a toxic event|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 18 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Tuesday, May 30th, 2006|
i've always had daydreams of
calmly splayed across the open air
a smile sighing my relief as the
juggernaut of ephemeral life
awaits it's final thunderous yelp,
but they come to me only as
fantasies of escapism and
ruminations on self-pity.
i would never have the courage
to lie down in the indigo blossom
lined with felt poison-tipped needles
and patiently watch, stars circling the
celestial poles, as the petals
droop and sleepily wrap me
in a curtain of filaments and veins
within a darkness of eternal clouds.
this fog roils like the mysterious
sands in a cauldron,
horses roll on the ground before me
their manes pierce my eyes
then melt away
so many images--black hair swims
over my face, and suddenly the
dry mists are stained a bottomless brown
containing more fathoms than
an ebony field of fabric
i'm lost in that earth and clay and
i remember a solid reality
that clings me to life and
asks me only to dream
of the great unknowing inside me.
|Saturday, April 8th, 2006|
imitation flanks of blood
march in horizontal queues
across the soiled mud flats.
like an ancient dream, the hurt bodies
roll in unison
under the cows the
meat swells to a bulbous
engine of lust--
naked fragment of power
coiling into the cracked earth
the cram of cars rush like a
images of radiation circle my
eyes and taint the edges with
the burning dust of instant memory--
holding up a can of prescience
to the light of knowledge...
...i fall into the deep invisible mirrors
walking over the darkness like a
blind god over the inchoate oceans
with no anchor and no solid ground to
scar my face on
the fields run like rivers and the
cacti cry out each time the
sinks into raped pink flesh
a black army marches across the
endless strands of blood
fractal into the near horizon
before my feet.
sundance oceans striate over the globe
you follow the stream to the mouth
to the soft delta
i dream on your fingers
the fingers opening at your mouth
the sands sing
the salt water flows into my veins---
painless, like light
you dream open and wandering
like the fractaling ripples of a seascape
your horizon pulls me like the moon
gravity--pearl quicksand depths of energy
luscious dreams slip into my throat
climbing over your walls, i imagine pools of blood
glistening with effervescent waves of color
A break in the blue sky
waterfall of cold breath opens like a child
onto the autumn fields
your summer comes like a hot rash--
wet and swollen and sometimes
enjoyable in the depths of heat--and
leaves creepingly, subtly, but fooling no one
yet every year manages to be gone
suddenly out the back door before anyone notices.
|Friday, February 3rd, 2006|
|stream of conscious insomnia
one poem written all at once, then i chopped it up and gave each little part cute titles. nothing smart. just regurgitating so i can hopefully get to sleep.
i. fluid air
the corporeal dusk drains onto the pavement
like the etiolated summer skins of
cloudy tunnel days
tar marsh fumes rise black
amongst the ochre light
pouring from the thick quartz air.
ii. i come across you lying in the road
you, injured bust
you opal flame, languid
mulling like yellow fox tails
lapping up your eyes
like stolen fishes.
cramped callow wings fold
over your drift----you,
you, charcoal eyes, large swallowing pupils.
my feet come crashing down above me
and like a gypsum weed
you grow from inside,
the sternum, growing up and out
a tightening underneath the ribs.
iii. i dream of many hers
from the jagged orange of this corporeal dusk
i mount the womb-like glow of a dragon
who, frozen in time, in the white womb of silk
carries me across the stark savage night
ancient blisters burst from my head, and
she who speaks with blue flame
comes to me with clear stars in her hand.
i fall again, this time crimson and full of
membranous spheres puckering with viscous waters
i crash naked into a mountain of blood
my hands warped i try to fly with the
stubs of former wings leaking marrow from the bones.
iv. trying to break free
in the child rises a demon
whispers of chains bulging and ripping
under the skin, iron centipedes
crawling over and through the muscles.
in the demon rises a ghost
like an incorporeal sun
a heavy star of knives
imploding from the sternum and screaming and
shrieking through the forest of bones
a rough caterwaul of grinding.
v. a mystical experience
in the soiled pocket of night, a glimpse
a mountain of semen, all the fluids of sex and birth
and eternity---dreams of eternity boil up from the bottom of my mind
a dark visceral pool, how endless?
how many lives down to the very bottom?
in this hazy state, bewilderment is like an avalanche
chaos and only a heavy awareness of a moon somewhere far above
outside this static and snow
how much blood drips from that moon?
or is it from the taste in my mouth,
merely the subjective wraith of my body?
