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[oaagjh]

of arrows & gardens

Part 1: Rocket to Field (rockettofieldx.tumblr.com) 2014

Part 2: Of Arrows and Gardens (oaagjh.tumblr.com) 2019

by: Jacob Hagedorn

jhagwrites@protonmail.com

Of Arrows and Gardens

Pre-chorus

t______w________i_____________n____________k___________l____________e___________

could there just be slight pause in time & space so i could just be frozen with it.

im a writer, not a speaker. not anything else. . . my words don’t preciously rub off soft corners of paper to tuck rabbits into sleep. everything i have ever written has merely been wishful spectacles that only could ever exist if time & space do said freezing . . . hell, anything that has come out of my mouth is meant to be when time & space is frozen. probably because i want moments to last forever, and they don't. . . so, I am a writer - with orange socks on, perfect shoes for the job, perfect attire for the job, perfect but very much wished for tragedies in my repertoire, and all i want is to stop. all i want is to stop everything, to be alone. and if it all freezes i want the rainfall to keep going, and i want the people to keep moving. 

as you have noticed by moving, there are so many things. what will you stick in your pocket? 

its amazing right there, and breathtaking here. . .isn’t it? it is!!! and things are all right? no... right?

little experiments can get really needy, every little thing can insist on it being endlessly valuable. and no matter how terrible that is - what you somehow go back to - you can still look at it, anytime you go back. 

and why would that thing ever tell you to look away when its only making it feel pretty?

i dont think rushing is impressive, but moving on is i suppose. when it feels perfect it is perfect. taking your time is exactly like an evening - you can stay with it and cheer on the sun until the next one comes right up to you  . . . for you and for everyone or everything . . . or you live for the nighttime because it matches so well. black and blue match everything, why????? if every single thought from a night gets lined up during the day, aren't they not as confident naked?

fucking up is terrible - So Over Really Ruining You . . . ya having a cruel mind gets you alone no problem. very distracting when someone doesn't acknowledge what you did. why not? tell me this thing so i can sort it out. if i don’t know about, let me know! I'm too into my own moment to be kind apparently. 

sorry if u have something in mind, hopefully i know about (so you know. . .) but sorry if i don’t know what I'm sorry about - because thats a heartless yet occupied human's apology. and i guess i have been too occupied.

like, letting me shove this on your plate, or watching me shove things onto other people, but i guess i just don’t really mind saying this because if i don’t - i should. what I'm saying is you can hate on my hate, its a real concept   from some hole that I'm trying to move off peoples paths............ 

like, w h o o p s, p e o p l e   a r e  e x a c t l y  w o n d e r f u l

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an intro to an unrelated poem, and a message to someone i admire and am grateful for

thank you. you dont have to tolerate anything - thats kind of how i always thought of you, like someone that should definitely never ever listen to anyone but yourself. im sure you’re still searching for whatever specific thing in time that interests you, but i guess i believe that you have more good answers to some questions more than i have ever come across questions. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so, this is my critique of something

its fictional. 

its sad.

its acknowledging something that needs acknowledging.

i hope it never happens to you. or anyone.

as much as i wish that this message could just float around in the air going upward, i know its very bland and possibly offensive - like, I'm definitely sure no one wants to read anything that is: full-of-itself, made fancy for no reason, includes nothing when it should, and hopelessly romantic. . . as in, being a poet with ink, at a pub, and smoking cigarettes while the rain pours outside in England and having a fluffy scarf, and being brown and obviously plain and unoriginal... probably the style I am stuck with, but i will kill this mr. dreary clearman - he is just in a new-place with too much time on his hands.

Knock-Off Exits (Enter Riled’s Eschaton) Three Nobel People With Nothing To Lose

There is nothing I would ever want more - there is nothing. The colony of colors in the calm lobby, or library, - the exquisite decor inside his mansion - rung a spirit of an excellently executed ballet, or this was like a doctor’s office but study of devotion and spirituality,. . .well I wondered what this mansion could hold, and it was in fact cosmic and radiant in the way of the gardens and the books and the piano rooms or gallery halls - we passed through these beautiful obscurities on the way to the roof as the night took over our world here. 

