Friday, June 29, 2007
That kid from high school. the one standing behind Draco Malfoy
Remember that kid? Not the bully, but the one that was standing next to, and slightly behind, the bully? large, maybe tough, but sort of dopey and tag-along. I wonder if, twenty years from now, we will look at George Bush as that guy, playing Cheyney's Crabbe, and Gonzales is Cheney's Goyle. (apologies to non-harry-potter fans). This is a frightening analogy in that i am now seeing Dick Cheney instead of Draco Malfoy when I read the books. Damn, I can't seem to keep my reality from intruding on my fantasy.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Albanian?
So I wake up this morning and groggily report to my "office" (the shithole room in which I pretend to write poetry (see "schism in me" below) (it's a shithole because when I clean it I get writer's block)) and I open my blog to see if anybody had passed through while I was away (nobody did), and I notice that in the archive menu (over there to the right) all the month names had been replaced with gibberish. That's odd, I think to myself. Too many DRUGS, I think to myself. So I rub my eyes and drink a huge mug of lukewarm tapwater (my favorite drink) and look again. Again, gibberish. Phonetically pronouncable gibberish. AHA! my completely decaffienated brain says to me, It's in a different language! (I gave up caffiene last week, it is a long, stupid and mildly amusing story that will never appear here) and immediately goes back to bed.
If the universe and I are going to get along at all, there have to be rules.
Lizard's Proposed Rules The Universe Must Follow If It Wants Lizard's Cooperation #1-
Nobody Is Allowed To Fuck With Lizard's Brain Until He Has Been Awake For More Than Twenty Minutes.
Is that too much to ask?
If the universe and I are going to get along at all, there have to be rules.
Lizard's Proposed Rules The Universe Must Follow If It Wants Lizard's Cooperation #1-
Nobody Is Allowed To Fuck With Lizard's Brain Until He Has Been Awake For More Than Twenty Minutes.
Is that too much to ask?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Immortality (kinda) at last!
Who-HOOOOOOOOOO! I am on Wikipedia! The poem Green Gnosis, below (Sacraments 1) is linked to by Wikipedia in the article on Salvia Divinorum.
My writing credits now total 2. One story sold to Dragon magazine, and one blue footnote in a Wikipedia article.
Okay, so I am easily pleased, but when you have been writing for almost 30 years, ANY recognition is nice.
My writing credits now total 2. One story sold to Dragon magazine, and one blue footnote in a Wikipedia article.
Okay, so I am easily pleased, but when you have been writing for almost 30 years, ANY recognition is nice.
Friday, June 22, 2007
The Sacraments 3: Ololuiqui
Vernal Equinox - 2003
I have been preparing for days
everything is so clean, so bright
the brew is in the silver goblet from which I first sipped freedom
Astaroth is the name I had engraved on it then.
I read it now, and wonder "Keeper of secrets, where have you gone?"
Ololiuqui and I are old friends
dancing together once a year for twenty-four years
He is the bludgeon of my sacrements,
without the guile of Ayahuasca,
or the spirograph visions of Salvia
Or the drunken revelling sociability of Wine and it's ilk.
Ololiuqui is the blackjack, the stone-headed mace,
the twelve-pound hammer with the word "clue" printed daintily on it's face
He is the oncoming train, the blunt-force trauma,
and the 800-pound gorilla knocking at the door.
Half this cup, and I am a happy, giggling idiot
All of it, and I get to confront Truth, and party with him. Wether I want to, or not.
The Thinking Half of my mind advises, wimp that he is, caution.
Mystic Half laughs, and compels me.
I have not danced the full dance for six years, and so much has happened.
A son, an injury, a disease, a slow death, all unresolved, unsettled.
Thinking Half thinks it is too much, the set and setting are aweful.
Trip when your mind is clean, he says, and be SAFE!
But the unsettled things are not settling, and Thinking Half can't settle them,
and, after all, he is a sacrement of exploration, divination and journeying.
I drink the full cup empty, and Thinking Half retreats, watching, concerned.
I am inside, in my temple, clothed in white, kneeling on a rich red satin pillow
surrounded by reds and golds
warm cinnamon aromas
immaculate, soft to the eye, the skin, and the spirit.
