Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Act One, Scene Two



time to string along the endless chain forever endless chain
time to factor out the remarkable pi into the nowhere ever
time to pretend that an answer could answer what we can't even ask
time to run like deer through the thicket of trees
time to spy Artemis and die--torn apart by the hounds
time to change the viewer and the viewed
time to see it all anew

time to conjure mystic spastic revelations for the generations
time to get to know the hidden ones who are the one is, the what is
time to pull off those chains that yoke the sacrificial bull to the gallows
time for everywhere at once be nowhere at all and find yourself always
always
always
all ways
all ways
pull back the veil
when the gods come around

it is a different scene
one that is in between
one that is all around
above, below the ground
your hands are its extension
your tongue gives it expression
your eyes contort dimension
your life is its sensation
elation and negation
completion and deletion
it is a different scene
when you when i when they
when it comes around
goes around and around
come on down

dream of the sidewalks by the sea
dream of the sun shining sideways
dream of the shattering of forms beyond your reach
dream of this place and that place as the place
dream of the mask that is the face
dream of the moon that shines like you tonight
dream of something that cannot be stated
dream of impossible constructions
dream on
dream on

time to wake up dreamer time to wake up now
time to conjugate the corpses of your mind
time to rattle all those bones
time to shake until the dust abounds
time for costumes and makeup and lights
time to hit the heights
prometheus unbound
hang around
it could get interesting...

it is a different scene
one that is in between
one that is all around
above, below the ground
your hands are its extension
your tongue gives it expression
your eyes contort dimension
your life is its sensation
elation and negation
completion and deletion
it is a different scene
when you when i when they
when it comes around
goes around and around
come on down

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Friday, February 26, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "The turn indicator switch in your car is not there for decorative purposes" has died. As it turns out, the turn indicator in our automobiles is there to hang jewelry and small scarfs upon, though it can be employed to wink at other vehicles when you are feeling horny. Seems like it was only last year when the Opinion was left on for about two hundred miles during a drive in Aunt Maude's Pontiac and expired just as she shifted into third gear. What a gal.

The Opinion was born during a simpler time in America, when racism and the subjugation of the female were a birthright of white men of all creeds, when the dream of driving a really fast car into a wall at full throttle thrilled every boy down to the bottom of his pants. America could go farther, faster, and leave a bigger stain than just about any other lover on the planet. The turn indicator was the only splotch on that manly record, as the act of letting others know just what your intentions were as a driver was a sure sign of weakness, of femininity, of repressed Democrat longings. Grandpa didn't call Kruschev on the phone to let him know when he planned to invade, and the same goes for us and that Putin guy, who Sarah Palin eyes hungrily as she watches him backing his Moskvich 410 into his garage.

Services for the Opinion will be held at some unknown date in the future, and you're just going to have to figure out what that day is for yourself. Not gonna tell you where the memorial will be held either. That would be weak. Should the services swerve into your unincorporated part of the county just be thankful it was manly enough to suppress any gay commie ideas about "sharing" and "oh, don't hit me, Mr. Big American" when it laid its rubber on your road. The next time you're on the freeway, and you feel like moving your fat ass across three lanes of traffic like a Sharpie skating across a sheet of Dundler Mifflin's finest, think about your country first, and then go for it--but don't signal. Remember: we're all in this separately.

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Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Ode to a Gargoyle



sorry that religion has ceased to make its case
the louder that it shouts the more it becomes base
the sentries at the gates no longer bother giving chase
so sorry that religion has ceased to make its case

behind the masks of god was something to behold
it spoke of fields and space hidden in the folds
here was something in us all, of worth beyond all gold
behind the masks of god was something to behold

it's not that everything must pass, though surely it all must
spring will go, summer's next, autumn and then rust
the cycle that's the burning wheel, spinning into dust
it's not that everything must pass, though surely it all must

whither then the hidden self, of poetry and verse
as linked by heavy chains of dread and driven in a hearse
and boundless charm of ancient tales were stolen with a curse
whither then the hidden self, of poetry and verse

i know of something out of frame
something out of time
when you turn to look at it
you hear a music rhyme
it lives in dreams and corridors
it lives beyond compare
honor that this spirit lives
when you take in the air

sorry that religion has ceased to make its case
the louder that it shouts the more it becomes base
the sentries at the gates no longer bother giving chase
so sorry that religion has ceased to make its case

