bedlam408:

VII.

Again .. and forever,

My younger brother.

Screen-capture of a recording of the reading of “Hvordan vedlikeholde Speil og andre reflekterende overflater” (How to maintain Mirrors and other reflective surfaces) @ Oslo House Of Literature, Basement.

Bearded Foreigner

Just as the lotus, born of mud, is not tainted thereby,
So the lotus of the Buddha preserves the realization of voidness.

— Ratnakara, “Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra”

1000 Faces

“My fingers caress every hidden beauty mark beneath your masked face, as I absorb the pain you reveal mere seconds before the veil is lifted and the cloak you cover your fragile aura with is left obliterated; darkness naked is the only shroud we need as we embrace and construct another block of memory in order to replace the one we just erased; — each morning I wake up I still see your face.”

“Slange Farao Ugle” means “Snake Pharaoh Owl” in Norwegian, and it’s the title of a 400 word poem from a poetry compilation that I’m working on. I’m performing it this friday at the Oslo House of Literature. 

Condemned by doubt, immobile and timorous; I am like my people, indecisive and a dreamer; I speak to whomever wants to hear of my fictive country, my heart full of vertigo and consumed by fear.

— Dédé Fortin

Excerpt: “The Art of an Impromptu Suicide”

I was seated in a half lotus in the geometric center of an unfurnished room,
Humming sines in D minor similar to sounds from the dark side of the moon,
Deciphering sequenced patterns of thought trying to pin-point the mood,
The indelible sentiment that acted as a precursor to my orchestrated doom,
“And for a brief moment — it seemed I had forgotten there was no spoon,”
I levitate and reposition myself into a full lotus with my palms against the wall,
Reading the compressed bits of data encoded in every molecular structure,
I slow time down, lowering the pitch of every sound as I wake up on the ground,
Eyes closed; I am covered in mud — Holding two scalpels dripping of blood,
I rise with my arms lifted — Swinging blades as my shape continues shifting,
Seconds before exposing the irides — I speak in inaudible tongue,
As I proceed to cut my wrists — Looking to exit this perpetual nexus,
I saw her again — A voluptuous shadow in an ethereous mist,
I saw her again … Right before I seized to exist.

(æons before) Stream-Entry

I cannot resist revisiting that one block of memory in particular
Thoughts obsessive compulsive analyzing everything so meticulous
Naked snake-face grimaces screaming like sun-rays beaming
Uneven daggers and dead olive branches — reconsider proceeding
I used to think shifting through temporal rifts was similar to sleepwalk dreaming
Do not interfere with the process if I am writing or reading
We used to get high and take our masks off eyes red in the night gleaming
But I still remember Valhalla thunder and lightning type of fighting
I was only four when I started walking through non-disintegrated walls
I picked up the quill and felt the Shadow open nine unmarked doors
I learned to layer patterns of thought like skyscraper floors
I greeted turmoil by unleashing out-of-control storms — and
I had minions of the Subconscious defending the Source
I am the Horde invading your every beautiful shore
Please .. Tell me —
Can you sense the presence of consequence in this very instance?
Consciousness streaming not interrupted
But extracted and structured in fragments
Sentences of nothing — as I remember and document all the previous cycles
There is no coincidence there are no separate incidents 
I was born again and again and before then again 
Uttering words that shatter dark matter
On the verge of suicide as I picture bits and pieces of my brain scatter
I walk past a starving flock of gray blood-covered wolves howling 
My eyes hang low scowled and I can feel my heart pounding
Sentiments of you and I still lingering clutching
Infinite sentences of nothing

Vapid Lithium Salts

The color of Her electro-magnetic signature pattern,
Resembles the rings circling Saturn,

She is the polar opposite to every sub-atomic particle of dark matter,
Our fingertips touch and we transcend as we scatter,

“For She and I — We waited for the infinite to come,”
Reciting coded poet language not that far from the Sun,

She counted sand-grains from Her favorite Hourglass as She hummed,
I could hear the subtle kicks and sharp snares of old Calfskin drums,

And moments before the first Universe dispersed,
I realigned constellations — composing Her one last verse.

Arcade Fire - My Body Is A Cage

Tonight: Skyrim, Beer and Snacks.

Smitten Intermittent

Dead stars rest on my mechanical arms 
While I recite poems of pogroms and falling skies

Amidst standstill windmills and desolate vineyards
Dystopian scripture imprinted on her left palm

A matrix of my own construct
Where you and I are the two only conscious programs

Atmosphere - God’s Bathroom Floor

Clear Blue Sky, finally.