaks

rising up
as the sun burns through the cloudless sky

a drifting autumn breeze soars cordially
wishing with burnt pain
and calling darkly towards summer

summer bows then glistening
the beams teasing filigree of melting frost
sunrise awakens across the horizon

a single drop swirls mockingly
moaning in outright splendor
and thrusting gently in love

autumn sun sighs softly into the wind
whilst night dreams in spontaneity

the sky pasted magenta mottles
a dew drop falls from a solitary leaf
as the harvest of the morning

the washroom mirror

as you watch in the mirror
you see life growing clearer
slowing down, going by frame by frame

yes the silence comes after
the peals of their laughter
you’ve forgotten the rules of the game

so you raise up your voice
in a last desperate chorus
and let out your anguishing cry

through the hollow of heaven
but you never break even
it is not in the throw of the die

Yes, I am really unreal.

Every thing begins with a stray comment and I often believe that if there is a God the Universe began as a mere slip of the lip. In the beginning there was the Word… and then after that nothing but attempts to take it back…

The matter at hand is the question of what is the “REAL PERSON” rather than what is the mask we wear. Oddly in my life, it is the men who ask these questions. Who are you? Why do you dress that way? Is that your “real” name? Etc.

First off, yes, it is my legal name. Good enough for the banks and for my driver’s license. And yes… I have been known by many names.

I watch people… it is my hobby, my passion and my fixation. People are very strange and do the most intriguing things. They never act as you might expect, and seldom seem to know why they are the way that they are. To date though I have never met a “real” person, nor for that matter an “unreal” person. I have simply met people.

There are customs and practices that I don’t agree with and would never adopt for my own. I don’t particularly like talking about the past. True, when I meet old friends after a spell of absence we do quickly catch up… though the key there is quickly. If we face the facts what happened while apart is not riveting tales usually… unless they were arrested… but that is not often the case any more. As people age they are less likely to be arrested and even less likely to be incarcerated. The point is that we live now, and ought to not pine for that which we can never return to. Memories are fine until they become all there is.

What I wear and how I behave are of course contrived when you look at it in the clear light of motivation. My appearance is a selection of choice. What I choose to wear reflects a conscious wearing of a mask. Even should I choose to go nude… that too is a conscious selection of mask. It all creates an atmosphere, mood or condition in which I am the center of the storm that surrounds me. Fact is simple, so are you the center of the storm that surrounds you. Neither can escape this... that is what is real. We wear masks all the time. There is no reality since it is all in our heads.

Oh, but I hear you ask “But what if you are asleep?” To this I say that there is nothing real about sleep. The body is there, no different than a corpse in some regards, but the “I” is absent. I am not there. How then can that be real?

I am expressed to you in symbols… in a secret code that is meant to be intriguing… interesting and awaken in you a desire to be included into my life… into my storm. It’s electrifying n’est pas?

Alternatively, not. There are those who can never get used to my sense of drama. It is then that the worst me emerges… the literal analytical me… emotionless and anchored to the facts that we share in common. We then talk of nothing but the passed past and have no “real” connection in the present. This abolishes any thought of the future.

News & Views

It feels like a secret identity at times to live several very distinct lives… the heavy expectations of others are a crippling onus at times… and none more so than the expectations that I have for myself.

Spent a few days setting up my office, stocking the shelves with the correct books (course loads, not affectations) when it was made clear to me that where furniture is placed matters. There is a psychological effect. The school provided chairs, which though nice and new, just were not comfortable. Useless for those moments when I want to be close and at hand… I need comfortable chairs set around a coffee table for that. I do not wish to intimidate the undergrads. I will save intimidation for others.

Then there is the desk, the brutal throwback to the industrial revolution. It acts as a barrier as much as anything else. Set to the side it dominates a corner of the room. I imagine my meetings with the faculty to be held over that desk… that impressive edifice of strength and position. Instead of diplomas, I will hang pictures taken for a few of my more “outrageous” readings. Costumes and Drama. Poetry is not for the weak of will.

Still, though I know that this me… I shall feel at times like a phony. Yet, so help me, I am so happy to be back at the University. I hate teaching, but I love the feel of the place.

wet dreams

she’s the pickle of love… the affectionate wave…. yet she fits like a glove… when the road is fresh paved… when she’s off in a car… she wears a hat for the shade… she is just like a smile… at the side of the grave… with malicious intention… she pulls you down to the fire… when you’re starting to shiver… she fills your heart with desire… but you know that she’s gone… though it feels just the same… you never get to meet her… she left before you came… and you have to hold on… hold on tight for the ride… yes you have to hold on… or you will dry up inside… hold on to your dreams… they are all that you get… hold on to your dreams… or you just might forget… just who you are… or you may fade away… and when there is no one left… there is nothing to say.