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[revillusion-blog]

bloodletters:

with taking of deep breath and motions of the chest, revivified

by force of will alone I call the summer into being, spinning thread the evening will weave and wear

as fireflies are drawn invisibly towards glowing cigarettes and cigarees

and courting madness (unsuccessful me) and death (the same, but beautifully)

kudos to bloodletters for this poem, and for the last stanza- breathtakingly lilting

song of the time of the season

[revillusion-blog]

-takin' a (trip) through the mountains-

--Trip ain't in parentheses for nothin'--

.

.

I can talk to ants

And, as to their father, they listen.

.

I can dance with the flowers

To the wind's complex cadence.

.

My feet are bee's feet,

Glistening saffron with sweet pollen.

.

Content am I to sit and sweat

In the morning mountain Sun.

.

.

(Testament)

[revillusion-blog]

“…from Fallout, a zine put out by Winston Smith (the guy that did all the Dead Kennedys album covers). It’s from 1984…”

Reagan was cooler than I thought…

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untitled? -A 'study' in Eastern cadence and philosophy-

poetry inspired by I Ching, no. 56 "The Wanderer/The Sojourner"

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Fire over Mountain!

The Traveler counts his steps-

Each leading nowhere,

All leading to his Fate.

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Wisdom through Compassion;

Compassion through suffered

Experience? The path opens

When his blood is spilt.

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A sky rent by heaven's

Fire; the Traveler treads

Carefully, yet on and on he treads.

It is duty; it is inspiration.

-

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                              (Testament)

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Company Of Good Men, 2009

B.C.

Graphite, Gesso, Archival Rag Paper

47"x46"

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Words of V.F. Gunaratna, a Buddhist

"It is the contemplation of death, the intensive thought that it will some day come upon us, that softens the hardest of hearts, binds one to another with cords of love and compassion, and destroys the barriers of caste, creed and race among the peoples of this earth all of whom are subject to the common destiny of death. Death is a great leveler. Pride of birth, pride of position, pride of wealth, pride of power must give way to the all-consuming thought of inevitable death. It is this leveling aspect of death that made the poet say:

"Scepter and crown Must tumble down And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade."

It is the contemplation of death that helps to destroy the infatuation of sense-pleasure. It is the contemplation of death that destroys vanity. It is the contemplation of death that gives balance and a healthy sense of proportion to our highly over-wrought minds with their misguided sense of values. It is the contemplation of death that gives strength and steadiness and direction to the erratic human mind, now wandering in one direction, now in another, without an aim, without a purpose. It is not for nothing that the Buddha has, in the very highest terms, commended to his disciples the practice of mindfulness regarding death. This is known as "marananussati bhavana." One who wants to practice it must at stated times, and also every now and then, revert to the thought maranam bhavissati — "death will take place."

-This felt relevant at the moment.

                                              B.C.

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Cormac McCarthy and the Pen of God

"No one moved. In that cold stable the shutting of the door may have evoked in some hearts other hostels and not of their choosing. The mare sniffed uneasily and the young colt stepped about. Then one by one they began to divest themselves of their outer clothes, the hide slickers and raw wool serapes and vests, and one by one they propagated about themselves a great crackling of sparks and each man was seen to wear a shroud of palest fire. Their arms aloft pulling at their clothes were luminous and each obscure soul was enveloped in audible shapes of light as if it had always been so. The mare at the far end of the stable snorted and shied at this luminosity in being so endarkened and the little horse turned and hid his face in the web of his dam’s flank."

                                                           -Cormac McCarthy; "Blood Meridian"

--One can only pray to be permitted by divine madness the chance to write any amount of words that do the notion of imagery justice as Mr. McCarthy has proven time and again. You are one of my gods, sir.

(Testament)

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Untitled 

Artist: B.C.

Acrylic on Masonite, 2010

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People living deeply have no fear of death.

Anais Nin

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Salvation in Drowning, Rapture in Flight

I honestly haven't written a poem, let alone anything, in a year. Then I started listening to a singer/songwriter that I met, and it thrilled me back into writing. I've been wanting to write about rain for sometime, and I guess the inspiration was running today. 

---to be followed by all my earlier work---

"Salvation in Drowning, Rapture in Flight"

  Clarity recedes into humming grey And Sky rings forth with seraphic praise. I lay on my back and, thus, God spat upon me. Ecstatic and tremulous I became On the heat of tar, in the cold of rain. Ambrosia from the lips of God, He spat upon me. For no will and no weapon can hold back the sea: This drowning connection between me and He. The rent sky cries interminably; On waterlogged wings, the raven flies free. Then hell-black, now child-white, Once He spat upon me. Crack the heavens, help them all. Oh God, spit upon me. Please God, spit upon me.

  (Testament)