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The Millennial Artist's Survival Guide (poem)

 
 
cenacle
23:25 / 15.11.01
The Millennial Artist's Survival Guide

There is a secret joy amongst these
times, a within's within, a known
and speckled spectral thing, an exploding
blare & swoop from between our dreams,
a series of coded midnight shadows,
glyphs taut with our best laughter, all cosmos,
we are all cosmos, without & within.
We are all cosmos. We are all careening.
We need to begin now, trade into ecstasy,
we are beginning now. Always beginning now.

***

Begin now. Tell the truth. How fear
so often drops the artist in flight!
Begin now. Tell the truth. There is
more to this cool night than a spasm
chased, a spasm caught; uncapped and
hard, caught and had. Tell the truth,
begin now, our lives are thin and
dry yet still we're ready to rise,
our best thoughts scattered angels ready
to collect & make new godds, new Art.

***

But how to rise? how to make? thin and
dry, the ground tracked with dull diamonds,
yesterdays, the air full of dead dawns,
dreams, godds beyond the next galaxy
slowing noone's tears. Learn to steer.
Godds buried in pointed buildings
& fading volumes diminish noone's fears.
Days the undirected ships & dreams
revelations of continuous crashings.
Shut off the lights. Smile. Undress. Crash again.

***

Morning again. Secret joys amongst these
times. Within's within: is your Art
necessary? Study today secretly, from
a distance a thousand miles up or a
thousand miles far. What are you to
the lesser gestures of breeze? What is
your Art to that hillside coven
of oaks or that grove of ravens?
Bury your pen. Become a fountain
of blank sheets. Empty. Evaluate.

***

Another day, pinkcheeked & whispering,
laughter inside fat rays of light,
all is sunlight today, do you follow?
(Secret joy. Within's within.)
Follow your sun. Today it's all yours.
When does today begin? Can it possibly
end? Follow your sun. It's always been
there. Become a blank sheet covered
in fountains. Blow ever higher. Trust.
(We are all cosmos. We are careening.)
***
OK. Tell of secret joys. Sing of within's
within. More drums, more dancers,
more bonfires. We're all masters of
knowing now. We all can fly.
A kiss. A tab. A cold and sweet blue dusk.
The how is irrelevant. Practice undifferentiation.
Watch us name molecules. Watch us
paint with supernovas. Recognize
Godd = Art = I = Art = Godd = I.
Time will stop. Time will go. Just watch.

***

A kiss. A tab. A cold and sweet blue dusk.
A full moon. Handfuls of stars. Roused spirits.
A long, sky-tending tree, leafless, several scattered
through the autumn wind. Ready? No? Go!
Go into the flow. It's past midnight now.
Time for seeking vampires & scribbling zombies.
A whole town of them. Go. Go into the flow.
Two kisses. Two tabs. Longlegged blue dusk,
cold and sweet, draped over midnight.
Brick buildings full of gunshots. Welcome to ZombieTown.

***

Let's not stay, for here we can only
do this, not that, preach apologies
for the night, its vampires & scribbling
zombies, but really, are we doing
all we can? Listen to me. I'm in giggling
pieces by now. Are you doing all you can?
Listen to me. I preach to occasional dogs
& flayed mathematicians. Listen to me.
Are you doing all you can? The wind is
rising higher. Don't you want to ride it anymore?

***

Who are you? Are you the eyes
of the world? I mean: Who are you?
Ready? No? Who are you? There's little
left here but lights & purple fruit.
I'll help you by leaving. I'll teach
you how to evanesce. I'll recount
my greatest times of laughter, the
nights when I danced & died.
But I'll leave in one way or another.
I am time itself. I exist until you no longer need me.

***

Something's about to happen. A net
cast into black waters is caught &
dragged down. Something's about to happen.
a jagged formation of jets passes
over a rousing herd of buffalo.
Something's about to happen. Beyond
the book's talkings & the blinking
boxes of diminutive noise. Something's
about to happen. The anxious buzzing's
passing from our dreams to our limbs.

***

Secret joy. Within's within. Spectral
illuminations available everywhere.
Beware. Be aware. Lunch-counters.
Swinging dives. Graveyards where
vampires meet & breed. Where zombies
chuckle & scribble. Beware &
be aware. Your flood isn't receding,
is it? You're not diminishing.
The anxious buzzing is your music,
song beyond songs, beyond words & notes.

***

Become a virgin. Again. Reinvent &
reinvent & reinvent. I am you
& you are me & we are the world
beyond eyes. Secret joy. Sniff the air.
Within's within. See your heart.
A kiss. A tab. There is no blue dusk.
Become a virgin. Again. We've got to
huddle closer together. We've got to
remember how. The secret joy is today's
open hands. The secret joy is always beginning NOW.

