A new decade of musings from poetry to what inspires.
I've read poetry that opened my eyes, realize now mine have been closed when I write.|
The drive north is easier than south in summer.
If you only write when inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you'll never be a novelist. -NEIL GAIMAN
And here I am
A new start for an old blog -- replaced by "Black Hole Super Nova Afterglow" , now at capacity as of 2018, focused on specific writing projects and goals:
Having no specific aim going forward...
I've hammered away at this glass with forefinger since resurrecting in 2014. I'm always ready to say too weary. Compulsion compels me, instigation informs, and still here I am...bright, full of light and dark, revealing hidden colors and shapes. That was before...
I hear what you are saying...but especiallly...what you are not.
Yes, I struggle. But I'm getting through it. How are you?
I've gone by other aliases. People remind me of that. Sometimes restrained, it's hard to understand what I write. It will be clear some day. Hard to hide what's in my heart. I'm making no apologies going forward for my feelings. Not interested in the trap of stereotypes. Not sure how we'll feel about that.
What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.'Now that I've figured out the ever changing rules of your game, you take the ball away, no longer engage me to play. You pay a price for this kind of friendship. I lose, I guess.
You can't just read the parts that confirm (or can be construed as such out of context) your opinion of me, you mentally-stunted Neanderthal.
What? Oh, that? It's just a, ah, self-motivational speech I've been working on.
What? Yes, I should try to make it less negative.
The world is very large
Anywhere we can get lost
— from here to here —
And not see you, not feel you
A voice like a rock
Travels no further
Than the thud it makes
When it strikes
Without amplification —
Echoes that could ripple
Through our shared space
But your touch does travel
A simple disease, mysterious yet
Complex, connecting through portals
To points beyond and back again
Inform that you are here
That we, the mitochondria
— In a global powerhouse —
Share the same chromosomes
A sort of love that affects —
We could have been closer
(A Covid19 Birth)
Just like Luna Park Zoo
Fed your lit cigarette and
cyanide soaked carrots
Whipped for pleasure
by a "trainer"
this menace of your society stomped
Reduced to experiment
devoured 6600 volts of your direct current
Edison jealous of genius Tesla
demonstrated his true talent
A giant fell to death
before you're paying spectators
Bystanders without a cry against
such indignant cruelty
was the mad beast.
Sorry I was ignorant to the Bystander Effect. But, you're going to sit there and tell me I'm wrong for feeling the victim?
I thought about googling this video to post here. I'm sorry. I won't be another:
"...Not just Topsy the Elephant, but a rather long series of animals, all of which had shown themselves to be a danger to humans. This included horses, lions, tigers, and bears. Edison was happy to oblige the state of NY in executing these “menaces to society,” by employing alternating current, but his ulterior motive was merely to show the world the danger of alternating current, invented by Nikola Tesla, his arch-rival. Edison’s direct current didn’t have the strength to electrocute an elephant, and he considered it safer.
So, on January 4, 1903, at Luna Park Zoo, Coney Island, Topsy was hooked up to Edison’s lighting plant, and electrocuted with 6,600 volts of AC. But this was after they fed her carrots that had been soaked in cyanide, just to be sure. They deemed Topsy to be a permanent threat to humans, as she had killed three handlers in three incidents, one of which involved a handler, who regularly whipped her, trying to feed her a lighted cigarette just to watch her suffer. She stomped on him.
1,500 people watched, and no one said a word in complaint. Edison filmed it, and the film is available on YouTube, if you feel like being outraged. The funny thing is that the ASPCA, which is supposed to protect the rights of animals, considered hanging to be cruel, as it would cause strangulation, not a snap of the neck, and yet had no problem with cyanide poisoning and electrocution."
You want to feel outraged, read these stories:
I'll leave you with this instead (SPOILER):
Time stretches out on this forgotten highway
All the turn offs once spied have gone away
The scenery rushes past fast
The setting sun melds with gas
Spraying obstacles glimmering on my windshield
Bright distractions of fading hope dulling in dismay
Why was I lead astray to chase you down
A narrowing low way?
