It is a mystery how all this matters light circling light so intently a profound weight born of relativity changes a negative to a positive turns a lighthearted affair substantial A vast collection of these contingencies congregate by some strange attraction reaching across the void only to crush themselves in their collective action into carbon copies, hot air, and other complexities shedding continual light in its smashing only to collapse under its own manufacturing and give itself back to the universe to perchance evince a life of its own upon the foundation of its ruin From under what strange circumstances does the miracle of life spring A mere chip off the old spitfire collides with a celestial being who sets its orbit, gets its pulse beating and ritually guides it in its dreaming After phases and phases of icing–over and fuming near extinguishing from within its nebulous sea a chemical compound redounds in recreating its structure, preserving its memory with tiny changes here and there growing larger and more defined recomposing its recomposing At first, blindly following the light a sensitivity beckons focus a pair of eyes peer out from the depths Now on two legs, a monstrous stomping over the earth kings tyrannously rule and a growth of wings and a chirp, chirp of birds and tender little things Who begin to talk and repeat make tools to pass along and pass along ways to make tools and think about things And ages and ages of such talk and figuring such that remembering back to earlier days seem a dream And with each age some savage desire to love and sustain yields a development from the elements of a previous fire The world is heavy with inheritance buried in the vastness of time and space from half–conscious fumblings cosmic heirlooms accrue amid the ruins of ancient beings arises, painstakingly crafted, itty–bitty things from itty–bitty things
Month: February 2011
Union Woes
Dimes wouldn’t been in use if they weren’t generously given as alms during the great depression. A man tells how he just took the clip of his pen, the clip having a dime near its base, tore it off, and made a collection of these torn-off dimes clips for the local union.
I’m driving around the union parking lot looking for a space. There is a fellow union guy or a client in the passenger side. I get trapped for a little by a somewhat young Asian woman when I drive down a dead end of filled spaces.
We walk up to the building. I nonchalantly approach the women (there is a young man and young woman (similar to the one blocking me in the parking lot?) monitoring the entrance here) in the security aperture. She yells at me for a good long couple minutes. There is some mistake. I just wanted to use a room for a meeting and she thinks I requested a spool of printing ink cartridge.
I explain.
Field Work
I forget its beginning perhaps first found in The Origin of the Species or that strange story I read as a youth of the unknown naturalist–fiddler wading through that field of flowers scientifically concluding in his heart while evolution was still evolving that each creature unto itself is its own species Perhaps the same man who despaired at helping a butterfly to its death unrealized without allowing it fight out of its self–made cocoon to discover its own strength The poets may take for granted your beauty taking you for something perennially special The botanists may catalog your delicate reproducible features The sellers may know what price you command at the market by your heritage You grow beyond these interlopers your very bothersome incommodality is that prize secret hidden in your bud Your uncouth break from tradition turns intellect superstitious renders traits broken and molted The world rotates upon your axis seen afresh through your aspect With a joyful pain the world births itself anew The mysterious law of your specific genes hums a song composed in situ This is what the world is dying to see Your nature is wild, naturally
Capers
No. Peas will not replace this strange desire to add capers to my already quite exotic Indian stew God, do I have to go over this with myself again? And Live Get that which I happen to want? There even ain’t no shame in it, for shame! Jeez, just go to the grocery store where they have a whole shelf of them — 2 kinds And don’t wait for tommorrow’s regular beautiful shopping; the desire is for them now And shit if this ain’t the first day of spring and bare feet and the children out playing and Terra out happy despite a benign cancer near her stomach bulging and red in her eye and joy to hear the birds chirp along to Flaming Lips’ Fight Test as Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots As I still feel bad for not working and wonder when I will give it up like it’s inevitable Marching past the children echoing Yoshimi’s battle cry, their young souls shaming my reluctance to fully embrace my capers for all I know Past the teenagers hanging out fresh in courage, laughing smiles at one another as they embrace awkward, vulnerable, vibrant youth I taste one salty; almost grimmacingly bitter How many capers? How many capers? 1, 2, 3 Fuck it. Stop counting. Keep going. My intuition will tell me And if I don’t just cover it with ’em Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf. Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf? Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf. OK. You will need a smidge more rice. Really. OK. I load up my plate up hear my roommate in his bedroom loitering, lounging, laughing with his fiancée as I go out to witness the dusk of a beautiful day and the slightest dusting of spring tears have anointed my table I wipe the seat and as I eat any evidence of wet is vapors And, no, those capers are not bitter tasting they fit perfect, well: smashing and, hmm, maybe not enough rice ah, no, just just enough I needn’t have thought
Traces
In her presence, her presence I have breathed A blinding beauty, a blinding beauty I have seen I gazed no thought The muted radiance burning the film attempting to capture Knowing, as my eyes held her, my mind would not catch her burned into my memory Just the pleasant burn and delicious soothing of grace in nonchalance A beauty that did not strike unwittingly burned and crumpled by invisible flame I accept and graciously with calm, pleasant passion with blissful, resigned frustration such effortless perambulation
Tre
Thank you for the time we share and the wisdom you provide Knowing you adds something to me I couldn’t be on my own Admits opportunities I wouldn’t take alone Before I go, I take part in the superfluity I need I’m better now I is we
Blue Jewels
What to do with a bejeweled soul? Just glimmer, glimmer, glimmer Barred from the bank, cold no thought in it no exchange value no takers Just take the rays of the sun and inflame the world in gleams And naked with the moon reflect amid its beams
Big Globes in Half the Space; Pudgy Canary
In a mall, shopping with Brian. We walk into a store that only uses half its space. I’m looking for a globe. There is a 10 diameter one and an 8 inch. Those are too big and I don’t want the bulk of a stand. I had three globes a year ago, but I through them all out.
We walk into a fast food restaurant. Too bad that pudgy woman in canary yellow isn’t here. Then a few moments later, I see this woman and her two fat black woman friends.
Epicure
I forego tasteless economics Common chocolate I destroy cheating myself unfulfilled Savoring exquisite trifles fills my entire being with contentment as they go on triumphantly half–eaten For so long, I’ve half–heartedly snacked about when I was hankering for just a bit of the richest delicacy I want no banquet but break the bank for me Permit my plate to remain sacrosanct embracing those dear morsels that suit me
Disappearing Pizzas; I’m Not Even Working Here
I walk the dogs to pizza hut. No one is there; it’s closed for bad weather. It must have just been closed; there are some pizzas in the oven: a last order. I cut one of the pizzas. It seems to disappear on the table. It shrinks to a small size: I salvage the bits into half of a personal pizza.
What to do? I know: I’ll just put in a new pizza, what with the store closed and all this extra dough, and then I’ll take that little half one for myself.
No hand-tossed in the main refrigerator. None under the make table either. Did they stop doing hand-tossed?
Back to the cut table to cut more pizzas. I cut a large, placing it in top of the small. It completely eclipses it.
A driver comes in, returning from a deliver. He apologizes for an argument he had with another driver before he left. I don’t really care and tell him so.
Gill comes in and sits down in the back office and gets on the phone. I go to him. I’m leaving soon, he tells me, and then talks on the phone some more.
Well I can’t stay and work: I have the dogs, besides didn’t I already call in and say I’m not working? The remaining order burns in my mind.
I try to interrupt Gill, but he keeps talking.
“Gill,” I tell him with desperation as he finally acknowledges me, “you have to tell me where we keep the hand-tossed.” Phones ring indicating new orders. This isn’t the crisis situation I tolerate. I intentionally stop the dream.