tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14839450385521201092024-03-04T20:17:23.070-08:00wardrobe in the cupboarda poem room habitat of contemplationAlaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-36920644863574138622023-08-07T04:17:00.007-07:002024-01-11T09:00:38.693-08:00She'd never think twice<p>See her there</p><p>staring from the second floor</p><p>of an old house on Frenchman's Road</p><p>what has she seen? what has gone before her?</p><p>a mane of snow where violets grow</p><p>eyes of turquoise blue</p><p>and she smiles at you</p><p><br /></p><p>When just a little girl she used to play in the streets</p><p>and all her friends would be there</p><p>and she'd never think twice cause it seemed</p><p>those days would never end</p><p><br /></p><p>And now she lives alone in her empty home</p><p>once hers was the only house on the street that had a phone</p><p>now people never call, except for those call centres</p><p>she looks outside to see the schoolkids walking home</p><p>they're all on their phones</p><p>and she remembers the games she used to play.. hopscotch, marbles, knucklebones</p><p><br /></p><p>When just a little girl she used to play in the streets</p><p>and all the neighbours kids would be there</p><p>and she'd never think twice cause it seemed </p><p>those days would never end</p><p><br /></p><p>She accidentally touched the glass that separates her from her past</p><p>it leaves her feeling cold and she remembers "oh i'm old!"</p><p>despite her new cardigan with the violets sewn on</p><p>that she has worn like she has worn her body</p><p>ageing while she herself doesn't age</p><p>not for 100 days, 1000 days, 30,000...</p><p><br /></p><p>When just a little girl she used to play in the streets</p><p>and all of her friends would be there</p><p>and she'd never think twice cause it seemed</p><p>her days would all be nice</p><p>and now she's 94 and her friends have gone</p><p>and her days have grown long like the shadows of the memory </p><p>of her mother's songs that she'd play to her</p><p>before the war, in 1934.. </p><p><br /></p><p><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hPNl3qt1RWI?si=sIlIyrx0dCDtJQUv" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen></iframe></p>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-63610154160490981252022-12-01T16:39:00.004-08:002024-01-11T09:02:36.863-08:00the pain of the game<p>Open up the borders release the plague</p><p>open the carnival, open the graves</p><p>send for your bible send for your cane</p><p>sit down at the table, feel the clank of the chain</p><p>can't you explain, why can't you explain?</p><p>the pain of the game</p><p><br /></p><p>the moment you were born the race had begun</p><p>and you run and you run to catch the fast-rising sun</p><p>don't tell them your dreams or they'll laugh in your face</p><p>just climb up the ladder, put them in place</p><p>and as you climb higher, they start to feel small</p><p>pretty soon you'll rule over them all</p><p><br /></p><p>you run through the forest you run to the lake</p><p>you'd better run faster or you're going to be late</p><p>to your own execution, it's drawing quite a crowd</p><p>and as you draw closer, they start to get loud</p><p>the executioner greets you as a friend</p><p>he says "everyone's here! everyone you sent (with your pen) to their ends"</p><p><br /></p><p>you awake with a sweat from the terror of the night</p><p>in your bed of delusions its sheets crisp and white</p><p>with your lover beside you and the sun on the floor</p><p>surrounded by all the good things you adore</p><p>but you wish you could speak to them, the ones in your dream</p><p>you'd ask them "what does it mean?" </p><p>that your dreams are the machines of your grief</p><p><br /></p><p>but you spent all the money on new machines of war</p><p>while a shivering ex-serviceman dies right outside your door</p><p>you run to the churchyard to bury your head</p><p>or seek some forgiveness from the souls of the dead</p><p>but they won't forgive you, they're not even there</p><p>all you can squeeze out is an insincere tear</p><p><br /></p><p>the further you go, the further you run</p><p>the longer the shadows from the fast-setting sun</p><p>'till it stares at you coldly straight in the eye</p><p>the witness to every one of your lies</p><p>the witness to every deed you tried to hide</p><p>then it sinks and leaves you alone with the night</p><p><br /></p><p>now only the mirror can see what you've done</p><p>but it won't forgive you it's just like the sun</p><p>your family won't protect you nor will the police</p><p>nor will the prisoners you have released</p><p>but it's in your own head where the judgement is found</p><p>it's there with the sound of the pound of your soul going down</p><p><br /></p>
<p><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PZA3VxiuBvA?si=ovoS2ylkI3BQ4Rv9" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen></iframe></p>
<p>There's also a demo of this song here: <a href="https://youtu.be/Kyx6hF0rQVU" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/Kyx6hF0rQVU</a> (at about the three-minute mark)</p><p><br /></p>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-44461384916777055192022-07-18T21:38:00.002-07:002022-11-15T16:20:57.794-08:00Pay day<p>how long</p><p>must we remain strong</p><p>with a shit storm blowing in every other day</p><p><br /></p><p>you work hard</p><p>push through the final yard</p><p>and the boss is on his way</p><p><br /></p><p>you don't know what he's going to say</p><p>but today is payday</p><p><br /></p><p>'the work's done</p><p>but you coulda done better, son'</p><p>then he rolls off on his merry way</p><p><br /></p><p>a blank stare</p><p>you fall back in your chair</p><p>and the kids climb on to play</p><p><br /></p><p>the tv's on </p><p>but you know it's all wrong</p><p>people just say what they're paid to say</p><p><br /></p><p>it's called news </p><p>but it's a kind of abuse</p><p>and the boss watches every day</p><p>and before they say it </p><p>he knows what they'll say</p><p>especially on payday</p><p>and today is payday</p><p><br /></p><p>you scroll and scroll </p><p>through the wall of trolls</p><p>you wonder who their baiting for today</p><p>it seems true</p><p>like it's you their talking too</p><p>and they know who's going to pay</p><p><br /></p><p>the conspiracy </p><p>will set you free</p><p>it's a play within the play</p><p>and the boss watches every day</p><p>and today is payday</p><p>but tomorrow is payback day</p><p><br /></p><p>you don't fear</p><p>cause he can't hear</p><p>the words you choose not to say</p><p>you feel them though</p><p>and sometimes it shows </p><p>when you look at him in the eye that way</p><p><br /></p><p>he always drives home this way</p><p>and the tools are in the tray</p><p>and you don't care what he'll say</p><p>cause we've all got a new job today</p><p>and today is payback day</p><p><br /></p>