November 8, 1998

 
 
Whisky Priestess
16:03 / 16.11.01
Apparently The Great Gatsby was originally twice as long, and half as good, as was the Waste Land.
 
 
cenacle
16:52 / 16.11.01
is that a compliment, a critique, or a way of changing the subject?
 
 
QUINT
08:22 / 17.11.01
Whisky has views.
 
 
Whisky Priestess
15:53 / 17.11.01
Both compliment and critique. I think there's a lot of goof things in there, but they get a bit lost in the noise. Have you got anyone you trust to look at it with a view to editing?
 
 
Ganesh
18:43 / 17.11.01
I'm sure you meant to say 'good' there, Whisky...
 
 
Whisky Priestess
21:33 / 17.11.01
Shit, you're write.
 
 
Ganesh
10:22 / 18.11.01
That's okay; Dr Freud's on sabbatical at the moment.
 
 
deja_vroom
10:57 / 19.11.01
Hey, Whisky, feel like criticizing this??
*slaps 30 inch poem on the table*

THE JADE EMPEROR

I

I was
The jade Emperor
Commanding the legions
And the lines and patterns of the palace
And the topiary.

I was
A priviledged angle
To watch the scene of treachery
And murder.

And more,
Through the gardens and corridors,
Scented in sandalwood
In the Sunday morning,
I was
Flowers kept in the shut mouth
Of the animal which was killed by the arrow.

II

And whatever is the Sun
And whatever is it that the sky is made with
In this imperial morning?

III

The Imperial Ghost-Police
Found the bodies
Of the lovers, dried up,
Horrid eyes in despair, drinking
The last drop of poison,
Fingernails ripping the flesh
Of what passed as being love,
Born unnoticed between the preparations
For the imperial wedding party.

The relations of the outside things
With the greenish body of the jade Emperor
Gives him the measure of pain that a monarch can endure
In being a monarch of jade.

IV

Little adorned box
Covered with gems and sweet woman`s scorn.
Gold and jewels, and empty, kept
Uncomfortably
In the jade Emperor`s trachea.
By means of a troublesome expedient
The Emperor, with a smile,
Sits upright between the cushions
And tries to find the adequate position
for Pain In The Trachea.
But the light, coming from outside the castle,
With legs wide spread, cries and shoots in despair,
And hurts
And hurts again and still,
For several times in the following days
Will crush under its heels
The eyes for shedding tears.

V

The Emperor wakes up
Shapeshifts into someone important
And His face is a mask
To follow in the TV-box
The long speechs to come
And the stunned looks in the servant`s faces.
He tells with vivacity and style
The story heard from the mouth of the monster Gila,
About the colossal beetle that will devour the Earth,
Starting from the edges.
It is late in the jade palace,
And those who were born in the Century of History
Are named after extinct flowers.

VI

One day the Emperor woke up with thirst,
And His hooves drank from the rivers.
One day the Emperor woke up with hunger,
And He devoured His right hand.

VII

"It`s going to be such a beautiful day",
Thought an imperial warrior,
"But one needs to be strong and live".
There is a woman
In Mandchury
Who has sons and daughters, and a river and a house
And daguerreotypes
Showing funny family scenes.
The warrior devours the scene with his eyes, and feels dizzy.
He is taken care of by the woman,
Who says her name is "Lian".
The warrior throws away his helmet
And runs
And runs across the plains,
And turns into a horse,
Then into warrior again,
But he can`t turn into a man
He can`t become human,
So he tries to become
A typewriter, airplane pilot, comic book hero,
Panic in the main hall!!
The woman`s children grab him by his legs,
As if playing,
And they fall in the river.
Far away, the jade Emperor walks by,
Obscuring the Sun with His jade head.

VIII

It`s night,
The children sleep,
And love was made
By those who had
Love to be made
At night.
But the terrible Green Monarch
Walks by with His old mineral feet,
Waking up the swans by the pool,
And the dead cooks in the castle`s pantry.

And the noise
Will bring nightmares
To ride those
Who don`t deserve them.
The Emperor forgives them all.
What authority does he have
To inflict damage upon them?

IX

Above,
In the clouds,
Exempt of color descriptions,
Something happens
Without being noticed,
And happens
Alone in the world.
Prevailing upon God`s existence.
Because it happens and no one is accountable,
But it happens alone.

(The Parchs enter the scene
And whisper in wailing chant:
"Woe to the Emperor! Woe to the Emperor!")

X.

Educated and dressed
The Emperor`s seven sons
Draw up in a line.
In an exaggerated tragic position,
Sammael
Galla
Behemoth
Leviathan
Maskim
Moloch
And Azazel
Behead themselves mutually.

But the Emperor turns His face
From the frightful scene
That takes form in His frightful face.

***
 
 
Mordant Carnival
18:39 / 19.11.01
Thanks cenacle, but I liked the pink one better.
 
  
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