Quaking Soul

image

Slither a slice of perfect, impossible to touch; lay it surely on my palm. I hold in my hand your quaking, pulsing, embryonic soul. I shall not curate this tiny zygote, too pristine it is, too fearful. Please do not cower. It is I who am afraid. It is I through whom all souls soon pass, just as invisible currents of warm nutrients snake and bubble, impervious to cloying cold. You shall slip and drip through my open fingers, for it has always been so.

* * *

Each word a loss, a detriment to precision, an agony of proxy. Fewer the better unless I finally submit and lose myself completely, dissolve in imprecision and proximate my being to a wistful, drifting, disintegrating nebula.

* * *

Sex. This ragged meme of distended writhing, exfoliation and trying to forget ourselves by remembering our basis. How distasteful, how morbid this delight at the clamour for your ooze. How laughable, how necessary, how incandescent with raging, blinding hunger this compulsion to nourish my racing veins with the sound of your arching, inchoate ecstasy, to inject it with the sweet delirious poison of temporal transition – to help you remember your glorious beastly roots, just for a few short and clenching moments of deliverance. That is all I ask.

* * *

The piano is not an instrument. It is an emanation, a manifestation of all the possibilities within the art of the human soul. Its mathematical limitations are a disguise, veiling the eternity and immortality within this box of spectral keys, rare hands indeed, sent to us, to play out the secret and mysterious combinations, opening uncharted realms of imagination, potentiality and love.

* * *

A final word – to be determined…

Posted in affairs, art, attraction, beauty, cinema, classical music, Cosmogony, Cosmology, desire, dreams, Erik Satie, existence, Fernando Pessoa, history, Literature, love, Lubomyr Melnyk, Marcel Proust, metaphysics, music, nature, Nietszche, Nils Frahm, philosophy, piano, poetry, romantic poetry, Samuel Beckett, Santiago Rusiñol, sex, Stanley Kubrick, Stephane Mallarme, Toltec, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Semantic Despair

image

A precision concision exhibition of contrition exposition is a mission of the frisson of fission fusion, suggesting suggestion of congestion ingestion as a conception inception deception, wherein therein, words like birds, slicing thirds, dicing curds and whey, of milk silk and the ilk, the Miss Muffett tuffet neither here nor there, hear no swear, to the gist of my wrist’s twist through this mist of writing, fighting and lighting the way toward the untoward of circular cyclical sense inside nonsense asides besides which this switch to the glitch in the stitch of the neuro-psychiatric fabric of rhyme in time, all too small, too dastardly bastard to conceive of achieving the aim of fame, and let’s face it, deface it, it’s true, I knew, from the start, with a start, it was a vain act of vanity to pursue this insanity of romantic semantic despair…

Posted in affairs, art, attraction, beauty, cinema, classical music, Cosmogony, Cosmology, desire, dreams, Erik Satie, existence, Fernando Pessoa, history, Literature, love, Lubomyr Melnyk, Marcel Proust, metaphysics, music, nature, Nietszche, Nils Frahm, philosophy, piano, poetry, romantic poetry, Samuel Beckett, Santiago Rusiñol, sex, Stanley Kubrick, Stephane Mallarme, Toltec, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

One Final Foray

image

Time to flow, linear shards to glow
Like the flaying embrace
Of a weeping piano
Detuning your love,
To the tear-stained cadence of
Graced arpeggios.

Stay, stay, please do not go
To the depths of despair
With a grievous cello
Dwindling your shape
To a formless diminuendo –
My agony finale.