entranced and rigid, there is no comfort in the silence between raindrops,
no pattern in the music of this raging storm.
only the eternal flat line.
|Thursday, December 15th, 2005|
"electric memory phase"
midnight the emir
staunch and naked
wind blisters the cold haunch
iron barbells lumber out
rainbow blisters the cold ocean
with beer and spiced wine
your haunch vibrates
under my teeth
shine from your unforgettable
speckle grey twilight
white sheets billow
translucent foam and skin
fog swims over your staunch
river of snow
river of wine
emirate midnight is
cold with barbell darkness
lonely spiced teeth
drips of ochre beer
foam off the darkness
foam off the beast
it’s like a strange ocean overflew its banks and crumbled into the naked spears of longing fervent midnight chrome frenzies
i camp on the shores and overflow my veins with fervent chrome spears
longing for strange orgy, i’m absent.
pillars and empires and strange fulcrums
wrest the story in infinite moments-unique and many.
spiders hang in their web and
in the body of you
the meditation is an unfolding bloom
your lotus is the inchoate remembrance
in the angst of a foreign crown
we’re reminded and clamber to your shore
one bleeding mouth after another
a procession of teeth sinking into
blessed crimson wave of flesh
in the silent blisters
i am drowned in cells
droplets and tears and you
fathoms of you
shores of you
pulses of you
I must say, the title is hardly original, taken from steve reich's "electric guitar phase." i would hate to be accused of plagarism. i started writting with the idea of the musical piece: start with a theme and rework it in a sort of stream of conscious way and just see where it takes you. anyway, this is completely uneditted, so likely to be a major piece of crap, but maybe later i'll actually come back and like pieces of it. i don't usually prefer to have repeated *important* words, such as "fervent", whereas i don't mind repeating less weighty words such as "you", but i thought i would try it out to see if i can make it work. i've tried it in this past and haven't liked the results, but i still like the idea, and WANT to FORCE it to work, damnit! :P also, the shift in the middle is just a product of laziness. i like the form of the first half, but it was holding up my stream of consciousness, trying to stay within that form. i'm not sure what i think of that...hmm...whatever, not like this matters to anyone but me.
|Sunday, December 4th, 2005|
i've been looking for this poem forever, and just ran accross it while looking throught the files on my usb memory card thingy that i haven't looked through for a year or so (there's no title as yet - sorry):
the derelict trunk of a deceased tree
stands withing the living expressions
of a forest, it’s shaggy surface
soft and moist and brittle
like a rigid sponge of memory
reinforcing a skeleton, to remind
its former tenants what a beautiful
view it gave and how lightly
one could glide from its branches
into the cool verdant depths;
its surface is never bare for long--
eagle wings of sunlight soar down its lithe
length, feeding the pastel coral-green of
moss that circumvents its now invisible
bark, illuminating this sublime shrine to survival.
like bees hovering around the
maddening scent of sage, life blooms
about death with revitalizing decay,
fungi dissect the woody flesh
with probing pale mycelium
brown fibers melt into a viscous
oozing liquid, larvae burrow through
the roots; the scent of ozone and
perpetually moist earth wafts from the
trunk, undulating in the breeze,
like the tattered ends of a feathery
luminescent blue veil.
the earth undresses the puzzle,
conserving latent energies, redistributing
dormant particles, until daphne
lies naked and free in the black soil,
exhumed from stasis by the benevolent
|Monday, November 28th, 2005|
happiness is a warm plaid shirt
and the carpet under your toes
is bleeding ephemeral truth
as the arab hardens his steel in my heart
this antique radio explodes in my face
inspired by dahl and blake:
the lamb/worm closes his fruit
the firmament/peach-flesh is solid
hidden in the moist cushions the
cloud people are too far to damage.
|Thursday, November 3rd, 2005|
|Sunday, September 11th, 2005|
wow, look at the time. and i've already been up for two hours! this is quite unheard of. well, i'm trying to prepare for when school starts. i want to bike and bus to school, which, being a two hour bus trip, is going to require me to be up this early at least three days a week. i should probably start looking for some part time work too. i really really don't want to work...it's not so much the labor that i hate as it is the risk of being accountable to someone who is not neccessarily going to respect me. i guess everybody runs that risk. but it seems like there are certain occupations in which the risk is lower, or at least you are equiped with suitable ammunition to combat any kind of disrespect. the part time retail crap is definitely on the lower rung of such jobs. i guess it sort of makes sense: less responsibility = less respect. but no, that does not make sense. that is certainly not a moral approach to the job place in my book.
