Glendo 30 Jan 2010

Captain's log Sunday.
High in the scree, Lattitude Bird
Holding Lattitude head towards Green Diamond and continue same distance again, reaching project dry arse "You could sit for an hour and your arse would still be dry"

Pedronaut boldly climbing in asics runners where no one has climbed before.

Aber Crombie Cardigan $49

David standing proud over his paving and thinking about economics.

2 Base Jumpers

Billy the goat savaged by the midgies last autumn, rest in peace billy.

A murmuration of starlings has style and grace in abundance, pulsing in and out of view, appearing out of the void into the sky like Coppola's choppers in commander morrison's apocalypse.

A Silverback, snoozing in the green canopy of Earth, has grace.

A pilot passes over, Satellites chime directions

Nomads once upon a time left the trees, for the savanna, and the oceans, and the Yellow brick road beyond the horizon

Returning to the towns of their birth, with fire and mirrors and Apollo missions to the moon.

A Silverback has grace after he's eaten.

Neil Armstrong had style when he made the greatest moment mankind ever knew

Backward

Protesters take to the streets in Pakistan following a supreme court verdict ordering the release of Asia Bibi, a Christian woman sentenced to death in 2010 after being accused of insulting the prophet Muhammad

One eyed Pathological Consumers'

lives have been corralled and shaped in order to encourage it [trashing the living world through pointless consumption]. World trade rules force countries to participate in the festival of junk. Governments cut taxes, deregulate business, manipulate interest rates to stimulate spending. 

Lets talk taxonomy, divide us into Identity

Discrimination

let's work and consume

Lets pray, meditate, forgo social obligation

spit on people without spitting

Own without sharing

The wizard of Oz 

1939

I walked toward the river 
passing Bukowski
 a local homeless man
who'd been degenerating since his girlfriend left him last year
he was headed for the game 

I stopped at the bridge surrounded by beautiful empty houses, hotels

I spat into the water

Then blew a snot rocket

like a football star

Deirdre waved at me from across the street
and called me by my name
The first time she called my name since I got here a year ago

She likes cocaine

We could be so good together

The old man, who wrote poetry in his dying language that no one read, wrote or published anymore, slowly finished his lunch and put on his coat, keeping me waiting, my meter outside ticking like a metronome percussioning the sound-bed to an homerican odyssey in a day's journey, in a Joycean storybook. The details of the last potato, their back story, their ancestors from south america, survived the great hunger, the knife, the fork, their back story, their stainless steel progression through the iron age via bronze and tin and stone and wood and bone. The coat's synthetic fibres, the chair's seat revealed as he erected himself, the table cleared, the pretty waitor woman paid, my car's exhaust fumes blending with the cigarette smoke of the afternoon cafe chap's, cafe creme cigarillos. The conversations in the midst of all this getting here, led to 13 American men walking on the moon.

“Do you speak it yourself he asked”

“Not since I was twelve” I said

And held him, like i used to hold my grandmother, and led him outside to meet his maker; The Mirror, in the gutter's rainfallen puddle, reflecting the stars.

Absolute dominion 
over the surface
of the circles closing in 

Solitary cool and quiet

the internet was all around us

On a pale blue dot among the stars

where we met when I was 17

you were 23 or 35

speaking french or german

Witness to a human sacrifice above the

subterranean cosmology in Geneva

Solitary cool and quiet
Among "old men with broken teeth stranded without love"

ride passionate addictions past the darkness into the void

The first thing you'll learn is how to breath in and out

Now don't become a slave, don't drop your atomic load Little Boy

like a teenage douchebag shooting up a school

like Saudi Arabia, protector of The religion of peace, cooking up a famine

The Astronaut miscarried

The first known Alien is dead

Mohamed Bouazizi bought lunch and gasoline

I have a new blue smartphone” touching satellites

human hands reaching Voyager

Exploring love, war and hate

The Astronaut who touched me too

talked once more about her father

Off again about his eyes

and the fire in his heart.

I attempt re-entry but fade into you and your orbit

And I perform better at work

living the life not lived

like unborn

Out here we is fed and watered, dosed and housed
Sanctuary took a hold of me
I am man made flesh
Like Einstein,  Newton, Napoleon, Frank Spencer, I'm human
Body of Christ. Eamon

The morals originated from the Myths we made 
where we ran with wolves
long after our rendezvous with lobsters

The world originates from the world you will, this world your work of Art
set my bed on fire
I show you, I haven't taken to the bed with fairies in the head

Cauterize the melancholy, I show you resurrection,

Take me to see Star Wars, I show you Jelly Belly Theatre
Teach me Yoga Once I've mastered breathing in and out
take me into the insane limit of your hippy nonsense
Lets dance
Like a butterfly 

Solitary cool and quiet

seeking out a sanctuary for the evolved mind

and its knowledge of cancer

and the hazelwood philosophers "pluck till times and times are done"
the galaxies and black holes and the background microwave radiation

a star she cried, a satellite, the Borg, the Matrix

I seek to know you before my journey's end

in the forever instant

I've a home by the ancient well

on the sunlit side of the valley floor

I've two cars and a garage

a good pension

a cellar of Sparkling water

sparking conversation

I touched her insecurity

Solitary cool and quiet

sleeping outside her mahogany doors like a dog

laced by the window's lingerie mannequins

locked in a sphere of circular thoughts

reliving the meccan beholding of her bare ankles

Come again like a cat coming home

sit with the street's steel statue

Nirvana child. Through re-birth

In this further most moment into the future ever known.

re-assemble

from wavering wave

to Tsunami Supernova

I naval gazed further into the Universal Self

Where the re-birth starts

where particles come and go

in and out of existence

Solitary cool and quiet

watching the breeze go by

swirling leaves

and giant Cityscapes

were all around us

This is where the city goes

an empty lot in Las Vegas

this is where I find you

when i'm 17,

The bus gave me a hardon

with the doors in my ear

and eyes in your nipples

the song you sung
"Was wilder than moonlight"

like being, Here Before.

money transacted the country to Gordon Gekko

God ejaculates, a myriad humanity, mothers' men killing yemeni girl childs,

and Oedipus walking on the moon,

Some are born bereft of hunger,

some are born to the endless strife,

some are being "led to slaughters by placid admirals"

some get caged

some make the 54^th floor of a New York skyscraper

fortune favours the sober industrious soldier.

a chuckling buddhist knows, happiness flows

I seek shelter in prophetic poetic soundbite blurbs
and smitten, smugly meditate on infinite nothing words
"music is your only friend"

I touched her face

we carried on

The world

The quantum realm
The insurmountable bias
And long tracts about what could and should and ought to be

Time began, once upon a time, 13, 14 billion years ago
And the Idiot King lived happily ever after