Plateau Context

Loganhurst, fresh and clean.

More T-shirts, what do you mean?


Stop reading now.

Look away, click away, swing away.
Close all that you have.
Night has come, and the stars
Are all we need.
All follow what is not behind.

Stop reading now.

Invite not this story,
This double negative,
This contraction that uses
My heart as an apostrophe.



When I met the Plateau,
I was alone,
Knew nothing but the ground and the sky.
I was high
In the air,
In the passive tense.

I spoke,
I heard myself speak,
I wondered
What is Context,
What is the context of life,
The Real and the Un-Real?



The difference became:

What is found after Discovery,
What Remains is Remembered.

The recurring presence of the Pyramid
Is what makes it great.

It Lasts in your eyes,
Your ears,
Solid to the Fingers.
Existence is a Monument,
An impression that can be shared
With other minds than your own.

Context.

What is Real and Un-Real.

What is agreed as unreal and unreal.



After the Savannah,
After Existentialism,
After post modern forgetfulness,
Remains a mystery of depth,
Remains Memory,
Memory made most by emotional association.

We are but the memory of what is Capitalized
And what is not.

But memory of our Actions,
In our mind,
And the mind of others

(that separation being the Bane
of the Human condition).

Feeling emotes reality.

Has religious science,
Scientific religion left us
Without context?

The context of emotion,
Of feeling making us real.

We live to feel.

I remember only what meant most to me,
As we are,
As all we become.

We will feel we.

(And I know I keep saying it)

, and so I will become you,

And the words
(except math)
Will end.

(Except what records must remain)

…a World without Speaking,
Yet retained, the necessary Art of spelling out the context.



Sitting so cross-legged,
Upon the Edge of the plateau,
I laughed at myself,
At my talking to myself,
Pretending I’m someone,
Keeping Sane,
Keeping Time,
Keeping hope for some magical More

Than just me.



(next is Fate)

Plateau

Merry-Golds

And write it on the bus,
And write it at night,
And write it alone.

Write it to you,

Lovely rose, emma, sullen,
Trace the life from,
Me to here,
To belief, to fear.

To pluto’s loss of name,
And the luxury of love.

And guess what jeans I’m wearing,
And what bones are buried,
In my back yard.

And forgive me,
And speak.

Design what you seek
Regret not this moment,
Not this glance,
Not this chance,

Not his retard rhyme.

I’m a lover and a dier.
I die for love every night.

And wake again.

And I know I got bills to pay.
But that time is …away.

And begin and end
This prison sentence with conjunction,
And…

Live glory, when you have it.
Burst your heart forth,
For what it’s worth,

When Frank Black rolls.

Black Francis,
Turn your name round in your head.

Practice the skills that make you
Undead.

And rhyme, like a retard.

I admit all is solved,
Until the next breath.

I’ll see you all in the marigolds.






Artist: Frank Black
Album: Devil's Workshop
Year: 2002
Title: Fields Of Marigold


Not for sugar not spice
Not for fool’s paradise
Not for giving advice
Not for saving a soul
There’s no reason for some
Now I’m getting numb
Now that moment has come
Hey how about a drum roll
For the Fields of Marigold?

Goodbye, I’m blowing a kiss to you
So long, wonderful being you
Goodnight we’ll soon be sleeping on the Fields of Marigold

Is it time to get up?
Now you’re breaking up
Though I know we are tough
I thought we’d lose control
And end up in the freezing cold

Goodbye, I’m blowing a kiss to you
So long, wonderful being you
Goodnight, we’ll soon be sleeping on the Fields of Marigold (x2)

The Typeset

Typewriter written, on the phone with ltlmke

Copasetic,
I’ve never liked that word at all.

Rectangle-state people live in boxes.

Weather is a predator,
A snake that can eat you whole.
Earth’s atmosphere, planets’ motion,
Single systemic flux.


You; (verb); other.

Concrete ice of the mind,
An aspiration story.

Forget the “ABCs”
And the spelling,

Now we see the crocodile,
I’ll hang his teeth on the wall,


“Tool” said ltlmke.


Hello I’m listening,
Sullen Girl,
I was thinking,
Changing phones.

Fish tank: an enclosure of fluidic space,
You probably can’t hear it,
But they come up and pick
The food right out of your fingers.

Feed the fish.

They’re almost like mood rings
That swim around.

…Ya know, another
Cool fish to have
[are] angel fish…

Yeah, I’m just feeding the fish listening to you type.
Yeah, I’m just typing about you feeding the fish.

He’ll hammer
Me on my math skills.

Then off we go.

Mathmatical equations all over the page.