<p>
<iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1312754626&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/muletonic" title="Muletonic" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Muletonic</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/muletonic/payday-full-lyrics-demo" title="Payday full lyrics demo" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Payday full lyrics demo</a></div>
</p>
Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-20141388545712714272022-06-15T00:54:00.010-07:002022-11-15T16:20:42.470-08:00in the old daysin the old days<div>i would want to write to you about all this<div>this devastation, this departure</div><div>i would want to tell you all about it</div><div>about the void you have left in my life</div><div>i would say </div><div>how in the blank portals of my room</div><div>i look for your lovely body</div><div>its familiar bones and places</div><div>your corkscrew smile </div><div>puncturing my heart</div><div>and drawing out my breaths</div><div><br /></div><div>about how i'm using the recipes you taught me</div><div>how i'm wearing the clothes you bought me</div><div>i'm tasting the words you gave to me</div><div>every time i speak</div><div>and i desire to hear your voice in echo</div><div>correcting every dumb thing i say</div><div>there's no more familiar voice to me in this world</div><div>i am dying to tell you all about this</div><div>and hear your reply</div><div>because i assume you are going through all this too</div><div>and no one would understand this mess i made</div><div>as well as you</div></div><div><br /></div><div>so long in tune</div><div>this pain is the loss of our alignment</div><div>its intensity and its reason</div><div>is just the very absence it records</div><div>that familiarity is what</div><div>no longer exists</div><div>if i went looking for it in you</div><div>i would be faced with the horror</div><div>of its disfiguration</div><div>as would you it in me</div><div><br /></div><div>we carry each other's ghost</div><div>and we can imagine it as we like</div><div>to imagine it</div><div>i can imagine you</div><div>as in the old days</div><div>your tangly hair tumbling down your shoulder</div><div>your blissful cheek and your hip</div><div>ghost piercing through the London streets</div><div>like a wonderful disaster</div><div>the wonderful perfect disaster</div><div>that i welcomed into my life </div><div>just so it could be messy forever</div>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-30688550790806536082022-05-10T18:27:00.002-07:002022-05-10T18:28:22.036-07:00This is what we chose<p> if they ask</p><p>you should tell them</p><p>that we could have stopped it</p><p>but we chose not to</p><p><br /></p><p>you should tell them</p><p>we had the tools</p><p>the technology</p><p>and the time</p><p>but we chose to enjoy our comforts</p><p>a little longer</p><p>those same comforts we have now lost</p><p><br /></p><p>and so we rake the leaves</p><p>the autumn leaves</p><p>the leaves of our history</p><p> our poetry, our learning</p><p>we rake them all into piles</p><p> and then we burn them</p><p>we burn them to forget</p><p>for to remember</p><p>brings too much pain</p><p><br /></p><p>and all the leaves are burning</p><p>for the forests are drying out</p><p>and the coral reefs are turning bone white</p><p><br /></p><p>the storm is coming</p><p>but there won't be much snow</p><p>and so the glaciers retreat</p><p>and the seas rise to drink our cities</p><p>and this is what we chose</p><p>this is what we chose</p><p><br /></p>
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qur_n8ROSX0" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-13756228721734800622021-04-30T00:09:00.006-07:002023-08-18T06:14:46.463-07:00the poppy<p> i saw a poppy in the field</p><p>waving its bright red head in the air</p><p>one fine summer afternoon</p><p>and i said</p><p><br /></p><p>'the storm is coming</p><p>dark on the horizon</p><p>it will tear your petals</p><p>from your face</p><p>and crush your body</p><p>bend it down into the earth</p><p><br /></p><p>'why can't you be stronger </p><p>like the thistle over there</p><p>with its spikes and firm flowers</p><p>no storm will worry that one'</p><p><br /></p><p>and the poppy replied</p><p>'my beauty is inseparable </p><p>from my fragility</p><p>just as the thistle's beauty</p><p>comes from its daunting strength</p><p><br /></p><p>'when the storm comes</p><p>we will all do as our nature requires</p><p>and afterwards you will remember us</p><p>for the truth we embodied</p><p>and not lament us </p><p>for what we could not be'.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://soundcloud.com/muletonic/the-poppy?si=16e5ced02ea64ee58e5002d0881f45db&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing" target="_blank">a reading of this poem with music</a></p><p><br /></p>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-82266126727007480482020-12-27T17:17:00.003-08:002020-12-27T17:17:58.535-08:00The Pacifist (long version)They killed my mother<br />they killed my father<br />they killed my daughters<br />they killed my son<br />now I must avenge every one of them<br /><br />The police have been disbanded<br />so the law of the land is in my hand<br />and in my hand is a gun<br /><br />Some call me a partisan<div>but really I'm a pacifist</div><div>and for peace I will do what must be done<br /><br />There is a tree in the square<br />I cannot say what was hanging there<br />but we will take the fruit of their deeds back to them<br /><br />So if you are free and you want to<br />you must join us we are many<br />but the fight must be faught to be won<br /><br />Some call me a partisan<div>but really I'm a pacifist</div><div>and for peace I will do what must be done<br /><br />There is a cancer, it is spreading<br />we must cut true, we must cut deep<br />if we're to save the country that we love<br /><br />So don't turn around<br />don't look back<br />don't doubt<br />and don't fear<br />for the march<br />is to the heartbeat of the dead<br /><br />Some call us the partisans<br />but really we're pacifists<br />and for peace<br />we will do what must be done<br /><br />I kiss my mother<br />I kiss my father<br />I kiss my daughters<br />I kiss my son<br />and now I must avenge every one</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div></div>
<iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/939776728&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: 100; line-break: anywhere; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap; word-break: normal;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/muletonic" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Muletonic">Muletonic</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/muletonic/pacifist-long-version" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="PACIFIST - LONG VERSION">PACIFIST - LONG VERSION</a></div>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-75772177883737196152020-01-18T13:45:00.000-08:002020-05-11T00:18:44.059-07:00the black poemthroat cleansing /*[the wooden bucket<br />
filled with goop.<br />
a black panther.<br />
eventide (even= evening, tide=me time) troop.<br />
<br />
great green (like the roof of my grandparent's house) overalls.<br />
half wit pike spill trident {obvs. neptune reference}.<br />
]the coal lump[, coated.<br />
to keep the black out. {this is a reference to an incident in the Australian Parliament where some member brought in a lump of coal to demonstrate its harmlessness however it was first coated with a clear protective resin to ensure that it didn't leave black marks on the hands or suits of members}<br />
<br />
fast forward.<br />
a gigantic spleen {nod to Baudelaire}<br />
brief frenzied gope (invented?)<br />
a big baked bean,]<br />
<br />
({})a black nugget<br />
small dark and soft (a mouse)<br />
resting in the hand<br />
plucked from the earth (an emerald)<br />
<br />
a form like folded cloth<br />
resinous, with a snake's skin<br />
tight and light (beryl)<br />
absorbent<br />
<br />
lines (lineations) folded on one another<br />
a complex knot of meaning<br />
raw, drawn straight out of the ground<br />
still with a crust of gangue<br />
<br />
a blinking eye<br />
gazing up from the deep well<br />
or a reflecting star<br />
or my own reflection [ just imagery to try and capture it --<br />
<br />
(for how can we know<br />
if time came to pass<br />
the size of her cope [there is a band reference here i forget exactly..{oh yes camp cope!important band!(brilliant early dayz gtr videos on the bed)}i made one the other day but less sweet]<br />
the pleasure of grass{yes that grass})(i am a gardener, and so of *course* i gardened)<br />
]<br />
still wanted you<br />
didn't cope well<br />
[i made a decision it was {wise [saturated fat palm oil<br />
we're all being scammed] (that was a conversation nugget i overheard while trying to pose and so it got into the poem but is completely unrelated (rose was reading some article about palm oil is oil))}]<br />
<br />
the big century {the soft pulse of meaning, quietly drawn into itself, like a creature}<br />
opening wide {i am still thinking about her, most days, i doubt she knows}<br />
take in the plaster {she is younger, so has the whole of her life in front of her}<br />
fake it abide {don't ruin everything, (fool)}<br />
<br />
open penelope {not her real name}<br />
open for me {[her () heart]imagination}<br />
don't walk away {she never did, it was I(or rather, nor did I{just a sentience(a sense)})}<br />
keep it all free {free as her voice in the air}<br />
<br />
ghost poet writing<br />
upon a dark ground<br />
the winner has frozen<br />
the loser is found<br />
<br />
how happy it was<br />
the old burra day<br />
remember it baby? (addressed to wife)<br />
it's all flown away (sadness)<br />
<br />
now grinds in the future<br />
a train to nowhere (certainty of death, soon too)<br />
the driver is stupid (me)<br />
i've not paid my fare (also me)<br />
<br />
hold out your hand<br />
we'll spin once again<br />
i'm not even sorry (i am)<br />
i don't have a plan (true)<br />
<br />
the endless tide rising (this poem is a test. an experiment [the rational way-non-continental])<br />
drink in the days (freezomint!)<br />
the pathos the pathos (references another poem)<br />
it's all washed away<br />
<br />
the endless tide rising (cc)<br />
drink in the swell<br />
i feel like i've swallowed<br />
a 40 foot whale [must be said in Edinburgh accent, like my gt grandma]<br />
<br />
be brief don't unpick it<br />
there is no true story<br />
a feast for a forest<br />
a possum of glory [possums are misunderstood here]<br />
<br />
the autos the path<br />
don't think but do write<br />
the meaning is hidden [of course]<br />
inside the dark night [this old trope is tiresome but what else can be said about it? perhaps i lack the agility of old days to make more of it than this. but drawing my brush out of the well the fact is that it is black and i just splash it over the page as simple as that, no more to say]<br />
<br />
a grass snake (makes me think of lou reed [shiny, shiny])a fit<br />
a pumpkin to ride<br />
a spade is a spade<br />
and i'm ready for five [rather than a hundred, say {eh eric?}]<br />
<br />
be giggling a moment<br />
i'll undo your dress<br />
in haste and in youth<br />
the taste is the best<br />
<br />
a hole in the wall<br />
i kicked it i'm sorry (when rowan was born i had frequent rages<br />
and once kicked a hole in the wall. I felt i was inhabited by demonic beings<br />
but it was just me, just me and my demons. One time he was crying, i put him down on the floor, he was very little, i put him down he was screaming, and i just screamed back at him, roared, i was<br />
kneeling over him, it was the deepest rage i've ever felt, i roared right into his face, and his screaming just intensified. I had at that moment the impression that a demon had jumped out of my soul and into his. I've felt a deep guilt about that moment ever since. For some reason i never had the same rages again, it was just those first few months of our first child, the most trying time for most people.)<br />
be empty my true one<br />
i'll tell you the story<br />
<br />
forthwith forthwith<br />
unkind and unfriendly<br />
emptying my mind<br />
of the posturing telly<br />
<br />
i can't scribe so well<br />
got caught in a rhythm<br />
it's taken all over<br />
like butter and clover<br />
<br />
will empty into fast days of plagiarism<br />
i must give my poem to the people<br />
it is not good enough to know everything<br />
the mundane poisons me, i need tragedy<br />
but don't give me what i want<br />
<br />
frightened people do dark things<br />
Rousseau explained it well when he said<br />
"this sublime reasoning<br />
soars above the heads of the common people"<br />
(so give them god)<br />
<br />
inexplicable writing nonsense<br />
is this my own mind now?<br />
a nonsense machine?<br />
i feel like Coleridge in the later years<br />
