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 

Holy water, mother of god

Look at these closely. Imagine one of them blown up to three by four feet and printed onto canvas. Amazingly beautiful, don't you think? Want to pay for it to be done?  I would love to see a couple of these on a large scale.....

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 it in two parts 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 7: Nobody’s business but mine

But really who cares of the man and his new order rot & metal deer, what of the girl, the girl

innocent and newly made from old things, like fresh water and wild crags floating away

floating on the green boat towards the ufo boy from the waking dream, the lift of star fire dark

in between the shadows, the shades, the broken ghost dogs and pits of men with teeth in gold

the cities of Victorian tv towers standing on invisible clouds of white, & sickness hiding wings

From above they are scattered out like black ants moving in all directions, a living information

constantly decorating themselves, they are powerless and innocent liars, unaware of the worlds

drowned in burning up from the inside out, unawares of the abounding fullness within reach of

memories and baroque islands of autonomous freedom, beauty up with yards left of feral black

but, visions of fire burning on TV screens all night long, right down below that long grey day

How to get out, is there a way, the sun rose, the beach got hot, and he was buried still in the deep

how in the hell is it going you ask me over and over again mindlessly mimicking each other one

ominously, goddamn it, there is poison in our skin and water and breath now you grinning fools

his thoughts dissipated and the glare hurt his eyes and the seagulls circled  like vultures of bread

just another empty head looking out and waiting for something that never comes

Wait he was a dad used to make rock and roll paintings of of

so there was a girl in a green boat, right, where did she go and after the fire what does he do

and he hung them the paintings around the outside of the house for what, for what seemed like

abstract unintentionalities, as he called them smiling making fun of himself cause why not why

and he did his suffering in private to the amusement of his plants and made a dime have doubts

A mother, a daughter, a lover, a ghost of an old woman or all in all & what was this girl anyway

the day’s sharp light and the fall of the moon and the writing to loose to matter to anyone but me

I know she was there in the green water under and over and somewhere the rain was falling up

Somewhere in an alley I began somewhere on the dark side of this planet falling up &

bunches of black power cables wrapped and penetrated the moss and black puddles reflecting me

I am thick and somewhere the rain fell in a dying desert, tall buildings with their powers stripped

and she was them in their silent mud beds and she was there in the there that wasn’t

and the rain grey sky like a ceiling of safety from the outside world and the heat and the sun &

magical life sprang up from the dead dry tyranny and was not there but here with you and me

and it fell on the inside too, and was there in the before falling out of a black hole making space

Back into the white me she went and she was there in the falling into bed

keyboard and movies you watch trying to forget the sky and dying before she awoke

passing away to somewhere else, she was in the fall of the broken lovely exasperated moon

the black sun

waiting for you

Crash

The ancient battle