trash and treasure

why oh why i cry i try to cry but nothing comes out i pout but nothing i said nothing comes about. ah i sticketh my lower lip out for you. fo r uou. you-ou ou. ou of the shou. should i go whre?
what's a matta, ewe? yew? yes yew solstice soul stiss Twiss tree. red am i not. white am i not. blue i am not. bleed i red and it turns brown into the earthen color. dolor. cholor. melancholor i had a sad. i has a sad. a dad. dolorous sad. hope not a sad ddad.
Bag dad? bag sad? radio trip to birmigham bamb bama bama i

i aim for a rora a rohra rorate et dulcienea a dulcimenr is a sweetest sound dulcet in star sonstellationa black vests and stripy scarves or a tern, a nine-tern-ate-Ifor, a poor welsh wormie. go wormie go wormi go! go emo kid go! i crush on you ...crush i on you something big something fierce as your black feathred wing invisible as a cuckolds horns, but understnad i not what thou singest. remind me you of mr MACphisto not mephistopleeeeeeees
yer a hobbit with suspenders
i want yer stripy scarf doooooooooood
kelsey u muss be gettin hot in dat sportscote.

he and his ghost is dancing simulatatneusly
understand i not but "i'll be ok...more than i can take...and it's vag you'll want to be??? thi sis overwhelming " SCREAMO SCREAMO KID yer throt'll be hertin d00d
you muss be hott in that sportscoat
stick to the guidelines and ...derit? dert?
a vacuole wannabe?

oh mr chewning this punkish thrashing is very eciting...and so is yer hair ...this can be a bacchanale and you can be an avatar of bacchus, k? no drunkenication, but just intoxication of shamanbeats and vibrartion of air, deafining, and drunk on hormones and danceing and rokin and rollin to the BEAT the beatified beat rocking bassline mining the bass clef and boom bom boom booming "so hysterical" "Lets see allyer hands in the air...thats how afa rolls...keepit goin ...hold me down holdme down...freaksing ...cancer bats and rackets..." i wanna mash yer face with mine. OH YEAH! yer ears your voice makin my ears bleed blood of llllovoove most butiful chaso ever EVAR!
chaos i mena CHAOS! chaocity od noice of noisi clarinet bass asplzhun in ma earrrrs TOOT TOO MUCH SCREAMO-ing i wish i could hear yer wreds werds but for now i am just yellow and red lights and hyphnotization
we/i idenitfy objectify object person on screenstage whose jeans tern greans from yella light bodies roack and roll teach me to rockin rooollll

solving crime wile weee sing sily songs of LIEUUUTANT DA_ANNNN! ink fluffy cowpigs

bang bang band tell me how it is in red and blue lites show me your lips goth boy i wanna read them cus i cant hear them

too much transit grabbing you? is that waht you say

pentecost explodes the sky like a fluttering panoply of white birdswings...doveswings...dovesings in a thousand spokenlanguages
lekha dodi...she is mindaltered by the drmbeats and she calls him "my Dodi Al-Fayed" and she tries to nibble his ear and say "Dodi, i'll be your Diana, come on let's come out of this hazy darkened club to the fresh moonsweet* air. C'mon my baby, lets go out and see me, lets go out an' see ME in the sky, shining like newly whitened tteeth" and she nibles his ear with lipblunted teeth and she pulls him by his sweatshined wrist into the moonlight, clear and cool and silver. the trees were dark shadowes and silverblue light flowed to either side of them, making stripes on the grass and they heard the music of crickets overrtaking the now-growing-muffled drum'n'bass beats they left behind.
"out here, you c'n hear the earth sing, luv."
he was quiet. the moonlight colored his face light blue. she leand closer and put her ear to his slightly-parted lips to hear his breathing, then put it to his chest to hear the heartbeat. she started to chant in synch with this beat. "heart heart heart heart...yes...Riley, you are a shaman. You have been a shaman since your birth...no, since before your birth, your chest-drum beating since 12 weeks along. dance to it my love. dance with me."
he slowly raised his arms from his sides as though becoming cruciform or becoming a levitating eagle. his hair was like raven feathers on his face. she drew her hands along his arms, from his shoulders to his hands. she clasped his hands and slowly drew them down to hip level. She started to gently tap his right foot with her left foot, to the beat of his heart. then he started to tap his own feet, alternating, as though marching, and then their feet stomped the grassy earth together, and the beat grew faster and faster until their legs hurt from weariness and finally they collapsed on the green grass, flat on their backs, feet to feet, hearts pounding, chests heaving, minds trancing.
and they saw the full moon wane to a crescent, and the crescent looming closer to them, and touching them with its two points, and flooding them with its white silver blue light. and they saw the moon's craters, and living creatures in them, with frozen and unfrozen water, a beautiful devastating moonscape, and footprints undisturbed by any wind in millenia, and astronaut bootprints, and a strange flag of red and white stripes and a blue corner with rows of 5-pointed figures, so foreign-seeming at first, and then they recognized it. for a moment they had been thinking as mooncreatures. and the moon waned further still, until the slender crescent disappeared and all was dark.
then they were lying on the grass in the night.

*thanks to Rebekah Maxwell

i'm ba-ack!

written 11/06/08

i find my forgetfulness
postponing celebration unawares,
forgetting until an hour
an hour after the cross-
quarter to remember,to
observe, to pray, to think,
ponder, meditate on the meaning
of this fleeting month in
the spinning, rotating, and
revolving of this planet. i
forgot the morning valediction
and the sun-set
greeting, but i didn't forget
the ceremony in late afternoon
cloaked with gusting,
biting wind and
spotty dark
gray clouds
blotting out the
sky which hid behind. My
candles have not forgotten,
nor my incense,
burning and curling like a
frightened centipede on
red Zairian dirt. The
bizarre exotic scent permeates
the room, lingering
even after extinction of
the glowing coal, evoking
cellular ancestral memory--
spiritual or bloodline--of
Zoroastrian magi, astrologers
with their offerings for the
Kindler of the stars, camels
huffing and snorting clouds
of condensation in the
cold December air, the desert
is cold at night and a rare
species of snowflake dances
in Baghdad skies. I
wonder if Daniel ever knew
the cold of snowflakes on
desert nights, or did the
fabulous Hanging Garden grow
in richer, more fertile
soil, like the Sumerian crescent
paying obeisance to the prefiguration
sun-child, Inanna, solstice-born,
descending and returning
and conquering and harrowing
the Underworld with rays of
undeniable lunar radiation,
gravity pulling all to herself
like tidal waves, illuminating
every nook of hell and
every cranny
of Dumuzi,
latent
lapsed
lover,
waystrayed,
prodigal,
but returning to her light like
a moth, a resurrective butterfly.
Its butter-colored
wings fluttered by two days
ago in the little green
north meadow, reflecting
the yellow of sun too warm
for the deep autumn, but
hey, it's Ioway, many Indian
summers, now and to come.

Two years, two revolutions
previous, i saw a butterfly
flutter by in that November,
and my mind's own butterfly
alighted on the
flower of thought, a thought
of changing climate, of dark
(and hot) forebodings of a
future lake of fire on earth. Tongues
deny and deny, but the glaciers shrink
as years go by. This next layer
of ice will bear the marks of
cleaner air, the people have
spoken in favor of cleaner breathing,
no more smog masks or children
with underdeveloped lungs. Snuff
out your light; this fossil fuel
addiction will make you a fossil
in undue time.

the black basking bast
cat has ears leaning forward
like a ferengi for every
vibration and twitter of
sound, her eyes
like almonds
blend into
her face, pupils
waxing to take
in more light
from the dimness that surrounds
her this evening.

Example of an attempt (of mine) at automatic writing

Voices of the deasert sky, sky inspired flame sky burns, spoils kept, wastes of death of plants and eden. Gone is eden for today. Blowing ram’s horns in the dust, traces of spears long dead, voices of passions long burned out. Sorry sorrows dired dried up like tears long ago in a land far way where the desert speaks of avarice but also Avalon, what heaven did Elijah see? Sing birds of flutes fruited to roots. Fruited and nutted and birded and animaled! Like she say, she said. Ha little slow stepping void a innocence. A childermas gotten forgetten. Verboten. Oh freia o peace pax irena! Kimia. O sing to me of fruition, not tuition. Oh sweet longing of the soul for heaven, Avalon, eden, to the west, the gray havens of mirth, of birth, of earth. To the sea, where blue meets blue, sky meets sky, space meets space. Love “pours down in a shower” a shower of power and grace. Heaven, what outer or inner space, the place. Heavens over the tawny rainbow, stormy, where heaven bends away from hell. Little girls, maidens playing in the dusk rain, safe. Oh safe. Sing a song of hope, Nadezhda! O sing. O sing. Please, love, peace wage peace. Breathe easy, love. Breathe easy. Like the moon throwing a silver mantle of light over earth, naked earth when the stars began to sing. Oh joy, oh ode, oh song! Oh song of Aslan, the lion of the tribe. O lion of God! Oh sweet gold, sweet marriage of silver and gold, time untold. O sweet peace. Goodnit goodnight. Ah.

Yes, this is my new blog

I was inspired by the "Lutheran Surrealism" blog at lutheransurrealism.blogspot.com, but I am not Lutheran; rather, I am soon joining the Evangelical Covenant Church, in which I pretty much grew up.