I still like the pawns stretching diagonally.
I’m the queen; I’d like to be the rook.
This game is going to move pretty quickly I think.

This ain’t some tappy-ti-tap on the keyboard,
Hoping the electrons go,

Swing ink!
We are swinging ink!

The colors kinetic,

Little moving pieces of letter,

The typeset.

“I even got to make the paper one day.”



....and so upon the following morning:

I am,

Patient as a stained glass window,
waiting for the sun,

Wary as a lion,
spring loaded in the brush,
as she suddenly smells another meat eater,

Muted as sunglasses,
on a cloudy day,

Swinging ink like
a squid in peril,

Horny as a jack rabbit,
buried in a bag of viagra.

The Ultimate Answer

YUM!

Temperance

Temperance

I hear a ticking grow,
In the midnight dusk between days,
From within my bedroom,
Of the lamp round living room way.

By time is it seen,
By timed light I know
Which hour has come
Then decides to go.

It’s between the walls
From me to you
That defeats the stillness
For what’s old is new.

In the morning,
Through to tonight,
This long life of afternoon,
A migrating great wide bird,
In flight.

-H
--------------------------------------------

Musings on Temperance
IMAGE from Aquarian Tarot
by Craig Junjulas
U. S. Games ISBN 0880795921



This card heralds a time of complete freedom, wholeness, peace, and fulfillment.
Since the Temperance card follows Death, it is a symbol of new beginnings and new life.
In the Hanged Man we encounter the crisis of the ego no longer working for us; in Death we surrender the ego; and lastly, in Temperance we find our true self, our Highest Self.
This card reminds us to trust our higher guidance and to find balance within in order to find it without.
To me, the Temperance card is confirmation that I am open and receptive to the universe and that the lines of communication are clear.
Our goal is to embody our Higher Self, to live fully in peace and harmony in the world around us, and to instill peace within others.
Our society gets stuck in the social norms; owning beautiful things, how much we make a year, being eternally youthful, etc. when all that truly matters is not how long you live your life, nor how much you experience, but how deeply you experience it.
The Temperance card is your guardian angel, asking you to open up and express your anger, pain, resentment, as well as your love, happiness and encouragement.
Your guardian angel is asking you to let go of all the things bothering you, letting you know that it will take care of everything.
It's as simple as saying, "I surrender to my Highest Power," and feeling free.

Flare Shot Cross Darkwaters

The Mother Of God
by William Butler Yeats

THE threefold terror of love; a fallen flare
Through the hollow of an ear;
Wings beating about the room;
The terror of all terrors that I bore
The Heavens in my womb.
Had I not found content among the shows
Every common woman knows,
Chimney corner, garden walk,
Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes
And gather all the talk?
What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart's blood stop
Or strikes a Sudden chill into my bones
And bids my hair stand up?

Albedo

Two Around Vi

There are times in a life
When you gloss over with rain.
The Thunder sounds from mouths around,
Eyes flash lightning in the dark.

But you smile.
You see.
There’s this breath, and me.

Only some sigh significantly.
Some hold still.
To know nothing
With a quiet will,
And so know calm.

(And) (So)
On and On,
With a hand holding mine
Or not.
Not to be forgot,
The times in a life.

Blithe Spirit.
Jack Benny.
Heads up, not tails,
Is a lucky penny.

I have a garden.
It's ready to go,
To sleep through winter
Under the snow,
To seed,
To stir,
To bloom after the brrrrrr.
To grow in my land,
By my hand,
A partnership free in bondage,
A relationship with bounds,
A degree of decree,
Between life and me.

I want an old Subaru.
A “poor man’s hybrid”
As Al did say.
I’ve ran my V8 Ford through thousands
Of miles, hearing John Lee
Hooker slight that streaming
Gravel Road.

I’ve been young,
I’ve been old.
I remember what I’ve been told,
What dreams I’ve sold,
What lead was gold,
If not all I’ve ever said.

And good morning,
And to bed.
I’m happy in this revolution’s thread.

Let it turn,
Let it turn me,
Let us each mark our passing.

I’m not slowing down.
I’m not losing steam.

Each day it begins,
My past,
My dreams,
My now-ward thrust.

To Make, To Here, To This, To ______.

You are Beautiful.


Beautiful View/ Luna/ Pup Tent/ 1997


Fall,
Deciduous,
Leaf,
Evergreens that lose their needles
Annually, Anyway.

“You're coming out of your shell,
You’re gonna shake it off.”

Enjoy the mix.
Mix your own drinks.

How many aspects of life
Don't actually revolve around love?

When the bass hits,
In home or on the street.

How much room of context,
Context room,
Lies between momentary
Emotional satisfaction and
The survival of the species?