which gives me more comfort than it should<br />
<br />
Carthage was a mere trade town<br />
Rome burned<br />
Paris was like a beautiful flower<br />
London is a warm hearth<br />
<br />
i used to have a frission<br />
but now after years at home<br />
being a father and working in an office<br />
i have nothing to say<br />
<br />
except -- here at the centre<br />
here at the very heart<br />
it is cool<br />
<br />
madness does overtake the world<br />
there is likely going to be murder<br />
the spin dryer is speeding up<br />
but here at the heart<br />
it is cool<br />
<br />
in the garden of the heart<br />
it is cool<br />
at night i like half awake<br />
and cross my legs in half lotus<br />
lying on my back still<br />
and visit arunagiri<br />
<br />
^*/Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-69635190984056621362020-01-17T00:12:00.003-08:002020-01-18T13:54:35.192-08:002020 visionconjunction of Pluto-Saturn-Jupiter around the 21st September<br />
notwithstanding<br />
there is something going down this year<br />
<br />
the money now collected into the fewest hands<br />
according to a system which has rewarded the biggest lie, ahem best marketing,<br />
and the lie it spins and spins faster its tale<br />
the liars tale, to create the great confusion<br />
this is going down now like sewage into the throats of the commuters<br />
the great smog of the lie<br />
the great normality gas spinning "everything is fine"<br />
while the world burns up<br />
"everything is under control"<br />
naked humans glued to their screens holding their pizza boxes<br />
as the world spins and burns and the guilt of the lie<br />
will burn bright purple like sulphur and smoke will fill the air<br />
making every eye weep tears of ash<br />
<br />
my oracular inner eye spies into the smoke--<br />
sees the learned leaves of civilisation come fluttering down<br />
nature folded into black ruins, the oceans turned to acid<br />
choked with plastic debris, its feeling creatures dying slowly<br />
while the rich eventually from boredom turn on each other<br />
eating each other, crushing the proles underfoot as they fight<br />
like toddlers with world-destroying bombs<br />
unleashing the chemical means to an inevitable end<br />
<br />
logging off twitter, i am sitting in the kitchen<br />
the nice smells of a biryani rising from the pan<br />
through the window, green leaves and a cool breeze<br />
and the chatter of local children, making their plans for the holidays<br />
all of time stretching before them, endless days of play<br />
as if life is just a dream, and it is<br />
we need to give over having and keeping the nice things<br />
forever and ever, clutching our 'wealth'<br />
our hands covered in blood, our memory creased into our brow<br />
not knowing the very fact of air.<br />
<br />
everything i now do in this life<br />
is about delaying the collision of these three worlds<br />
for as long as is possible.Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-61625120237796663692019-12-15T19:32:00.001-08:002019-12-17T02:21:06.276-08:00does dog exist?The right response to this is to enquire of what is meant by 'dog' ?<br />
<br />
There is a coalition of dogs within the universal 'dog', a cadre of puppies.<br />
<br />
Or if dog is merely the letter 'd' in close proximity to an 'o' and a 'g', then it resides on the page here and there.<br />
<br />
Perhaps you had a particular dog in mind? or perhaps you were looking for the ideal dog? Do we include the ancestral dogs? the primitive doglike animals? do we include statues of dogs? Do the individual organs of a dog constitute "dog"? How many parts of a dog is sufficient to be a complete dog? can we take away one leg and a tail and and ear and still have a dog?<br />
<br />
Likewise also, what is the point of 'exist' - exist like a physical being?<br />
<br />
There are plenty who go about life as if dogs exist. they build dog houses, they buy dog food, they make pilgrimages to the dog park. We may have never seen their dog, but their actions are real, so the source of their action is a reality also. Let's not quibble over who or what has actually seen or been 'seen'.<br />
<br />
Here is the question of 'exist' for if this means 'i have seen with my two eyes' then lots of things don't exist, atoms don't exist, emotions don't, scents don't.<br />
<br />
As you add senses why not add one more - the 'dog' sense, which allows the presence of dog to be felt.<br />
<br />
What are we really getting at with 'dog'? What is the whole matter of dogness? Can we really get away from this? Would life be essentially the same without dogs? Do alien civilisations have dogs? Can dogs be gods?Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-17725042400996188862019-11-20T21:35:00.001-08:002019-11-22T23:26:25.737-08:00a trick worth rememberingat the moment of our death<br />
we review our life<br />
and choose one moment<br />
to live in eternally<br />
<br />
but the trick is this:<br />
<br />
don't look back at all<br />
choose the moment of death<br />
to live in and be free<br />
from both life and death<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-11907566350571605132019-10-20T22:29:00.003-07:002021-10-07T16:15:58.917-07:00ἡ βίβλος found in a vault on Φόβος<h4>
<i>COD</i></h4>
whomsoever is the most<br />
beautiful of them all<br />
to that one<br />
i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is the most fully conscious<br />
of all the consciousnesses<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is the calmest<br />
of all those who are calm<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is the most loving<br />
so also the most loved of all things<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever understands the most<br />
of all those who understand<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is the most genuine<br />
of all those who are humble<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is most doubting<br />
of all those who doubt<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is the most rational<br />
of all those who reason<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever has all of these qualities<br />
to the greatest degree<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
whomsoever is the most immortal<br />
of the mortals<br />
to them i do pranama<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>aham etat pra</i><i><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">ṇā</span></i><i>m</i><i><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif">ā</span></i><i>mi<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
