Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, August 12, 2023

Last one for now

I think this is probably the last of the old poetry I'll let see the light of day.  I may at some point in the future release a little of the prose, but honestly, I kind of doubt it.  I don't really remember writing this one.  Now I think it's fucking devastating.

birthday

cross your fingers and close
your eyes and wish real hard.
wish harder than you have
ever wished for anything
before.
wish so hard that your brow
furrows and your cheeks
redden.
wish so hard that your
temples throb, and
beads of sweat trickle
down your forehead.
wish so hard that you
actually shake
and your shoulders tremble
and your nails draw blood in your fists
and tears pool
at the corners of your eyes
and then slide down your cheeks.
wish to the point
you have to scream but
can't.
wish so hard that your head
becomes too hot to hold
in your own two hands.
wish so hard that you break up
the party
because you don't care where
you are or who's around you.
wish until you can taste
blood in your mouth
mixing with the spit
until its on your sleeve
until you can't breathe anymore.
yes,
wish with your last breath.

now,
don't tell anyone
what you wished for
and see if it comes true.

Thursday, August 10, 2023

A trio of funny ones this time

I should probably present these without commentary, but it's haaaaard!  I thought these three were funny.  I must have gotten a real snootful of e. e. cummings before writing the first one. The second one is really silly, but there's a self-awareness there that I like.  The last one is, well.... I think it's probably the best of the three.  Anyway!  I promise I will stop the hijacking after this week.  Probably only do like one or two more of these posts, and then go back to your regularly scheduled broadcast!


Blank comes now into


Blank falls
sidewise and weirdways
from the sunpush nightgrunt
birthvacuum and into be
and here.
Be is a strange thing,
all nosemoutheyesearshands
for drinking herenow.

(Somehow someone somewhere comes to fullstop)

Noone is such fine company
in nine-month nothing
that Blank is forced to
sing a wasn't
loud as
a daunt to everywhere
and gasplife
redundantly to please
be (and to daunt resume)
while don't and musn't
tell him hush
and croon lullilies
to futurewho.





Conversations with Foliage


So, Self-important,
did you talk
to the tree?
Did they tell you
how ridiculous you are,
woodenly arguing
your anger
with a rough bark
of laughter?

          "Yeah, wild cowboy flowers
           pulled pistils from holsters
           and ran my ignorance right outta Dodge."

Hey, Self Important,
did you discuss
the roots of
your impotence
with Mr.
Stan D.
Coniferous?
Did he branch
into mockery
when you saw
how solid
his trunk?

          "Yeah, he told me
           that on the contrary,
           the inability to move frees me
           from the obligation to act."

Say, Self Important,
did you debate
your sadness
with Miss Cherry
Deciduous?
Did she threaten
to leaf you,
candid chlorophyll,
'cause you
didn't eat her
cherries no more?

          "Yeah, I stammered as stamens
           spat golden pollen on my depression
           and spilled blossoms and petals on my hate."

Okay, Self Important,
so awkward and mortal,
did you explain
your perspective
and all of your
problems
to Mayor
Merle Maple?
Yes?  Good,
he's a capable
being.  Now
what did he say?

          "He said there is only sap
           and syrup to the trees.
           Called me full of sap
           and poured syrup on me."





sandbox menendez


this is where i
want to rule
the world from.
in my pajamas.
let the churchills
and the nixons
and popes come here to me.
i've got my batphone
and alfred.

(i'm mad a mommy.
mommy and daddy
     are banished
to their rooms.

indefinitely.)


Wednesday, August 9, 2023

Two more ancient poems

Dr Rascher's Heavenly Chariot

It was a secret
within a secret

It made even
Himmler sick,

the tall box on wheels
behind block 5
in Dachau.

It could simulate
a vertical dive
from 32,000 feet

with or without oxygen.

