electric eye elixirs: 2013

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Drab Bard

Drab as a fool, as Eno.
No radar on.

One's aloof as a bard.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

In Appreciation of Jim Carroll

Hands clasped together in an insect motion... 8/13/13

His smooth yet static voice brimming with verve and the velocity of an impact slap on the main line.
His deliberate delivery painstakingly describing every detail.
His cadence carefully calculated to calm staggered nerves.
Slowly the calloused prose strikes harmonious chords.
Words resonate spilling grit and grimy rhythms smoothed out like new pavement.
Covering the underbelly of dark days spent in upper Manhattan.

(James Dennis Carroll: August 1,1949 - September 11, 2009)

Friday, June 28, 2013

Behind the (8) ball

06/28/2013

Just let me climb a little bit further behind the eight ball
So I can shake myself from the beaming rays that hypnotize.

Avoiding the burning feeling in my eyes when the sunlight shifts.

I feel safer, soul in hand, as the shadows stretch across the street.

Their long dark legs reaching across the chasms

To bridge the canyons of lost light forgiven by the darkness.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Faith beyond a reasonable doubt

06/05/2013

I place my hand down upon the good book left all but dormant in the dark recess of a Chelsea hotel room drawer. I cannot be alone now thanks to Gideon. But, I would not truly want it any other way. I cannot be fearful now knowing that the strength of the words from within will comfort me. I can and I will be the upholder with a righteous right hand.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Raft in the rapids

Navigating through the garden city just a citizen of industry and liberty.

Alone by alone or in two pair the muses slowly hang their heads is despair.

The amplifier of acrimony has short circuited again leaving rattled wires strung copper bare and now only silence fills the muted air.

Oh its no problem for the quite ones now, but do we really need to fix this somehow?
Can we let the four corners collapse and allow the implosion to elapse in the wake of empty Wednesdays?

Perhaps we can find a warm winter coat if we just look under the harbor town boat.
We may find a clue or just another line that leads us once again to what is yours and what is mine.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Beware of shark infested waters

06/01/2013

How do you know when you are trouble? Well the flimsy rubber raft that is your oasis of salvation seems to be taking on more water than you can bail out, and the efforts to purge the encroaching liquid death are now unreciprocated.

Just like your collection of manuscripts full of unpublished prose that spill into dark despair only one day to be tossed aside as carelessly as your comic books or baseball cards.

Oh, you found comfort there, repeating the same old tired lines the same way you memorized Rod Carew's stats both with the Twins and the Angels.

Three twenty-eight, 3,053, ten fifteen, and looks like your trying to hold on to 29 forever, but they've retired that number - in two towns so you best just move on.

Time moves alright, but the speed accelerates like cheap coffee splashing in ceramic white cups in the late night diner rush.

A church for the nocturnally-natured captured for their own grandeur minded movie clip highlight reels.

Famous for a fleeting fifteen seconds and grasping for more like an addict reaching for a fix.

Once the darts are cast though they stay in formation until they strike, spot on, and the target's heart will be bilked like the bull's last stand.

Crimson and cutlery on the news report with a smile and a song.

We have to listen to the reports from David and Paul when their honesty shines for the wayward souls so lost that even Saint Anthony would have trouble finding them.

Friday, May 31, 2013

Flatline--out!

05/31/2013

Pierce the veil and slip down to the darker side.

Walking backward into a nightmare landscape.

Revered from end to beginning.

Elevated to a new consciousness, but scarred deeper than times before.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Soft crash

Do you hear the soft crash of gentle thunder?
The skeletal light reaches to ride across the purple-black sky.
Electricity creeps out from under to change every life in its electric eyes.

Bitter venom

Bitter bitter venom masked in an ornate chalice.
However cleverly disguised it burns the palette once more.
Devouring like daggers from leached limp limbs.
Contemptuously cast with fury at the haggard old soul.
Driven straight at the mark meant to burn.
Tear down the last scraped shard of honor.
Kicked into soil and left barren and broken for the vulture's spoils.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Copper-stained

Thoughts slip and shatter like copper coins through my hands staining the earth beneath my feet.
Each ember shines - bright light satellite reflecting back the glowing belief that passes so freely.
Hard to capture every one, see how they run like rebels with a gun, and see how they cry.
Dried to the bone, and left out alone to be buried among the sepia rust tones.
Trusting in you and the red, white and blue; I’ve never been accused of not loving my land.
When will you learn son? Don’t let it go ‘cause once it has left your strong hand, you can’t reel it in.
Wild salmon streams brimmed to burst and with insatiable thirst they move against the grain.
Never again, never again, never again. Like a sieve in the sand from your tawny hands.
Let it go, let it go, and the water will flow and wash away even the most seizing of schemes from your gentle dreams.