There was two glasses of orange juice on a blanket and two cigars as the moon shined over the suburbs with a skyline view that was my home somewhere in the midst. We shared a wavelength and we could have stunned each other with words like ‘pigeon’ or ‘blue’ but instead he asked about calling this a French Picnic, and then we giggled and sat down and became each other’s medicine and entered emotional states naturally, and all beauty was noted and mostly was just simply cherished and I admired him. He hummed and serenaded with the warmish temperature.

‘Will you shake my hand at the end? - I do not know.’ He said. ‘Be it that we found each other vulnerable and we weeped at The Fountain at The Cliff in unity, and you were so bold and magical, and it has given me hope and has filled me up with joy since that day. 

I trust you and if there is dust… or a floating eschaton… We are going to land-home together. Show me what you know dear Riled…I am devoted to you, and we will save ourselves fluidly and of our upbringings inspire the bravest destination yet to be prompted - but now, let us go. Come now, and I will show you what I have waited for my entire life, and purpose proceeds whatever you have mustered up, now you complete me…where I come from is quite similar.’ And what a subject it would be to know where he came from - but I did not ask but think I will find out from this direction he insists on rediscovering… he really just knows I am desperate for community, and he is very much a recluse 0000 This sudden interest to explore and achieve fulfillment was very much inspiring heavily.

My hand brushed his shoulder, and I wanted to pull him close rather any-old handshake. I began feeling worrisome, because I planned to leave my tribe once and for all. The purple puddle would be nice to see, but the anxiety of the loudness and the redundancy of the laboring, although my brothers, sisters and elders have maybe evolved. 

‘What if I dream of morning glee? - and an almost freedom stifled by a company I was born into. I'll walk a mile in heaviness; starting fires but so putting them out because I just want to be alone. Maybe I'll float and see the moon; a different, but my darkness around new light. But I get sick quick, become a star killer too. You have to settle and dream about other things. If you don't, you may get real skinny and cut away. You don't want that. I don't want that. So you gain, make some new friends around lamp posts. You stretch out your hands and the whole earth goes dark. The universe gets sucked in and you walk outside and scramble for a match but it's gone - everything is gone. You wail for friendship and get stuck in a four-walled-derange with nothing but you and your best friend: darkness. . . Could you help me?’

He said, ‘You could argue that four flowers are fictitiously finite. Look here, these acres of woodwork and bloom means no room for doom at the moment and for awhile Riled - titanic tragedy is a concept away and there must be celebration and love to bend pain back to leveled comfort and productivity.’ … Fireworks were going off in the far backyard shot out by enthusiasts that lived in tents or stable-configurations all of their own, and they howled and sang and danced and we could feel the ritual outputs in our souls. 

He looked me in my eyes, ‘See now - my parent’s gave me a name…’ 

‘Sir,…’ A young girl was suddenly on the roof with us, and I could hear the gates opening and I turned to the front of the house and there was the two butlers walking out and turning back to wave to us goodbye. 

‘Yes Mallory, let’s go.’  The fireworks resumed, and we headed towards them - down the ladder - back patio - thru the second of five gardens on the property - to open land - and it is big and blue. Mallory was carrying binders and held them to her chest while I marveled at The Rocket and all the equipment and science my friend and Mallory began operating even though she was around fourteen years of age and was speaking an Elvish language with the boss and my hero… The rocket was ready to shoot off, and we prepared for flight to the place I called home. They asked me, ‘Ready to go home?’ And tears streamed down, for I was truly happy and grateful as if I have never been before and the rage or what haunted me drifted away - far out of reach and then disappeared; I was ready.  