that which exists most completely<br />
whatever that is<br />
to that i do pranama<br />
<br />
that which is the greatest truth<br />
of all the truths that exist<br />
to that i do pranama<br />
<br />
that which measures the great and small<br />
and sets the frame for all things<br />
to that i do pranama<br />
<br />
that unknown which eludes my understanding<br />
and will always remain beyond knowledge<br />
to that i do pranama<br />
<br />
that which is most pleasing<br />
which gives most pleasure<br />
to that<br />
i make pranama<br />
<br />
whichever gives us freedom<br />
whichever reveals us the truth<br />
to that<br />
i make my pranama<br />
<br />
that which is most deserving<br />
of pranama<br />
whatever that is<br />
to that i do pranama<br />
<br />
<br />
that which prompts compassion in me<br />
that which prompts reason in me<br />
that which prompts love in me<br />
that which prompts peace in me<br />
that which gives me strenght<br />
that, whatever it is<br />
it does exist<div>right now<br />
and to that i do pranama<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>The Fire</i></h4>
there is an eternal fire which cleanses even as it destroys<br />
it is a light which shines into and penetrates all things<br />
the wise<br />
who wish not to be burned<br />
tread carefully around it<br />
<br />
that which seeks the fire<br />
will indeed find and bathe in the fire<br />
<br />
that which seeks to empower itself<br />
by its own efforts<br />
will bathe in the fire<br />
<br />
that which enrobes its truths<br />
in falsehoods<br />
that when it is found out<br />
will bathe in the fire<br />
<br />
that which is blind<br />
yet wilfully leads others<br />
that one and those being led<br />
will walk blindly<br />
into the portal of fire<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>The Truth</i></h4>
they who seek the good, verily they will find the truth<br />
<br />
the first child of truth is reality<br />
<br />
the second child or reality is reason<br />
<br />
through reason, mixd with human blood, order and justice can defeat chaos<br />
<br />
the child of order and justice is society<br />
<br />
when society turns its back on truth, it destroys itself<br />
<br />
all societies shall venerate truth above all<br />
as their basis for their own existence<br />
<br />
truth is elusive, it is enigmatic,<br />
it is difficult, it is great<br />
and it certainly exists</div><div>right now</div><div><br />
<h4>
<i>The Priesthood</i></h4>
the guardians of truth are the poet sages<br />
the guardians of reason are the philosophers<br />
the guardians of reality are the scientists<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>the scientists</i></h4>
their church is the universe<br />
their scripture is a logical empiricism<br />
their prayers are in mathematical formulae<br />
<br />
the scientists can protect us from the dark forces of nature<br />
<br />
all hail the scientists who stare into the night sky with wonder<br />
all hail the scientists who have saved us from countless diseases<br />
all hail the scientists who have unlocked the secrets of atoms<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>the philosophers</i></h4>
their church is the mind<br />
their scripture is language itself<br />
their prayers are arguments<br />
<br />
the philosophers can guide and debate the decisions that humans must make<br />
<br />
all hail the philosophers and their clear wisdom, sharper than the spear<br />
all hail the philosophers and their questing for understanding without bounds<br />
all hail the philosophers, who were the first scientists<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>The poet sages</i></h4>
their church is beyond the mind<br />
their scripture is beyond language<br />
their prayers are neither poems nor are they the silence of absent poems<br />
<br />
all hail the poet sages who are always laughing<br />
all hail the poet sages who seek the truth by other means<br />
all hail the poet sages who were the first philosophers<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>The darkness</i></h4>
the multitude do not know<br />
when it began<br />
the multitude do not know<br />
when it will end<br />
<br />
but the location is known<br />
in the darkness is the seed<br />
and in the darkness is the grave<br />
what is in between<br />
is like a star floating in the void<br />
<br />
the unknowing darkness<br />
welcomes all<br />
like a blind mask<br />
<br />
it is beyond death<br /> and beyond fear<br />
its qualities are not truths<br />
or falsities<br />
but Null<br />
<br />
its avatar in this world is chaos<br />
(though there is no true chaos)<br />
its dead hand is that of the asteroid impact<br />
or the callous flow of endless time<br />
<br />
other avatars are the colour that is almost black,<br />
like the night sky on a very dark night<br />
its presence is in the rich scent of rotting things<br />
it is there at moment of death or birth<br />
and in the deepest moment of sleep<br />
but it is also certainly in none of these things<br />
<br />
the darkness does not care<br />
for our worship or recognition<br />
yet it is not unworthy of worship<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>
Consciousness</i></h4>
the consciousness is the manifestation of time in the mind<br />
like shifting sands it is animate in all beings and all things<br />
though it exists in many places and times it is only one<br />
as one we experience the consciousness<br />
as one we are a unity of countless minds and objects<br />
as one we join that which is experienced and that which is experiencing<br />
as one we create reality through our consciousness<br />
as one we are created as consciousness by reality<br />
<br />
consciousness is not material yet it realises the material<br />
consciousness is not mental yet it realises the mental<br />
through consciousness both mental and material become existent<br />
in the one eye of consciousness all the universes exist and cease to exist<br />
the movement of time is the touch of consciousness<br />
the memory of this movement is called matter<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>The laughter</i></h4>
the rising laughter is like the rising sun<br />
it emerges from the well of the soul<br />
and brightens the mind with pure light<br />
through the seven portals it emerges effortlessly<br />
there is no wall that can contain the laughter<br />
like hydrogen it pervades the earth<br />
with the ethereal memory of bliss<br />
<br />
i am become<br />
<br />
walking through the world like a dream<br />