Turn up the Base,
And listen to your favorite,
Listen to you.

As I feel, as you feel,
Agreement must come.

From the divine right of kings,
From the biggest club in the tribe,
To what?
What contract of sociality,
Are we to become?

How to turn instinct to the long view.

Who has the answer written well out?
Who has the messianic meme virus
To save our souls so efficiently?

We are moving beyond spell check.

If anything at all can exist outside of love.

All is defined by degrees
Of hot and cold,
Shadow and light.

We are you,
You are half.

So maybe it all just rides
Not on what we define our belief,
But how much actual work gets done.

It’s the homework afterall.

Achieve, believe, re-live.

e v e

"People Get Sick"

People get sick

People get sick
and we want them to get better,
but we also want them dead.
They live, and it's more of the same.
How we hate our wish to kill
what we cease to care for,
unwilling to bend. Cloak our weakness
in another's dazzling end.
Our mourning faces court the upset
due to us for lasting.
The single breath is ours.
We grab it, snuff the competition,
one less call to make or card to send.

Connections make us
want to fall in love,
even as our arms blast up to block its hasty approach.
We see our needy doubles in their mirrored eyes,
cast them out to blind in thistle-patch,
then lick away the scratches on their faces,
mad about ourselves. We flaunt the bait,
performing lonely, finding out too late
the act has worked. The merge occurred,
and we must do the time
or, breaking out,
shoot the wives and husbands,
drive the children into lakes.

War is hell, so we lament it,
grab for peace
like nature wants it for us.
We, the blessed, arrange
our words in suitable ritual order,
spinning tales inscribed on plaques
at bases of status we hunger to topple.
Who dare speak revolution?
aware we are among those who would lose
their lives (or are we?),
loyalties concealed behind our upheld hands,
warming at the crater's smoking orange edge.

—Barry Perlman

thanks, astrobarry

'Please Let Me Drive You Home'

J. Hammond



Phew.

Well that will make for some
interesting shit there.

R I D I C U L O U S
(it's called my attic)

Get down with the hassel.
Listen to some John Hammond.

Shelter shell been gone so long,
BaaaaaaaHoooooooo!
in your arms again -track10
Been gone so long.

What quality of fires burns for me?
What strange smell,
What Destiny?
, like a period beginning a sentence,
the hour clicks silently.

Come wrath,
Come the world's destiny
(yeah I said it again)

I say I love you for sin.

let us, let's, lettuce

now how's that for twist gen X
stoner e.e. cummings?

Can you here the clicking?
(yeah I said it again)
That rail pronounced
By machine,
By man,
By wind and steel,
As we only are after all.

We breathing dreamers,
We shadows in the sun,
We spinning earths in our eyeball,
Our Sigh Bees a deadly thing.

Pray for Rhyme,
Pray for history,
That we may know the future,
Before it's due.

Before the flu,
Before the clue,
Before Xanu,
Before we forget,



before the comma

Wonders, She

Here Kitty Kitty...

_< >_

' > )

. . .

Happy Birthday, SRV

Little Blue Pearl

Hey all you spacey crazy cats
(and everyone else, you can come too),



I found a nifty NASA story on the some recent data from good ol' Voyager 1!
(let me cut a paste a little here...)



Our entire solar system—planets and all—sits inside a gargantuan bubble of gas about four times wider than the orbit of Neptune. The sun is responsible. It blows the bubble by means of the solar wind. Astronomers call the bubble itself "the heliosphere" and its outer membrane "the heliosheath."



Voyager 1 is about 10 billion miles from Earth, inside the heliosheath.

"You can simulate the heliosheath in your kitchen sink," says Stone. "Turn on the faucet so that a thin stream of water pours into the sink. Look down into the basin. Where the stream hits bottom, that's the sun. From there, water flows outward in a thin, perfectly radial sheet. That's the solar wind. As the water (or solar wind) expands, it gets thinner and thinner, and it can't push as hard. Abruptly, a sluggish, turbulent ring forms. That ring is the heliosheath."



neato bandito eh!??



And lastly, for this 'F-yeah It's Friday' post,

a lovely view of us... seen from Saturn by
Cassini-Huygens.