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Sunday, February 21, 2010

Cat Sabbath



Lydia & Juan Carlos
Sunday, February 21st, 2010

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Friday, February 19, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "A white person flying an airplane into a US Government building with the intent to do grave harm is committing a terrorist act" has died as a result of being flown by a white person into a US Government building apparently with the intent to do grave harm. According to those science-crowd types, flying planes into buildings is really bad for planes and the people who fly them, and not very good for buildings (and the people inside them) either. The Opinion was believed to have been born at FOX News in the late 1990s, but who can remember back that far?

The Opinion had seeped into the public/media's consciousness over the past decade, during which time it was somehow decided that terrorists could not, by definition, be White American Males (WAM). Though Timothy McVeigh had attacked his country in April of 1995 it was established that he was not a "terrorist" but rather "a concerned Caucasian citizen." McVeigh was later depicted in a rather famous Bud Light advertisement as the "Too heavy" portion of the "too light/too heavy" campaign. But not "too white."

Services for the late Opinion are pending as of this writing, however when they do take place you can be assured they will be white: very, very white. And if you have a small, white child who wants to be a terrorist when he or she grows up, break it gently to the tender soul that such a lofty dream is impossible, explaining patiently that such a child cannot by definition be a terrorist--the best said child might hope for would be to grow up and become a traitor to the nation, and if lucky, a mass murderer to boot.

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The Opinuary Column arrives most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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Tuesday, February 16, 2010

The Odyssey



"'My dear friend, can you believe your eyes?
The murmuring hall, how luminous it is
with bronze, gold, amber, silver and ivory!
This is the way the court of Zeus must be,
inside, upon Olympus. What wonder!'"


From Homer's Odyssey
Book 4, lines 77-81

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Friday, February 12, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "Corporations should have the same civil rights as afforded to the nation's human population" has died in a skiing accident in Aspen, Colorado. At the time of its death it had a blood alcohol content of .38%, and traces of Xtasy, hash oil and Dilaudid were also found in its system. And speed. And anti-depressants. And cocaine. Neighbors reported that the Opinion had been hosting an increasing number of parties in the past few weeks, and police had been called out a number of times due to complaints about the noise from loud music, etc. Additional complaints were lodged concerning the vomiting and public urination in the area around the Opinion's home.

The Opinion, a darling of plutocrats, oligarchists and some of the wealthiest assholes you will ever witness wreaking havoc on a country obliged to let them wreak, lived a happy childhood in the late 19th Century, when it was afforded a legal status equal to human beings. Alas, it lacked genitalia, so it could not reproduce like people, and it lacked a heart, so it could not feel like people: it was in fact an abstraction, and could not manifest itself in any way in the physical world except as a fictitious pronouncement. Though it could not laugh or cry, it did both with joy the day it became a person, much like the fictional Pinocchio had done when he at last became a boy and could start destroying the world bit by bit, piece by piece.

In January of 2010, the Supreme Court of the United States decided it was the Blue Fairy and would provide legal cover for its fake little human buddy to rule the country by way of the massive amounts of money it could inject into an already jaundiced political system. The vote was 5 to 4, the same margin that placed George W. Bush in the White House, known as the Ooh-la-la of coup d'etats...

In lieu of flowers the family of the late Opinion just wants you to know that you are nothing, that the deck is stacked, that the dice have been rigged, that the game is fixed. Should that bother you in any way, too bad: they don't even have to buy you off anymore. Good luck with that democracy thing. Quite an idea in its day.

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The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Surely Spring Will Follow



in winter's maw lays summer's promise...