The Ponich football show

Six sensible players defending the Blue
Although they may not move with the titanate pink staff
They still labor on... lumbering forward to pass the hours
Fields of faded gray lay low before them
Waiting for the bracing winds to signal the end
For one long slumber
Until the bright break of light peeks through the lost winter skyline

Slide forward just an inch, just enough to fall on the fragrances
Or taste the crimson on the ice once again
A hard target of lessons learned
Far too numerous for feelings to flood backwards in time

(We are) Uraninite!

We are Uraninite!
I believe that is bad.
Holler, holler at you later!
Good for her.

We are; we are Uraninite!
I know that this is bad.
Taking, taking one long last drag.
Good for her.

Are we the Uraninite?
I believe that is bad.
Saving, saving time in a special bag.
Good for her.

We lost the Uraninite?
I know that is bad.
In Moab, Mi Vida mine.
Good for her.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Peccant shallowed below the veil

When the joy passes through cloud light rays and breaking beams of happiness soon to be discovered flow like angelic arias through ethereal air.
The edges follow through masked in soft disguise clandestinely cloaked in the nonchalant choral corners.
Covered and comfortable, days unfurl in echoed epiphany.
Hope springs eternal with ambition on his shoulders.
Rising each morning with a new regalia.

The once occupational opulence that stretched far beyond an ordinary array.

Tarnished ever so slightly until eventually the toll will be taxed and price will be paid.
An enduring debt due that twists a gentle gorgeous haven into a dark worn well.
Sides slick and smooth from the grinding words that unbend and refuse to tell
The dark truths descend and slide slowly to impede.
All efforts of escape until the bare soul must bleed.
The dark scars resound until all that is heard.
Are the muted cries for salvation that reverberate and blur.
Vision clouded and songs so unsure.
Voice barely audible falls to the floor.
Sunken and sullen with grace no more.
Armor distilled and shields undone.
Lower than low now the real journey has begun...

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Danger in the company of strangers

Danger lurks beyond the pale
In Gotham city, the dark always prevails
The sober lights dimly deflect the shadows
Company time and shift soon ends making time to walk west
Of mountains and shady men
Silhouetted strangers for only moments and then back to strangers once again

33 lines about 11 carbon-based lifeforms

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” 1

Reflect in order to know yourself. Then you may be capable of giving. Carefully control your caring soul.

“Entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily.” 2

Slide softly on the razor’s edge to discover the grand unifying theory. Once upon the blade beware. It is cleverly sharp.

“The life of man is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” 3

Prey upon the doorstep of our family and friends. Read all about it in the savage’s report. Lengthy to digest, but we never do it alone.

“I think therefore I am.” 4

It is impossible not to doubt what cannot be known. Recognize that one most certainly can. Turned inside out we are all still a version of man.

“To be is to be perceived.” 5

Only God truly knows all. In our minds all of our ideas are transposed to make our minor realities conscious. Live, love, life.

“We live in the best of all possible worlds.” 6

Created so we have free will, our world revolves. We pine to spin on, and then we spin until spin out. However, the price of such a gift allows malevolence to be unfurled.

“The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk.” 7

Don't wait until it has all passed and your impotent soul has shriveled your sight. See now! Be now!

“Who is also aware of the tremendous risk involved in faith – when he nevertheless makes the leap of faith – this [is] subjectivity … at its height.” 8

From rebellion to religion the leap is grand. And it is filled with treachery and treasure. Don't waste a hind sighted view on motions not made.

“God is dead.” 9

He's passed his prime, and he's not coming home. Look to the madman to mouth your words and reclaim your youth. He's softly spoken in a quiet loud voice.

“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.” 10

Keep pushing your burdens up the hill no matter how absurd it feels. Hostile and humiliating we take on tasks. Not done until the race is run for one last victory.

“One cannot step twice in the same river.” 11

Electrons buzz in every object lost. Washed downstream to be forever changed. This provides proof of the reality shift once more.

[1/Socrates, 2/William of Ockham, 3/Thomas Hobbes, 4/René Descartes, 5/Bishop George Berkeley, 6/Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, 7/G.W.F. Hegel, 8/Søren Kierkegaard, 9/Friedrich Nietzsche, 10/Albert Camus, 11/Heraclitus]

Sun-age nightmare

Unintelligible construction of words
You open your mouth and speak like a bad black bird
Stammering like James Spader, and a country pop bastard too
You're a little baby brother running away from me
You're a demonic agitator

Turn your eyes away from me
Lay your weapons down to the side
Turn the other cheek and we will see
Just keep your cool for one more night

Fading into the unreal, keep, keep away from me
Don't turn to your religion, 'cause my eyes cannot see
Don't try to make me, make me care
Or kick the legs out from under my chair
You're a demonic agitator...

