Wednesday, November 21, 2007

disconect the dots OR what I tried to say

Memory mansions and rabbit holes seem like inversions of each other but really they interrelate beeeee-utifuly (the world upside down, the world inside out, the world upside-in?) and in ways so mazey and intestine that only a fantasamagoria of media starts to get at the heart of them.

But I truly fear that considerations keep me from the full exploration of the same consideration. That and exhaustion so deep it feels like a slow conversation with the different states you are in--am I like this? (like this, like THIS?)

Suggestions for a sestina on electronic despair:
failure
permanent
sorry
error
box
daemon

And were DOES that daemon reside? He's in there for sure though I've never dared to lift the lid. Schrodinger would have a hissy fit I'm sure.


Monday, November 12, 2007

A Cat with Hands (or some minor archana)

I owe kisses to my daring cinematographer who slashes me with jagged shadows and brings passing street lights to streak against the taxi windows. Some 3rd rate cortex homunculus now has decided that all streaky greys are unbelievably alluring and the park bench denizens are disguised Lotharios trapped into their own circular plot lines. I'd smack him if I could, but you see, he's a bit too small for smacking and much too slippery.

Morose contemplation suits you, says my reflection and I tilt the hat veil sideways and shrug on an overcoat in faded mauve.

The poetics of nightwalking are my smoky oblation and they burn up unwritten into the air: Please, you un-unknown Gods, bless yourselves in whatever way you know how and keep reality far, far away from us.

This way I forget that most times I stay in, dress up as the Page of Cups and doze.