Vein Full of Morphine

Give me a kiss hello goodbye

What's the difference you just end everything you say with a smile

Wave goodbye hello there's that look in your eye

Forwards backwards back it down the drive

Curtains in the window wave goodbye (x2)

Hello there's that look in your eye

And your crazy smile ah

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going to do

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going through

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going through

I know you and you know me and I know you you know me and I know you

Give me an invitation I'll be there

Unless of course I got to be somewhere

Give me your wish list let's shake hands

If you don't like it you can have your money back

Ahh (x4)

Give me a kiss hello goodbye

What's the difference you just end everything you say with a smile

Wave goodbye hello there's that look in your eye

And your crazy smile

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going through

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going to do

I know you and you know me too

You know everything that I'm going through

I know you and you know me and I know you you know me and I know you

I know you

Mystery In The Main

Some mornings are not the same.
The sun rises from due South
The toothpaste tastes funny in the mouth.
The newspapers know who to blame.

Some roads are just slicker when wet.
The gutters flow full,
Gravity threatening your skull,
You make a correction, then "STET."

The bus driver smiles, his wipers work.
A beautiful girl, and her retarded brother.
Sitting in front of you like toast and butter.
One to lead and one to lurk.

Mystery in the main,
Foggy breath in sunrise flame,
Wet dying dew, your heat and ice.

Poll Cat

Howdy,
friends, strangers, lurkers, and lovers.

I'm wondering if people are feeling...

a general anxiety, a feeling of a coming shift,
a global sneeze, forests of hairs standing on end...
a tightness in our collective chests.

Do you feel something is about to change?

Is it the eclipse of this week's blue moon?

Is the paradigm's pyramid about to topple?

Having I been reading too much UrbanSurvival?

I know, I know... spooky dooky.

But,

Chime in, if you would. thanks.








The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-- William Butler Yeats, January 1919

Red Ink

The ink you have is the ink you use.
Your hand is only as steady as the road
This bus motors down.
So today, it is red and rough.

I find myself, this morning,
In a pattern.
Not an evil pattern,
Not confining,
Limiting,
Or soul damaging.

No more than the pattern of a bridge
Destroys the river.

In a responsible life,
Freedom is found:
On the weekends,
In the happy hours,
On the edges,
In between the lengths of time,
Bearing down upon the grindstone,
There is laughter,
Laziness,
Long sunny mornings,
And other such lovely luxuries.

Time is an emotion,
An expectation of reality,
A trait of evolving eyes
On the front of your head.

I read about a tribe
In the mountains of western
South America,
Who believed they moved backwards
Through time.

At least, that's how we would describe it.
To us, they think time is a river
That flows around from behind.
They face downstream,
And see the past more clearly than the future.

As we do.

It is just a matter of perspective.
Where you look is who you are,
how you move.
Time is an emotion.
It depends on how one feels about...

Forwards, backwards,
Optimistic, pessimistic.

The question is:
How is your compass marked?

The magnetism of any needle
Points in the same direction for any of us.

But the placement of the origin,
And the names you give to the cardinals,
Is 'souly' up to you.

InsiderTirades

Listen up! Nostradumbass has surfaced... somewhere up north and to the left.

(PORTLAND).

His new blog should be interesting, noteworth, world saving, and a spiritual balm for your very soul!

So get you butt over there! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!

Magic Smoke

Meh.
She said.
Lovely like inside.
Frigging sweet, what did you say?
Cool.
Dual core lambasted words.

The pain is bullshit.
"I'll be right back being a relative thing."
Life in the House.
Jumping Creeks.
Jumping over, like light this rise of the Sun,
The morning with friends.

I could carry my mind in my pocket.
I guess love has more whirlpools than I thought.
When you walk through the valley of the shadow of Life,
You know what over-ripe berries are,
What green berries are,
What goes with your corn flakes and what doesn't.

It is at that time you realize how
Few true lovers are out there.

I breathe in and forget what air fails me,
What air draws our bodies into a state of bliss,
Of swooning despair.

I came as a Rat,
I came quoting someone else's music.
I came, whether.

I typeset,
The broken circuits,
The magic smoke,
The live wires that died in my backyard.



And did I really think love wouldn't
Find me where I hid.
Love you, bastard.

And the Tower was ok,
Except for the fire break.
Couldn't get my hands on the pearl.
Not yet anyway.

Oh my,
Oh say,
Oh this Life,
Today.

Little Mike said the other night,
I subscribed to a new magazine the other day,
"cooking for one."

I have hardwood floors, and a chainsaw.

Sunset the night's swirling stars,
Let the morning commence,
Sunset the morning,
Let afternoon commence,
Sunset the afternoon,
Speed evening hence.

Let time rest,
Let you be me in us.

Let it bleed life,
Like a heart from the inside out.

Deja vu,
Means you're just on the right path,
Meaning what you've just experienced,
Is what you are,
What you're supposed to be.

Momma belly, sweet ring,
Sweet song,
And my Tea-tree.

No Shame

Tattoo Tale

Would this look good on my skin?

Come To Me Moon

Land Ho!

Who you callin' HO?