Ololuiqui walks a long road to get to me,
so I meditate for perhaps an hour, in repose
with Thinking Half murmering anxiety
Mystic Half waiting calmly
Sometimes he comes as vision, sending me pictures
And sometimes as an aural banquet
and sometimes as nightmare heart-palpitations
but he always comes with a point or a purpose or a message,
and he is always clear, which is why he is frequently unwelcome
for he dispells self deception with no lubricant, no foreplay, no banter.
He just rips the eyelids off and holds up the mirror.
I tried to welcome him without expectation
The respect due to any teacher, an open mind.
I must have failed, I must have expected something
Because I certainly didn't expect this.
No one expects the spanish inquisition! Thinking Half says, to distract me.
And he is there.
He has come as a knight, in chainmail,
with a broadsword the size of a fence post
and arms like tree trunks
and he shows up swinging.
I feel the blade bite deep into my neck, and through
and I see his mailed hand grab my head by the hair
and I watch my body drop away as the sword cleaves through
and I feel the pain of it.
I watch as he cleans the bloody sword on my pristine ritual garment
and I watch the red stain spread
as I, or what is left of me, drips.
As I look down on the newly headless me, I am consumed with anger
"HEY!" I shout at my illusory tormentor
"What the hell is this? I bring you here to -"
and as soon as I say it, I know.
Arrogance. Ololiqui is teaching me about arrogance.
He sheaths his sword and angles my bodiless head to look on his face,
and since arrogance is never far from me, I KNOW what I must see.
It has to be either Luke Skywalker, or myself,
and I am betting I will see my own face.
He laughs, and I look at his helmeted face, shaken,
for his voice is high and and light, unlike mine or Darth Vaders.
and i try to see his eyes through the visor with no luck,
and I am worried, now, because I have no idea.
The high, light voice cackles as it reads my mind and laughs.
The unknown, I think. It is showing me my fear of the unknown!
And again with the mind-reading and the cackling,
encouraging me to look past bad movies or sophomoric philosophy for answers.
I feel myself dying, and everything going white
and he throws open his visor
and I see the face of my 5 year old son
and I watch him watch me
and I feel a fear deeper than I have ever felt
as I wonder what he sees.
And the vision dissolves, having made it's point.
Ololiqui. Gotta love it.
I have been preparing for days
everything is so clean, so bright
the brew is in the silver goblet from which I first sipped freedom
Astaroth is the name I had engraved on it then.
I read it now, and wonder "Keeper of secrets, where have you gone?"
Ololiuqui and I are old friends
dancing together once a year for twenty-four years
He is the bludgeon of my sacrements,
without the guile of Ayahuasca,
or the spirograph visions of Salvia
Or the drunken revelling sociability of Wine and it's ilk.
Ololiuqui is the blackjack, the stone-headed mace,
the twelve-pound hammer with the word "clue" printed daintily on it's face
He is the oncoming train, the blunt-force trauma,
and the 800-pound gorilla knocking at the door.
Half this cup, and I am a happy, giggling idiot
All of it, and I get to confront Truth, and party with him. Wether I want to, or not.
The Thinking Half of my mind advises, wimp that he is, caution.
Mystic Half laughs, and compels me.
I have not danced the full dance for six years, and so much has happened.
A son, an injury, a disease, a slow death, all unresolved, unsettled.
Thinking Half thinks it is too much, the set and setting are aweful.
Trip when your mind is clean, he says, and be SAFE!
But the unsettled things are not settling, and Thinking Half can't settle them,
and, after all, he is a sacrement of exploration, divination and journeying.
I drink the full cup empty, and Thinking Half retreats, watching, concerned.
I am inside, in my temple, clothed in white, kneeling on a rich red satin pillow
surrounded by reds and golds
warm cinnamon aromas
immaculate, soft to the eye, the skin, and the spirit.
Ololuiqui walks a long road to get to me,
so I meditate for perhaps an hour, in repose
with Thinking Half murmering anxiety
Mystic Half waiting calmly
Sometimes he comes as vision, sending me pictures
And sometimes as an aural banquet
and sometimes as nightmare heart-palpitations
but he always comes with a point or a purpose or a message,
and he is always clear, which is why he is frequently unwelcome
for he dispells self deception with no lubricant, no foreplay, no banter.
He just rips the eyelids off and holds up the mirror.
I tried to welcome him without expectation
The respect due to any teacher, an open mind.
I must have failed, I must have expected something
Because I certainly didn't expect this.
No one expects the spanish inquisition! Thinking Half says, to distract me.
And he is there.
He has come as a knight, in chainmail,
with a broadsword the size of a fence post
and arms like tree trunks
and he shows up swinging.
I feel the blade bite deep into my neck, and through
and I see his mailed hand grab my head by the hair
and I watch my body drop away as the sword cleaves through
and I feel the pain of it.
I watch as he cleans the bloody sword on my pristine ritual garment
and I watch the red stain spread
as I, or what is left of me, drips.
As I look down on the newly headless me, I am consumed with anger
"HEY!" I shout at my illusory tormentor
"What the hell is this? I bring you here to -"
and as soon as I say it, I know.
Arrogance. Ololiqui is teaching me about arrogance.
He sheaths his sword and angles my bodiless head to look on his face,
and since arrogance is never far from me, I KNOW what I must see.
It has to be either Luke Skywalker, or myself,
and I am betting I will see my own face.
He laughs, and I look at his helmeted face, shaken,
for his voice is high and and light, unlike mine or Darth Vaders.
and i try to see his eyes through the visor with no luck,
and I am worried, now, because I have no idea.
The high, light voice cackles as it reads my mind and laughs.
The unknown, I think. It is showing me my fear of the unknown!
And again with the mind-reading and the cackling,
encouraging me to look past bad movies or sophomoric philosophy for answers.
I feel myself dying, and everything going white
and he throws open his visor
and I see the face of my 5 year old son
and I watch him watch me
and I feel a fear deeper than I have ever felt
as I wonder what he sees.
And the vision dissolves, having made it's point.
Ololiqui. Gotta love it.
modest change of direction
Okay, folks, it appears people are in fact reading these posts and so far 2 have even commented here, tho I have a bunch more comments in private email. And a few more people who know me in real life know the location of this blog. So, I have added an instruction on the top, Pseudonyms only! I talk about things that can be considered crimes in some areas (see the sacrament series) so lets all be safe.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Lady Dusk
For my muse, Valkyrie
The day is done and the night is coming
the lady of the dusk
whispering to me
and the silver-clad elfin wraith hovers
to summon the waiting wings of the raven
to smother the last of the light
and take me from here
forever.
She loves me with the wind on my bare skin
and the waves that wash the pain away
she shines the dark of night like a torch
and it’s pervading blackness washes my soul clean
of its need for the light
and free from the want of warmth.
Her skin against me is the cold touch
that wrings the last blush of that addicting sun
and it will never need the day again
and the rays of light will never reach this flesh.
Her touch is painfully cold
and her fingers trace
brings such exquisite frost
no warm breath can again bring thaw.
It would be my last wish to die in the arms of the night
and never again feel the warm rain
but it is not to be
and the dream soon draws to a finish
and the raven’s wings depart
and forever ends.
The dark figure clothed in moonlight
walking down the road of midnight
receding and taking my heart
and consuming my soul
and leaving me to face the coming dawn
with stolen heart
and eaten soul
and smiling face.
Reanimate
Do I really look that scary?
It is just the way my face is made, son.
And it is just the stone I have carved my expressions out of for many years, to stay safe.
Now I find that the smile I show you has signs of granite hardness,
not the love that I wish to put there
not the respect and pride that I feel.
Your eyes remind me too much of what it was once like to feel joy
and let it creep into my features
to feel grief and sadness, and let my face cry
and looking on you now, in joy and in sadness
reminds my why I carved this granite face, these tearless stone eyes
because those who saw my tears wished, not to dry them as I wish to,
but to use them, to cause them,
to make joy into rage, to make happiness into tears for their own ends
and I could no longer stand it.
And with every glance I wish that never to happen to you
yet to prevent it, would I carve you a granite face, tearless stone eyes?
Or reanimate my own?
It is just the way my face is made, son.
And it is just the stone I have carved my expressions out of for many years, to stay safe.
Now I find that the smile I show you has signs of granite hardness,
not the love that I wish to put there
not the respect and pride that I feel.
Your eyes remind me too much of what it was once like to feel joy
and let it creep into my features
to feel grief and sadness, and let my face cry
and looking on you now, in joy and in sadness
reminds my why I carved this granite face, these tearless stone eyes
because those who saw my tears wished, not to dry them as I wish to,
but to use them, to cause them,
to make joy into rage, to make happiness into tears for their own ends
and I could no longer stand it.
And with every glance I wish that never to happen to you
yet to prevent it, would I carve you a granite face, tearless stone eyes?
Or reanimate my own?
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