Monday, February 26, 2007
The next fire.
Do you see it?
This daring glowing point,
This burning planet,
This white smile,
This sweeping lighthouse,
The black rocks barring the shore,
The opaque blotter of this electronic board,
The mysterious far end of Creplin’s Nebula,
The leathery texture of the double thick construction paper,
pin pricked to view a full solar eclipse.
One fire, two fire, three fire
heart’s mind’s body,
I’ve seen you from behind the tree.
I’ve seen you more than I can see.
Like the light glowing in your sign,
that makes you hungry, makes you mine,
Like making magic comparing apples to oranges,
that makes the twig break beneath a monster’s arches,
Like that twenty bill, found washed and soft
that makes you arrive so damn Vernal new moon.
I know magic when I feel it
and this here is a trick,
this thumping heart,
her magic trick.
Though I must admit,
I do peer in the gloom for magic, constantly,
Such is my habit
Soaking all I see,
Sprinkling, blessing or dusting
Doing my best,
Drugging God’s smile.
And God’s drunk with her.
Do you see it?
It approaches like blue whales
singing the Beatles.
Beacon of dream,
Dream of message,
Divinity made simple,
for once, for love.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
I have an update on Steorn...
(the Irish company claiming to have created a revolutionary
renewable energy system)....
They have given it a name... ORBO.
See the latest story.
...maybe alcohol won't stop them
from taking over the world after all...
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
In the valley of shun,
Action has begun.
Forgotten, all your tenses,
Past, present and future,
Gone, here and undone.
Thinking pain into being.
I thought I knew enough of history,
Until I found that love rhymes often too,
When I found love rhyming all by itself,
In the valley of shun,
Somewhere between Chicago and Tupelo.
Our Fires and flood,
Sacred unction of
Lip licking laces tight on blue,
And her red.
Walk with me under my sun.
Forget the rains that finds your face
These often hours.
Forget the way to death.
It will never catch us but by
As long as we choose forward,
When we become so tired,
We lose track of the moment’s time,
We endanger the thrill of choosing our course,
And of course, we still will find some way to fly,
Because the birds that don’t, too simply die.
The cold side of life fears only our shun,
Our painted inspiration
Our breathy secret inseparable
Whispering in the black,
Our perfect warm darkness
That needs no definition of dawn,
Vouchsafes no dusky remarks,
But lives only with the darling moon
Beyond the traveling shadow of our wings’ burning.
Die with me this way,
Some far off day,
In the valley of fairytales,
Found in breakfast joints after noon,
In six packs with a
In nightsome hours around our table,
Denying regrets and Tomorrow.
And little Mike says,
“I’ll see you on the chessboard
Or I’ll call you in a bit.”
And with such bites,
That’s how everything touches us,
During these days of winter longing for sleep,
Back to life.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Thursday, February 01, 2007
INTJ - "Mastermind". Introverted intellectual with a preference for finding certainty. A builder of systems and the applier of theoretical models. 2.1% of total population.
Rosie points out:
"The internal form of the INTJ's thoughts and concepts is highly individualized, and is not readily translatable into a form that others will understand. However, the INTJ is driven to translate their ideas into a plan or system that is usually readily explainable, rather than to do a direct translation of their thoughts. They usually don't see the value of a direct transaction, and will also have difficulty expressing their ideas, which are non-linear."
"wow", she says, "explains the poetry"