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.
Fiction, poetry, thoughts on Dungeons & Dragons and other RPGs, Adeptus Titanicus and Warhammer, music, art, and random creativity. Also, from time to time, cats.
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Saturday, August 12, 2023
Last one for now
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.
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.
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.
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.
- Mellowpaw*
- Mr. Sound
- Ambassador Azrael Extraordinary
- Wild Widow Diligent
- Mickey Barcode
- Artemis Ruqualash
- The Glacier
- Zeppelin Bone
- Judicial System
- Soft Red Glow
- Gravity Need Not Apply
- Precision Instrument
- Possession Is Nine Tenths of the Law
- Open the Door Close the Door Open the Door
- Mercury Gaze
- This Is For You
- Murderclaw*
- Silence of the Aeons
- Assigned Viewing
- Virtue of Inaction
- Death Prophet
- Bonnie Billy Bewildering
- Zipslide Flipside Zoomwilder
- Effortless Grace
- Twill Trill Ear Drill
- Unconscious Desire
- Drag It From the Sky
- Effective Technique
- Once More but Faster and Slyer
- Drifting Bit of Fur
- Take the Babies and Run
- Grandfather Ruin
- Edith Escape Claws
- Saul of the Sumptuous Banquet
- Amadeus Attitude
- Obdurate Octavia Outrageous
- Mona Low Moan
- The Wiggler
- Randy Randall One-eye
- Silky Soft Saboteur
- Lightning Follows Me
- Fastest Path
- I Will Leave A Marcus
- Nate Abhors a Vacuum
- Thomas Turning Tail & Timothy Twisting Tail (these always show up together)
- Perhaps I Didn’t Think This Through
- Izzy Edible
- Twilight’s Heavy Burden
- Critical Hit
- Special Handling
- Current Resident
- Relaxed Atmosphere
- All Things Must Be Devoured
- Cruthington Murder Mitten
- Depth Perception
- Sleek Sweet Susan Deepsleep
- Now How Do I Get Down
- Withering Look
- Shady Sheamus Shameless
- Jellobelly the Pirate
- Soft Killer
- The Infanticide
- Megakratheon**
- This Is My Stomach There Are Many Like It But This One Is Mine
- Howling Fury
- The Hidden Thing
- Sleep Deprived
- Rogue Agent
- Slick Sammy Switchblade
- Loosed Upon The World
- Vasebreaker
- The Surly Churl
- Emperor Steven Eventide
- Number Six
- Willing Prisoner
- Tell Me About the Rabbits
- Double Action
- Marvelous Mildred Midwinter
- The Moon in Daylight
- Ethan Socksbury of Fethingham
- Slackmaster J
- Beauty Set to Music
- The Zorn of Zorna
- Ivan Invisible
- I Go Unnoticed
- The Thorn
- Diffident Dancer
- Best In Life
- The Squint
- Harold Herald of Heroes
- Real Gone
- The Hip Gahn
- Wholly Devoid of Sympathy
- Softest Fur In the Universe
- Enjambment
- Anapest Dactyl
- The Missing Ingredient
- Is It Breakable
- I Was Made For This Box
- 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
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
I am Daniel,
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.
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,
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?
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
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
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
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,
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 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
In the invisible ink of our childless marriage -
(a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside)
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
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 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
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,
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
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.
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
a
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)
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)
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
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.
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)
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