the path is clear<br />
i am inside<br />
the mind creatures play<br />
circling like ravens<br />
and extending my hands<br />
i touch the stone<br />
then sink beyond it<br />
<br />
oh my love<br />
i wish it could be just us<br />
without complexities<br />
my hand in your hand<br />
my voice joined with your voice<br />
your eyes meeting mine<br />
this sadness<br />
is like a slow undertow<br />
meaning<br />
i wish i was with you tonight<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>the path</i></h4>
each step on the path is a science<br />
like every thought<br />
the balance must be struck<br />
intuitively but rationally<br />
with feeling and with knowledge<br />
calling on memory, calling on hope<br />
this is the path to the end<br />
we launch ourselves on it<br />
not knowing where it leads<br />
our feet softly feeling the way<br />
until the knowledge comes<br />
and the uncertainty drops away<br />
this is called meditation<br />
meditation on the crux<br />
<br />
the heart has a voice<br />
and the mind has a voice<br />
tongues are tied<br />
but the path knows the way<br />
don't doubt<br />
and don't fear<br />
for the walker<br />
makes no steps<br />
because there is nowhere to go<br />
<br />
I am following my truth<br />
it eats into my body<br />
until I am lighter than air<br />
I don't eat<br />
I don't drink<br />
I breathe<br />
and I exist<br />
<br />
There is a following<br />
it seeks freedom<br />
but it is drawn to the false pretender<br />
how do we recognise the false?<br />
the false one seeks adoration<br />
the false one makes promises<br />
the false one sees who you are<br />
and knows when you doubt<br />
<br />
don't swallow the golden words<br />
don't believe the big dream<br />
it is never as simple as love or hate<br />
beyond both is the plain adoration<br />
of a thousand homes<br />
<br />
we have come from far places<br />
we have shown ourselves<br />
trust us, don't speak<br />
the language does not exist<br />
that can share our understandings<br />
<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>the jewel</i></b><br />
<br />
A mass movement is like a smoke<br />
it obscures the true landscape of things<br />
keep quiet, they are watching<br />
keep the secrets to yourself<br />
a hidden secret is like a jewel in the ground<br />
it may lie undisturbed for a century<br />
but when unearthed at last<br />
it captures the sun as it always did<br />
<br />
<h4>
<i>the howl</i></h4>
there was a hope<br />
we lost it on the way<br />
i kept it inside<br />
now what will happen is this:<br />
the darkness it will spread<br />
the living will hide or be swallowed<br />
they will play<br />
the Sun will revolve over the Earth<br />
the mice<br />
will play<br />
until the old Gods arise<br />
Hope, Love, Peace, and War<br />
they will take back the Earth<br />
and the new age will begin.<br />
<br /></div>Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-72592559493778722892019-09-24T16:37:00.000-07:002020-02-08T15:37:07.225-08:00zwanting sleep<br />
i go to the zoo<br />
but all the animals there<br />
are wide awake<br />
<br />
the spider monkeys<br />
are wanking<br />
while watching<br />
humans crowding<br />
<br />
all their torque<br />
grinding to a halt<br />
like a tired<br />
beached waveAlaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-10843199900581618082019-05-18T21:59:00.002-07:002019-05-18T22:28:26.976-07:00doltput the penis in there<br />
then see how we chop it off<br />
it's a nice surprise -- see!<br />
now you try.<br />
<br />
i very gently engage the handle<br />
and with one effortless snip<br />
i am become a whole woman<br />
<br />
with blood on the floor<br />
and a chopped off penis<br />
i put it in the bin on the way out<br />
'enjoy your new life'<br />
the nice attendant says<br />
<br />
i walk through town<br />
leaving a trail of blood<br />
idly looking in the window of a few shops<br />
<br />
when i notice he's looking at me<br />
the hairy man with a red nose<br />
(i can see him in the reflection)<br />
<br />
i start to run but it's getting late<br />
he just keeps following i catch a quick look<br />
think he has a knife in his hand<br />
<br />
so i start trotting and rush towards a bar<br />
press in through the door<br />
it's warm inside i sit down and order<br />
<br />
a gin and tonic. but then i notice everyone looking<br />
groups of guys, there's blood all over my legs<br />
of course so i finish my drink<br />
<br />
and open my handbag and grab my phone<br />
then quickly call the number<br />
which is the number of the bomb<br />
<br />
and the entire bar explodes killing everyone<br />
except me as it is a special man bomb<br />
(it only kills men as it targets dicks) so i am quite safe<br />
<br />
walking over the entrails and broken glass<br />
i nearly slip in my new high heels<br />
but steady myself on a piece of man's jugular hanging from the window<br />
<br />
it's not a very firm support<br />
but it'll do for a few seconds<br />
while i regain controlAlaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-72752678152090624832019-05-18T21:34:00.000-07:002019-05-18T21:34:15.343-07:00post hoe dayso the party that no one wanted to win won<br />
'no one' the ones that matter<br />
the others matter too but we will take care of them<br />
they don't need to matter<br />
in the great equilibrium<br />
we would have took care of them<br />
in our safari park<br />
but they voted for the farmer party<br />
the party with the big mysterious shiny factory<br />
in the Cayman islands<br />
we are all different kinds of cattle, ultimately<br />
but some cattle just seem to like the farmer<br />
i admire their sacrifice<br />
it is easier to sacrifice of course while looking at a trinket<br />
the farmer party has the best trinkets<br />
tossing them into the herd<br />
as the calves are led away<br />
tossing them into the herd<br />
as the calves and then the rest of us<br />
are led away to the mincing machine<br />
