Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

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

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Dance in the Galaxy of Love



the lights are one thing
the nights are another
here in the galaxy of love

dance in the embers
dance in the fading hours
dance in the galaxy of love

my girl, my girl, my girl
love me forever
dance with me forever
dance in the galaxy of love

we walk like vagabond priests
conjurers on the sly
the sidewalk is a symphony
we are notes that rise and fall
one day you will know why
dance in the galaxy of love

dance in the embers
dance in the fading hours
dance in the galaxy of love

my girl, my girl, my girl
love me forever
dance with me forever
dance in the galaxy of love



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Friday, May 28, 2010

Fall of the House of Gusher



And God said unto BP: "Who did this? Who is responsible?" And BP was afraid.

And God said: "You have some explaining to do!"

And BP said "Just a run of bad luck, old man."

God fumed, and BP trembled, and the World Held Its Breath.

Just as BP began to apologize rather weakly to God ("...I blame the dinosaurs") it glanced at the clock on the Far Wall, shook its head and explained that it was '...running late and could tarry there no longer.' And quicker than you can say petroleum jelly all of the BP lawyers and Executives were streaming out of the Garden of Eden and heading to their cars. God shook His head and tears flew out.

Afterward, BP went to a very nice restaurant in town--it was there that it started to think about all the pretty waitresses it was going to fuck that night. And BP certainly banged its share, dear lads, no denying that. It certainly banged its share. Drunk and high on methane, it staggered from night club to night club, leaving a trail of black gold behind, a greasy beast loosed upon the pallid world, a hunter on its mating prowl.

When the long dark night was mostly spent, BP lingered briefly upon the besotted shore of the Ocean of Being, and felt the ooze of oil upon its feet, its skin morphing into sludge. BP laughed and cried and puked, then wheeled and made for home. Crawling up the driveway, it gently opened the front door, which swung with silent ease; so it gained a quiet entry like a thief made of cotton. It sneaked quietly up the stairs of its tony mansion in Heaven, lurching on the wooden steps but still it did not make a sound.

Carrying its shoes while walking nimbly to its side of the bed, it pulled back the blankets with great patience and care, and climbed ever so quietly into bed. But God was not fooled: He rolled over on His side to view his opposite number, opening one Great Penetrating Eye which bore through BP like a pitiless laser. God placed a wicked curse upon BP's genitals, upon its distribution centers and on its mini-bar.

"Fuck me?" whispered God beneath His beard as He rolled back on to His other side, facing again the western sky. "Fuck you."

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Wednesday, May 26, 2010

The Father Looking East



"Who is it that can tell me who I am?"
- William Shakespeare, King Lear, 1.4.230

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Monday, May 24, 2010

This Can't Be Good



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Sunday, May 23, 2010

Clouds of Glass



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Friday, May 21, 2010

The Opinuary Column



SCOWL
(with apologies to allen ginsberg)

i saw the worst brains of new segregation mangled by
stinking badges, carving rivulets into bankers
lugging their fears through the cactus heat
waving snake money at the rodents assembled on the polymorphic rocks
mottled rangers in masks fomenting wars against the purpling sky
a paradise of discounted schemers hawking their wares
of white dragoons lugging chests of limbs to market
who open carry metal monsters with sneering bullet hats
slow desert waltzes in cheap lager urine slaughter
hideous rivers of piss and blood cascading in the theme parks
rusting foam infecting magazine women eating cartoon crabs
who leaked their stains in denim beneath the whitest cirrus tents
who saw migrant hordes killed by god on corporate tombstones
keeping their heads down below the vaporizing radar
in death your papers please

blue bankers batting leverage leading leagues of dust
the rank and file profits escalating in ether
second nature birthing babies whose teeth are dice
throwing sixes and suckling breasts in infinite friday nights
what nonsense senses anon will be incensed senseless yet
where are they: in the corporation
where are they: in the accounts deceivable
where are they: in the iron markets shooting guns at jesus
where are they: in the steam of sinking islands
where are they: in the folds of lurid priests
where are they: in the braying of spring
where are they: in the aftertaste
where are they: in the acid wash
where are they: in the name of whereness
where are they:

the iron gates go higher in the milky way development
we must protect the avalanche from the bodies
speak nothing and forever hold your past
in huddled mirthless hospice the corpse-to-be convulses
as doctors discuss the diameter of wealth
of how tumors can be traded for fun and profit
or if one shaved off the cancer and held aloft the meat
the hawkers make a carnival of the rotting mirth
the new dawn of man the babe of mass and death
grown to carry bullets to the feast
the soldier as an appetizer, like cats devoured whole
we strangle in our throats the cause of our demise
and weightless acrobats scurry into eden like spiders
bouncing and leaping and shredding pyramids of flesh
crawling to the mountain of the word
into the river of the triumphant nightmare
a thousand years of a thousand years and then what
begetting rockets aimed at children turned to hash
smoking them in the skull of the messiah

the pregnant aztec clouds conspire in the vapors lust for release
return to sender in the serpent streams and hollows
tender on the rocks spurting poisons from the city
escaping criminals ride the waves like jockeys
back back back to the soccer fields and skate parks
swimming pools luxury boxes chlorine daughters imploring daddy
their eyes the latest texture of the horse
we are hinged in hidden ways, the doors swing wider
the wires approximate the thunder, grab the boys
they grow towards the ideal feasting on clotted sorrow
wrenched upwards to the market spiral
ascending angels selling death short and making a killing
the abstract after-markets shoot lasers for fun and profit
burning every dream but one

we went to the gulf and burned the birds in homage to god
we went to africa and brought chains to the dead
we went to the desert and dared god to stop us
we went to the poppy fields and died without eyes
we went to the moon and planted explosives
we went to the past and made lawyers out of skin
we went to live on the islands of trash
we went to feast on the blood of the savior during happy hour
we went to the good earth and planted abominations
we went to donate our organs and stole the bones
we went to the pipe and inhaled dust and tore our faces off
we went into the bars and put our brains in blenders
we went before the people as the insects crawled out of our speech
we went down on our knees and saw the blade's reflection
we went everywhere the infection could go
we went until the cure destroyed us


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words and image by mjs

The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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Wednesday, May 19, 2010

God Loves a Cliche



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Monday, May 17, 2010

Short Circuit or Wall-E?



I went to Southern California for a wedding (nephew Roy! Woo-woo!) and I stopped by Seal Beach to visit an enduring friend (shout out to you, J. Michael). After visiting the folks in Leisure World (Battlecart Earth!) I went to Huntington Beach to visit a sister (way to be, Goddess of the Hunt!) and then I drove on down to Laguna Beach before heading over to Trabuco to visit another sister (rock on, Bunny!). I took a bunch of images in Laguna (it gives me something to do) and the one above made me wonder: Wall-E or Short Circuit? And then it occurred to me: it doesn't matter.

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Friday, May 14, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "Democracy is messy" has died just shy of its seventh birthday. The Opinion was born during the invasion and occupation of Iraq, where it lived a quiet life among the exploding roadside bombs and tanks and helicopter gunships and predator drones and suicide bombers and internecine battles. It leaves no survivors.

Shortly after its Middle Eastern debut the Opinion returned to the United States where it pursued a career as a Republican intern. Having been molested by multiple congressmen and a host of free range priests during its brief stint in our nation's capital, it left public life and spent two unremarkable years sitting quietly beneath Rush Limbaugh's ass. A job opportunity presented itself when it was offered the chance to live inside Glenn Beck's Magical Underwear and monitor it for activity. It was there that the Opinion breathed its last, and was no more. Democracy may have been messy, but it was nothing in comparison to nutboy's trousers.

The Opinion was preceded in death by the Opinion "We'll be greeted as liberators."

A Celebration of Life will be held for the Opinion in Salt Lake City later this month. In lieu of flowers the family asks that you stay away from Glenn Beck's Magical Underwear. Seriously: stay away or risk suffering a horrible death. Democracy being messy is nothing compared to what goes on in Beck's man panties.

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The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Triumph of the Drill, Baby, Drill

drill baby drill
was all she could moan
she looked at me sideways
like i was a bone
she climbed right on top
and dug her way in
she opened a hole
let the games begin

just drill baby drill
just drill all the time
drill all the way, boys
work it on in
you know that you want it
it makes you go
just drill baby drill
get on with the show

oh, she slid down the pole
all covered in oil
she moved like a leopard
in volcanic soil
she flashed a smile
she bump and she grind
she wiggle her finger
and i wiggle mine
oh
she slid down the pole
like a snake down a tree
she opened her mouth
and swallowed up me
i went down like an eel
deep into her pit
she slid down the pole
now here comes the bit:
i went down below
her intestinal tract
i worked my way down
alimentary fact
i came out her ass
and she looked at me
just drill baby drill
drill and be free

