The Walk

 The sullen eye rolls over an advent of crossings

                                  And she said/ let the light wash you

over to be sated/so I did

now there’s this itchy-thing in my skin

        crawling on my attention/telling me it is home,

this/nebulousness of infinity…

                                               

                   And the early/birds taste a new rapture

while singing rubitin/as raggedy as they can

Yet, she doesn’t turn up her sundress/it’s so easy to be burned…

And someone’s gotta walk me home/

                gotta lead me through this traverse…

But I’d rather watch from the nest/ to lie within her in spirit

    than to subtract the numerable/ bullets from their cushions

mapping themselves into a skull/as if stars, as if comets, as if…

                           It was joy/they were spilling all over

her from their soft little pockets/they plucked

 the day right out of its own mouth/ snatching the tongue…

the moons, their mothers/getting gurbed and done-up

                           from the fists of our sons/too afraid to leave anything

amiss in their souls/ and still we cast out to them with slurs

Now someone’s gotta walk us home/

                gotta lead us through this traverse…

Book of S- The Engendering

As if,

As if,

As if,

it is, beginning

the whole of the thing is covered by a black vision

a dark thought, the fermentation of nothing

without a past, only a concomitant    

dream upon dream upon dream

threading itself silently through the warp

tugging on the strands of a quiet sleep

of the cool and lonely shadows  in need

of an answer to its non-

self, with a complement

of happenings without

the internal paranoia of a coil

wound up in its nebulousness

an empty mirror of itself

As if,

As if,

As if,

what is, was

the design of chance

giving attention to conscious manifestations

smashing open into a chasm, of a pattern,

of fractals, of warmed over never-ending questions

about blank and white

about reasons and purposes

about being,

awakened through revelation is

 the

I,

I, I,

while her birth is called

out of wisdom pulling

her from my monolithic womb

S

makes round fleshes

for all of our expectations

and mercurial spheres  

to haunt me about her shoulders

she is giving neck to the mountains

parting lips or legs to pour

forth the primeval waters

As if,

As if,

As if,

S is

first raising clouds from the depths

of smoke emanating from the mantle

her four fists beat bones into the rivers

she is finding wind in her haunches

and storms in

every

one

of my corners

to hold

me together

by  the ribs

S, is

puffed and coughing up

her sultry body

so I may hold it

in my hands

and shower her

creations

with the light

And We Made Them Kings III

III

There is a War Room. Checkered titles line the floor. There is a single chair. Eqquleus and his wife Andromeda are walking side by side among the armor bolted side by side on the walls.

Eqquleus- The Prince

Andromeda- Eqquleus’ Wife

Andromeda:

So they are entrenched with disgust for each other?

Eqquleus:

So it would seem.

Andromeda:

Is it categorical?

Eqquleus:

It’s been a pentad since they last spoke a word to each other.

Andromeda:

(letting go a light chuckle) The Queen? Tell me, how has she spent these… days?

Eqquleus:

Toiling with bodily magic, taking up spirits, staggering soddenly under the arches. Since they last spoke, she has had Horologium beheaded, Sent the Damned to hunt down Orion, out of revenge and… the sheer joy of irony, as she says… And this was just within the last few moments.

Andromeda:

(orgasmic) Yeeeeessss, this is what our purposes have been waiting for. Claiming the throne for ourselves. Leaving  those, those hounds to lie before our feet….

Eqquleus:

Don’t get ahead of our plan Andromeda. If we are to dethrone these insipid fools, we need to deafen the adoration of The Lords.

Andromeda:

Get them an audience with us!

Eqquleus:

Not now, The Lords are steadfast in their love of the King and Queen. Foolishly so, but nevertheless. The only way to get the Lords to decide against them is if we keep true to the path we set forth.

Andromeda:

Do you think it will work?

Eqquleus:

Decidedly…

Andromeda:

What if we expose the King? We can tell them about his insidious copulations….

Eqquleus:

They already know. Everyone knows. He’s been ridden on all fours by Eridanus, The Lord of Vertical Magic faithfully for almost every synodic period.

Andromeda:

(after a heavy sigh) But really Eqquleus, Their kingdom is chucking down on itself. (Becoming erradict) We can’t wait for the next Jubilee to set our plan in motion! They could reconcile by then, they could-the king! He could propose some damned Idea to The Counsel of Lords to rescind your claim to his throne!!

