Darling, make sure it's the vacuum-cleaner, not shoegaze.
“There are many degrees of sight and many degrees of blindness. What senses do we lack that we cannot see another world all around us?” ― Frank Herbert, Dune Messiah (O.C. Bible)
Infinite division
It’s just a void
to be filled.
You place the hand
in the right place
in the right space
and it’s done.
But it’s not my hand
that fits
anymore.
What should I do
with all this space?
They say that heart
can be given
but how many cuts
does it take
to divide the heart
take it apart
so there’s nothing to give
anymore?
I thought I was just
a unit of dust
with nothing to give
nothing to receive
but where there was a wall
now there’s a hole
blending in with the hand that fits.
But what when the hand
gets pulled away
letting all the flood
turn to blood?
Please teach me
to make a mold
that fits into a hole
which is this heart
this infinite space
this infinity.
Mooktawan Meditation Sanctuary, Thailand, August 2015
to be filled.
You place the hand
in the right place
in the right space
and it’s done.
But it’s not my hand
that fits
anymore.
What should I do
with all this space?
They say that heart
can be given
but how many cuts
does it take
to divide the heart
take it apart
so there’s nothing to give
anymore?
I thought I was just
a unit of dust
with nothing to give
nothing to receive
but where there was a wall
now there’s a hole
blending in with the hand that fits.
But what when the hand
gets pulled away
letting all the flood
turn to blood?
Please teach me
to make a mold
that fits into a hole
which is this heart
this infinite space
this infinity.
Mooktawan Meditation Sanctuary, Thailand, August 2015
dead men
four little white teeth sitting on my lap
three bony freudians filling up the gap
two dead men dining in my bedroom
I killed one - now there’s two
hangman gangman clayman dead man
in my navel in my cave
in my womb in my tomb
in my room in my room
in my bed in my head
my heart’s still pumping!
I’ve got no heart I forgot!
look my heart’s still pumping!
I’ve got no heart! I forgot!
heart piss pump red cry red snow
she shouted stop stop but I shouted more
one skinny dead man lying with no shoes
I killed one - now there’s two
one fake gardener levitating by and
twelve brooding chest inspectors cannot tell me why
two tepid dead men talk in my room
I killed two - and now there’s two
hangman gangman clayman dead man
in my navel in my cave
in my womb in my tomb
in my room in my room
in my bed in my head
my heart’s still pumping!
I’ve got no heart I forgot!
look my heart’s still pumping!
I’ve got no heart! I forgot!2010
re
a man came to me
handed me a knife
and he said: now
try if it is sharp enough
so I took the knife and
cut into a piece of paper
but he said: no
not like that
you’ve got to try it
on your own finger
so I cut into my finger
a shallow wound
a bit of blood
the knife sang like a harp
and I was content
the knife was that sharp
a man came to me
handed me a gun
and he said: now
try if it is good enough
so I took the gun and
shot at some tin cans
but he said: no
not like that
you’ve got to shoot
through your own heart
so I shot through my heart
the gun screamed like a parade
a peep-hole
a blood torrent
and I was content
the gun was that efficient
handed me a knife
and he said: now
try if it is sharp enough
so I took the knife and
cut into a piece of paper
but he said: no
not like that
you’ve got to try it
on your own finger
so I cut into my finger
a shallow wound
a bit of blood
the knife sang like a harp
and I was content
the knife was that sharp
a man came to me
handed me a gun
and he said: now
try if it is good enough
so I took the gun and
shot at some tin cans
but he said: no
not like that
you’ve got to shoot
through your own heart
so I shot through my heart
the gun screamed like a parade
a peep-hole
a blood torrent
and I was content
the gun was that efficient
2010
the x bird crosby [iets zoets]
me and jim holding hands at the gym
three bodies one soul
more green means less mean
you don’t believe in g
but g believes in you
so call to our excess pillar
so call to our pillow saint
remove everything that
stands in the way
of plush without a reason
including the mary
including the t-shirt
out of the harm’s way
out of the harm’s way’s payed for the alarm
out of the harm’s way
out of the harm’s way’s payed for the alarm
into-the-heat way
if only I knew which button I press
into-the-heat way
if only I knew I’d write an instruction book
I would send an invitation
would you send me the invitation?