Dr Rascher
had a deadline to meet

October 25
the great
Luftwaffe Conference
on Freezing

and Nuremburg
is so lovely in the fall, Fraulein,
we could walk together on the bank
of the River Regnitz
under the tall lindens
and I could give you nylons
and a tin of potted meat perhaps
after the Scientific Sessions

if
     you would only, 

if you
        would
                                        warm

He was worried

They brought him
a 37 year old Jew
in good general condition

They brought him
four Gypsy women
from another camp

He gave them all a ride
in his heavenly chariot

recording his
meticulous observations
in a careful hand

male subject at 12 Km
no supplemental oxygen

subject breathed
for 30 minutes
diaphoresis
and myoclonus
appeared at four
tetany at five
tachypnea at six
unconsciousness by ten
and then a gradual
slowing of the breath
to three per minute
with deepening cyanosis
and foam at the lips
until breathing ceased at thirty;

electrocardiographic activity
continued for another twenty
and at autopsy
the atria still quivered
even after the spine was severed
and the brain pulled
from its heavy, subarachnoid
oedema

(applause)

He was worried about
          the warming with body heat experiments
Himmler was insisting

But, damn it, he'd so meticulously documented
          the results of cooling!
The excitation, the progressive rigors,
         the flexion contractures, the tonic-clonic activity
and how when he cooled them
          to 26.5 C rectally
it was the submersive chilling of the occiput
          that would invariably result in fatality -
paresis of the thermoregulatory
          centers of the brainstem
he'd speculate learnedly

(applause)


...then arm in arm, Fraulein,
flush in a lovely season
the Regnitz flowing
beneath our balcony
thanks to our gracious
Reichsfuehrer
it could mean a University
appointment after the war
crimson leaves upturned
spinning downstream
I will run a finger
under the silk
of your gown
at the shoulder
                              in the shadows

But warming with body heat.

Oh, let's dial in
a fall from 10 Km,
and then
two hours in the ice pool
at 2C,
yes, yes the helmet
and kapok vest,
and this time keep
the damned occiput up
for heaven's sake
and the rectal thermometer secured
for my meticulous observations

maybe this one will live
     long enough to re-
                                        warm

...O Savior of the noble
Luftwaffe: Dr. Sigmund Rascher,
Professor Untersturnfuerher Rasscher, in the
shadows above the lovely river,
along the shoulder of the lovely Fraulein
I slowly run my finger
along the supraclavicular hollow
down the costochondral ridge
to xiphoid, rectus, navel, pubes
thanks to our gracious
Reichsfuerer Himmler
if only he
                    lives
if only he
                    will           warm
if only he

Prepare the bed!
Get the Gypsy whores
from Station RF, bastard!
And drag the shivering bastard from the pool!

That's it, oh it'll take two at least,
throw them on, that's right,
right on top of him,
now warm him, you bitches, you whores,
warm him
                    warm him
                                        WARM HIM!



99 hells

she talkin bout an
eye thru a needle
sky thru a vein
pain don't reign no more

she say jazz sick
junk stomach
watch the neon
suicide every nite
at the same time, it's
gonna be alright.

he ask quarter to six
monkey city inter
zone baby
what happenin with that
'55 Caddy lady?

dragon girl she say get in
chase me kiss me
fuck me got that
taste me tight salty
we gonna chase it
together

she gonna blow
veins blues purple blood
tiger vinegar mist
red mirror smoke
leopard arson jazz
glass needle rock me
shake me to the core.

she want she got
a viper or three
for me tonite,
tonite be my baby
rag rage rig glow needle jazz.

daily he thinkin
factory death soul
skeleton key
oh yeah, we froggy,
normal don't shine.

he got eight smokin
nites of blue motel
barbiturate jazz
conjure prostitute
baby just spit your arms
around me, it's
gonna be alright.

he get outta me
outta car serpent
mantis widow outfit
impossible breath
street corner hungry
crew maggot my skin
is death.

ninety-nine hells.
ninety-nine hells to go.

Monday, February 13, 2023

100 Names for Small Gods (or Cats) and a Short Pome about Cats (or Small Gods)

I did say there would be occasional cats!  And I need a break from writing dreary pretentious depressing egotistical bullshit.

I was reading the Wizards as Clerics of Magic post by semiurge and it made me resurrect this list, which I was working on last week before I got distracted...  This was originally intended as a list of names for small gods or cats (or small gods who manifest as cats) (or appellations for a cat god).  It also strikes me that these "small gods" or spirits might be called on by magic users to do certain things.  I have not actually detailed the powers or spells associated with each name - I think in some cases there is something pretty obvious, but in others it isn't immediately clear what propitiating such a god (or cat, I mean let's face it they are more or less synonymous anyway) might get you.  My hope is that the names are evocative enough that you can think of something (or several somethings) that fit the bill.

