here at the end of all things

Welp, now I am done.

Whelp, now I am done. Take my plate away and wash it with your salty, salty tears. Apparently I am feeling silly today, so I won't claim much space here. Good interweb manners call for reciprocity--though modesty might decree otherwise. Ergo, I must recommend that you flit over to Bought Books for excellent reviews of mostly modestly priced books (and, on occasion, students). Erroneous "fan" labelling of me aside, I highly recommend this blog for your RSS.

fugitive peaces

i'm not entirely convinced
that names need remembering.
that
once lost
they render spirit irretrievable
mustardyellow, ochre, gilded, she peers through the fraying curtains
into nothing
and this is significant.
this
is where - how - when - holocaust begins
seeping, apartheid steeped in gastide

broken mirrors, immobile, fragmented, but whole
and irreducible
the skin, taut under her twentysomething sunkissed
eyelash, smooth as uninterrupted embryo
or unripe starfruit
untangled, unrepentant,
she watches the light refract in
the wayward running raindrop
clinging to existence through
liminal glass.

when she was killed, they said
amelia, bella, sinead, guinevere
was beautiful
and young
brilliant
(unwise)
fresh
(untouched)
was delicate
elegant
and light.
that susan,
jocelyn, anna, dale
will be missed
won't be forgotten
waits
in the tightest clutches of heaven
for those who remember her.

but she is watching still
watching, still,
exposition dense and unreadable
as the rain breaks loose and sinks into
pungent loam.

feudal

because for some reason this is what came to mind. Why? Goodness. (Expletive or otherwise, take your pick.) If everything is perennially elusive -- including my ability to parse coherently and type appropriately -- then what exactly is there to be gained? Nothing, of course. Therein lies the eternal beauty of the world; it is meaningless, non-moral (as opposed to amoral); there's plenty of room to care as you will where you like of you choose. Your impact is effortless and infinite, unknowable and untraceable, and absolutely essential in its non-essence. You are breathing the souls of the universe, their bodies; you are never touching and never separate; you are absolutely individual and impossible to extricate. You not only can change the world, but are completely incapable of not doing so. Your complacence or combustion sparks, jives, sails. You have been everywhere, everywhen in the universe...and are there, then, now. You know everything you will ever need and absolutely nothing concrete. You are already complete in your profound emptiness. You can breathe out, now. You made it. Shall we?

spirit[ed] away (a way; aw, ay?)

The resilience of the human spirit (alright, spirit at all) never ceases to amaze me. Despondence, mortification, pain, suffering -- everywhere, an omnipresence of Pandora's eternal guilt complex waiting to be affirmed, embraced, acknowledged. And there is always, perennially, choice. The pain, as she earnestly confided, is one thing...suffering, as much as I've connected the two, is optional. It is in counting the out-breaths that we can really feel the release of each individual moment. Perhaps this is how I conceive of a moment as a unit of time -- the passage between each glorious exhalation.

Conspiratiorial...conspiritorial? Spirit and halation are entwined, tangled, inextricably. The difference, when one is perceived, is in the perceiver; the locus remains eternally inaccessible, elusive and dynamic. It is least phenomenological in stasis, however, which is as compelling an argument as any I've ever encountered for flexibility of my self (myself, my's elf, etc ad nauseam). I'd like to perceive infinite possibility recirocally, or strive and seek, forgoing finding to never yield.

responses

There were two (or two and a half) postcards I wanted to respond out loud to immediately this week (on Postsecret); I will proceed to do so in text instead.


As much as I get this (and I really, really do), it makes me sad. I'd like to think, still, based entirely on Campbellian faith, that you, whoever you are, will be proven erroneous. There's something potentially exquisite about any kind of intimacy. Don't rush it, though. Don't force it, or you will find that you repeatedly prove yourself right. I've done it. I'm done it. I send you, stranger, a digital hug that you will likely never receive...but just because you have not experienced it yet, does not mean that it is not there to be experienced. It's waiting for you, whenever you are ready.



Yes! Just, yes. This is fantastic. We seem to be drifting in such a sea of irony and sarcasm that no one is willing to take risks anymore, because they're too risky. Eventually, though, you have to take the plunge and try things you've never experienced. It's the only way we'll find solutions of any kind. So, balls deep, population of Earth. See you on the other side.

evolved?

how does anything -- god, allah, evolution, eru -- account for tigers? snapdragons? pachelbel's canon in d? how can anyone explain, in any way that's even remotely meaningful, sentences parsed? the mona lisa? raspberry-banana gluten-free high-fibre muffins? juicy mullet cinnamon gum?

you?

trapeze swinging

Copyright, what? Who even needs to contribute to society's creative output when you can simply steal the works of others?

Kidding, kidding. It's a dry, wry evening where it's much easier to perform bitter cynicism embroiled in fatality than dewy-eyed innocent bubbles. And here is reborn the question of balance; is it something discoverable, something to be exposed, or is it ready and waiting to be simply recognized? And is balance necessarily calmness and fortitude? Cannot the cliched rollercoaster be just as balanced as an unruffled pool? Why is questioning so taboo in our society? When did we grow beyond uncertainty? If every detail is irretrievable or -reconcilable from the weave, then why can't we focus without decision? Why do we need to know...anything?

Please, remember me
Happily
By the rosebush laughing
With bruises on my chin
The time when
We counted every black car passing
Your house beneath the hill
And up until
Someone caught us in the kitchen
With maps, a mountain range,
A piggy bank
A vision too removed to mention
But

Please, remember me
Fondly
I heard from someone you're still pretty
And then
They went on to say
That the pearly gates
Had some eloquent graffiti
Like 'We'll meet again'
And 'Fuck the man'
And 'Tell my mother not to worry'
And angels with their gray
Handshakes
Were always done in such a hurry
And

Please, remember me
At Hallowe'en
Making fools of all the neighbours
Our faces painted white
By midnight
We'd forgotten one another
And when the morning came
I was ashamed
Only now it seems so silly
That season left the world
And then returned
And now you're lit up by the city
So

Please, remember me
Mistakenly
In the window of the tallest tower call
Then pass us by
But much too high
To see the empty road at happy hour
Leave and resonate
Just like the gates
Around the holy kingdom
With words like 'Lost and Found' and 'Don't Look Down'
And 'Someone Save Temptation'
And

Please, remember me
As in the dream
We had as rug-burned babies
Among the fallen trees
And fast asleep
Beside the lions and the ladies
That called you what you like
And even might
Give a gift for your behaviour
A fleeting chance to see
A trapeze
Swing as high as any savior
But

Please, remember me
My misery
And how it lost me all I wanted
Those dogs that love the rain
And chasing trains
The coloured birds above there running
In circles round the well
And where it spells
On the wall behind St. Peter's
So bright with cinder gray
And spray paint
'Who the hell can see forever?'
And

Please, remember me
Seldomly
In the car behind the carnival
My hand between your knees
You turned from me
And said 'The trapeze act was wonderful
But never meant to last'
The clown that passed
Saw me just come up with anger
When it filled with circus dogs
The parking lot
Had an element of danger
So

Please, remember me
Finally
And all my uphill clawing
My dear
But if I make
The pearly gates
Do my best to make a drawing
Of God and Lucifer
A boy and girl
An angel kissing on a sinner
A monkey and a man
A marching band
All around the frightened trapeze swingers