I would send an invitation
would you send me the invitation?
this is not the number
this is the number I was looking for
this is the number
this is not the number I was looking for
what you can’t find at the drugstore
you’ll find behind the candystore door
what you can’t find behind the candystore door
you’ll find at the drugstore
you’ll ask for nothing more
2010
(to my friend j.r. and some other people that I don’t know.)
three bodies one soul
more green means less mean
you don’t believe in g
but g believes in you
so call to our excess pillar
so call to our pillow saint
remove everything that
stands in the way
of plush without a reason
including the mary
including the t-shirt
out of the harm’s way
out of the harm’s way’s payed for the alarm
out of the harm’s way
out of the harm’s way’s payed for the alarm
into-the-heat way
if only I knew which button I press
into-the-heat way
if only I knew I’d write an instruction book
I would send an invitation
would you send me the invitation?
I would send an invitation
would you send me the invitation?
this is not the number
this is the number I was looking for
this is the number
this is not the number I was looking for
what you can’t find at the drugstore
you’ll find behind the candystore door
what you can’t find behind the candystore door
you’ll find at the drugstore
you’ll ask for nothing more
2010
(to my friend j.r. and some other people that I don’t know.)
we shall not overcome
I… saw him breaking his band
and I didn’t know what to do
and I didn’t know what to do
I… saw him dead in the sand
and I didn’t know what to do
and I didn’t know what to do
I could’ve lied in unison
could’ve said I’m Jesus’ son
could’ve killed the needle the need to feed
but I
I could’ve screamed no no no
or take my money my love and save yourself
or go coward go
but I
I didn’t know what to do
so I did what I do best
go back to bed dream me a gun
hope I wake up with a smile
but I wake up next to a
WE SHALL NOT OVERCOME
WE SHALL NOT FLY
WE SHALL NOT OVERCOME
WE SHALL NOT RISE
I… saw he’s happy at last
and I didn’t know what to do
and I didn’t know what to do
I saw… my chance coming at last
and I didn’t know what to do
and I didn’t know what to do
I… could’ve laughed in unison
could’ve screamed we love you so
is this what friends are for
but I
I… could’ve seized my happiness
should’ve wanted nothing less
could’ve said I’ll wear that dress
but I
I didn’t know what to do
so I did what I do best
go back to bed dream me a gun
hope I wake up with a smile
but I wake up next to a
WE SHALL NOT OVERCOME
WE SHALL NOT FLY
WE SHALL NOT OVERCOME
WE SHALL NOT RISE
2010
we want wilder
we’re
hungry and waiting
for
the bashful lemon pie layers
from
our bashfully favorite deus
already
discussing cryology
a
solution with a twist
you’re
responsible
the
fire cannot be reversed
it’s
free or freeze now
what
good is candycane lime
when
I can’t chew my way
into
the sublime
what
good is creamed corn crime
when
I can’t bite my way
through
the divine
when
river m pulled back the steeds
know
the man by his deeds and his belly-button
I
realized that some simply are not there any more
in
spite of being everywhere
that
leaves me short of an autograph
a minute
multiplied with forever
boy
was I hungry then
but
not half as hungry as now
my
left and my right index fingers
discussing
the suficient reverb amount
my
teeth arguing with the tongue
my
left eye pulsing and solo cursing
my
head imagining 12 cm x 12 cm canvases
painted
by painters from the land
of WEN
on
the porches of the houses from the town of ISIT
on
the windows of the shops from the city of DEW
oscar
was wild but alan is wilder
we
want wilder
we
want the news
we
want the new
and
we want it now
2010
Zero hour
We are young
We
are pale
We
are strong
To
take the ale
Life
in one breath
Vomit
to death
With
abstinence to heaven
Clean
24/7
Follow
me home
Don’t
follow me home
I
don’t want your body
I
want my BED
You
show me the razors
You
show me the scars
Well
blame your mother blame Freud
Got
no time gotta catch the last bus
And
the questions have
A
form of a formula
And
the friends have
A
shape of a shade
And
what we make reaches
The
stardom of a star
And
the moves undefined untouchable unstoppable
The
cinema alley
Is
open all hours
You
can take the trolley
Admire
the powers
Of
electrical charge
Life
at large
Lynch
in quadrophonia
Tarkovsky
in Technicolour
And
we could’ve done the talking
Without really talking
Travelling unravelling
