A Yuletide Apocalypse

I

A brain floats behind these eyes,
a storm of sparks thrown
from woven currents—
A writhing mass of computational fury.
An enigma; yet just as bound
by laws of flesh and bone;
We only fool ourselves with fantasies
Of evading the world’s corporeality.

There is no transcendent
I
afloat somewhere in static space.

I
am merely a fragile pattern,
set amidst the chronologic
noise of existence.

~
9/19/06, v.1

My brain floats behind my eyes,
a storm of sparks
thrown from woven currents—
A writhing mass of computational fury.
An enigma; yet just as bound
by the laws of the flesh;
We only fool ourselves to think it escapes
this physical reality.

The observer sees my particular set
of actions, reactions, expressions;
This is all that defines me.
There is no abstract
I
floating somewhere in grey static space.
I
am merely a fragile pattern,
set amidst the chronologic noise
of human existence.

—
12/19/06, v.2

Learning’s Irony

He dons his plate-mail, sword and mounts his steed;
Towards battle rides with grim-set eyes ablaze.
‘Tis time for learning to commence, yet not
Without the pain of blood lost for the grail.

How much suffering will learning’s name impose,
Until at last these learnéd things fall short
And fail to pacify the hell of life,
When lived in educated misery.

~
10/4/06, v.1

Learning’s Irony

He dons his plate-mail, sword and mounts his steed;
Towards battle rides with grim-set eyes ablaze.
‘Tis time for learning to commence, yet not
Without the pain of blood lost to the grail.

How much pain in learning’s name imposed
(By saboteurs of self-protection’s kind)
Before those learned things fall short
And never can quite pacify the hell
Of life in educated misery.

—
10/18/06, v.2

Fizzle

One moment you’re aflame and then the next,
As behind clouds the sun will sometimes slip,
The winds have changed, set fire to the nest:
A hand grenade becomes my clever quip.
Self sabotage towards ends I can’t imagine.
Perhaps some strange and tragic feat of ego,
What of this irony that snuffs out passion?
What God of suicidal undertow?
Now no amount of dexterous cavitations*
Can slay this summoned golem of the sheets—
It must be valiant reconciliation
Whose effort may this struggling arc complete.
Wherefore this agent of absurdity—

That most interested of parties,
Me?

*Cavitation: The formation and instantaneous collapse of innumerable tiny voids or cavities within a liquid subjected to rapid and intense pressure changes.
~
10/18/06, v.1

Sizzle
One moment you’re aflame and then the next,
As behind clouds the sun will sometimes slip,
The winds have changed, set fire to the nest;
A hand grenade becomes this clever quip.
Self sabotage towards ends I can’t imagine,
Perhaps some strange destructive feat of ego;
Who is this irony that snuffs out Passion?
What God of suicidal undertow?
Now no amount of dexterous cavitations
Can slay this summoned golem of the sheets—
It must be valiant reconciliation
Whose effort may this struggling arc complete.
Why must the ultimate bulwark always be
That most interested of parties,
Me?

—
12/19/06, v.2
“Evil is obvious only in retrospect.” — Gloria Steinem

How was I to know?

I watched as within my mind’s womb it grew,
And with my pen and ink I gave it life.
Only to watch with helpless hands,
As following its adoption havoc reigned.

How was I to know?
I merely channeled this enigma, from that
Vacuum of neuron-frenzied space
Into this world of now-false utopias.

Now the world may see,
Its true potential exposed at last:
Through complete destruction the defiling of
All it knows.

The killing and raping of humanity by its own—
All bathed under the harsh dissolving glow of this,
My masterpiece.

-
I was also considering this epigraph during revision: “The thinker dies, but his thoughts are beyond the reach of destruction. Men are mortal; but ideas are immortal.” –Richard Adams
~
11/1/06, v.1

How was I to know?

Out from the womb it crawled, unaided
And unrestrained—
To wreak havoc within the people.

How was I to know?
I merely channeled this enigma, from that
Vacuum of neuron-frenzied space
Into this world of now-false utopias.

Now the world can see
The true potential of humankind—
To completely and utterly destroy and
defile all it knows.

The killing and raping of humanity by its own—
All in the harsh glow of this,
My life work;
That which has consumed its creator;
A masterpiece.

—
11/16/06, v.1

Muted Tones

Sometimes Muted Tones are nice.
Almost the opposite
of the blaring,
“I don’t trust you
enough to let you find me
on your own
So I’m going to screech”
-colors.
Muted colors
carry a subtlety their
more saturated companions
will never know.
You want a white that looks white, but
doesn’t really feel white;
You want the cleanliness, but not
the oppressive starkness
of a sanitary ward.
Elegance, simplicity
in light.
Muted light.

~
11/16/06, v.1

Muted Tones

Sometimes Muted Tones are nice.
Almost the opposite
of the blaring,
“I don’t trust you
enough to let you find me
on your own
So I’m going to screech”
-colors.
Muted colors
carry a subtlety their
more saturated companions
will never know.
You want a white that looks white, but
doesn’t really feel white;
You want the cleanliness, but not
the oppressive starkness
of a sanitary ward.
Elegance, simplicity
in light.
Muted light.

—
11/30/06, v.1

The Duality of a Sex Goddess

How two sets of eyes, gazing upon the same
Mirror, can see so differently
Those curves, so unlike my own.

Where one finds beauty and allure, the other,
Only disgust. And so I accept my mission:
To spread the gospel of womanly beauty from my eyes
To yours, so clouded by the oppression of this corporate sexy.

—
12/18/06, v.1

Snippets

Irony
And you thought you loved
me
More than I loved you.

Banished
I hereby proclaim you
banished
From the realm of my memory,
If only for now.

—
12/18/06, v.1

Cavity Hollow

Plant the pickaxe in my chest,
Braced by your sole atop me.
Rip these internals, snap the
Life-connectors—Flesh dis-
edifying.

Strain against the obstinate integrity
of that pesky evolved protection.
Your muscles cold and hard,
as you would only have them.

Years of catch—and pull, across
Glassine meadows have made them.

Finally the tissue begins to yield,
the cracking of ribs,
the smell of burnt cartilage
the satisfying smack, of my chest
liberated cavity – exposed, you reach
deep within, grasp and with an aorta-snapping twist.

At last you emerge,
Pulsing essence in hand, blood
Sprayed across your face.
My vision clouds, your image fades.
I welcome darkness with open arms.

—
12/18/06, v.2

Surprise

A cavernous echo,
Sinkhole-shaped
An epic absence.
Stinging sharper than a thousand poisoned swords.

Surprise!
Turn this world atop itself,
Shake it until the coins
Fall from your own pockets.

Out into weightless space,
Where, no matter how hard you kick,
You only float
Off, into nether.

~
12/18/06, v.1

Surprise

A cavernous echo
A sinkhole— an epic absence
A stinging sharper than a greased sword

Surprise!
Turn your world upside down
Shake it until the coins fall
From your own pockets.

Out into weightless space,
where, no matter how hard you kick
you do nothing but float.
Off into the nether.

—
12/18/06, v.2

Beneath Horned Roses

I ask only that this,
The ache of losing the ground beneath,
Soften its incessant throb.
Take pity on a punctured heart.
Allow for peace, however brief,
To set itself upon me.

I close my eyes and see her,
Perched atop a throne of horned roses.
She looks upon me with eyes of pity
When all I long for is to see her pain.

~
12/18/06, v.1

Beneath Horned Roses

I can only lie and wait
For the caress of a breeze from the north
For the scent of crisp snow
For the cleansing warmth of fire

I ask only that this,
The ache of perpetuity,
Soften its incessancy—
Take pity on a punctured heart,
Allow for peace, however brief
To set itself upon me.

Or, barring that,
For understanding next I’d settle
A true comprehension—free of pathetic self-pity
Or sickening dread.

Some equalizing force,
To lower her from that—
A pedestal of horned roses.