<br />Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-21785967274897813832019-05-18T21:24:00.000-07:002019-05-19T14:47:38.913-07:00Beelzebub in the bathtub<div class="s1w8oh2o-10 bQeEFC" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; line-height: inherit; padding: 0px 0px 0.25em; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Jesus sitting in the bath</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">putting on an ointment</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">i ask him "is it ok to be</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">jesus or would you rather</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">be beelzebub"</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<br style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: Trebuchet, "Trebuchet MS", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">he answers (after a while)</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">better to be Jesus</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<br style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: Trebuchet, "Trebuchet MS", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">but beelzebub has his merits</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">he runs a tighter shop than me</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">his profits are higher</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">he has a better earnings to price ratio</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">his hires more staff</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<br style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: Trebuchet, "Trebuchet MS", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Jesus trails off</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"what ointment is that?" i ask</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">oh it's just some lube</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">he says</span></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<br style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: Trebuchet, "Trebuchet MS", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1b; font-family: "noto sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="background-color: #191919; color: white; font-family: "trebuchet" , "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">and after that we became lovers for the rest of all time (actually not that long!)</span></div>
</div>
Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-6912124364178100182019-05-18T21:20:00.000-07:002019-05-18T21:20:22.257-07:00share the loveshare the love around<br />
if you have some love to share<br />
if you have no love<br />
then here's some of mine to share<br />
<br />
now sink your teeth in deeply<br />
till the blood comes out<br />
till your gums are bleeding<br />
till the world burns out<br />
<br />
burning fast and spinning<br />
like a dying clothes dryer<br />
share the love it's fleeting<br />
and the world is getting dryer<br />
<br />
the poems are getting wetter<br />
the lives are getting shorter<br />
the poems are certainly better<br />
their lives are certainly shorter<br />
<br />
i bought a little piece of the world<br />
it cost a lot of money<br />
but it's an investment<br />
i'll sell it and get more money<br />
<br />
banal i know & i love it<br />
here's some more to share<br />
and here's some more of my love<br />
i really like to share it<br />
<br />
they say there is a deficit<br />
of love to go around<br />
but it's not so, not at all<br />
my love is all over these burning grounds<br />
<br />
cut your teeth baby<br />
my love is hot as rock<br />
don't turn away,<br />
my love is gonna rock<br />
my love is gonna rock<br />
<br />
sponsored by the totally fucked party<br />
<br />Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-70593829215667619052019-04-14T09:18:00.002-07:002019-05-18T22:05:53.384-07:00the way to silencea very noisy clock<br />
in this room<br />
louder than the cars<br />
on the highway<br />
<br />
and the dark<br />
it whines a tune<br />
like static<br />
electricity<br />
<br />
my body<br />
petitioning me<br />
on all its old aches<br />
and concerns<br />
<br />
sitting.<br />
<br />
chuckles rising<br />
alongside farts<br />
reeking with the absurdity<br />
of my condition<br />
<br />Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-41783001271371689152019-04-14T08:55:00.003-07:002019-11-22T17:03:25.467-08:00Bungoniai took a pen and paper<br />
to take things down<br />
but fell a fast asleep<br />
into the long night drink<br />
spinning onto the dark tack<br />
like a water boatman<br />
chalking the surface<br />
with rippled moonlight<br />
<br />
i was going to write<br />
about Bungonia<br />
the state's oldest recreation<br />
area--a stamp of bush<br />
argyle apple and peppermint<br />
their soft caramel bark<br />
and silver leaf melodies<br />
pouring into a gorge<br />
of grass trees<br />
and limestone faces<br />
conversing around a bend of sand<br />
<br />
but i lay there under those trees<br />
and slept instead<br />
and the holy ground there it drinks<br />
it steals the rivulets<br />
deep into the soil<br />
where yellow caverns<br />
make foul aired tombs<br />
and domed chambers to decay<br />
the final vestiges<br />
of visitors from upstairs<br />
<br />
like us (me and my three boys)<br />
with head torches<br />
breathing hard that morning<br />
as we corkscrew down a crack<br />
and land with the detritus<br />
washed down in a rainfall<br />
among lost bugs and white bones<br />
or wood that's grown a white beard<br />
the modern corpses of the daylight<br />
returned to Precambrian silence<br />
<br />
the Earth here is drinking deeply<br />
taking down the bruised bodies<br />
of the sun's creation<br />
inhaling all his creatures<br />
she digests them all<br />
into a profound slime<br />
mysteriously deep, beyond<br />
where even well-equipped cavers go<br />
the dark dreamy water lost<br />
somewhere between absorption<br />
and an eternal efflux<br />
<br />
but she didn't get us<br />
we chimneyed out<br />
and lay on flat rocks<br />
warming ourselves like dinosaurs<br />
plucked out of the mud<br />
my son lost a wobbly tooth<br />
and i restored with this pen<br />
a memory from oblivion<br />
to withhold it for a day<br />
or a week or even ten years<br />
or a century from the night<br />
but never foreverAlaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-45741468645319671172019-01-01T21:09:00.001-08:002019-01-01T21:14:29.598-08:00new year postperhaps the <a href="http://pantaloons.blogspot.com/2002/12/" target="_blank">pantaloons </a>poetry is too expressive<br />
or nonsense or computer generated—whatevs<br />
I cannot keep up with it<br />
But do enjoy the mostly invisible feeling<br />
(as my friend she sits near and taps)<br />
<br />
41+ years on,<br />
the perspective has changed alright<br />
<u>is</u> <u>it</u> <u>just</u> <u>noise</u>?<br />
or just faster (and faster) cars ?<br />
Dylan's Welsh tidbit biscuit fare..<br />
<br />
I used to know myself<br />
the flow of words seems so absurd now<br />
seems the end is night<br />
every morning in bed about 3am<br />