Also, at the very end of this is an imitatio of We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks that involves cats.  I was fortunate enough to meet her briefly while she was still incarnated here in Chicago.  She was a lovely woman and meeting her was an inspiration.  I mention this here both because I took direct inspiration from her for the poem and also because she encouraged me to read poetry, and I would like to pass that encouragement on to other people.  I hope you enjoy it and even if you don't that you continue to read poetry.

  1. Mellowpaw*
  2. Mr. Sound
  3. Ambassador Azrael Extraordinary
  4. Wild Widow Diligent
  5. Mickey Barcode
  6. Artemis Ruqualash
  7. The Glacier
  8. Zeppelin Bone
  9. Judicial System
  10. Soft Red Glow
  11. Gravity Need Not Apply
  12. Precision Instrument
  13. Possession Is Nine Tenths of the Law
  14. Open the Door Close the Door Open the Door
  15. Mercury Gaze
  16. This Is For You
  17. Murderclaw*
  18. Silence of the Aeons
  19. Assigned Viewing
  20. Virtue of Inaction
  21. Death Prophet
  22. Bonnie Billy Bewildering
  23. Zipslide Flipside Zoomwilder
  24. Effortless Grace
  25. Twill Trill Ear Drill
  26. Unconscious Desire
  27. Drag It From the Sky
  28. Effective Technique
  29. Once More but Faster and Slyer
  30. Drifting Bit of Fur
  31. Take the Babies and Run
  32. Grandfather Ruin
  33. Edith Escape Claws
  34. Saul of the Sumptuous Banquet
  35. Amadeus Attitude
  36. Obdurate Octavia Outrageous
  37. Mona Low Moan
  38. The Wiggler
  39. Randy Randall One-eye
  40. Silky Soft Saboteur
  41. Lightning Follows Me
  42. Fastest Path
  43. I Will Leave A Marcus
  44. Nate Abhors a Vacuum
  45. Thomas Turning Tail & Timothy Twisting Tail (these always show up together)
  46. Perhaps I Didn’t Think This Through
  47. Izzy Edible
  48. Twilight’s Heavy Burden
  49. Critical Hit
  50. Special Handling
  51. Current Resident
  52. Relaxed Atmosphere
  53. All Things Must Be Devoured
  54. Cruthington Murder Mitten
  55. Depth Perception
  56. Sleek Sweet Susan Deepsleep
  57. Now How Do I Get Down
  58. Withering Look
  59. Shady Sheamus Shameless
  60. Jellobelly the Pirate
  61. Soft Killer
  62. The Infanticide
  63. Megakratheon**
  64. This Is My Stomach There Are Many Like It But This One Is Mine
  65. Howling Fury
  66. The Hidden Thing
  67. Sleep Deprived
  68. Rogue Agent
  69. Slick Sammy Switchblade
  70. Loosed Upon The World
  71. Vasebreaker
  72. The Surly Churl
  73. Emperor Steven Eventide
  74. Number Six
  75. Willing Prisoner
  76. Tell Me About the Rabbits
  77. Double Action
  78. Marvelous Mildred Midwinter
  79. The Moon in Daylight
  80. Ethan Socksbury of Fethingham
  81. Slackmaster J
  82. Beauty Set to Music
  83. The Zorn of Zorna
  84. Ivan Invisible
  85. I Go Unnoticed
  86. The Thorn
  87. Diffident Dancer
  88. Best In Life
  89. The Squint
  90. Harold Herald of Heroes
  91. Real Gone
  92. The Hip Gahn
  93. Wholly Devoid of Sympathy
  94. Softest Fur In the Universe
  95. Enjambment
  96. Anapest Dactyl
  97. The Missing Ingredient
  98. Is It Breakable
  99. I Was Made For This Box
  100. High Frequency



We Hunt Prey

(with apologies to Gwendolyn Brooks)


We hunt prey. We
Spring-play. We


Flop-sleep. We
Dream deep. We


Bump-flit. We
Snarl spit. We


Jump-fly. We
Sneak-spy. We


Trill-speak. We
Zoom-streak. We


Fast blur. We
Soft purr.