Stay! I will pay you in sounds
Of my flaws and my sins,
Beg with tumultuous violins
To undress to your skin
Once more, before leaving,
To chorale my body, grieving,

With one last, one final, one endless foray,
Into you and your sweet melody…

Posted in art, attraction, beauty, Cosmology, desire, dreams, Erik Satie, existence, Literature, love, metaphysics, music, nature, piano, poetry, romantic poetry, sex | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

The Great Sentience of Time

image

The great sentience of time filtered a kind of monumental morphology down and outward; around and above too, and so beneath, even gravity did weaken, creaking with wooden strain, the bevelling forest bowing with pained grace…

* * *

A sound bejeweled my inner reflection. I paused to question this music of light.  I ought to have asked of its provenance, as to whom could send such a waveform-emissary, but yet all I could ask was where was I feeling this arboreal grace, this wet green fern-ness? In through the ears, yes yes, but…I seemed to be filling my lungs differently as the music crept and shushed its mysterious algorithmic knowledge through me. Capillaries to tiny leaves right there in my chest as oxygen and carbon dioxide exchanged photonic gratitude…the music of sound somehow conducting this sweet, endless, orgiastic symphony. I really ought to have asked who composed?! who conducts?! but the music was just so beautiful, I could barely think…

* * *

And so it will be today, as always, that you will rise in the west, a blinking sun of blaring purpose, yet even so, terminable, as all stars one far far day – a day of cataclysmic marvel, only the sentience of time observing your ever increasing mass dwindle to an entirely perfect morphological music of endless, vertiginous rotation…

Posted in affairs, art, attraction, beauty, classical music, Cosmogony, Cosmology, desire, dreams, existence, history, Literature, love, metaphysics, nature, philosophy, piano, poetry, sex | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Our Pouring Souls

image

We poured our souls through a sieve of stars,

Calliope, Kosmogonic, Venus, Mars.

Our fabric altered, spacetime changed,

Atomic micro-cosmos rearranged.

We loved in word, we dreamed in dance,

Trinity completed by great happenchance,

Aligning our stars without conception,

Our tabula rasa a stellar inception,

Blanking us back to a pristine state,

Our love, our words, a sea of fate

All that lies between us and our pouring souls…

Posted in affairs, art, attraction, beauty, cinema, classical music, Cosmogony, Cosmology, desire, dreams, Erik Satie, existence, Fernando Pessoa, history, Literature, love, Lubomyr Melnyk, Marcel Proust, metaphysics, music, nature, Nietszche, Nils Frahm, philosophy, piano, poetry, romantic poetry, Samuel Beckett, Santiago Rusiñol, sex, Stanley Kubrick, Stephane Mallarme, Toltec, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

You will Soar my Love

image

“You must love in a way that the other person feels free” (Thich Nhat Hanh)

The sun will rise, the sun will fall,
Your face I will see, your name I will call.
Your heart is your own, your future a gift,
Your destiny sealing, healing a rift.
Your soul is not broken, though pieces lay scattered,
Your future, happy, fixed by all that has mattered.
Do not cry, do not fret nor fear,
Your sun in my sky is abundantly clear.
You will sail on with the glory of wind
Pitching you far from pain left behind.
You will soar, great body, great lover,
Great soul, great muse, unlike any other.

You will soar my love, it is given…

Posted in affairs, art, attraction, beauty, Cosmogony, Cosmology, desire, dreams, existence, history, Literature, love, metaphysics, philosophy, poetry, romantic poetry, sex | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Phantasmagorical Sleep

image

Inebriated phantoms distended my senses with clouds of shimmer.

Shoals of thought darted swooped  dived, my brain sea a-glimmer.

Clear, opaque, magenta, abstruse – incepted precepts conceived in my mind,

Transfigured the dendrites to swim in viscose truth, consigned

To the transient, the hyperrealist dream of realising god

In formations of ink, sensations of sound, desperation clawed

Back from the brink of deepest desire, under a drunken moon,

Swooning, spooning with you to a heavenly climax in our night-bed cocoon.

As phantasmagorical sleep awoke me to all this…

Posted in affairs, art, attraction, beauty, cinema, classical music, desire, dreams, existence, Literature, love, metaphysics, music, nature, philosophy, poetry, romantic poetry, sex | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments