Inspiration...Sadness...and whatever life takes
Monday, October 19, 2009
Apropos
Noise moves me not, when
Measures Perfunctory; Little Heart.
Gestures make better.
cuRRent...jer
¶ 3:04 PM 
Sunday, August 09, 2009
amice
we ask why the family is better, because the others are not:
the water is not, the stock is thicker.
such are the tunes that have been sung: thankless man
and creatures who crawl outside the house
outside our gates; away from our fences:
the mob in bloody reverence.
in this infestation, there are
no words found, no blood bound. but
hymns and pleasing fiction on their lips:
music to the ears; noise to the soul.
but when i have no benefit left of me
and less in yours, less for you:
that there is little now of you to tug on me
that there is little now of you to tug on me.
cuRRent...jer
¶ 3:46 PM
we ask why the family is better, because the others are not:
the water is not, the stock is thicker.
such are the tunes that have been sung: thankless man
and creatures who crawl outside the house
outside our gates; away from our fences:
the mob in bloody reverence.
in this infestation, there are
no words found, no blood bound. but
hymns and pleasing fiction on their lips:
music to the ears; noise to the soul.
but when i have no benefit left of me
and less in yours, less for you:
that there is little now of you to tug on me
that there is little now of you to tug on me.
cuRRent...jer
¶ 3:46 PM
Amice,
If you are well, I am not.
Because the water is not, we ask why the stock is better. Such
are the tunes that have been sung: thankless man and creatures,
the great mob outside the house - - outside our fences - - no words
found - - no blood bound. But hymns and pleasing fiction on
his lips: music to the ears; noise to the soul. That,
When I have no benefit left of me - - and less of yours; less
for you - - there is little now of you to tug on me; there is little
now of you to tug on me.
Farewell, man and animal.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 2:44 PM
If you are well, I am not.
Because the water is not, we ask why the stock is better. Such
are the tunes that have been sung: thankless man and creatures,
the great mob outside the house - - outside our fences - - no words
found - - no blood bound. But hymns and pleasing fiction on
his lips: music to the ears; noise to the soul. That,
When I have no benefit left of me - - and less of yours; less
for you - - there is little now of you to tug on me; there is little
now of you to tug on me.
Farewell, man and animal.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 2:44 PM
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Indiscretion
Honesty is clearest at midnight:
the mind is bare;
the heart fatigued. That,
We are truly naked when closest to sleep - - the silence is
piercing; and our fingers opposing; and the web-wrangled
hands to our lips - - truth is an intractable animal
gnawing on the chain; tugging at the cage; scratching
teeth; ready to pour out of a mouth. Then,
It is free; yet it matters not. For,
There is nothing left to bilk, because we know
we will soon forget when dawn arrives. But,
Never underestimate the vulnerabilities of the night:
they are more than one, and they will catch us
in the morning.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 9:55 PM
Honesty is clearest at midnight:
the mind is bare;
the heart fatigued. That,
We are truly naked when closest to sleep - - the silence is
piercing; and our fingers opposing; and the web-wrangled
hands to our lips - - truth is an intractable animal
gnawing on the chain; tugging at the cage; scratching
teeth; ready to pour out of a mouth. Then,
It is free; yet it matters not. For,
There is nothing left to bilk, because we know
we will soon forget when dawn arrives. But,
Never underestimate the vulnerabilities of the night:
they are more than one, and they will catch us
in the morning.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 9:55 PM
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Elevator
It couldn't have been more ordinary.
Out the gate: the slippers; the keys; then the wait.
The elevator arrived; Squeaky Feet saw me from
the inside - - sliding doors; little gaps - - by the
corner of his eyes. He rushed out - - shoes; air;
ducks; and rabbits- - a quick grab; and his
toddler hands were on my
adult arms.
"Quick, quick!"
This was an adventure; a race against time.
And when we jumped across from the lobby - -
collapsing floors; crackling lights; raving fires - -
into the safety of the lift, he heaved a huge - -
a sigh of relief,
then gushed.
"We got in; we got in!"
cuRRent...jer ¶ 11:30 PM
It couldn't have been more ordinary.
Out the gate: the slippers; the keys; then the wait.
The elevator arrived; Squeaky Feet saw me from
the inside - - sliding doors; little gaps - - by the
corner of his eyes. He rushed out - - shoes; air;
ducks; and rabbits- - a quick grab; and his
toddler hands were on my
adult arms.
"Quick, quick!"
This was an adventure; a race against time.
And when we jumped across from the lobby - -
collapsing floors; crackling lights; raving fires - -
into the safety of the lift, he heaved a huge - -
a sigh of relief,
then gushed.
"We got in; we got in!"
cuRRent...jer ¶ 11:30 PM
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Valentine
Husk. It was drawn out:
Through motions; through the money.
It was a special day,
You were such the gentlemen;
Me: the bitch to your desires.
Husks. You were, I was:
Pulling out the chairs; the spoons.