anyway, now i have to figure out what to do for the rest of the day. normally i sleep half the day, so i'm used to fitting everything in to a shrunken time slot. now i have all this time! sheesh. what do most people do during the day? oh yeah, waste away at a job. :P
i can't get this to download on myspace, but here it is here, finally! this is from my ghost town adventure in august:
|Friday, September 2nd, 2005|
|every once in a while i have a light bulb, which is really just a realization that there is no bulb
i have a hard time confronting truths about myself, specifically when a friend points that out to me. i'm not talking about "bad" things--those are easier to deal with. i think "bad" things are just concentrated refined architypes that no one person can ever wholly be, which makes them easy things to rationalize through. obviously, if someone calls you on a "bad" thing, they don't know the whole situation or they're just upset or they're not really a good friend...whatever. you see? that's reletively convincing, at least to the mind that is attempting to rationalize. but when you're confronted with a truth about yourself there is no rationalization that does not appeear wispy and translucent when babbling off in front of an obvious truth.
not that it's a bad thing--i think it's important to be reminded of the subconscious ways that we present ourselves to other people--but i think i am irked sometimes because these truths about ourselves are often presented as absolutes, which suggests, i think, that these truths are thing with which we are meant to identify our is-ness with. i shun identifying myself with any kind of abstract concept or process of learned behavior or any other kind of "truth about ourselves" whether it be fault or virtue (though the later is certainly easier to accept). i think i see these visible aspects of myself as being a poor litmus test for the invisible components of who i really am. when i die, or when anyone dies, and someone asks: "who was levi?" "well, he was a kind intellegent man. a loner who sometimes wanted to please people too much. etc. etc." it's like a horoscope. so many people identify so easily with astrology, but all they are, and all any attempt is to describe who a person is, is a string of architypes and cliches, even artfully woven together sometimes.
who i am, or who anyone else is, can never be described through words. we are not a series of words and ideas and actions. we are something else. something divine and possibly more utterly simple than we can imagine.
i don't think we can get to know anyone except through spending time with them, and even then it takes a lifetime to even mostly know someone. that is, if there is some kind of healthy dependency between the two people.
anyway, here's something i wrote today on the side of the road (disclaimers: don't know what to title it, and it's also completely unrevised):
in the begining there was
a time in and of itself
like a point, the rythms we
cling to and worship
were inverted upon themselves
the stars the atoms the
hollow vastness of life
the eons of space between the
nucleus and the electron shell
helium, fusion, the slime of life
dreams of imposible dimensions
in an impossible consciousness
who remains in the irrational point?
what continues in the abscence
carrying on her shoulders the windows of obscurity?
is memory indestructable?
is memory the sun that melts
away the scramble of infinity? Current Mood: i'm sitz a duch
|Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005|
i found these in my dad's office the other day. i thought they were just boring until i realized what they were: my first train ride! this was on a line from nashville to chicago, summer of '99 or '00...i can't remember. it was a great first train: we got to chicago in two days!
god, i look like such a hippee! hee hee...oh, i just realized i think these last two were taken on a different train. i think probably the one that took us out of chicago into wisconsin, minesota, and eventually fargo, north dakota.
looking at these pictures, i'm kind of angry at myself for not going. i know andrew was looking forward to going too. it's fine though. life happens, and this summer other things got in the way. the only time i would have gone is when the math lab closed this month, and i thought i would be working well into september then, until i gave adam those extra hours. by then it was too late. plans were made and took the place of more distant plans. geez...those double stacks look so nice though....
well, i'm on a less experiential journey right now through 12th century europe, turkey and the middle east, and looks like we'll be going into persia today too with louis l'amor's classic "the walking drum." yeah, i'm a slow reader, but that's only 'cause i stop reading for long periods.
i think first i need to water some plants...i think i feel more affinity for plants than i do animals. to put it in a way that totally ruins my point, i'd rather be in a forest with no animals than in a dirt field full of animals. hehe, don't worry smith! i'll still feed the family before i water the plants! :P
|Thursday, August 4th, 2005|
weird things happen when you have an old, disfunctional camera.