Going home is positive, and I will miss the threats (internal or external) and the aches of the paced out, heroic doses of invisibility in such a busy outer-routine. The loneliness is diminishing because I am with him - and maybe the bitterness will be gone when I see my home-trees for once there was a needy motive roaring inside of me, and the light found me then. 

Maybe when we return The Cliff would be reinvaded with those new faces and imprints on the ground that will give life like I know it always has and will. Maybe I will never return and I will become some vivid-zip-zap creature that obsessively calls home on a freedom-process, and expand to build and inspire like my dear boy. He is smiling at me now, and we will go up into the sky for an unforgettable moment to make a legend out of, and my tribe have never seen this technology. 

As we sat in the rocket, Mallory was flipping through papers from a binder and when I asked about them she said they were files of the heritage, religion, accents, foods, animals, types of trees, and lead-elders. She said she was quite excited to see somewhere rural, because the only green she has seen was from our friend’s backyard, and because she was in a special private school in the city until about a year ago when she was getting harassed by hackers or far-right enthusiasts and yet she found a home teaching the knowledge-hungry boy piano, German or elvish, sowing or more interior design, or filing techniques etc. She is a redhead and is wearing purple: squinty eyes that are green. She says now, ‘Brace yourself, we are floating on.’ And there is a funny feeling in my stomach and there is nothing else than pure ecstasy and there is nothing but the morning sun rising up as we are nothing but three kids singing a song in a way. . .and I was nervous, although my desires surprising and surpassed - I trust him and her. 

An Echo Configured Into a Heart

There is nothing more nerve-racking when faced with the option of acceptance. The wrath I derived when I was young, and the betrayal of love that my people freely gave…an angel has carried me to this point for the sole purpose of redemption and the release of frustration and the grudge that suited nothing in reality - now, the process of understanding and hope is filling my body with warmth. I laugh when we landed, and the doors opened. Mallory motioned with her hand for me to move on, while the boy cut off the system. 

I did not have to find the people because in the distance they were moving closer slowly with some children speeding towards us; there was and is no use of technology here and they were in awe. A young boy named Temot, and a young lady named Izzy hugged my body - when they finished jumping up and down and tugging at my shirt - they told me their names and I remembered them as infants. The elder people had hands under their chins or on their waists, or were hollering for the kids to circle back…they all recognized me and shook my hand one after the other regardless if they resented or welcomed me. The kids ran off to get the rest of the people - my immediate family - while the sun shined magically with sparks of amazement filling the air. Old friends appeared, and then my mother and father - they shook in the embrace and they smiled. My brothers hit my arm and my sisters touched my hair - then everyone greeted my two friends, and I could see Mallory some space away doing sign language with a youngling. Other men were doing construction for a housing upgrade in the circle of homes for rest across the land - and women with their children are inside tents giggling. 

My mother showed me my old toys that she kept, and I played chess with one of my sisters. The tribes leader and religious counselor - my father - was acting peculiar. While I was seated in the small home with some people, he was fiddling with a storage chest and than locked it shut…walking past me and patting me on the shoulder as he walked out to join the men working far out making alternative homing areas - whispering about a person named Kam. It started to get dark, and yet I asked my friends if they wanted to step away from the society and take a tour of the swing-tree and obstacles that were made for younglings enjoyment - they said gladly. 

 -

Night 1: we walked and the boy said, ‘I sense a demon…’ And then he explained he could hear a harp and a flute amidst the trees - he said there is good and evil present and the echo’s of harmony were angels sent from the moon…the moon was buzzing, yet the clouds were black and slow drizzle filled our realities. A feeling of worry and unsafeness consumed me and the rain could have been purple poison - have not felt this way since forever in the past, and I remember the terror of the night but we kept on walking. We were near the swing-tree, Mallory was three steps behind us and the boy put his hand on my back and I thought that she was humming quietly for a moment but that drifted from me and then noticed Mallory ruffled through the forest away from the two of us in the dark and the only sound was from him. The boy was crying…he was worked up about the angel and my heart sank…he said it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard.

