Monday, October 21, 2024

Gospel Adventure


The gospels are infinitely more fun to read as an atheist/agnostic than when I heard their fragments as a kid believer. They come across as a Harry Potter-style adventure story with a wünderkind wizard dude as protagonist ferrying around the weird lands of Roman-occupied Judea, wowing folks with his startling deeds and his cryptic intellect, where every now and then the devil appears like the Joker skulking from out of the shadows to try to f•ck with JC - like in Luke, el diablo shows up and somehow jets him from Galilee to the top of the temple in Jerusalem and says to JC "you think you're hot shit and you think God's got your back, so jump off of this thing and have him catch you, come on, m'fer, do it!" and JC just comes back, cool as can be, with "you don't think I know that you're not supposed to test God?" but also legions of angels materialize with trumpets in shining glory at certain key moments, as if to certify the divine nature of these incidents, like in Luke when JC is baptized by J the B, the sky kind of opens and along with the angelitos we even hear a voice thundering out of the heavens to declare the portentousness of the occasion, and you also catch all of these funky details you would never catch as a kid, like a nice little bit of animal sacrifice at the temple in Luke - after JC was born, Joseph and Mary took him there and before presenting him to God, they sacrifice a couple of doves to Yahweh. Makes sense... Amazing how the church managed to extract all of the fun out of this text -- this shit is wild, as out there as the Ray Harryhausen stop motion work on Sinbad and King Kong. JC in the different gospels can be kind of a dour and dyspeptic fellow at times, but the stories themselves -- you can see the influence of the Greek myths on the four gospel writers, texts which they inevitably read in order to become literate and competent writers in Greek. Last point is a stylistic one: the gospel writers are masters of the use of the word "and." It is deployed with such mastery that it functions as a kind of fast motion pulley, yanking the reader along from weird scene to weird scene with the insistence of a heartbeat.

Wednesday, October 9, 2024

There Are Marvels to Behold

 


Butthole Surfers
Album titles
Are good poetry
Psychic... Powerless...
Another Man's Sac
Rembrandt Pussyhorse
The irreconcilable joined together
That the alchemy might resolve
The collision of boredom
Prosperity & mayhem
America was producing in 1990
Locust Abortion Technician
Independent Worm Saloon
They say Gibby Haynes
Studied business
If I understood this
I might know
The thing that I need
And that eludes me
Sparking into the cobalt night
High above Holy Hill
Diving grey into the waves
Off the ferry to Peake's Island
Shadow-moving along a building
In Milwaukee Third Ward
Poised inside my dream on an island
In the Quetico

Tuesday, October 8, 2024

Children Born Now

 



Children born now arrive
Into this thing we do not know
We know the discipline & long nights
Of the Ice Age
It caused us to scatter
Across frozen straits
To the tips of peninsulas
Deep into eastern caves
Far into western deserts
We know the rhythms & kindness
Of the Holocene
It left us radiant in the sun
But finally drunk & embittered
Among its lush lands & leaping oceans
Which we felt we must conquer & subdue
Somehow giving birth to this new thing
What is it now that awaits our children
Over the crest of the hill?
What is its shape?
What is its breath?
What is its movement?
What is its mind?

Saturday, September 28, 2024

Even As

 



You see them
On the street
Begging for money
In torn clothes limping
Or their wheelchair
Rolls crooked
Their eyes glossy
Or they're clear but gaze
Far beyond the scene
Their hair is matted
Or their head
Is shaved unevenly
And they need money
For a roof in the rain
Or some food
For drugs or alcohol
Or hot coffee
Sweetened thick
With packets of sugar
This is not defeat
It is a moment preceded
By some other calamity
We can scarcely imagine
Even as they shuffle
Or push along
The highway offramp
In the sunlight on
The painted yellow lines

Monday, September 9, 2024

Signals

 



Borges writes a story
About a cavalryman
In Tashkent
Who finds a musical score
For bone flute
Written in an unknown
System of notation
Buried among the ruins
Of a battlefield
There are conversations
As the soldier speaks
To imams & scholars
Seeking to decipher the tune
I write a poem
About the story
Somebody reads it
And writes a song
Which contains the melody
I try to find this person
Where are they

Saturday, September 7, 2024

Wandering Through the Caves



 

sete cisnes voando sete corvos cantando
a pantera andando
pelo rio da caverna

as folhas da planta se abrindo
na chegada da noite azul
o espírito quer voar
pelos ares

Wandering through the caves you find a skiff
You sit down in it and drift
A panther appears on the ridge of the stream
And walks beside you
Mica reflected in the black water
Waking in the bones feels like cold water flowing
The plains blossom across the color spectrum
You see this in your mind projected beyond the cave walls
Words travel across the wind
Though the air remains still inside the cave
Along the dark stream you encounter an instrument
Five strings, a gourd bowl resonator
And you know how to play this
The panther appears again on the ledge beside you
You try to speak to her
She only looks at you
There is a guitar figure you wrote 30 years ago
Or maybe you dreamt you wrote it
You can play it now
And now the panther speaks
You are to follow the cave stream
Until the open fields blossoming
Across the color spectrum
Your old injury is gone away, disappeared
You should have been a swan
Gliding in the night lagoon
How is it that your ancestors lived
On a black volcanic island
Covered in flowers
You should have been a firefly
Flickering on the night plain
Or you were
Or you were a worm purifying soil
For the larger creatures
To eat, grow, die and decay back into the earth
The scale you play on the instrument
Has intervals that mirror the distance
Between thought and action
Between cloud and rain
Residue on the side of your craft
Blossoms iridescent as you push forward
Crystals flickering silently beneath you
You're drinking the cool water
And you approach a threshold

***
Hymn translation:
Seven swans flying Seven crows singing The panther walking Along the river in the cave

The leaves of the plant opening up With the arrival of the blue night The spirit wants to fly
Through the air

***

A composition with MiM for our set at the annual Night of Modular Synthesis at the Empty Bottle, Chicago, 8/27/24. Linked video is a portion of the set.


Friday, September 6, 2024

BENZOS ALCOHOL WEED



 

People take benzos
Drink alcohol smoke weed
To bring down a panic
Whose origin remains vague
Flickers in & out of the system
A rising a fluttering a wind
Benzos alcohol weed
Rearrange thoughts
Interrupt a chaos ritual
Whirring swiftly
Like a night insect
And place a gauzy calm
Between you & the world
Between you & that part of you
That prepares the ground
For the winged creature's eggs
That you must unearth
Name speak to befriend
Or bid farewell one day

(thank you to Carlos Monsivais for the phrase "ritual del caos")