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Sunday, February 07, 2010

Down Syndrome vs. Retardation Explained

After watching all the recent coverage of Sarah Palin and the public and private use of the word "retard" as a pejorative, I decided to go to the top for an answer: I asked God to explain the difference between Down Syndrome and Mental Retardation. God was kind enough to send me an email in response to my query, about 1/20th of a second after I asked for it. If God ever opened up a restaurant you wouldn't be sitting around, wondering where your food is. It would be in front of you before you could say jumping jehosaphat. That is one fast deity, no doubt about it. Here is God's response:

Dear Child Born of Sin: Down Syndrome is a chromosomal disorder caused by the presence of all or part of an extra 21st chromosome. Trig Palin, the son of Sarah Palin, has Down Syndrome.

Sarah Palin differs from her son in that she suffers from Mental Retardation which for her is a plus. She is able to condemn the usage of the word "retard" if the person using it has different politics than she does, but can actually defend its usage if the person uttering the word is important on her side of the aisle.

To sum up: Sarah Palin's son Trig has Down Syndrome. Sarah Palin herself has gone Full Retard. Rahm Emanuel should be fired for using the word "retarded" and Rush Limbaugh is just okey-dokey-peachy-keen, no matter what he does. Rush is that good.

Glad I could clear that up for you.

Love,

God

p.s. Sorry about the chromosome problem vis a vis Down Syndrom--I mostly do it to the fetuses of older women anyway. Who would have thought people would be living so long? When I created...oh, shit, here come the wife. Gotta go.

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Friday, February 05, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "The iconic symbol of the GOP is the glorious elephant" has died, having been trampled to death by the new, and profoundly more apt symbol of the Grand Old Party: the Ransom Note. The Opinion spent its last days stamping its feet and shaking its head side to side, apparently in homage to Rush Limbaugh.

The use of the elephant as a representation of Republicans had been employed for 135 years having originally sprung from the artistry of political cartoonist Thomas Nast. Large, fat and enslaved to its financial backers, the elephant did yeoman's work for the better part of a century and a third, until at last it was discarded in favor of open extortion. The GOP denies this fact, which is not remarkable as it does by dint of habit deny most facts as a matter of course.

Services for the late Opinion will be held this coming Tuesday, unless $5,000,000.00 in American currency is delivered personally to me at my usual watering hole by halftime of this coming Sunday's Super Bowl game. Failing that, the ponderous pachyderm of patriarchal politics shall become a ghost, albeit a rather large one. In lieu of flowers the late GOP symbol's family asks that you remember to make private your profits and public your costs, and don't be afraid to use a little muscle to shake down the halls of government. Tell 'em Guido sent you.

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The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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From the Tomb of the Well Known Ransom
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Wednesday, February 03, 2010

The Road to Molalla



we forgot what we were measuring
we wished we'd taken notes
something about a wonderment
something about the ineffable

every turn of the blade shines
every piece of the sky is eternal
every moment gained is lost

you can see this anywhere
you can see it on the road to Molalla

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Monday, February 01, 2010

You're My Song

can you take it with the crazy
can you take it with the sad
all the bumps and all the bruises
can make somebody mad

will you live it like you love it
a lover wants to know
hold you close, ain't no ghost
haunting from below

here for a time
here for a rhyme
here for your kiss
and for your heart
hold my hand
in the dark
while we wait for the dawn
you're my song
you're my song

rain is good, it comes down
it runs down to the sea
will you run there for awhile
are you running there with me

so much noise out in the world
it's hard to hear you speak
on the bridge, you're my lover
do lovers really leap

here for a time
here for a rhyme
here for your kiss
and for your heart
hold my hand
in the dark
while we wait for the dawn
you're my song
you're my song

can you stay within the story
can you turn another page
spring is filled with glory
now we're another age

no promises of heaven
no lies about the past
be here with me right now
love goes on unto the last

here for a time
here for a rhyme
here for your kiss
and for your heart
hold my hand
in the dark
while we wait for the dawn
you're my song
you're my song

can you take it with the crazy
can you take it with the sad
all the bumps and all the bruises
can make somebody mad

will you live it like you love it
a lover wants to know
hold you close, ain't no ghost
haunting from below

you're my song
you're my song
you're my song

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for donna

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