|Thursday, July 7th, 2005|
|ridin' my high horse on the open range
i decided to see just how american i could get. i'm not sure about the political background of the test, but it's interesting that a higher percentage went to answers that imply ignoring the constitution and international law. now, i'm sure you get points for baseball and american cheese, but the main points were added for things like outlawing certain freedoms and being bullheaded and beligerantly alone internationally. is this really what it means to be american? are those the actions of a patriot? to put the voice of a large portion of the populace in chains? to ignore moral arguments for the red herring of "the president is always right?" well, i'm not sure if that's really american. it might be what the conscious of this nation is, but if there were principles that our country was founded on, from the little i've read, i don't think this is what they were. sure, we were founded upon libertarian ideals. the individual is supreme, and the money that that individual already had was very precious, but there was always a moral disclaimer, and a respect for the individuals who died to free us from the tyranny of royalty. to forget these moral foundations, and to call wars waged devoid of a moral cause "heroic" i think is very un-american. anyway, the people who made this test were either making a statement, or they are in line with the same immoral people who sent our troops into afghanistan and iraq on a pretense of lies.
|You Are 92% American|
|You're as American as red meat and shooting ranges.|
Tough and independent, you think big.
You love everything about the US, wrong or right.
And anyone who criticizes your home better not do it in front of you!
|Tuesday, July 5th, 2005|
|i don't get it....
...the half naked chik, that is. the %16...now that i understand. actually, i didn't like the test, 'cause when it asked what i prefer eating, there were no vegan options! i bet it wouldn't change the score all that much. :P seriously though. i do like my country. but, either we're going through our terrible 2's, or we have no more room to grow and it's all gone to shit. i think i'm gonna start driving around with a shotgun in my trunk, an american flag on my antenna, and trippy 60's rock music constantly blaring out my open window. damn. i need a truck.
|You Are 16% American|
|You're as American as Key Lime Tofu Pie|
Otherwise known as un-American!
You belong in Cairo or Paris...
Get out fast - before you end up in Gitmo!
|Monday, June 6th, 2005|
i've been trying to find this damn poem for the longest time, and it turns out it's been sitting in the back of my car in a puddle of wine growing mold on it. i could still read it, but damn, it's so not worth the wait. i don't like it as much as i thought i did, even after a little revision. i wish i could find the most obscene poem that i've ever written. i bet i'd still like that...'cause i'm all evil now and what not. whatever- i'm still as fucking doe-eyed as ever, just bitter about it :P man, there is this stupid kid working in the math lab this term: he really gets on my fucking nerves: c****s or something like that. everytime i see him, whether it's from 2 or 100 feet he has to say hi to me and ask me some dumb ass question. i think he knows and enjoys the fact that it annoys the hell out of me, 'cause he's kind of one of those people who enjoys the fact that he annoys the hell out of everyone around him, and he gets louder everytime. anyway, enough venting, here's my poem:
the sphere at the bottom of the ocean
i am walking through an orange grove
down a green carpet–at a
large intersection i turn
left–i run for hundreds of miles
my panting in good slow rhythm
with the incessant uniformity of
my legs–i hear soft breaking and
snapping, like fallen cities, each time
my feet land and every three and a half
i breathe out–one two, in, three
and a half, out–my eyes are
red glass olives with wide black pits
and they see nothing but the
trees and the path and the sky merged
into a tunnel going on and on
like an endless telephone wire.
on this sempiternal day, this changeless jog,
i stop. i look up and see millions of miles away
green billowing smoke. i look
down and see a well worn path of
mud. the realization comes like a wind–
the green smoke are trees and i am traveling
inside a sphere.
i take a left, double the time, walk
for two hours, turn, walk for four hours, turn
walk for eight hours turn so that i am
spiraling, encompassing the sphere.
i leave the path.
under the blue shades of the trees there is
a thing called night–it is
peaceful as halcyons. fruit bows down
from the limbs while i lay in the
mist of stars. next to the dew-pond
lying between the roots, i wash the fruit of sunlight.
its skin is velvet and leathery,
leaving yellow scales across my palms.
its flesh soft and orange
spurting perfume into my face.
membranous sylphs spring from my
pours, licking me clean of scales and moisture–
i go naked and swim in the dew, and dry
hanging from the bark.
into a sleep i fly to the sun cradled
in a thin breeze–picking more fruit deep
within the leaves.
i open the fibrous flesh, spraying
luminescent-blue spirit, like electric water
that stains my fingers like blackberry juice–
it builds up under my fingernails and
enters my blood stream through
the capillaries–and i begin to glow,
filled with elation–i am a lightning bug
painting the interior lattice of branches with
when i grow tired of basking in the dankness
of these moist green caverns, i climb to the top
and fly into the light above the canopy.
02/27/99 – revised (tried to salvage) 06/06/05
|Saturday, June 4th, 2005|
|the clouds carry our name
anxiously i climb down the
try to bring their effluvial nightmare
into the calcium dome that
i hide under
i fall into the painful perceptions
the fire licks my cornea
white syrup pours down the
smile ridges of my mouth
the window lies dank in the
boredom, blue streamer
anti-ballistic wave of happiness
gets sucked into the dust
do you remember the fallen
how can we rationalize?
how can we rationalize?
how can we rationalize?
it is again the jurassic echelon
mr. tyrannosaurus takes the day
but this is about me
everything is about you and me
it’s the image inside of us
it’s the love inside of us
it’s the fall of rain on
the transcription of pain into
our open sweating pours
like the tremulous earthquake
in the ancient cavern
death and transcendence ripples
|Tuesday, April 26th, 2005|
|i've been slaving away...:)
yay, some new pictures. i like the theme in these....i think i'd like to delve into it some more: emptiness, but particularly where people are supposed to be but aren't. it's a good place to start i think, which can lead to other more interesting, possibly original ideas.
and here's a couple random pics. the one of rabbit is actually infrared, but i was sick of trying to see through the 52mm 87 filter taped to my 72mm lens, so there is no filter.
|Tuesday, April 12th, 2005|
a secret temple beneath
moss covered foundations
holds a flame, dull and painful,
laps up cold and darkness
scrapes its crystalline tongue
against dripping stonework.
a starfish extrudes its stomach
into an ocean of creams
i taste foul primordial pools
of curdled liquids, stroke the
mordant underbellies of sordid dragons.
in nooks of driftwood and emerald sprays
i wrap my tongue around salty flesh,
enraptured and gorging until
i stare at wild stars
with undulating fire from my irises licking the sky.
a secret temple under
lighthouses and open arched buildings of
sun and sunlight
claims a brood of shadows;
writhing claws and cyclopean limbs
desiring with tenuous muscles
popping tissues and moaning eyes,
gluttonous breath takes in tepid air,
rasp of skin rubbing against skin,
where the body is sewn together,
a mollusk full of sensors and spikes
lambs bleating in guileless wonder for their
mother's teat, the whole core of
sex, hunger, mind's incessant
ache to be filled, a bruise that is
always healed and always injured,
pure and avid want exudes infrared and
gamma photons just outside perception.
a child hides beneath the
desk, lurks behind cabinets, trys
to escape from bright lights of
suspicion, infomercials and fat
pills, demographic-targeting commercials.
i hold a wet orange between two legs,
guilty pleasures pulse over me--
between the blood beneath my
skin and the blood coating my
muscles–-a surge like blue plasma,
electric-white light i can almost see
squeezed from my pores like sweat,
as if juice rolled from the crushed
orange cells after taking a bite.
all i can do to kill the
postmodern daze numbing saline drip
of static morphine media
is bury my nose and tongue and
eyes and ears and mouth and cheeks
and nose and fingers and eyes and face and tongue
deep and unforgiving into moist and
pungent fibers in the darkness of fruit.
i crouch there for fifteen minutes,
though it seems like hours, so complete is
my infatuation with sensation, and yet
how ephemeral–to attempt this simple
merger with a fruit
rested on a concrete floor huddled
amongst plastic facades, broken
promises, images of empty women,
bulbous men, the reek of decay
fogging the air, living decay that
hangs about the dead bones of walking demons.
a secret temple within
our hearts, confines a common
poignant horrible and unquenchable
burning for life.
a worm an eel a boneless
snake; the earth, the ocean
the rustling grasses and rushes are
so full of the interplay of life.
to join i copulate, taste forbidden salts
of skin, and to connect,
leap with urgent longing into beaks of ravens
battalions of shark teeth, talons beneath
raptor eyes that beam down on
my lithe body, gleaned pulses of blood
red muscle murmurs beneath my scales.
we share in the sweet victory as
we rip through nerves, vessels
savor with singing taste buds as
we tear into the breath of lungs.
|Tuesday, March 29th, 2005|
|the ocean and the cloud
on her hands
i trace my finger
shadows dance across her skin
the ceiling corners turn sepia
the blacks drip like rain
blankets drape over us like watercolors
you were an ocean and i a lamb
i climb down the streets tonight the
sulphur lights tarnished with rain
cloud the world in thick liquid bronze