Dust eddies and spirals back down in patches
Where my balding tires contact aprons
Warning to steer back, seek the straight
Horizontal, equatorial byway I'm chasing
Slower than these daily rotations
Magnetized to axis
The dirt road
I brake to contemplate
Sorry I didn't notice you on this journey
My mind wandered to highway underpasses
And grasses invaded by seeds on winds
Producing beautiful outgrowth, colors striking
My dry imagination in a mind
Robotically set to coast a time-lapsed drive
To my death
Nothing has to mean anything
But we should experience something
Along the way
I'm not beautiful, you are --
|I witnessed your praise of tedious insects
crawling across barren ground.
Heard you remark to the flutterings
On a budless bush.
You sing loud and long
For a brightly painted horizon,
Full of gases, blaring
Directly at me.
You are warming them
As I grow cold, distant,
As if swimming in the furthest reaches
Of a shared galaxy --
And you are my neighbor.
Why must I routinely bring you sugar?
I could crawl with them.
I could fly, sing and praise
Before the dawn.
If I do not continually carry a song
In my now buried chest
For someone so unchangeable, indifferent,
How do I still dwell?
I've considered all the beauty
From the ground to cosmos.
You are the one thing less beauteous
For all I can see.
You are my neighbor,
Not my soul's landlord.
"🔸 Comment On This Poem 🔸"
|Thank you Emily
For seclusion and exclusion within conceit
What I produce in your house
Echoes within four walls
The casings grow thicker from dark paint
Through all these years
I've sung, hoping
Break the ceiling, reach
An everlasting roof.
Windows reveal eternal night.
Doors seal shut in my chamber.
One moth in cedar tall once
Sought escape, praying
For the tender grip
Of death, icy fingers
Clutch pipes where
I've dwelt -- reasonably.
With windows wide
Escapes temporary dreams
To an endless sky
You sealed me here
But I still dare what’s doable
-- This --
Is my chamber -- this --
Is where I dwell.
You can go --
Visitors always welcome
If they dare, inside
This -- enclosure
"🔸 Comment On This Poem 🔸"
I made it my own, but
I owe it to you -- not them --
Not to a false conceit
I'm not as smart, but still learning...unlike my seperatists
I dwell in Possibility –
BY EMILY DICKINSON
I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –
|From a Facebook poster:
Excellent explanation per a medical professional: "Feeling confused as to why Coronavirus is a bigger deal than Seasonal flu? Here it is in a nutshell. I hope this helps. Feel free to share this to others who don’t understand...
It has to do with RNA sequencing.... I.e. genetics.
Seasonal flu is an “all human virus”. The DNA/RNA chains that make up the virus are recognized by the human immune system. This means that your body has some immunity to it before it comes around each year... you get immunity two ways...through exposure to a virus, or by getting a flu shot.
Novel viruses, come from animals.... the WHO tracks novel viruses in animals, (sometimes for years watching for mutations). Usually these viruses only transfer from animal to animal (pigs in the case of H1N1) (birds in the case of the Spanish flu). But once one of these animal viruses mutates and starts to transfer from animals to humans... then it’s a problem, Why? Because we have no natural or acquired immunity.. the RNA sequencing of the genes inside the virus isn’t human, and the human immune system doesn’t recognize it so, we can’t fight it off.
Now.... sometimes, the mutation only allows transfer from animal to human, for years it’s only transmission is from an infected animal to a human before it finally mutates so that it can now transfer human to human... once that happens..we have a new contagion phase. And depending on the fashion of this new mutation, thats what decides how contagious, or how deadly it’s gonna be..
H1N1 was deadly....but it did not mutate in a way that was as deadly as the Spanish flu. It’s RNA was slower to mutate and it attacked its host differently, too.
Now, here comes this Coronavirus... it existed in animals only, for nobody knows how long...but one day, at an animal market, in Wuhan China, in December 2019, it mutated and made the jump from animal to people. At first, only animals could give it to a person... But here is the scary part.... in just TWO WEEKS it mutated again and gained the ability to jump from human to human. Scientists call this quick ability, “slippery”
This Coronavirus, not being in any form a “human” virus (whereas we would all have some natural or acquired immunity). Took off like a rocket. And this was because, Humans have no known immunity...doctors have no known medicines for it.
And it just so happens that this particular mutated animal virus, changed itself in such a way the way that it causes great damage to human lungs..
That’s why Coronavirus is different from seasonal flu, or H1N1 or any other type of influenza.... this one is slippery AF. And it’s a lung eater...And, it’s already mutated AGAIN, so that we now have two strains to deal with, strain s, and strain L....which makes it twice as hard to develop a vaccine.
We really have no tools in our shed, with this. History has shown that fast and immediate closings of public places has helped in the past pandemics. Philadelphia and Baltimore were reluctant to close events in 1918 and they were the hardest hit in the US during the Spanish Flu.
Factoid: Henry VIII stayed in his room and allowed no one near him, till the Black Plague passed...(honestly...I understand him so much better now). Just like us, he had no tools in his shed, except social isolation...
And let me end by saying....right now it’s hitting older folks harder... but this genome is so slippery...if it mutates again (and it will). Who is to say, what it will do next.
Be smart folks... acting like you’re unafraid is simply unintelligent right now.
#flattenthecurve. Stay home folks... and share this to those that just are not catching on."
Hunger could consume the sounds
The hot air, distance between us
Indigestible for so long, your dirt
Grinds inside my mouth
Can't swallow, won't go down
Any more, won't
I ate a vocabulary full of stuff
That left a sour taste
My greed was my own, prompted to try
I dined naked at your buffet
Until you said enough
The lights one-by-one go out and
I don't know what to do with myself
When I wake
Sunlight streaming in reminds me life
Is ready to begin
But I won't get up, get out,
Get away because I stayed
Too long and now
There's dirt on my lips
From your buffet
I dreamed about a different place,
Wound up here
My feet like lead
Weigh me down
Can't see inside my head
Dream like I once did
You took it all away
Where I once saw love mingle
At your dirt buffet.
Am I the only one left
Who feels this way?
It's too late to go
So, in dirt gloom I sit defiled
Until all the suns go down
On your stage.
You can't blame me for my weakness, because you exploited it, then shame me (publicly, isolately) to go away
We the crusaders (denied downtrodden)
step over the suffering to get to
the other ailing
because they are more downtrodden like us
to lift up
until we see their faces like mirrors
broken but somewhere inside hide
imagine we piece together
realize in this process
and hold the broken pieces like our DNA
near our hearts
without acknowledging what we fail reconstruct
are pieces of ourself
lost in the fray as crusaders
who fight for the rights of the downtrodden just like us
don’t fight to get back the broken pieces
mirrors of our souls to reconstruct
|Quiet Now (No Audience For This)
The dead are forgotten
Are you dead if not remembered?
Am I in a tomb of my own making?
Have I not stirred on this earth?
Shushed by the whispers of those
Giving honor to quiet? Of the dead?
I am not alive, and, forgotten
Because I built walls of silence
Around myself to soften whispers,
That derisive, use my name to shun,
To scorn, To silence.
Like a child with hands ruled to lap,
Or purposed pants pockets,
I dare not gesticulate these manners,
Uncouth to you with no respect
To introspect within the lining
Of this coffin I'm now in.
I'm not hollow. I'm not you.
I want to rise in this mortuary,
Grab your coroner's scalpel
Before one red drop drained
As I brood upon your sterile table,
Proclaim my worth in your cold vault.
Let me out!
