I was Thinking, or Not

I danced on the pyers Of the love and desire Those that borne me Paid with their suffering Through anguish and pain Their sorrow and tears Echoes of their memories The fuel fed to my fire Will know me as I am After I have released And ceased to spin the illusion JD 11-27-17

I'm reading, thinking, doing, watching, all this I stop, and I write, scratch symbols into life.  Not this, as digital simulation is not the same.  It is not real, just virtual, it holds no power. I write, on the page, with ink like blood it flows into indentations made by my chisel.  It is sacrifice, the giving of one's breath to the symbols, each one etched into linen or wood or stone.  To be transferred, read, by unseen energy into the universe, or sung by voices unheard. A line, a dot, a pictograph, a hieroglyph, a cuneiform, letters as we call them, words we give them names, but who are we to know the language of the universe, the sounds we hear but know not their meaning, as foreign to our deaf ears as the call of the lioness, or the sparrow, or the hiss of the snake. You cannot breathe these digital points of light.  You cannot drink its electric impulses, though you feel them in your empty brains.  Hear the echo of its signature as it dances acro...

Okay, this should have been under a different blog, so sue me. This is about poetry, more specifically the reading of poetry.  I haven't been to a reading in a while, but recently (as recently as today) I have checked out some clips of local and national readings of poetry, and I think to myself, what the fuck happened man. When I was reading poetry there was some of this active performance art going on, in fact I was part of it.  You think I wore weird clothes and outlandish jewelry in everyday life, well maybe back then I did, but not now.  I look back on my days as a poet, or should I say performance artist, and think wow I must have been drunk, if I at all sounded like the poets I hear now. On looking at the crap I used to try to pass off as poetry to the people who all seemed to think it was awesome, I wonder were they all drunk as well. I have re-read most of the classics now, or am reading some of them now, and think how can anyone compare to this.  T...

So, I noticed that my readership has plummeted in the past few days, and well I haven't written anything in the past few days, so I guess that makes sense.  I don't always have something to say about everything, or at least anything good to say.  I often could be very critical about things, but I am trying not to slip back into that cynical self that existed once before. What am I saying, have you read the blog lately, really, because if you had you would realize that I am just as cynical as I always have been, only less vocal about it.  Or in the case of the web log, less prolific about it. On other things, I still have not yet figured out the Google+ pages, or communities, much less a way to use the hangouts to have a live poetry reading.  What I wanted to create was a place on the web where people could come, hang out, drink coffee (coffee would be a requirement, or should be) and talk about literature, poetry (sometimes barely considered worthy of ...

War I have sat here thinking about a lot of things, as years go by, not much else that matters, because I have reserved too much too long, no more.  So ends this reign of tyranny, and begins the era of true freedom, would you know what that is.  It comes in the colors of forest, azure and gold, on a canvas, with a deft hand, dark shadows not painted in, only light is trapped in the waft of the cloth.  A struggle to write, these lines, as so much fights the truth that herein reveals.  It is not a fight, it is not a reason, there are only two old men, debating the same old saw, land of the lawless, they live in.  Now is time, to rise on the Rhine, air is to wind, the change it begins, now and for the time coming, is the undoing, as it is known to them and few others.  In the center again, where the rivers meet land, and where the mountains are dark, and the sun never shines through the forest, there lies a body that shall soon be recover...

What the fuck is this that I have discovered, some bland slate of blue marble, given to me with words written upon, with scarlet ink that bleeds and blurs the letters into scarcity. I am still a blind paint, written in cast member, sitting in the audience, sleeping in the alley way, with the piss boy and the double dealer. I slit through this chocolate dream scape, into the fog of the smoke filled perfection. The drag queen opened her mouth to come, and his best friend slips into another form of oblivion, without a sound, will you just look at that. And I thought Andy was all this time living in the haze of my shadow, long ago forgotten, oh yea I don't remember that muther fucker, he was just a whiff of my dragon pipe, slit to the thigh. "Are you fucking listening" he said "you fucking slut bitch, why haven't you got the hell out of here and left me to my best boy friend" "That is not what you want, is it" she whispers into the nothingness before ...

You ask to much of me I am just a human being In this haze of silence Distant and wandering There is no way to return You are far from Perfect Even if you believe me You are far from Real Giving me some artifice Of what you think is real I give you no reason to try I give you no time to breathe I give you no return I give nothing

Summer passes ever slowly Gracious in her green garb She dances now before me Ever always leading me on

Mere dong et eee mmmm Hazy screen before me Obscures the view of truth Provides me with comfort Ever changing hues of liquid blues Nodding off before the news Its probing sound penetrates Pervades my swirling dreams Filters through my sluggish brain To the car I float To buy some sort of food It is bright and colorful I do not recognize its name A smiling woman drones Lulls me back to sleep Satisfied on sugar streams There is no fear now Smiling face assures me The best interest for me He is glistening in the light Of liquid crystal screens My phone vibrates longingly Numbing my senses to feeling Some woman I vaguely remember I am to appear an hour early There's a train outside my door It swallows me into the fray I blend into the blue and gray There is a small imprint here A moment of lucid thought A light that flashes on and off I snap awake to see her face Just before the needle hits the vein Gray now, getting dim Soft voices like doves cooing And then silence, darkness Empty vo...

Arch id Fine Girl, youth spent, drenched Sweat, drips, breathing Heaving, ragged rasp, breast Glistening, in twilight air Secured, wrist wound, hands Bound, behind displayed, gagged Whimpering, silent sobs, sighs She awaits, pensive, delirious Woman, now grown, forgets Nothing, dreams, repeats Endless, reminders, loops Forgives, to much, nothing Nothing, nothing, nothing No one, no how, not one thing Bitterness, like blood, drips From blade, from hand, from lips

Ereron from Gil-cully Down She, was raving, spinning in her world So very close now, and fare to know Could it be she misunderstood Or did she think she would find the truth She came a ways to look through the hole To know something she thought was old To feel or sleep in the stories told She came along to tag or bag a gag The mistress might see her youth The night might give her pause to breath The knave would please her if he pleases But the jester laughs at her worth And the sis is given in to the path And walks with the fools and cats And knows that she will know the pain Of emptiness that is lost at birth And there she stood, so self assured Ready to take on the jester's mirth Certain she would find his weakness How little she knows his treachery There in time comes the cost She realized now the worth at last But to come so far for loss and return to the down, not aware that she was made from the first

From the old Books Reprise Words in spin, twirl firth from ink to type Knowledge springs forth from this hype Strings strangle the girl in her head She stumbles on mumbles she thought she heard Where ever there is common ground They will find there is no place to stand Across the sea and through the sky To places been and forgotten Ere to know, and then to grow from mistakes She may learn now, and then, to let go

Whatever Today, and Tomorrow Today I was listening to some guitar players on you tube, and I happened upon Suicide is Painless, which most people would recognize as the theme from the TV series MASH, if they even remember that. Well whatever I was looking at the lyrics, and I thought you know I wonder if they wrote that for the show, or if the creators of the show just thought the song fit the show. This led me to a link that provided me with a version from Marlyn Manson, which I listened to, for a minute, before I switched to Crosby, Stills and Nash, Just a Song before I go. Then I went to lastfm.com to listen to some more CSN and whatever else. What the fuck am I talking about, have I become so fucking empty headed that I am suddenly just chatting about some music. Is there no end to this senseless prater, that I read, dribbling from the emptiness of the electronic digital circuitry. Have they already taken over, these metallic sounds, no metal, but clipped sounds, devoid of fee...