Capsules collapse under chemical kicks

Smoke rises under glass
Bright step horizon backward blasts
Eyes explode with high color contrasts
Capsules collapse under chemical kicks

Blonde bricks burn in the morning sun
Baking, burnt under small fortunes run
Close quartered comrades aren't any fun
Capsules collapse under chemical kicks

Random red crystals ignite to burn
King devices turn off out of turn
To horror-show from red horizon's sun
From horizon to horror must be quick

Dark sparks charging up from below
Beyond the circle to make it shine and glow
Cloaked from the sideways stares you know
Tucked safely in a secret space that's trick

Tearing hearts, raptors claws
Humming under thunder's shaking walls
Heat strikes lightning and the wayward paths fall
Leaving asunder what we once knew mixed

Leslie's place

The neighbors are at Leslie's place and looks like they're all having the Sunday suburban time of their lives over there. I'm standing here by the 8-track machine and I can hear the fun summer sounds as they all lounge by the custom kidney-shaped swimming pool humming along to The Beach Boys' "Help Me Rhonda." I can't understand why they cast those devious stares in my direction with one eye half closed condemning me carelessly. I enjoy being indifferently amused as much as the obligatory subsequent gentleman, right? Maybe I just need to correct all my indiscretions against proper British grammar first. When I was little I used to think that syntax was a term to be avoided, but my Grandmother fixed me straight on that fact of which I must be forever indebted to her. Meanwhile, back at the party, I can see Devonshire tea is being served which makes me wonder… Will they have a warm salad of caramelized pear, potato gnocchi, Persian feta, shaved fennel and candied walnuts served as well? Oh to dine with the elite!

Cold war painter

The lamb that muses lies down on broadened furrows as the cold war painter dresses for a journey.
Washed in crimson and blood red the fever nights cut on the day's razor edge.
Hard empty heartaches from beside the bed and the sound-colored tempos grow fainter and fainter in his head.
Flanging out of phase trying to find the cold war painter: A rescuer, a writer, a composer perhaps.
A torn text scrap from under the desk drawer drifts carelessly in the winter wind like trash but choreographed with precision and beauty.
Slow strokes emerge and the canvas is unfrozen. Delicately approached, misgiving at most, but the instance is real.
No slanders. No souls to check. No hidden reels to run.
Just the wood, the horsehair, and the reservoir of red umber in linseed oil set to touch.
And the fabric holds court for the primitive lines once more.

Turnstile radar (x-band version)

Spinning spun-out and the state of statistics rolls from the other side of space.

A size reduced waveguide orthomode transducer with a turnstile junction and two T-shaped power combiners is described.

The orthomode transducer has been fabricated and measured.

Lastly, the measurement results were compared with simulation results and were analyzed with fabrication errors considered.

From 9.2 to 12.4 GHz, the input return loss was less than -18.5 dB, the transmission loss was ~0.2 dB, the cross-polarization was less than -35 dB, and the isolation between two channels (Horizontal, Vertical) was less than -36 dB.

Any time your eyes meet with your own a shattered soul appears and I wish I could hope to see it mirror-to-mirror to make infinity.

Here it comes 'cause it took a wave-hit to your mind today.

My dreams are dying with you tonight at a static pinpoint haze.

Looking for Roger

Looking for Roger. 1, 2, 3...
Tan truck
Beard and glasses
Phone booth
Last seen with Robyn?!

Sidearm serenade

Two shotguns and a sidearm just for fun.

Double barreled action was how the West was won.

Windows of Heaven

Atomic sense of insignificance
Wild sheep, big horn sheep
Above the clouds of Mount McKinley

Polly had to test you

Polly had to test you by asking pointed questions.
Once we have the facts about you you're bad bark; you're a marked man.
Covenants won't allow certain behavior.
Does this prevent you from holding tightly onto your internal turtle joy?
Enclave of achievements rattle off like water falling onto the floor.
Wish we could publish texts straight from our brains to our social networks. Oh joy - Jim!

My friend Rob

Captain dictate... This is a test, test, test, test.
Microphone check---out my friend Rob!

He was smart, dryly funny, rather pompous, and a bit boring.
Trust me was written all over his face.
Driving back home in my Pacer to his place.

People frequently forget their predecessors - shelved to the side in their rush to conquer the world. Not Rob. No. He was a man of conviction.

Across the years like cold river waters Rob was there creating a camp for the creatures that we all had become.

Assembled like soldiers hanging on his every word.
We were the new militia set free to crawl to the curb.
Hidden in closets pushed way out of the way.
Taking on adventure and escaping the only way.