Let me in
Because I do not know where begin
If you won't notice
What I've been trying to say.
It's stuffy in here,
Cut me a hole for ventilation.
I know I'm headed for the ground.
I only hope it's frozen,
Your shovel dull.
Oh, eulogy!? I've written it,
Speak myself. Service
For the sallow flesh?
Delighted I might have mourners?
Don't forget to embalm.
I wouldn't want to look ugly
Amid potential, black-veiled grief.
I'll bet they criticize my attire
Where I lay motionless.
Better yet, cremate me.
No vase, no mantel,
Cast me to the wind!
Hope in your face?
Yup, I'm giving up.
Oops, I forget to hit record...
Where to begin again?
I'll be quiet now.
No audience for this.
"Might the dead be just a bit passive-aggressive?"
"Was he saying something?"
Will the social commentary about the ignorance that abounds ever stop with me?
My Superficial Dream/Reality Analysis
This isn't real
A superficial existence
Played out in a snow globe
Inside Tommy Westphall's autistic machinations
Incepted by writers
Of a long dead
And there's math to prove
Ninety-percent of us
When the dreaming boy
Ceases to exist
In our collective imagination
Attached to his brain
Could live for centuries instead
Let's not be dead
Take a cue from Tommy
Employ imagination instead
Just throwing that up there and moving on...
The Romantic Version
Summer shadows ripped light from our cabin
like frames of film reeled, lapsing our time.
In my fast car we drove. I had purpose.
You needed a break from your tormentor -- sought
my tanned arms hopefully gripping the wheel tight.
With the beach in sight, my dreams packed
in a hollow heart. Smell of hot pavement crept up
where we parked.
Our long towels found shelter beneath birch, on bluffs
before timeless sand. In sunglasses and smiles,
never saw you laugh so much --
made me forgot to seduce you.
Our perfect forms barely clad, swam, dried, sang;
swam, lotioned and tanned in bright, lasting time.
We cried joyous with wine-imbibed, reddening lips
tendered but undelivered.
The sun failed me that day, dipping too soon
in our glossy, green lake.
I wanted to hold you, give you my body's warmth
when breezes brushed us off our idle shore.
The longest walk to the last car --
must have witnessed every stone on exit
from a cold park.
Serious, I didn't want to wash away that silly grin.
I was forcing smiles -- the reverse tide home --
watching your silhouette form.
Each glance away from our highway brought wonder,
would you finally be done with him?
I delivered you safe to your apartment, platonic.
Words in my head died on journey
to lips too tense to play beneath the lamp
of a long opened doorway.
I wondered if you saw bluebirds caged, long
fly into your night, nestle within bosom and arm.
The light dimmed more days before I saw you and him,
linked by hand, moving on. A hard neck stilled
the wondering head, imagining your lingering eye
over his shoulder. with concern? Your choice, flawed;
bound anyway to break a hopeful fool that dared
laugh along, in escape, on your dark day. Bright,
one of us healed in the sun.
I admit, many nights my slow car rolled past your porch light.
Emotion melded with the light in another season. Eternal,
sun-seared memory in my skin flies like the pulverized car,
scrapped in a sandy, leaf-draped beach.
You helped me realize the best version of my romantic self
I've known rejection, even as the most beautiful boy in the room. Girls eyes sparkled when viewing me. The bravest sought me out, not realizing I could brood because I knew their fascination would fade.
I wasn't your typical boy, the kind a girl imagined more than a dalliance with. I was only focused on perfect, true, eternal love. Some got my hopes up, relationships lasting as long as two months.
I may have been conditioned to make the repeated rejection my thing. It's how I define myself to this day. It's sociopathic, seeking and compelling rejection to feed the pitiful artist. If I'm not getting rejected soon enough, I become provocative, test boundaries until I prove the final result true. I'm not worthy.