Curious Than Centered 00110009

There is nothing that will soothe his hallucinations and deranged experiences of the current time, but I know he goes through abstract emotions that are beyond casual understanding, all for an unknown reason he does not deserve…warfare. When we arrived back, deep into the night, I pointed to his tent and followed him over while he was hunched over recovering from his weeping spell and he tried to rest, although he was breathing heavy. Mallory woke up and put on her glasses and fixed up some tea while he put his head to pillow. 

When I went near the rocket to feel some sort of milestone of gratefulness to diminish the worry and stress I was carrying, I felt cold. As I brainstormed solutions for the dear boy and as I yanked at my hair and paced around the giant machine, there was noise at the village and I made out a fire with figures seated by in the distance of the night. They got quiet when I approached - they were mixing flower substances for consumption yet it reeked and this was dark and not something I remembered at all way back when. 

‘Your friend and his technology!’ They were laughing. Tomorrow was a celebration they said…and they did not tell me for what. A young man with a scar on his face grabbed my arm and pointed to where the main garden is. ‘Hear this Riled..what your father preaches and how he leads, there is war coming and he is weak. Feel the rain? Hear that thunder? They are over there praying…’…I shuffled away against the momentum of his grip. ‘Take some of this or eat some of these fruits it won’t hurt ya.’ The group giggled. ‘Your family…they gave up on you. You betrayed them and because of you we are all pressed to drag ourselves along with sorrow and insecurities. We cannot live like this. Now, you coming back has turned some people the wrong way.’

He then guided me near my parent’s tent and ran in quickly to retrieve somethings he kept under a blanket from inside without alarming my mother, and we moved backed toward the fire - the other men were hushed. He went on to tell me about devotion and he took out a candle, and a compass - he said I was a machine improver…bell and whistle awareness of a lifetime…and a natural leader. He lastly uncovered a jar filled with some teal mold. He looked me in the eyes and opened the lid; it smelt of berries and adoration…

’Drink this, your father had a prophesy of a wise one and he is in the process of creating a mass production and I have been the only one that has tested this - no one knows that - word has gotten around and he cannot control this experiment. I have been dabbling with blue prints, my own technology, and I can even wield magical things.’

There is a jealousy and hunger in my body and my heart began to race; this was not a purple puddle that guided me and freed me: this is sorcery and this could help my friend with his pain and burdens…so I took a sip, and he tilted the jar and it was too late to go back. Deep into paralysis, and floating along a lukewarm river - connections disconnected only to connect a disconnection and so on..I was one with conscience and the whole universe was green and yellow and I was soaring up and through: circles under squares under triangles. MiCe mIcE MICEs…e whuihp zhujm, oh this cablasay’s tongue - numb green is blue.

‘Riled?’ My mother rubbed her eyes and asked if I was looking for food. There was no more of the teal, and I did not see any of the garden collectors coming back to camp. My brain was purely rattled and am at the closest to the senses as I have ever been. Mom sat up and asked if I was looking for food. ‘I am not hungry.’ When I stepped out of the tent, there was a shade of a figure walking, being pulled to the ground in pain, and it was the boy - my friend. 4, —— mostly 4, and four night visions__ Scattered but focused on the array of forms present, and this would help him maybe but can not find more and I certainly do not know how to create more…

‘Riled take some of this!’ They were smirking around the fire. I said I was not hungry, but they were offering sunflower/rose injection and they were wearing evil masks it seemed. The decision was made, I moved away from the group and heard voices saying, ‘Kam!  Kam! Ha ha!’, and I walked after the boy as light died millions of times in my brain and the black clouds of the sky roared with purple splatters onto the ground and lightning that was overwhelming. 

He was weaving in and out of the woodwork, and I started to jog a bit - I kept tripping but increased speed every trip. I paused and there was a black cat with flaming green eyes and it moved along and I followed it to one of the secondary fields. He sat near an isolated tree crisscrossed, and I moved toward him with great anxiety. The moon flashed thru the sky as a distraction and when my head turned, closing in on the boy, he was gone and there was nothing but a box at my feet.  