It was a funny day,
In a month that never slept,
In a year that never leapt.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 7:11 PM
Husk. It was drawn out:
Through motions; through the money.
It was a special day,
You were such the gentlemen;
Me: the bitch to your desires.
Husks. You were, I was:
Pulling out the chairs; the spoons.
It was a funny day,
In a month that never slept,
In a year that never leapt.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 7:11 PM
Friday, February 13, 2009
Now
It wasn't too long ago: when the Now was fading to a slow- - so slow- - so slow- - that I could no more stand to walk the Now. So slow, that I could no more just wait, just wait to run the future. So slow that I could no more just wait, just wait to turn those little cogwheels of funny-dandy time to my fancies- - fancies which were already racing and dancing down with hormones through signs and crossroads. The way I see it: time was straggling backwards and behind- - buckling under its own locomotion- - as I rushed the tickling seconds, the minutes, and the years- - secretly hoping that time would just catch up, and make my growing up so much easier and official.
I figured time was swallowed by its own indolence: time was constantly pulled back, held back, arm-twisted back by its own invention and its own genius. The numbers on the fringe of the clock had order: and the order had to follow with the hands and pointing fingers. Or else, the world would once again, deserve the chaos we had tried to obliterate. Look at it this way: time, the very concept of time is a stay against atrophy so that life and direction- as we know it- can exist, and move forward.
But, time is a failure. It is cruel in its slothful slowness - - so slow that it is almost inertia, almost stagnant- - cruel in its sluggard sluggishness. It cannot progress from one to four without skipping the two and three; it cannot progress from may to august without skipping the june and july. Time is petty that way, and it has to be obeyed.
Yet I couldn't wait to grow up. I couldn't understand how that particular failure could actually be a gift to humanity. I just wanted to run the future and never wanted, ever, ever to walk the Now. No more.
That was then: Now, I sit here. Only hoping for Now to be slower, Now to be Now.
Crawl, Now. Crawl, Now, there.
Now the paces, the phases.
Now, you ought to crawl.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 8:25 PM
It wasn't too long ago: when the Now was fading to a slow- - so slow- - so slow- - that I could no more stand to walk the Now. So slow, that I could no more just wait, just wait to run the future. So slow that I could no more just wait, just wait to turn those little cogwheels of funny-dandy time to my fancies- - fancies which were already racing and dancing down with hormones through signs and crossroads. The way I see it: time was straggling backwards and behind- - buckling under its own locomotion- - as I rushed the tickling seconds, the minutes, and the years- - secretly hoping that time would just catch up, and make my growing up so much easier and official.
I figured time was swallowed by its own indolence: time was constantly pulled back, held back, arm-twisted back by its own invention and its own genius. The numbers on the fringe of the clock had order: and the order had to follow with the hands and pointing fingers. Or else, the world would once again, deserve the chaos we had tried to obliterate. Look at it this way: time, the very concept of time is a stay against atrophy so that life and direction- as we know it- can exist, and move forward.
But, time is a failure. It is cruel in its slothful slowness - - so slow that it is almost inertia, almost stagnant- - cruel in its sluggard sluggishness. It cannot progress from one to four without skipping the two and three; it cannot progress from may to august without skipping the june and july. Time is petty that way, and it has to be obeyed.
Yet I couldn't wait to grow up. I couldn't understand how that particular failure could actually be a gift to humanity. I just wanted to run the future and never wanted, ever, ever to walk the Now. No more.
That was then: Now, I sit here. Only hoping for Now to be slower, Now to be Now.
Crawl, Now. Crawl, Now, there.
Now the paces, the phases.
Now, you ought to crawl.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 8:25 PM
Thursday, January 29, 2009
If
If our clothes weren't on the floor, our bodies smacking against
each other, our unruly mouths coming up for air ever-so-often,
I would have whipped out the rosary from my pocket to chant
so many hail-maries: "We are eternally grateful to the Creator
for sex; for thine is the kingdom. Oh my God, the holy crap.
Fuck me again, please."
cuRRent...jer ¶ 12:08 AM
If our clothes weren't on the floor, our bodies smacking against
each other, our unruly mouths coming up for air ever-so-often,
I would have whipped out the rosary from my pocket to chant
so many hail-maries: "We are eternally grateful to the Creator
for sex; for thine is the kingdom. Oh my God, the holy crap.