oh
drill baby drill
drill all the time
drill baby drill
oh yeah
drill baby drill
drill it on down
drill baby drill
drill it all down
lift up your legs
sit right on top
drill baby drill
don't ever stop

drill baby drill
was all she could moan
she looked at me sideways
like i was a bone
she climbed right on top
and dug her way in
she opened a hole
let the games begin

oh, she slid down the pole
all covered in oil
she moved like a leopard
in volcanic soil
she flashed a smile
she bump and she grind
she wiggle her finger
and i wiggle mine
oh
oh
drill baby drill
drill all the time
drill baby drill
oh yeah
drill baby drill
drill it on down
drill baby drill
drill it all down
lift up your legs
sit right on top
drill baby drill
don't ever stop


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Sunday, May 09, 2010

Mother's Day Part II



oh, john, faced the demons head on
worked it out, working it out
the open soul, the open wound
mother heal you
mother love you
mother cry

hello, goodbye
eternity in a slice
thanks for dropping by

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Friday, May 07, 2010

Happy Mother's Day



mother earth and mother sky
mother heart and mother sigh
mother birth and mother eyes
mother all, mother wise

the power of the female form
the goddess lives
the goddess born
an ancient partner
sweet adorned
the womb of all
beyond all scorn
the power of the female form

mother earth and mother sky
mother heart and mother sigh
mother birth and mother eyes
mother all, mother wise

in the spring she flowers
in the summer laughs
in the fall her bounty
she's with you till the last
and when you have grown cold
she'll hold you in her grasp

the power of the female form
the goddess lives
the goddess born
an ancient partner
sweet adorned
the womb of all
beyond all scorn
the power of the female form

mother earth and mother sky
mother heart and mother sigh
mother birth and mother eyes
mother all, mother wise

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The Opinuary Column will appear again next week (surely an Opinion will have died by then).

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Thursday, May 06, 2010

The One That is the All



a gospel most obscene
hides beneath the floor
it speaks of god as all
we must go through that door
the source is not beyond
nor separate from us
we cannot see beyond the veil
we are blinded by the dust

the child in the sun
the old man in the rain
the worker in the field
makes a sacrament of grain
what was lost in church
is adam's second fall
i touch the secret heart
the one that is the all

we are of the earth
we are of the sky
we are mysteries
always asking why
some of us are noble
some of us profane
we are everything
that's left beyond the pain

when the mood is right
when the day is done
conjure up the universe
and smile when you're done
feel it in your bones
feel it in your heart
we are in the garden
and were right from the start

the child in the sun
the old man in the rain
the worker in the field
makes a sacrament of grain
what was lost in church
is adam's second fall
i touch the secret heart
the one that is the all

we are of the earth
we are of the sky
we are mysteries
always asking why
some of us are noble
some of us profane
we are everything
that's left beyond the pain

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Saturday, May 01, 2010

The Ghost of Spirit Lake

The Ghost of Spirit Lake
(these lyrics are dedicated to Harry Truman)

in the morning, in the light
the mountain trembles in my sight
i sense the trees are in the tears
of my oh so many years

there are birds who call the dawn
there are words i lean upon
who will sing my siren song
when the mountain's raining down?
that will be the end of me

i conjure elements of dust
build them up and watch them rust
the mountain's breaking up the trust
i am buried in the ground
i am just another sound
tell them all down in the town
i am the ghost of spirit lake
i am the ghost of spirit lake

there is power beyond measure
doesn't care about your treasure
turns the forest into desert
buries kingdoms in the sand
no one left to understand

i hear children in the hole
i hear laughter long ago
i turn to see but they're just ghosts
in the place where i now stand
when it comes, the face is strong
telling me to come along
there will be no other songs
no more time to clap your hands

i am buried in the ground
i am just another sound
tell them all down in the town
i am the ghost of spirit lake
i am the ghost of spirit lake

the earth is living, it's alive
and the sun each day arrives
as we turn into the sky
as we turn into the sky

in the moment is the all
in the rapture is the fall
in the one there is the all
i am seeing bye and bye
the lake so cold becomes a grave
the trees lay down, cannot be saved
i am a shadow in the shade
i am a shadow in the sky
a shadow turning in the sky

i conjure elements of dust
build them up and watch them rust
the mountain's breaking up the trust
i am buried in the ground
i am just another sound
tell them all down in the town
i am the ghost of spirit lake
i am the ghost of spirit lake

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Image taken by mjs, September, 2009

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