444px-Antelope_Canyon_Mittags

 

 

 

 

120415 12:54
    Nude bodies are engaging less so than naked souls, both seen by-the-eye seen/experienced.
    In my time, grown where planted, fortunate to survive, felicitous, the infant after me was not.
    Scrambled and flushed away--Mother nearly died--a hemorrhage, reprise the barbarians at gates of choice. She never told me. Dad did. But said she to me, he said he wanted, “The Virgin Mary (we Methodist/Baptist borne . . . Imagine?) and a whore.”
    i wonder not my love affair; sources/ideas/ideals, potent words copulating across blank all light white space

reams scrolling up/down the birth chancel seminal.
    You’d think that being old now I’d no longer keen either for fleshy intimacy or my androgynous sibling, dead before knowing either me, or i, it.
    But then too I wonder wandering these closing days, if 'she'/'he'/‘it’ doesn’t speak through me seeking the meanings of things measured & treasured? So too son and daughters much less the mother of them left long ago.
    Teeth fractured on stones, rending robe, ashes upon dust marked by the toe of Jesus before the woman taken in adultery to be stoned.
    Move over Job we’re a pair.
    Beloved sing me sighs that I may sign others equally, they are adored . . . .

“It takes courage to push yourself to places that you have never been before... to test your limits... to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” --Anais Nin

of sorts & conditions
omissions & sins of commission
awry & absent permission to judge
prejudicially a critic unclothed

Amen

. . . rewrite or molestation? 120415 21:27 The Tax Man, rapacious Bankers, and Home Land Security wait their pound of flesh; slaves are we all.

all power the 99%

I remain my mother’s lover
though long dead she remains
a figure of fixated fascination
for her ejaculatory proclamations.

In Life Class, Art Students League
glooming North Light Lit
looming white flesh of woman.
I turned to a female student and
said: “qu’est-ce-que c’est?”
oblivious the question mark?

She replied, “qu’est-ce-que c’est?”
Our volley went back-and-forth
until in frustration I asked in English;
what does it mean?

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN!”

“The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.”--Matsuo Basho

Never intimate emotionally or physically after a lengthy dry birth
i soon learned to never ask anything of a woman
personal until now

“Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.” --Erma Bombeck

. . . nonsensical but it made me laugh
mother & me that is, multilingual she was
i a pox of inappropriately tinctured seductiveness remain

xoj 4m

120415 11:22

http://my.opera.com/JackSpratt/blog/2012/04/15/what-does-it-mean

120415 03:20
    I am conservative in the sense of reaching back to origins and honoring them.
    Each of Mankind’s advances have convulsed, more like St. Vitas than logic, reason or compassion. Not  three forward and two back. but many. Then, a few advanced, subsumed  and buried in the sand. Mountains of vanity, cupidity and greed, beguiling and enslaving all life surrounding them; their monuments like mountains will return to sand, ashes and/or dust.
    Inevitable doom is inherent in all birth beginning at conception; biological or egotistical. If you will, these are the facts of life, not ‘Da Birds and Bees.’
    The prancing, preening, passion of ruling classes is always to rationalize selfishness. The obscenity of this posture, so actually unnatural, is it is most often, then and now, justified as “Divine Right.”
    The locus of conscious endeavor is to destroy anything that is OTHER. The institution, culture or civilization that holds and wields the most advanced weaponry is in timeless time, The King for a Day. . . . nakedly in eternity: a fruit fly.
    Who are your prophets?
    What profit do they aggregate?
    At what cost and to whom?
    In the company of those whose mission is to serve others--about to die, dying or dead--is a curious wisdom and joy. Truth is made obvious -- all life dies taking nothing with it. Those addled young people, veterans of war, who homeless wander our nation are more like Jesus than any person of rank, stature, eminence pretending to mediate between God & Man.
    Questions are more important than answers.
    Why is it the natural earth, water, wind and fire erodes vanity, destroying instead of saving.
    My faith is immutable in life, either way, absolute. Upon Sinclair, Huxley and Orwell are no more, nor less, prophetic than those the majority claim to adore.
    Irreverent?
    My reverence is total love for the origin of it all life.
    Thence to the divinity inherent in you.
    . . . Be it, the only truth that moth, rust and decay cannot not touch.