It told me to sit down, than stand up: repeat. It was shaking and floating than dropped back down shaking and shaking. Before my eyes were fireworks in a bubble surrounding the thing 1111 the box opened in entirety and chimes and child-laughter was blasting in my eyes and I could not reach out because it was to feel in complete and utter awe. When I peeked inside there were voices in other languages, colors and numbers were to be as one: L & b: 645372 \emphasis on four/…’Dr. Moses?’ I said…’Doctor Clearman? Doctor Dreary Clearman?’ Huikjhuikjhuikjhuikj - I move along while the sun starts to rise…the rocket…absolutely gone and I squirmed under a blanket for only some short time and with a racing brain. I drowned in tears, and then drifted into rest with my pulses varied and every entity was active but my heart broke - come back ZzZzZzZz. 

Falling Prince: Outside Society 

There is nothing like the plow of a train in a morning-wake; just ache. The tent five spots over was the destination to see if Mallory had left too: she had not.

‘Mallory, I ate some mold…’ I said. She was drinking tea and playing pinball on her laptop. She recognized the utter confusion in my slouch and closed the computer. 

‘There is nothing. Why did he go?’ I muttered.

‘Oh, James? He is gone, and I will tell you why indeed.’ 

Mallory went on to tell me about how he travels and his many mansions around the world. A Fairy King, and how he claimed my fairies…How he plants himself personally with and than against potent figures with Possible Medicine to heal his sickness. She mentioned that night at the fountain - he lived in that city for two years waiting for someone like me. 

‘James knew you were from a distant and obscure place..he did some research on you and heard about the mold that he would hope to cure him.’

‘What is the sickness? I have seen him in pain.’

‘Regret…’ she said. He went looking for the mold in the garden but became overwhelmed amongst working men and the Flower-Injection project was stumbled upon; he thought it would help him but that made him more ill. I loved him. 

She told me she was heading west in two days. It was explained to me how he is a defier of moments, and collects wings. I must keep my distance from gardens, for my eyes cannot examine anything of grace or beauty - the self, here - for me, is rotten. 

‘There is a celebration today…’ Everyone knew besides me as fact. My father is still in the garden and I can hear people coming back from wherever they were. 

‘What are your dreams, Riled?’ She was making her bed and washing her face.

‘To maintain blue eyes, fly again, or poetry - I guess…’ 

She smiled radiantly, yet I was struck cold, ‘Open your mind. There is happy monsters shaking reality in distant views - Dancing! There are ripples in ponds as melody! Fall inside at the end of the world!’

People were pulling up chairs in a circle and the jester was in the middle shaking people’s hands, clearing his throat, and smiling - damn it… ‘One last thing Riled.’ She pulled the box from under her bed - the one from last night. It did not seem hyper or of any spectacle, although it was twitching. I grabbed the box and opened it: a crow for messaging. Mallory smiled and handed me a card with information on it, but I ripped it up, let the crow hop away from my hand and went to my tent and grabbed my backpack. ‘I do not know where you are…’ A great sickness overflowed my brain and it was physical too. Heading north, I nodded to Mallory but her smile faded and she walked to join the circle. 

‘Join us!’ I heard in the distance - it was Kam amongst the people that were gathering. As I stepped over step with emptiness alone of me, Izzy ran from behind me to my side: ‘Riled! Come back…they are announcing your brother. Your mother is pregnant! Riled come back, we need you now…rumors are your father is sick!’ - as I was sick. Kam increased volume, but decreasing as I walked and walked until I was of the ground and I became something eventually. I heard demons and angels battling with darkness and light, but a different version due to a different sickness.  

‘A God is able. But tell me, how shall

a man follow him through the narrow lyre?

His mind is divided. At the crossing of two

heart roads there is no temple…’ - Rainer Maria Rilke