Dark Matter

A short history of religion

it is not entirely unexpected, this
long night. it is a constant
in this world that we will
spend half our life
in some darkness or another:
sleeping, dying, sobbing alone behind
drawn curtains.

nevertheless, we pack up our cigarettes, our worrisome
habits and addictions, and go outside
where we pretend to understand the sudden
moonlight, but we know nothing: everything we can see
is silhouette, shadow puppet, stick figure.
the streetlamps do little for us. the walls seem grey and
smooth, a blur of plastered stone.

we’ve got a long way to go before we get used to this.

if you get to the edge of the neighborhood before the
rest of us, send some sort of soft signal back:
a sound, a scent; something that we might see without
smoked glass in front of us. let us know how far we’ve got to go
before we get used to the idea that there are colors out there.

wave if you don’t get lost, or even if you do.

Maybe Red Sox Fans Enjoy Their Pain

migrate to XP here at the Big House, better known as corporate headquarters.

That’s right: Fortune 500 company on NT.

On Wednesday, we get our new PCs…if we have one that needs to be upgraded.

So I got down on my knees and checked out my beast…which I’ve never done before because I made some assumptions…

and it’s a PENTIUM II. No, that’s not a misprint.

I’m assuming that means I’m due.

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Hey Texas — the Supreme Court just ordered a review of your redistricting plan because they’re not sure it’s constitutional.

Not surprisingly, it doesn’t touch it for this election.

Convenient, eh?

Driving
cars
we wish were
bedrooms
we can drive and
stay in bed
all day
with their hot hoods and
their back seats
their leather and their
horsepower
in dawn just past sleep
or in dark of morning
we drive
in daylight or at
dusk these
cars scented with
romance where
love is secondary
and warm steel
on bare skin
seems
a wedding of form
and function and
rutting with
pumping gas then brakes
then gas
again
until
baby
I can sleep
while you
drive

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

This reminded me of stoned conversations in college that seemed deep at the time but were, in fact, pretty stupid.

2. Waking Life

See above, and muliply it by two.

3. American Beauty

How a rich pothead pedophile works out to Everyman, I’ll never know. Despicable characters, vile plot, lame social commentary.

4. The Star Wars movies

I found the first one (Lucas’ inane numbering sequence aside, the first released) mildly entertaining, the rest predictable. Can’t even recall the plots of most of them.

5. Farenheit 9/11

I’ve weighed in on this before — nothing new and some borderline racist bits made me furious.

Go for it.

we’re looking for someone to be
the right killer for the job with
arms that will hold and squeeze
the wrong ones till they’re blue and small

we’re looking for
the right killer for the job
someone who can make it all seem
inevitable

someone who can nod his head
and shake our hands while claiming it’s cool enough
to start a fire on a distant hearth
someone who will not smell the flesh roasting

we’re looking for our kind of killer
with anguished eyes and a do-right hand
with a steady aim and a crestfallen lip
with a cowboy’s heart and a minister’s voice

our kind of killer says he
doesn’t play favorites
our kind of killer says we
mean well and will be well

all will be well on the other side
of our kind of killing
with the flag as tricolor nightvision scope
with the anthem as bombastic silencer

we’re looking for our kind of killer
to make us feel better about the way we smell
when our red white and blue turns
to blown brain grey and dry blood brown

give us the kind of killer we deserve
someone who understands how we want to be loved
with malice toward none
and charity toward all

So — about that last post.

No Worcester tonight — this was because of continuing car issues. One of our cars is in the shop for at least another 5-6 days being repaired after my accident last weekend ($3k in damage), so we’re down to one and there were too many places to be with one car.

No NY this weekend — related issues; realized that I’d be gone all weekend based on available bus schedules, etc., if I didn’t want to take the car so Anne could have it — plus she’s not feeling well again. Sorry, all…I was really looking forward to this weekend; while I wasn’t going down entirely for pleasant reasons (and that’s another story entirely), there were promises of more fun later on.

Canada —

Well, I can say this much: part of the fact that I’m staying was personal, and my choice; part of it was not.

Let’s just say that since I’m staying, you can bet your ass I ain’t gonna be quiet — or passive — now. Got it?

Thank you, all, for all your kind comments and thoughts. I am proud to know you.

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Column’s coming…migraine sidetracked me last night.

And…it’s up. A brief romp inspired by yet another new guitar…it’s right here.