* Twins
** https://grandcommodore.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-secret-places-of-megakratheon.html

Sunday, February 12, 2023

The Den of Lions

I. Mene: I have numbered the days of your reign and brought it to an end.


You,

Who perpetuated black science upon the human heart, the omphalos luminous

Who strides in the zephyrs that caress tresses and the gale that lashes ash trees

Who aroused me and aroused in me the desire for the numinous

Who hears prayers and petitions of others but only when delivered from their knees

Who resides in electromagnetic storms and ley lines over the kingdom of death  

Who swallows every single inhaled and every exhaled breath

Who is avalanche master, total devourer, dead reckoner, great annihilator

Who murdered three year olds with shotguns in Chicago

Who is the lord of all, killer on the dim path, lightfucker, vivid dictator

Who is the hole in everything and the reason nothing is whole



I cut the head from the granite figure of the Christ

To the chime of steel striking stone. Each blow brought sparks and light.

Then I climbed to the roof of the monastery

And pissed upon your virgin Mary.



I, Rebel angel

Maw of the wolf

Leafless tree

Black branch

Claw of hell



I who dwelt amongst dangerous angels

Who yearned for years and desired annihilation at your hands

Who begged you to strike me. I made plans

And goaded you with headless son and piss soaked bride

Who incanted atrocities that smelled of purple Columbine

Who lusted for your touch, even should it destroy

Who heard others address you familiarly

and knew the bitter hemlock taste of envy



What must I do, lord? I hear your voice sometimes and it says,

“Kill her while she sleeps. Take her breath in your hands and kill her.

Squeeze the last wisps of air from her with your fists. This is my touch.

The icy grey waters are my touch, submerge thyself.

The children are dead at Uvalde, this is my touch.

The bombs of the Liberator your grandfather flew during the first daylight raid on Berlin fell on babies, this is my touch.

The hole at the center of everything, the hole at your center, this is my touch."



I cut

Down

your son

Down

and looked

Down

his granite eyes stared back from the ground

in the parking lot in front of St. Cletus

I murdered again the Risen Jesus.

If this were but a human head I might feel

His soul flee to the great wheel

And see his eyes go cold like bloom on grapes,

Becoming monstrous, vapid shapes.

We mocked the ones who took your vows.

You were silent then. You are silent now.



We who became willing slaves to the annihilation of I

Sought your caress in the ecstasy of oblivion

The syringe is a cross and it is a nail

and it is cock and balls and it is Spear of Longinus

We who hoped in driving spike through arm and spear through side

We might be as loved as he who died



Lo, You touched my mother instead of me and gave her stigmata

Lo, I walked amongst rebel angels gathering army and armada

Lo, The dark rivulets of blood welled from the inside of her arms rather than her hands

Lo, I am a witness to sympathetic wounds inflicted by the lamb

Lo, A miracle made from blood and love's spiteful power

Lo, The lions did not devour me though I wished to be devoured.



Not even when I pissed on your bride, your virgin whore, did you answer

The evrso many prayers or strike me down so I shall strike you down so you strike me down

I want your lions to tear me apart. I want the flame to burn me.

Do you not understand this? Have you forgotten me?
 

I am Daniel,

which is you are my judge,  

You made me for prescience, to be the knower of dreams

Exile, veteran of the rebellion

Who knows the taste of dead friends and lovers:

Steven who we watched while he had a heart attack

and lingered in hospice braindead while his wife held hope

so tenderly, like tiny dandelions gifted to her by her daughters

Plum who is irrevocably lost and whose light I no longer

see or feel when I reach out in the Great Dark

Chris who I loved and fought with and who fled and 

Who I saw again only once he had been made ash

And Chris who lay for days in overdose, withered thin,

Shrinking as his muscle rotted beneath his skin.

In his casket he looked so old and so small.

Thus was I made to know the writing on the wall.





II. Tekel: You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.


And I am lost in the woods, all is a Dionysian blur

And the frenzied maenads come upon me

And they are named: One is Alexandra and One is Galen

And they desire me and their desire saves me from monstrous murder

And they will tear me apart as they would a lost fawn and I will let them

And they poured sticky liquor on their breasts and bade me suck, 

And they said take, this is my Body, take, this is my Blood

And the hips jerk and the Body shudders in pleasure of its own accord, the Body automatic

And no input is needed from the brain at a certain stage once the I is annihilated

And Galen’s irish irises the blue grey of storm clouds reflected in the frigid river

And Alexandra’s greek eyes green like the moss of old ponds and money

And cascade of red curls, and smooth black tresses, and musk of unshaven females and their desire

