asleep with the angels

There is no Fermi Paradox

more than one can bear

Don't believe everything you think

sinking into the west coast

glitch in the matrix

The astonishing rise of the Anthropocene

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Chapter 10: Thunder and lightning bear smash the squad

Host of the true and the brave and the innocent

infinite speed at any moment at the last moment in the moment of inertia

for the myriad gods and mothers and guilty soldiers

who believe in the lie of the dead, to play a weary slow dirge for the tortured

across the misty beach at night with the cold wind blowing hard and the roar of the surf

And assume the form of their various days, your thousands of days and years of the dream

white sheets would blow in ghost windows where it lasts and you forget time

sit at the slowly floating piano playing beautifully and sadly

human shapes like pearls under the full moon of her ripe days

gentle gristle of rubbed sea sand, the whales and elders, to the seagull and rocks

The foamed spray and salt air, all lost to time

like the gods of fallen heroes, covered in long dried black blood, deep in the ground

the piano would at times actually float apart, gliding and then moan before it smashed               

and then trillions of wooden pieces, all put back together before the morning sun rose

and then out of its joints and then its life without mass, only light and non-time fishing

And then like a modern hand gun

and then it forming itself into a black metal bird, large and alive

and then it rains out across the wet rocks in a musical production

and then like a sharp bell shaped retort, gabriel’s horn never ends

shooting its own ivory into the endless galaxies

And at that moment a large wave did flourish and a rush of gargantuan sea flotsam

and in its chaotic dictatorial force it flung me across the jagged rocks

boom and then carried into the hereafter with all absolute violence extinguished

all inundated by the appearances of shades in the nothing, as they did appear

and tumbled about by roaring white sea foam , cleaned of material force by my dome

deeply down into the darkened night at the bottom of the sea

where all kisses cease to be

a place where only the new rain was ever born from again

a place lost to the world of the dark abject spirits

those deluded advocates of material satisfaction

Back to the one free and absolute peace

where the memory is not  forgotten, and the thoughts are light again like a child

back to where the green wooden boat lands softly down, in the pages of earth

Mirror

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Chapter 9: A bird named Justice

She paraded herself around the denizens of the outer world, a beautiful bird named Justice

she scampered in the brown fallen leaves and worlds like a harpy on steroids, made of metal

deep green and ancient moss, all below the rusted houses, bathed in the fiery white waterfalls

surrounded by silent deer and shadows with quiet watchful eyes, the blankets turned to mud

shelters for fears forgotten and other assorted tombs of old egos, wooden bombs, blasted refuge

She was of all and infinity particle, a human creation and the wave transcendent at the same time

in those meanderings, no one spoke, no one needed to or dared to, because justice kept tally

she lived there and here and could not be held down or stopped from the seeing of your life

with ancient talons she scratched out the score and placed it in a box of eyes and faded years

parchments of words crossed out in yellow as the day died and was reborn anew in the one dawn

Her hut of jutting sticks was decorated in burnished gold with feathers and scarabs, for a host

and there were stone paths, all leading to a dark cavern filled with fiery bits of plastic in blue

a cathedral whose floor glittered in jagged teal and blonde, whites pearl flashes under the ice

a space decorated in deaths amoral zeal, cursing the bride’s whim with kisses of reciprocal dust

politicians and soldiers that knew better but now sighed forever in the bleached bones of duty

She cursed and screamed to the expanding dark, talons ripping away the edge of a lost cause

being true to one’s own soul a sea of hard paper waving anyway in cyclical desperation, let go

it punctured their hearts and thought spilled animals and ran into the eyes of embarrassment

and so she tore out those eyes and was natural and belonged everywhere and had no mercy

a bird in a harpy’s mask, in a suit of Anubis, painted like the killer clown, weighing your love

Blood like oil ran over rock and spilled into the pure water, spreading like hate and killing life

while they smile and chat and pretend all is well, it stared out into the inevitable grey roads

coal black smoke ended the days of fairy mushrooms and fog and rain, the moss that whispers

your body is nothing to them protected behind their guns and they spit into our faces as we die

flapping her wings in broad quiet strokes she watched above him, into the ocean she would fly 

No time no earth no matter she would look down into the mind and through the little houses

a sphere like a grand piano held in her weird white hands, sounding of black sails filled by wind

curses of the blessed and kind beat of loves drum, granite beach rocks talk to the sea spray foam

Demeter’s stable promise broken by human greed, a shield made by tongues of fear and slavery

and the great bird named Justice worked in the seams of nothing and no space unfilled by light

Shadow take me down with you for the last time, for the last time

can you hear me, oh god, adhering to these last and invisible laws, for you alone

slowing down to the sway and tumble of the long dying mathematical spiral?

Bell Scratches

Sacrifice

water is life

our little place on the world

waves apon waves apon waves

From inside the cave

 

                                                     EVERYTHING IS FREE

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

NOTE: Book of the Fallen Blood Moon is just a writing experiment in the WSB cut-up method. 

I had started a surrealistic story about a young girl in a green boat outside of cultural categories of reality and ended up hating it and decided to cut the page into two parts and tape it back together and re-write it and consequently started to like parts of it. Still not done, here is part 7 and 8. Don't look for any deep meaning because there is none.... 

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Chapter 8: Return of the Eagle

And in your heart all over the cold city, and the swing and the moon you loved and cried out to

When she broke, when she broke and the hollow park called out to sweet death from that place

Fallen black wings and horns and the many cigarettes and the night’s light’s all around you

The ancient overgrown cemetery watching the thousands come and go, smoking and crying out

From the darkness and one day that just faded and her illusion reappeared to take away your pain

But it never did, it never does, and the pain and the pressure to be loved grew and gnawed away

And then the pattern was seen and eventually she was someone else, always out of reach

So we make do and fool ourselves with words again and again and again, pigeons with swords

And then you never even noticed it happening but it happened, it happens if you persevere

And it captured something inside of yourself and faded away into you

Looked for and always there floating away out of reach is the way it has always worked

And now she is never seen and never lost having become one with you, the angel and her violin

Her hand extended towards yours over the still water, staying into the dusk with the loons

But still out of reach of the little green boat; floating, shimmering, living in the silver water

Of waves ever-present, complex and tangled, intermingled with the thoughts we believe in

Into her mind where the cars fell up mountain water and fire burned in a ball of blue flame

Her hand streaked through the air and landed on a beam of blue bird, sailing away with time

Long yellow tail feathers trailing exotic and iridescent, cutting paths in the ancient woods

She was fiery hard smooth brown wood without scratches, like moss and eons of flowers

And she became eagle flying far above the ground, free & unmade from all human creations

The eagle flew into the clouds and disappeared and in its place emerged one of the furies

She hated all men and her fierce yellow eyes burned with hatred and contempt for all things

From above they paraded their ugly arrogant heads, symbols born aloft and the blood would pool

She would swoop down and carve a deep red gouge in their lives with delight and scream last

While they ran around squawking in true mortal fear of the truth and it spilled into their eyes

And she would laugh and know unless opposed, they would turn her world to ruinous ashes

And she would fly onto the deep forest green last, blind and crying out helplessly like babies

Filling their ears and luring them to the edge of the precipice grass and whisper like a friend

And into their human hands against the cool lava of empty space until they floundered in blood

Flapping and waving their arms about and screaming into a black abyss crawling with gravity

And its black hand would reach up and pull them into annihilation, blotted out by yellow light

She always took out the guilty first and left the bugs to devour them

and they deserved it

and she left the innocent to die by their own hand or be ravaged by the goddess bitch of time