Facefoil fashion
Show me the razors
Show me the scars
Give me some glue
I give you Warhol give it to you
And the questions have
A form of a formula
And the friends have
A shape of a shade
And what we make reaches
The stardom of a star
And the moves undefined untouchable unstoppable
2011
Glass
Life is fragile like old porcelain
Sooner or later your shadow grows thin
But imagine that what comes next
You and your friend they will mend
Then take you along, and it won’t be long
Till you get to where grass is emeralds
Hours of fun, and games in the sun
Trumpets and sunsets with Einstein on the beach
Life is delicate like silk under iron
Forces of nature will never bend
But imagine that what comes next
Tiles and patches and islands of sounds
Fragments and miniatures minimally adorned
Hypnotic repetition neglecting gravity
Saxophones and cherry cones and endless summers
Impressions and sessions resembling eternity
Souls are solid like diamonds
Diamonds are solid like records
Souls are solid as crows are horrid
As music and diamonds are forever
All that it takes to know
Fits in one song
Impressions and sessions modeling eternity
Trumpets and sunsets, and you till eternity…
to Phillip Glass, 2007 or earlier
Sooner or later your shadow grows thin
But imagine that what comes next
You and your friend they will mend
Then take you along, and it won’t be long
Till you get to where grass is emeralds
Hours of fun, and games in the sun
Trumpets and sunsets with Einstein on the beach
Life is delicate like silk under iron
Forces of nature will never bend
But imagine that what comes next
Tiles and patches and islands of sounds
Fragments and miniatures minimally adorned
Hypnotic repetition neglecting gravity
Saxophones and cherry cones and endless summers
Impressions and sessions resembling eternity
Souls are solid like diamonds
Diamonds are solid like records
Souls are solid as crows are horrid
As music and diamonds are forever
All that it takes to know
Fits in one song
Impressions and sessions modeling eternity
Trumpets and sunsets, and you till eternity…
to Phillip Glass, 2007 or earlier
svengali
he came
across the water
empty handed
elegant as a reptile
showed me the ladder
this is this is it
showed me the LPs
said they could be
mine
he said: I’m dark
flattoned deadpan
I’m simple
a bauhaus coffee table
an empty fable
but you you resonate
like a coathanger in a
dead hall
a butterfly pinned to
a plastic wall
wow.
what a compliment.
one day he sent me
for a pack of
cigarettes
across the seven seas
promised me a rosewood
chapman stick
and angel figurines
his eyes the sizzling
iceberg
and I said fine OK.
I went to the shop
a snake was standing
there
said won’t let you in
unless you
get me a pair of socks
so I went for the
socks
a goose was standing
there
said won’t give you
the socks
unless you get me a
tuning fork
I went for the tuning fork
a bear was standing
there
said won’t give you
the tuning fork
unless you get me a
fur jacket
I went for the jacket
a bee was standing
there
said won’t give you
the jacket
unless you get me a
compass
I went for the compass
a pig was standing
there
said won’t give you
the compass
unless you get me a
necklace
I went for the
necklace
a fly was standing
there
said won’t get you the
necklace
unless you get me a
math book
so I got myself the
math book
got myself the
necklace
got myself the compass
got myself the fur
jacket
got myself the tuning
fork
got myself the socks
got myself the
cigarettes
and when I came back
he’d already taken my
face
placed it onto his
face
and started to run run
baby run
but the glue
didn’t hold
ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-hold!
where do I go now, O Academics? where do I go now, O Battle-droids? where do I go now, O Door-knobs? where do I go now, O Petrol-based eyes? where do I go now, O Bodily fluids? where do I go now, O Mother?
seven years, saving hunger for the hungry, sharpening knives for midwives, pretended I read through the pages wide spread but only I knew where the hands were and why, disgusted and disgustipated sleepless constipated by the dreadful truth about the salivally marked territories and soldiers with glass in the eyes and eyes in the glass and rotten mouth skin eloquent but no taste at all, unable to fill in to fill in the void.
a master of concrete an expert constructor I constructed a truth, names a word a pumping muscle to give away and I gave away what I had and what I didn’t have I gave as well.
In return I got acronyms micronyms micropiss macroenvy macroshit and the broken fan
no window is a window no paper is paper no mind is a mind without a name in it when you pretend to be reading but dreaming about the bell and the hallway and the doorway and the silk that reflects on the head instead,
two winters in a row it was cold in the celebration hall birds of feather shit together sweat and giggle worst fucking music ever except for the music when I looked at the hands two hands the hands that waved I thought I loved Clapton just so I could look at those hands, Slowhand is an orphan-apparition the eyes of a fish art-school coloured glass the technique was irrelevant the package the surface the media was not the message I know it now all I had to do was deliver the insides declare the goods the good the light through the flesh that still was in me
unconstructed, thus unaware it was there, unaware we would grow up and down, my frown, my truth, my youth, my ghost, my rudder, my brother, my pi, my voice, my engine, my late for the wheels to home, my I I’d lay my head right here on this concrete bed so we could talk talk and talk talk my I don’t want to go home I want to grow wings I can fly above things on the soil now because someone’s uncle sat in the car next to the man who plays mean guitar and voices his vowels and his words like a father
the master had failed to construct what he laid his hands upon but what he didn’t lay his hands upon became a garden that no one looked upon because they thought it wasn’t there so he didn’t care if it was growing or not too busy watering the fake paper grass hoping to grow a rose from the glass
the master was unaware of the closing time of Eden bars so he stayed until late in front of the door a burning sore but to no avail it was late even the hookers were gone and the good children were in bed dreaming about how they slept and dreamt overseas clean white sheets and could I be a man of science and is there a dark side of the moon and is it true that I’ll take off the glasses and be making friends with bottle
and the Holy State was calling the brave have answered unaware they will be missed by the not so brave the generous bossom overseas embracing the youth and offering a place in gospel choirs for both the holy and the unholy black is beautiful and white is beautiful tune in with angels come and tell us what it is you want and we’ll tell you what it is you don’t need because the purpose of the fish is to give and be given
seven years asleep amongst the sleeping I refused to have my meat taken out I refused to sell my teeth, the glory that no one promised never came and we grew out of the seed into the bloom this somewhat deliberate misscalculation is the sequence of the growth regardless of the technicolour or the monochrome but too late to call now too old to wait so I sit devouring horizons and in the horizons a winged cephalloid me the void opening up the crack to Ginsberg and Kerouac to mala beads alpha-streams to tea-leaves to he-leaves dreams himself a mortar collar, and in the dream he never looks back and in the dream he leaks through the crack and in the dream all laden with bees and in the dream he lands and in the dream into the hands and in the dream he’s eaten away and in the dream through the mouth and in the dream into the veins and in the dream I’m bleeding honey I’m bleeding Coltrane I’m bleeding Kerouac and in the dream behind the wheel four hands but there are two hands and in the dream heaven is in Frisco and in the dream wearing Jedi colours and in the dream taking them off and in the dream looking down on my body seeing the rope and in the dream a body next to a body said don’t go I need you so
I’d polish it clean I won’t keep track I’d give it away and I won’t ask it back it’s too red black and too loud I can’t sleep at night
every day
anyway
define nothing
be fine
this inch this syllable this animal this tongue this soul, inhalation is for the fishes
this pound unchangeable unweightable a solar canine a cane for the blind to those who follow you blindly a cape of a dead navigator dead on the soil but alive elsewhere I wish you could see
this blooming hoops of electricity this colours this ear pressure this tube in the hole in the skull of the chosen of the walkers of the soil of the earth of the endlessness of the unfolded universe the love oh the love there’s so much of it I’d surrender my pineal gland for a drop for the air for the rope for this liquidity I reach out with my hands to touch this branches to sink with these roots
this animus this anima
this aenema
an unknown soldier’s riding by with ease
please search no more my burning sore
I am your long-lost John Riley
but if this is the window
and if this is the curtain
is it me
looking in
or is it me
looking out
what if looking out
is the looking in
and what if every face in the world
looks like John Riley
and I trench I push I squeeze these words out
pieces of broken glass out of the feet into the no more and I’m carrying on yes
these are the last words are I am done done he is gone gone the ghost I love the most is dead
the circle is closed I grow new toes all my eyes open I grow new roads
am I am I am I there yet
would you please answer please
I don’t have money but I
have faith
to sell
june/july 2011
seven years, saving hunger for the hungry, sharpening knives for midwives, pretended I read through the pages wide spread but only I knew where the hands were and why, disgusted and disgustipated sleepless constipated by the dreadful truth about the salivally marked territories and soldiers with glass in the eyes and eyes in the glass and rotten mouth skin eloquent but no taste at all, unable to fill in to fill in the void.
a master of concrete an expert constructor I constructed a truth, names a word a pumping muscle to give away and I gave away what I had and what I didn’t have I gave as well.