Fuck me again, please."
cuRRent...jer ¶ 12:08 AM
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
fiction
i was in disbelief; but you mock my vacuous stare. you cannot
begin to imagine how no shadow is fallen; 'tween the idea and
the reality; those hollow men are real. there it was: standing
and shiny, fluids at the slit; meatus would have been more
precise; but it would have devastated the poetry of that moment:
the moment when you shoved my head towards the sulcus, the
frenulum exposed; it was to be a brilliant moment: the tongue
poised; the saliva ready; the lips postured; the moment
beckoning. but that,
when my eyes finally met your shaft,
i just knelt further down, melting into the ground: in shock.
gentle giants, they actually exist.
so this is how the world ends: not with a bang,
but a whimper.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 9:35 PM
i was in disbelief; but you mock my vacuous stare. you cannot
begin to imagine how no shadow is fallen; 'tween the idea and
the reality; those hollow men are real. there it was: standing
and shiny, fluids at the slit; meatus would have been more
precise; but it would have devastated the poetry of that moment:
the moment when you shoved my head towards the sulcus, the
frenulum exposed; it was to be a brilliant moment: the tongue
poised; the saliva ready; the lips postured; the moment
beckoning. but that,
when my eyes finally met your shaft,
i just knelt further down, melting into the ground: in shock.
gentle giants, they actually exist.
so this is how the world ends: not with a bang,
but a whimper.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 9:35 PM
Normalcy
Bring up the shutters,
It's business as usual.
No time to grieve,
No time to mourn.
Push on, like a puppet.
Bring up the shutters,
It's business as usual.
No time to grieve,
No time to mourn.
Push on, like a puppet.
Life has us by our strings.
Death has us by our
wooden hearts.
cuRRent...jer
¶ 9:23 PM
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Storm
a.
I beheld vast emptiness- - before the line;
after the sand; into my droopy eyes. But,
nothing. But, none.
The trouble is: the sea is too fucking calm
in my mind. Sails and winds and rudders
ride easy on these waters; but imagination
who admits a father; will bear no son here.
b.
That there are none:
the agony that ought to come; the tides raging; the
jutting shoals; the wounds; the zoom-crashing stars; the
wide-eyed shots; the headshots of captains on sides of ships; the
pirates and their petty invasions; rain and thunder; mercy and
her forces trickling from carpets and skies; the sharks and brutal;
the strangers dueling; and in breeding beds and nests; whirlpools
of comfort; where we find predators and prey; the ozymandias
pyramid of plankton; monsters; and that we reduce
to and call life; call it the mastery over darkness; over
oblivion; and declare it better than nothing; from
underneath the ripe muscles of a heart; the grasping
for territories unhinged; fires and drowning; the gargling
in brine; of sand splashing; great empire-building
in the head; rise of the imperial sun by hand; there
the obliteration of our adversaries; that there
would be the madness; and crazy conquests;
and crime; and peace; cause; and punishment;
all through that; and some pathetic fallacy;
ought still glitter in my mind;
but none.
c.
If only I could hold out a giant ladle and
crack open my skull and stir the insides:
scramble the calmness; cook a storm.
And make a contribution to Phrenology.
d.
I believe,
when the sea holds out staid, life freezes.
That creation occurs only in marriage of
the mind in troubled seas and nothing,
absolutely nothing in sanity.
cuRRent..jer ¶ 10:08 PM
a.
I beheld vast emptiness- - before the line;
after the sand; into my droopy eyes. But,
nothing. But, none.
The trouble is: the sea is too fucking calm
in my mind. Sails and winds and rudders
ride easy on these waters; but imagination
who admits a father; will bear no son here.
b.
That there are none:
the agony that ought to come; the tides raging; the
jutting shoals; the wounds; the zoom-crashing stars; the
wide-eyed shots; the headshots of captains on sides of ships; the
pirates and their petty invasions; rain and thunder; mercy and
her forces trickling from carpets and skies; the sharks and brutal;
the strangers dueling; and in breeding beds and nests; whirlpools
of comfort; where we find predators and prey; the ozymandias
pyramid of plankton; monsters; and that we reduce
to and call life; call it the mastery over darkness; over
oblivion; and declare it better than nothing; from
underneath the ripe muscles of a heart; the grasping
for territories unhinged; fires and drowning; the gargling
in brine; of sand splashing; great empire-building
in the head; rise of the imperial sun by hand; there
the obliteration of our adversaries; that there
would be the madness; and crazy conquests;
and crime; and peace; cause; and punishment;
all through that; and some pathetic fallacy;
ought still glitter in my mind;
but none.
c.
If only I could hold out a giant ladle and
crack open my skull and stir the insides:
scramble the calmness; cook a storm.
And make a contribution to Phrenology.
d.
I believe,
when the sea holds out staid, life freezes.
That creation occurs only in marriage of
the mind in troubled seas and nothing,
absolutely nothing in sanity.
cuRRent..jer ¶ 10:08 PM
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Monday, December 08, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
umbles
oh, desperation
you've not spared me from eating
rook pie; the boiled crow.
and what was once held high; now
intestines; mesentery;
now, desperation
you make me take these umbles
into me; myself.
so i can now crawl away;
full stomach; the cliff apart.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 12:30 PM
oh, desperation
you've not spared me from eating
rook pie; the boiled crow.
and what was once held high; now
intestines; mesentery;
now, desperation
you make me take these umbles
into me; myself.
so i can now crawl away;
full stomach; the cliff apart.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 12:30 PM