Eqquleus:

Do you even know what are you saying Andromeda?!!?? Has your womb driven you daft?!?!?! I am his son!!!  (Speaking in a slow emphatic pace) Tradition clearly states…

Andromeda:

(interjecting) That the blood son of the King is to take the throne upon his death, incapacitation, or resignation! I know the tradition, and let me tell you, that just over 5 years ago, I awoke from my sleep, wandered in admiration of the throne room, only to stumble upon some very strong and choice words between Pavo and Vela. During this hustle, I overheard a point of interest that I want you to perceive with reason alone. I heard the King, Pavo, ask his licentious wife if you knew of your real father. Consequently, Vela challenged back by threatening to expose the infertility of the King, and as tradition also states that any King... (looking at Eqquleus to finish the sentence)

Eqquleus:

(somber and surprised) must be of a potent nature… But, if I’m not the son of a King then…

Andromeda:

Reason alone Eqquleus!!! Pavo needs you in order to keep his throne however, though he is a mutt, he is a rational mutt and is soon devising a plan to keep his throne while exiling you, me, and your wretched mother past the gates. We cannot wait til Jubilee. We must do something now!!! Trust me Eqquleus, we to task laboriously and quick so we may gain control.

Eqquleus:

(timidly) how?

Andromeda:

This land desires for passion. Pavo and Vela are not fiery people, WE are fiery people. The land needs strong and fierce leaders who won’t let something as asinine as an oral fixation or a hungry middle to persuade their judgment. We need to show The Lords how unstable the throne is in their hands! We need to prove them ravenous, illogical maniacs suited for chains and rocks. They have to be, disloyal, untrustworthy mongrels who would slay their own brethren without provocation.

Eqquleus:

(he sits down looking sadly into his lap, as if a broken child) What do we do?

Andromeda:

We have to set them up, make them act crazy and deranged. (Andromeda paces back and forth) We need a plot. A scheme to get The Lords to turn their admiration away from them.  (Andromeda stops pacing and turns to look at Eqquleus) We need to get the King and Queen to kill one of The Lords. One of The most Cherished Lord.

Eqquleus:

(Looking up at Andromeda in bewilderment) You are mad, how are we to do such a thing?

Andromeda:

(Andromeda’s face lights up at her plan) We will break into the chambers of Eridanus. There he has a dust he uses to bind a person to the first thought that they hear. We will sneak away that powder and we will find a way to place it upon the back of King Pavo’s neck while he sleeps, then we will speak the words, “Kill Indus, The Lord of Warring Neighbors.” Then all we have to do is wait. When the other Lords hear of Pavo’s actions he will be sentenced to the Damned and we will.

Eqquleus: Well when shall this plan take place.

Andromeda:

(With a sickening smile on her face) Tonight!

What the Hell did I Just Read?

Stephanie Young's Picture Palace has got to be one of the most experimental works I have ever read. I didn't quite understand how I should read it (which I think is the point of most experimental works), but after searching the artist for any background info (something I hardly ever do, and still can't believe I did it this time) I found this youtube link to Stephanie Young reading her work....  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vPYhkwb3Ks This reading jostled with my own perceptions of performance writing, which ached for some conjunction, somehow. I found the book to be textually and syntactically awry/askew (something I wish to aim for in the coming days/weeks/(fuck.it.)/years. I still am faced with a little apprehension to ther composition of Young's dense segments of text, but who am I to argue with creative genius? What I did find myself completely compelled by was the visual and textual clash towards the end of the piece. This section took me back to a question/conversation I asked/had --/with Konrad Steiner about the performative possibilities of text alone or conjoined with visuals. The way Young works with these elements is definitely a variation of those possibilities I had in mind. It also reminds me of a few considerations brought up in class namely, the relationship between text and performance. Here in Young's work we can see that the text as a an explicit part of the performance wrestles with the visuals as an explicit part of the performance. There is a shift in dynamics as the text imposes itself on the visual as both a caption and an embossed aesthetic. The oddball images/syntax's disables the visuals from creating any situated effect. And I love it! This may be a way in which I challenge my own works in the future after I decide how to properly destabilize my own natural modes of writing...