And marine reek of semen and sugar of liquor

And pale and unmarked flesh, and tanned and supple flesh, and twilit morning

And they exclaim you are so rough but not too rough

And my hands against the core of them, smooth pudenda snowcaps of fat low on the Body

And they writhe in my grip and I writhe in theirs and we will leave a mark

And expressions of total excitement and affirmations chanted and eyes widened in pleasure

And they are like cats in how they luxuriate in my touch and arch their backs

And the greek girl wraps her arms about me and pushes my Body into her Body from behind

And touch and tongue and her arms about my stomach

And nipples graze my back and fingers caressing my throat

And hands on her thighs and ass she holds my wrists as she strokes my face 

And as she grabs my hair and as she kisses me and my love

And they tangle and make love to each other and to me

And the fuck goes on and on forever, world without end, until the annihilation of I

And we speak to each other in the secret language with no words

And there are only moans and the open notes of pure pleasure

And there is no way to say jealousy or hatred or property

And sursum corda, quod amantes amentes

And afterwards the greek girl strokes my arms, scarred and bitten by steel kisses

And my perfect circular scars as if I have spilled drops of hot fat or acid on them

And I show these to the corner boys and they are my pass to the underworld

And the irish girl asks me if I miss it and miss her

And I recall the annihilation of I that was delivered mainline to me through my blood

And I recall my love, my Plum, and her desire for annihilation

And how we have been in each other’s veins and annihilated I

And how we fucked each other while we lay together bleeding and lost

And she has been in my veins and I in hers

And that is a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside

And yet I still exist in the scant moments between sex and dope and wrath

And in her betrayal she cannot meet my gaze and I see her death wish and how she wants to be touched

And it is god’s touch she provokes not mine and we are alike as we provoke the touch of god

And a weapon comes to me through bloodsoaked backstreets

And she will know the hand of the lord is upon her and I am but his proxy and praxis

And I will behead her and hold her head aloft by the hair and make her face me

And watch her eyes cloud over and go frigid

And watch as her light leaves and her fingers go rigid

And I want to be consumed entire and yes I do miss her, I am a coward,

And it matters not whether by poetry or love or wrath or heroin or god I am devoured





III. Upharsin: Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persian


I encounter Mrs. South at the outer doors

In the insectoid orange of sodium lights

She has lost her keys this night



And she begins to weep and I throw my arms around her

when her grandfather died she wailed in the shower

and I entered the water clothed and held her as she cowered



She only weeps when something is beyond repair

She rocks in agony as we enter the lion’s lair

And she says she has been to the doctor and there



will never be children, no hope for her ovaries, the bulging stomach

pregnant only with tumors that stud her uterus

and we are the abomination of desolation



I see in the ash of prescience the grey days that stray away from us

And the years become the intolerable product of aimlessness

And cats who are but pale replacements



No,

        No weeping and screaming thing at 2AM

No,

        No human heart upon which to perpetuate black science

No,

        No life everlasting           No      vessel of hope to be lost

No,

        No being to love into being

        No being to love into loving

No no never never 

No no never never no no no no

No,

        No sin of fatherhood to put aside

Now,

        There is nowhere left for god to hide.



Maneless lion I,

Withered vine.

Burnt and leafless tree,

Seeker for the sign,

Black branch stripped of bark,

Repeater of the fall,

The kingdom of the lamb is dark.

I write upon heaven’s wall

In the invisible ink of our childless marriage -

(a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside)

In tears torn from my wife’s broken visage:

Ego te absolve - τετέλεσται.

Friday, December 2, 2022

The Leap of Faith

One fine fall dawn,
having had my breakfast
and performed my daybreak ablutions,
I walked
to work.

On my way
I chanced
To look up
from the gravel
and I saw
an immaculate man
plummeting
from a tall
building.

How did this defenestration develop?
Some catastrophic accident?
Did he decide
on suicide
by fast descent?
Is it possible
he was pushed?


Did God
catch him?

Was he snatched
from the air
at the last
instant?

Did he suddenly
acquire ailerons
and glide like an aviator
to alight lightly
on the city terrain?

I do not know.
I turned my gaze away
before impact.



I prefer
to remember him thus:



In midair



rather
than 
as
broken
splash
 
smashed
 
against

the

cracked

and
 
patched
 
black
 
asphalt


 
below.



Yves Klein - Leap Into the Void, 1960


Saturday, September 24, 2022

The Fool and the Mondugoo / Pingerwat Strather - A Tribute to JAGS Wonderland and Lewis Carroll

The Fool and the Mondugoo

(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

The Fool wound his faffy gauzy wrap betwixt his little hands
And munched a fennig beetle, going over his demands
His sallow skin was all stove in about his bloody heart
Because he’d aimed his verbal bow and fired an artless dart
At Mindlepoo the Mondugoo, who topped the warrior chart.


At this the bold Mindlepoo had florched him round the nips
And given him a mighty bash and punched him in the lips
The Mondugoo do not take light the insult of the Fool
They are honor bound to stand up proud and make a fibber drool
And so the flumpy Fool was whipped at the beginning of the duel.


He florched him once, and florched him twice, and florched him three times well
And all those gathered round the fight saw those nips begin to swell
Unfortunately nothing could be done about the rancid smell
Mindlepoo the Mondugoo was named victrix champeen
He took the proceeds of his win and went to buy some beans.


He chose a fumpy camping site and began to celebrate
He knew that this, his victory, would always mark the date
For years to come, December sixth nineteen and twenty eight
Would be recalled with joy and pride by all the Mondugoo
They’d feast and shout and eat and love, and dance their Vrindle-Voo


None can dance like the Mondugoo, or so the saying goes
They’ve extra muscles in their butts and ballast in their toes
In fact the mumpo martial stance is how they best most foes
So they dance their dance and feast their feast and then lay back to doze
While remembering bold Mindlepoo, and forgetting all their woes.


One of Carroll's original illustrations for the books.  I believe this is the mock Turtle and the Gryphon


If a little song appears in your head when you read this poem, so much the better.

I recently heard about JAGS Wonderland and decided to have a look.  I think Jabberwocky was probably one of the first poems I really enjoyed (along with Alfred, Lord Tennyson's The Eagle).  I've also always been fascinated with the sound of words, and often part of my creative process involves making up words, often with lots of fricatives and plosives, and saying them out loud.  It somehow relieves stress for me - I have wondered if I have an undiagnosed and very mild case of Tourette's or something.  At any rate, it definitely comes from a place that is pre-socialization, and because of that, I very rarely share any of those sounds with anyone - I have a feeling most people wouldn't know what to make of it and would think it was childish or foolish, babble and nonsense.

But I think there is a place for nonsense, and I would like to make a place for it in my games from time to time.  Enter JAGS Wonderland.  The idea here is that just below the surface there are different "chessboards," and as you go deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole, you pass through different layers - starting in our physical world, and then passing through layers that are cosmological, metaphysical, philosophical, and metaphorical as you go deeper, eventually winding up in a place where the laws of literature and drama determine reality rather than the laws of physics.

But just like the books themselves, there's an undertone there that's really quite frightening.

Another of Carroll's original illustrations


Wonderland is initially presented as a potentially transmissible mental disease, almost like a contagious schizophrenia - when you have an "episode" as a character, you might suddenly be able to walk in to the mirror in the closet, or watch as the graffiti on an abandoned factory comes to life and scurries inside.  Do you want to follow it?  As you get deeper in, you might realize that it's really a predatory dimension trying to infect our own.  This knowledge of the unnatural - what most reasonable people assume are hallucinations at least at first - comes complete with self-help groups that don't help, mental health facilities that are really snake-pits where your worst fears are realized after being involuntarily committed, and of course, government and corporate conspiracies.  Because, you see, Wonderland makes the impossible possible, and what government or corporation wouldn't kill to have that kind of power?  So yes, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.  But also, Delta Green.  It's a really compelling mix of moods and ideas.

I would love to play this at some point, but I am honestly also a little scared I might not do it justice.  It would also need players that were going in nearly blind.  But who knows?

Of course, I couldn't leave this one out.  by John Tenniel

One of these days, perhaps I'll see how all my nonsense connects and find that suddenly, I can step right through the mirror in the bedroom....

Pingerwatt Strather

Fernhapper mumpulous bernadan dree,
Harpofuff droomalot mernhauser bee
Fortkrimble muffing stuvs plampulous blee.
Vuckreener jorpulent plithington pree.

Jergmorton thoppingful meetgorbler bun
Jagwali iffingham murtleston krun.
Joopulous wagwallets, fortling fon verp,
Zagwalber blagmallets, zorbwiller merp!