I'm aware. I can tone it down. The flare ups are overwhelming, so I take it one day at a time. It's a part of me that will take a lot of therapy to partly expunge.
I can't be a better man for you. I'll give you glimpses of my promise before self-destructing again and again. You get to have a hand in it. I know how you operate and how willing you are.
Does it make you question why you participate, even by being indifferent to it?
Maybe I'm the lone manipulator in these relationships. If I had it figured out...well, I wouldn't be where I am.
Entry written but not offered for:
Before we climb the stair, we should just sit here,
meld by the dimming fire, scan the sky for stars
tonight. Hold my hand tight, feel that we're right;
thoughts become one in silence. Look, see boughs
of evergreen alight from smokey plumes that rise;
watch over we two, huddled in lawn chairs, sharing
one last beer. In hoodies, huddle near; so vacuous,
the sky can't steal remaining heat. It's foolproof.
Molecules between us bathe in dimming dark.
Mosquitos respect our blood, don't mark our skin.
A smile spans my face, been stuck in our space
since spring brought us hope of summer. And,
I'm lingering tonight, preserve what feels right,
to savor the only true light from your eyes. Don't
think you realize just yet, how perfect, though
I know you're tired, indulge me. It's foolproof,
lifelong love we're bound to share, dim these
thoughts to chill, you have me to hold as we rise.
Turn out the backyard lamp; weather got too damp.
So, together we climb, seek the bed for dry comfort.
I'll love you every day, with each reimagined way.
I know you'll hear me say, it's foolproof, our love.
When the dark returns, silent, just me and you.
Quiet in the dark 'til the last ember spark, foolproof.
Wrote live in blog with no edits...yet?
rhythms of machination
in our dark garage
on father's work bench
a vice tightens
from captured objects
a devious child
in red wails like clawing
until the eyes
In your walls, I have bled,
Imagined vistas, without seamless glass.
No doors in these caves lead out;
though I've seen the bright sun shone
in my dull eyes, unable to grasp
meaning. I am tender to its heat.
In your halls, once I was naively led
by your haloed lovelies, without arms
lifted me up from the dead. Propped
in your garden for all to view,
visualized in my secluded hell how to
dream like you with foot-damped dew.
By nightfall I was entombed again,
wondering if I have ever been. Why
does your plaster bind me within?
Morning is eternal to the deities
I remotely witness. Fruit placed at
their bathed feet, an aroma sweet.
In your halls, I no longer greet lonely
faces like mine. My chamber, my tomb
forever I'll be, sprouting love like vines
on the corridor endlessly, knowing this
can be my heaven. I need not share
this inner sanctum as your undelivered.
"The Soundtrack of Your Life Challenge"
No offense, or don't take this the wrong way?
We've all been judged by lesser fools.
Fading Time-Kissed Memory
Sun filtered by birch,
the tender tides sogged suits gripped by sand.
Your soft lips warm, slow, reached my mouth. Earth
enveloped our youthful forms. Abandoned by friends, aware
a kindling romance, we could have stayed hours, cooled by night,
gentle in baptismal waters. Eyes showered by love from hot stars,
imagined the distance from Venus to Mars.
Our wine coolers drained, dialed time
shadows in our setting scene, across torsos tangled. The only planets gazed
upon sparkled on the ground. Green irises gleamed, perfectly planted in
your blonde garden, wading like hydrilla beneath my form, too young
to know then. I've learned since, why we never swam beyond
that timeless shore -- theatre on thin film inside my
foggy head. I loved you then, as much as
the fading memory now.
Thirteen - Big Star
I lean into the door. Rhythms pump hard against my cold flesh,
this dull skin that yearns let you in.
The bass pronounces these beats to my blood --
thin red rivers with no sea to flow,
no place to go
but this pond,
Without your arms to hold back the immersing tides,
soggy fields fill joyless.
I lean into this car
parked, idling --
no desire pull keys from this ignition.
A machine already fired, sun streams warm through guarded glass.