the dark thinks crowd around and stare<br />
<br />
trying to locate some grommet of certainty<br />
or a pleasure node somewhere there in the abyss<br />
or inside another person or inside me<br />
a hole to comfort, an escape hole<br />
a latch hole, a hidey hole, a pocket of tricks<br />
<br />
oh God the slightest movement of a chair<br />
imbibed in silence, contains all the secrets<br />
the pathetic secrets, oh God the pathos<br />
<br />
boiling down the year to its end<br />
the essence is sticky, sweet, ugly<br />
little dead insects in it<br />
dark burnt umber in it<br />
it's a useless sauce, nobody is surprised tho<br />
<br />
reaching for certainty sticks with the mind<br />
but the mind doesn't stick—dump the mind<br />
dump the mind<br />
dump the meandering mind<br />
the careening animal mind<br />
<br />
find the fool<br />
there they are in the corner,<br />
recognisable in that old party hat<br />
ask them for a dance<br />
see them rise slowly and come forward<br />
an opening dance<br />
for the new year [2019]Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-303919553986091962018-11-12T20:53:00.001-08:002019-12-19T21:56:17.523-08:00A tail of two roosterswe had two roosters too many<br />
just black balls of fluff<br />
tumbling around the chook yard<br />
in the beginning<br />
<br />
they soon grew into two beautiful big boys<br />
with red red combs, orange and black flecked<br />
feathers fingered through their long tails<br />
long horny spurs<br />
<br />
their coming of age<br />
brought a reign of terror<br />
to the yard<br />
<br />
they fought of course—<br />
with each other,<br />
with their dad<br />
(who was a nice subdued old bird<br />
we kept him 'cause he never attacked the kids)<br />
<br />
worse, they constantly molested our ten hens<br />
as they tried to go about their humble business<br />
of pecking, finding grubs, laying the odd egg,<br />
turning our quiet yard into an endless scene of commotion<br />
<br />
so last night after dark<br />
I took the first rooster<br />
quickly from his perch<br />
without any real struggle<br />
<br />
and out in the yard<br />
I held his legs in one hand and his head with the other<br />
and pulled hard, and long, so all the little neck bones cracked<br />
like a busted necklace<br />
and he groaned and quickly died<br />
<br />
when I carried the second rooster out<br />
his old father flapped down from the perch<br />
and made a low croak, as if to say:<br />
“No—not my son!”<br />
<br />
but I didn't hesitate<br />
I had made up my mind<br />
and I broke the second rooster's neck too<br />
though he was stronger and took longer to die<br />
letting out one last crow unexpectedly<br />
<br />
I carried the limp bodies down to the creek<br />
laid them down<br />
threw some green grass over their orange feathers<br />
and left them there as food for foxes<br />
<br />
there was no crowing in the morning<br />
and the yard was peaceful<br />
everyone going about their business<br />
of pecking, finding grubs, and laying the odd egg<br />
<br />
none minding the long orange tail feather<br />
floating like a flag in the water bowlAlaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-16623512544247378702018-02-19T20:34:00.000-08:002018-10-01T23:00:07.308-07:00the visitation of the black catbeware of failure<br />
failure is a lean black glove<br />
clutching at the heart<br />
it folds us into ourselves<br />
in the gloomy crush<br />
of fatal introspection<br />
<br />
its stink starts to creep<br />
into all the things you touch<br />
the faces which you see<br />
the voice with which you speak<br />
hate curls from the wound<br />
like a thin white wire of smoke<br />
<br />
those so confident<br />
smiling, laughing in their luck<br />
are cool and at ease<br />
above the mincing machine<br />
slicing up the hearts<br />
mowing down all us poor fucks<br />
<br />
beware of failure<br />
which enters by a thin door<br />
oh, but in my house<br />
a black cat has come to stay<br />
and i suppose i'll ope the door<br />
in case some more<br />
purr in from off the motorwayAlaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-60666730122494513982017-12-11T03:26:00.004-08:002018-06-24T20:47:40.154-07:00rising smokereading the poem that won the prize<br />
a pleasant feeling brushes my mind<br />
like popping candy in the neurons<br />
and an inner warm glow assures me<br />
that I am in the hands of a master<br />
<br />
I grip it for a while in my hand<br />
then put it down and get on with my life<br />
<br />
dissolutely flick down through Twitter<br />
let out the cat let it back in again<br />
<br />
there must be something left unsaid<br />
if only I could forget all those words<br />
i just read—<br />
<br />
out on the compost heap I rake up<br />
the poems into drifts dozens deep<br />
and set fire to the verbiage pile<br />
the smoke rising in a tall tower<br />
a message to the sky, a rocket ship<br />
<br />
but even this act of surrender<br />
is a theatre, a dishonesty<br />
for there never is a final act<br />
the show is endlessly revolving<br />
playwright, actor, audience—all in me!Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-77284952568065493762017-11-22T02:41:00.001-08:002017-12-11T21:38:33.736-08:00meditation on darwinismevolution co-exists with conservation<br />
evolution aims to conserve itself<br />
<br />
the most ancient thing which can be conserved<br />
is also the simplest<br />
<br />
even destruction may only be obtained<br />
at the cost of preservation elsewhere<br />
<br />
in the very end, all has been preserved<br />
and all has been destroyed at least once<br />
<br />
this is an example of divine līlā (play)Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1483945038552120109.post-57794165646704755262017-11-22T02:33:00.001-08:002017-12-28T14:54:08.013-08:00alonely unionthe dark part<br />
of Taurus<br />
kneads open the oval<br />
lemon gate<br />
the agate<br />
pillow lava—<br />
this is what they call<br />
"following the path<br />
of union"<br />
<br />
opening wide<br />
the African Elephant<br />
eloping with an anteater<br />
the terrible frieze <br />
a grey massif<br />
a carpeted concrete pile<br />
vertices of iron—<br />
this is what they call<br />
"practicing eternity"<br />
<br />
an eucrite verandah<br />
pachyderm pale centre<br />
we must overcome <br />
all barnacles<br />
in the dry dock <br />
there is no afterlife like this<br />
being home is so called—<br />
"only the one and alonely"<br />
<br />
<br />Alaric joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01440661393547365550noreply@blogger.com