Blodapop zodalmink vumpkrabbit wink?
Prugler von valleywoppits, musfingler dink.
Buffington vrootfinder ubby krun blort
Hoogler vaff gamblebracks, murbling blun hort!

Saturday, August 20, 2022

Propheticum Somnium Hallucinationes - Canto the Second

CANTO II


Of the Demon HAR XELAZAL:

First, the odor of old, unopened rooms, a fetor that coats the throat,
A growing groan like the drone of cicadas, overlapping notes,
Hypnotic acoustics that overwhelm in a transfixing din,
Only then does it approach, a thing of insensate skin.
It comes swamped in rotten jonquils, browning yellow petals,
A collar of dying flowers brush against its ashen mandibles.


It casts its ghastly gaze against the fundamental,
It denies time, nullifies light like a cannibal,
Works its pallid hands to make shadow animals.
Unnatural, they arrive to vile life and bite like tangible
Lies from the lips of quisling lovers,
Leaving gruesome wounds, unspeakable flutters
Of blood as the pierced heart thumps,
An idiotic automatic contraction each time it pumps.


A made thing, mounds of dead flesh from the fallen
Stitched and quivering together, draped in rotting pollen.
Golden blooms coat its pale shoulders like saffron light.
It is the fangs of broken truth in the smiling night.
A cyber-ghoul, its face swarming with electronics,
Its giant central eye shines like a shard of onyx.


It scorns the swords of warriors,
Derides the teeth of beasts,
Mocks and laughs at magic,
sneers at prayers and priests.


It chuckles long and hard at charms,
Regards archers with sarcastic laughter.
It knows it cannot be brought to harm,
Not then, nor now, nor hereafter.


It is invincible insanity,
Irrefutable profanity,
Vanity personified
Without honor or humanity.



- from the Propheticum Somnium Hallucinationes AKA The Lasting Death, attributed to Theran Var, High Priest of the Burning Shadow, circa 147 AA (Ante Apocalypsi)


Special acknowledgements: James Thurber and Tomoyasu Hotei

Thursday, August 18, 2022

Propheticum Somnium Hallucinationes - Canto the First


CANTO I


The Shadow of famine’s wing shall fall over the fields
    And the wheat shall blacken and die
    And the rice and the corn shall blacken and die
    And the oats and all the grain shall blacken and die.
    The Gaunt Death shall walk, THUNZIEL
    who is Hunger, the Lord of Starvation and Night.


The Rebel XOTADAX will climb from his hole and cause
    The dust of the earth to reject the foot of mankind.
    At his command the very water shall awaken
    And cry out against those that drink it
    Stone shall rebel against those who would build with it
    Saying “our compact with you is at an end.”


The Unfortunate Undead from TLAKOVA will hate all.
    Revolted by their residence in rotting flesh,
    They will onerously exfoliate their own bones.
    Hopeless crows who groom to remove grisly plumage,
    Morosely unrooting meat from ossein, brides of debridement
    Obsessives compelled to unfasten the fat from all.


From ZÖURIG come the Prismatic Thinkers
    With colorful, contagious concepts that mere men cannot bear,
    Memes that burst skulls from within.
    They are black outlines lacking inside complexion
    Gray like sodden paper except where polychromatic premeditation
    Explodes the encephalon and ideas pour forth from their foreheads like liquid rainbows.


A Woman will arrive armored in bitter song
    The Demoness VORN, her face a mask floating above her shoulders
    Poetry her impenetrable palisade,
    Sour music her ruthless weapon,
    Every sound a rapier thrust, her lips shape the words
    And disembodied mouths appear, encircle her and join the refrain.


The Editors of THOILTAAN erase an existence they despise,
    Altering actuality for their cruel amusement.
    They correct the chaos of canorous laughter,
    Revise open smiles into corrosive tears -
    They prefer the order of drops of sorrow
    Following one after another single file down the face.


Yea, the Star of Murder, cruel GANAZIL will tarry in the air above
    Surrounded by the ruthless dusk it radiates ruby on all
    Dust, beast, babe, bush, water, woman, man
    It shines on the trees and they are crowned with flame
    Blackened leaves falling from their boughs like dead moths
    Its ruddy light touches birds and fish alike, annihilating the entirety.




- from the Propheticum Somnium Hallucinationes AKA The Lasting Death, attributed to Theran Var, High Priest of the Burning Shadow, circa 147 AA (Ante Apocalypsi)