His roots ran deep and kept him connected as others drifted far from their original course. Short sails starched in the gale.
Only too soon to sit idle in the dead summer heat and spend one last afternoon with my friend Rob.

Jesus love

Jesus, love me! Jesus, love me!

I was out late last night. Hanging out with Michael Stipe. I got drunk and I fell down. Shouted your name all over town. Screaming, "Jesus, do you love me?” “Jesus, do you love?"

Drunk alone at the end of the bar. I can't find the keys to my car. I'll call up on Peter Buck. I'll get a ride back in his truck. Calling, ”Jesus, do you love me?” “Jesus, do you love?”

Taking shots with Max Eider. I don’t think I can get much higher. I have one simple wish. I want to have a drink with Pat Fish. And we're all singing, "Jesus, do you love me?" “Jesus, do you love?”

Every day I will pray. Every day it's love and it’s love and it’s love, love, love.

Redline

Your words bleed me like a red razor knife. You just don't understand my pain deep inside. When its all too much I need my calming time. Its my little ritual to let out the pain inside; a ritual time late at night at the end of the day when everything is done. I take hours looking for the a place that is right. Straight, sharp, and still, I watch the thin red line run across cool metal warm as the sun.

38 year bckwrd deviation plan

On the Downward Spiral toward the bottom again.
One more time raked over and let loose to spin…
...out of control and falling fast to the inevitable end.

Taking 14 steps forward to have them all come crashing back once again.
Face first falling faster than the tattered flag unfurled at my feet.

Two at a time - I just can't stop it once it all begins. Its two times nine and I ain't 18 again. Long road to ramble and I can't run the ragged race no more.
I'll take out my best weapon, but still I got no defenses from failure.

I'd turn it off if I could just find that old analog switch cemented on the side of my shotgun soul. Rack and bone stiff, the shells will sail in a glorious mess.

It wasn't supposed to go down like this. No it was not supposed to go down, but it always does - in technicolor fantasy. Red and gold cut lines away from the green, green grass of home.

Oh, if the Old Oaks would just sway once more and trip the skewed light from frolic, and fancy free my fears would freeze on breezes so bold.

Sifting blood

The red velvet lines mark the end of all our ends.

Now we stand tall waiting to make our final amends.

The line is so much longer and acid burns deeper in the bowls.

I keep trying to keep my Floyd film tires away from satin shoe souls.

Watching through broken glass as the victims have been bled.

A cool washcloth quenches the thirst within my aching head.

Slashing away all their charity leaving just a twist.

And your pursed red ripe lips left without a final kiss.

I'm sifting blood through forgotten forests while wild winds blow.

I'm recognizing that I'm shifting in my one man staring feature film role.

I'm lifting higher out from where the low limbs grow.

I'm flying so much higher now than when I was fifteen.

Shifting sifted blood through my 24 karat machine.

With a buzz in our ears we play endlessly

The sounds resound ghosting images around and down. . . to the waterline. Yeah, we're just taking our time to count all the numbers one at a time. Listening to the clock tick, lying in bed trying to find a lost box of memories. Calling and crying caterwauls behind me. Cold hands catch me but I can't hear what you are saying. Just sweet surrender and a blood buzz make me rest my eyes until the sky falls from beneath the floorboards. I go slow through windows greyed by the fog. Misty eyes and the money slipped from our jackets and jeans. Hide in the shadows out of sight from the silent night spotlights. Street life lingers in the outside air. Dogs leap onto my shoulders and pretend to be giants or climb up the cargo racks for a flashback stolen from deep inside the well. What underlying image will form from a lazy long view: boys bashed in the newspaper back pages; easy eager eyes; lies floating like ice in arctic circle stages waiting for winds to unwind their cages.
And with a buzz in our ears we play endlessly.

Over the back fence

Get ready 'cause Christmas is climbing over the back fence soon. It jumps up quicker than you expect. November is here Now!

They come to me like moths because I shine like the moon. I travel along on the fringe close to the lunatics in town. Across the air Rickenbacker notes float gently above the lawn.

Dogs shift allegiances across the tall green grass waiting to be mowed. Maybe us is now only you are just waiting to be drawn. We need fresh sounds in the dollhouse to go.

Can you hear the tune the clarinet plays Steve? Roger Wilco over and out. It's a special song for special people to help them get into a good college. Maybe make a computer's sign for computer scientists.

Slipped like water on the glass and the cookies for Seo to drive to Laggan today have fallen prey in the neighborhood. You can drive to the end of your world as you know it with red ribbons in your hair.

(c) & (p) 2012 subconscious mind publication company