Impaled

I look so serious while reading. But then I put on a big ass grin when I’m done.
Location: Oslo House of Literature (07.03.2014)

Copyright 2014 © Edin Aziz

Valentine’s Day. I got some homemade low-carb chocolate peanut and caramel fudge!

Valentine’s Day. 
I got some homemade low-carb chocolate peanut and caramel fudge!

Before I had a father and mother,
Where was the self and other?

Screen-capture of a recording of the reading of “Hvordan vedlikeholde Speil og andre reflekterende overflater"  @ Oslo House Of Literature, Basement.

Screen-capture of a recording of the reading of “Hvordan vedlikeholde Speil og andre reflekterende overflater"  @ Oslo House Of Literature, Basement.

“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. 

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.

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

THE FOG. Part 3. It’s never going away. We are engulfed. (last fog post I swear lol)

THE FOG. Part 3. It’s never going away. We are engulfed. (last fog post I swear lol)