In return I got acronyms micronyms micropiss macroenvy macroshit and the broken fan
no window is a window no paper is paper no mind is a mind without a name in it when you pretend to be reading but dreaming about the bell and the hallway and the doorway and the silk that reflects on the head instead,
two winters in a row it was cold in the celebration hall birds of feather shit together sweat and giggle worst fucking music ever except for the music when I looked at the hands two hands the hands that waved I thought I loved Clapton just so I could look at those hands, Slowhand is an orphan-apparition the eyes of a fish art-school coloured glass the technique was irrelevant the package the surface the media was not the message I know it now all I had to do was deliver the insides declare the goods the good the light through the flesh that still was in me
unconstructed, thus unaware it was there, unaware we would grow up and down, my frown, my truth, my youth, my ghost, my rudder, my brother, my pi, my voice, my engine, my late for the wheels to home, my I I’d lay my head right here on this concrete bed so we could talk talk and talk talk my I don’t want to go home I want to grow wings I can fly above things on the soil now because someone’s uncle sat in the car next to the man who plays mean guitar and voices his vowels and his words like a father
the master had failed to construct what he laid his hands upon but what he didn’t lay his hands upon became a garden that no one looked upon because they thought it wasn’t there so he didn’t care if it was growing or not too busy watering the fake paper grass hoping to grow a rose from the glass
the master was unaware of the closing time of Eden bars so he stayed until late in front of the door a burning sore but to no avail it was late even the hookers were gone and the good children were in bed dreaming about how they slept and dreamt overseas clean white sheets and could I be a man of science and is there a dark side of the moon and is it true that I’ll take off the glasses and be making friends with bottle
and the Holy State was calling the brave have answered unaware they will be missed by the not so brave the generous bossom overseas embracing the youth and offering a place in gospel choirs for both the holy and the unholy black is beautiful and white is beautiful tune in with angels come and tell us what it is you want and we’ll tell you what it is you don’t need because the purpose of the fish is to give and be given
seven years asleep amongst the sleeping I refused to have my meat taken out I refused to sell my teeth, the glory that no one promised never came and we grew out of the seed into the bloom this somewhat deliberate misscalculation is the sequence of the growth regardless of the technicolour or the monochrome but too late to call now too old to wait so I sit devouring horizons and in the horizons a winged cephalloid me the void opening up the crack to Ginsberg and Kerouac to mala beads alpha-streams to tea-leaves to he-leaves dreams himself a mortar collar, and in the dream he never looks back and in the dream he leaks through the crack and in the dream all laden with bees and in the dream he lands and in the dream into the hands and in the dream he’s eaten away and in the dream through the mouth and in the dream into the veins and in the dream I’m bleeding honey I’m bleeding Coltrane I’m bleeding Kerouac and in the dream behind the wheel four hands but there are two hands and in the dream heaven is in Frisco and in the dream wearing Jedi colours and in the dream taking them off and in the dream looking down on my body seeing the rope and in the dream a body next to a body said don’t go I need you so
I’d polish it clean I won’t keep track I’d give it away and I won’t ask it back it’s too red black and too loud I can’t sleep at night
every day
anyway
define nothing
be fine
this inch this syllable this animal this tongue this soul, inhalation is for the fishes
this pound unchangeable unweightable a solar canine a cane for the blind to those who follow you blindly a cape of a dead navigator dead on the soil but alive elsewhere I wish you could see
this blooming hoops of electricity this colours this ear pressure this tube in the hole in the skull of the chosen of the walkers of the soil of the earth of the endlessness of the unfolded universe the love oh the love there’s so much of it I’d surrender my pineal gland for a drop for the air for the rope for this liquidity I reach out with my hands to touch this branches to sink with these roots
this animus this anima
this aenema
an unknown soldier’s riding by with ease
please search no more my burning sore
I am your long-lost John Riley
but if this is the window
and if this is the curtain
is it me
looking in
or is it me
looking out
what if looking out
is the looking in
and what if every face in the world
looks like John Riley
and I trench I push I squeeze these words out
pieces of broken glass out of the feet into the no more and I’m carrying on yes
these are the last words are I am done done he is gone gone the ghost I love the most is dead
the circle is closed I grow new toes all my eyes open I grow new roads
am I am I am I there yet
would you please answer please
I don’t have money but I
have faith
to sell
june/july 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)