For my loony brainspews: http://eternalholyyouth.blogspot.com/
I am above you and in you. My ecstasy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy.
-Liber AL vel Legis I:13
Sing the rapturous love-song unto me! Burn to me perfumes! Wear to me jewels! Drink to me, for I love you! I love you!
-Liber AL vel Legis I:63
Beauty and strength, leaping laughter and delicious langour, force and fire, are of us.
-Liber AL vel Legis II:20
Remember all ye that existence is pure joy; that all the sorrows are but as shadows; they pass and are done; but there is that which remains.
-Liber AL vel Legis II:9
Fear not at all; fear neither men, nor Fates, nor gods, nor anything. Money fear not, nor laughter of the folk folly, nor any other power in heaven or upon the earth or under the earth. Nu is your refuge as Hadit your light; and I am the strength, force, vigour, of your arms.
-Liber AL vel Legis III:17
Righteous You
Why did we get here like broken jewelry sticking out as spokes from a bike wheel, speaking of dikes, blinking at blank faces, trying not to notice the hundreds of piercings? You sold me a branch of cedar which convinced me that you were not only forever haunted by phantoms of misery, but, try as you might to be otherwise, were really just like the millions of others wearing so many layers of clothing and writing bad poetry. I like the smell of cedar, so I thank you and use it in rituals that I make up as I go. This room is rich with purple velvet. I feel it idly when I'm talking or have nothing better to do. It feels much better than the blue velvet at David's house. So you keep jutting your arms out in the L and V shapes, wishing you had a couple of flags, gripping at the air as though you do, making mum mum mum motions with your lips, always willing to sell your body from the neck up, served on a plate to the stars above. Righteous you. That was how we unveiled the company of heaven, shaking our cheeks at the raw wind, at the biting and uncompassionate vastness of space, waking up tortured at dawn with images of the milky stars digging into your exposed brain with a spoon, then smiling as the sweat dries because of an angel voice whispering over your left shoulder. You reach frantically for a pen, find only shreds of torn paper on your nightstand, pull open the drawer,the whole thing coming undone, the wood splitting apart like balsa and arm fulls of yellow crayons spilling out across the floor. You pick one up and start writing on your legs not so well, what marks you do manage to make fading as quickly as you write them, until you look up, scared once more of somebody scooping your brains, and find that it's already 1pm, the voice gone, and only the word "Had" remaining. I've been standing here all night watching you and rubbing the curtains, completely unaware of angel voices or massage parlors for that matter. I point and laugh at you without even realizing that your head is missing and that Nort Angleson has already hollowed out your insides leaving only the cursed shell, hyenas barking in the distant distance, rocks skipping across a pond without anyone to observe it. So with nothing else left to do, I close myself into a small suitcase, pronounce the word "abrahadabra," and am off into the digital extreme.
[Poetry rather perverted by flattened line breaks and pacing]
Sort of Swords
The little one is tumbling down the stairs
In the cold kitchen they burn wax
melt wax over naked flesh
soft flesh white as wax–
Dad!
Relax
Still, the baby tumbles down
down down the stairs
Screams of Aahuh!
and blood stained carpet
of long long stairs
Dad breaks up wooden chairs
with a scream,
“From where I’m standing that’s really
Just the way it is!â€
Broken strips of wood
fall gently on bloody carpet
Down the stairs, tumbling and screaming
Outside, the emperor of icecream
sings in the street
“Crosses are boringâ€
sultry daughter pulling a crucifix
from her cunt
in the face of white wax
and massage oil
Tumble thud thud tumble
Forever and ever,
on and on...
The Most Inchoate Project
Spinning wheels at broomstick’s length
never reach the ground.
The child swings them out overhead
pestering like pestilence, pedestrians
trying to pass–
none shall pass!
With a wheel in your face–
keep cool, keep cool–
hard to think with those goddam spinning wheels!
Elsewhere there is a gate that never opens.
Skin gone slack and wrinkly.
Elsewhere there is a gate that nobody built
and nobody enters;
Big iron gate–
this is your fate,
trying to remember that gate;
trying to lower those wheels
to the asphalt