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Finally, for you real hardcore reading wanks….some deep shit to chew on.

http://cryptome.org/terror-myth.htm

Eclipse

“Every day above ground
is an answered prayer to the god
of small consequences” — that is something

my father never said to me, but
I wish he had. I wish someone had.
It would have meant so much more

if I’d learned it
from someone
instead of having to learn it on my own. Of course,

that’s not what they tell you
when you finally get it:
they say it’s all about going through

the experience
in order to make it more meaningful.
“You wouldn’t have understood

or believed it if we’d told you.” Well,
screw that noise. Screw all the human noise.
It does no human child any good

to have that vague advice about the bright side slung at you
when you’re not looking
for it, if no one also grabs you by the scruff of the neck and

forces you to look at the darkened sun, saying,
“There will be days like this all your life, sport;
what looks bright will blacken, what seems clear

will become obscure. They’re going to tell you
it’s an omen for some awful shift, the planet rearranging,
diamonds crumbling to ash in your hand. Screw THAT noise.

It always comes back, it always continues, and even if you’re blinded
by the return, you’ll still be here. You’re going to be ok: that’s
a small consequence of the way this world is always reborn.”

Nice “SPEAK” tonight. Highlights for me (among many) were Dave and Heather’s pair of poems on a painting by Wil Barnet, and Dave I’s second poem.

The whole question about the rapid fire performance delivery that seems to be enforced by slam these days came up several times tonight. Folks who believe they can’t “perform” a piece without being in that mode, so they look for ways to deliver the pieces that way when it’s not the best way to deliver that particular poem. I hate this rigidity.

The older I get, the slower and softer I read, most of the time — can still reach for it if need be, but I find it rarely is needed.

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Then I watched about 45 minutes of the debate.

I think they both looked like idiots most of the time. This is the best we can do?

Edge tonight in my eyes went to Kerry on the minimum wage question alone; other than that, total draw based on what I saw.

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Gotta figure out plans for the NY trip this weekend — without a car now (Anne’s is in the shop over the weekend for sure) so it’s either the train or the bus.

onward…

The theme for tonight at SPEAK is “falls”. Not fall — falls.

The first time I recall
falling was when I very young and
my father fell down the stairs
with me in his arms. I was so young
I do not recall the hurt or the fall
or any fear.

I have always since then
feared a sudden loss of solid ground
below my feet, a drop into air
and a stop at the end.
I wish I could tell you I grew up wanting to fly.
I wanted to burrow underground instead.
I wanted to swim and nearly drown and skid into walls
and I did all those things one by one;

but when I consider all the times I should have fallen
from walls or bridges or face to face meetings
with beautiful strangers in high places, I find the scars
from the lesser dangers ache
a little differently, more urgently; my ears bend back as if
the wind was taking them anyway,
and I wish I had risen, no matter the cost;
I wish I had fallen
for real,
even just once.

The reason I posted the Matthew Shepherd picture specifically in response to specific Red Sox/Yankees trash talk was that I was struck by how simultaneously homophobic AND violent it was.

I am never surprised by such stuff…but that doesn’t mean I can’t comment on it.

If you want the shit to stop flowing, you have to cut off even the tiny rivulets.

That is all.

After reading the Red Sox/Yankees trash talk, this seemed appropriate.

THE ULTIMATE SILENCE
October 12, 1998

Six years ago today, Matthew Shepard was murdered for being homosexual.

What will you do to end the silence?

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new poem

I’m one giant ache…think I’m getting the flu.

Huge weekend coming up, too…supposed to be selling at a flea market on Saturday (ugh, if I feel like this) and having dinner with Jack McCarthy and a couple other folks on Sunday before his feature.

Ugh.

Anyway…rose a couple of hours ago and put together a column; part of the countdown series…

It asks for ideas for the future remaining columns. Don’t be shy. Please comment there, ok? It helps the site stay active. Thank you.

Off to bed…did I say ugh? I did?

Ugh.

the first interview went swimmingly.

not looking at a permanent move — at least, not at first. probably a long term assignment of ten months/one year to start.

the whole thing was pretty upbeat; i’m pleased.

wouldn’t start, most likely, until after the first of the year.

coincidentally, i am spending the afternoon with the guy who would be my boss while i’m up there. good chance to get to know one another better.

o, canada…