Cold outside this ride engulfed,
flooded by another ocean
I did not see.
Scripted side mirrors tell no lies.
"The Soundtrack of Your Life Challenge"
The sadness of others can pour into this reflecting pool, absorbent.
Under The Skin (Eternal)
Jump in, the water's fine?
they could take dreams away but
I won't let them.
With the repeated tapping
of fingers on my tender skin,
memories would wash out to sea.
I was convinced
I needed you here with me.
But time widens,
that empty ocean I've been set adrift
too many times.
Weightless, sails bend
in rippled, parallel ventures searching,
seeking. No salt, odorless
breezes unseen ply
my veins full, beating in rhythm
somehow without you
on these time waves returning.
no oars, a needle could
sink so deep,
fill my blue until I'm green
with a fluid that leaves me empty
on this glass,
reflecting unfulfilled for the rest of life.
Some eternal sunshine,
in this foggy mind; needed
your compass to bring me to your shore.
I won't let them take you away; visions
seldom seen, recreated in vexing dreams.
My skin, my own. My heart, alone until
time returns tangible visions, spinning
on this plane I'm anchored to eternal.
If only once I closed my eyes by your side.
In Behavioral Health they use a method of tapping your wrist/hand to wash out the pain of bad memories that could have set a person's life on an emotional course away from rational thought. There's a more current method now I won't get into. Makes me think of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or a scene from That 70s Show when an angel offers to take away all Eric's happy memories of Donna. Sometimes it's hard to give up the bad, connected to what is still good.
Bonus track (both songs featured on Canadian TV Show Private Eyes):
|Give A Little by Maggie Rogers
In our shared dark, stolen glances.
Your eyes like intent sends signals,
cut through this humid room,
a beacon. Will I climb the hollow
tower; a captain with lonely vessel
might find safe harbor? Reading
transmissions, salty, sea-worthy,
yearning the spiral stairs to your vault.
Shall I near the lamp, inspect
your brilliance close? In shared dark,
no danger to cross this divide.
May I thank you for landing me
safe in your arms, let other lights
mechanically pulse new like love?
Lovely lighthouse keepers could
dance with lonely pilots seeking safe
shores away from the lifelong drift.
"The Soundtrack of Your Life Challenge"
|Why Can't I? Liz Phair
Sweet romance, a black receiver echoes
from the wall. Tender calling, in dreams
she could sing just to me. Sweet Liz,
your voice clear, never within reach,
at the speed of sound from slow towers
containing all your information, but not for me.
Those secrets whispered to your
black receiver, never overheard
by parents keen to the wild-eyed intent
of a horny teenager. A black receiver
hangs cold in memory in a wide room
eons ago. Why can't I stop dreaming
how quiet the wall from our fluid past?
"The Soundtrack of Your Life Challenge"
|Go Wild - Friedberg
I Can Swim Without You
Pulsing rhythm rains warm on this bright ocean.
Heaven-rhythm repeats, penetrates solemn dark.
Where I submerged, swum this unknowable sea,
unexplored to you, fathomed in dreams by me.
I hear your anthem, begging, come ashore.
Your verses I deny, because here I sleep.
In this ocean, I can breathe in the deep.
Learned to hold my breath this long, since
you came along, implored I seek your love.
I can swim the deepest ocean, see no need
of your oarboat, able arms to lift me out.
This aquatic dream I realized, when dumped
over the side of a vessel like yours, trolling.
This is for the ignorant likes of helpless me who
learned to swim against waves I've struggled --
against the land's greed and complacency.
I would have strolled those golden sands,
inhaled frozen Kool-Aid, infused and fermented.
I can swim this deep, deep blue, huddle amid
lost dolphins, communicate to bluer whales
in languages learned -- languages you refuse
understand, sitting far off on your idle sand.
Still Corners - The Trip
"The Soundtrack of Your Life Challenge"