You,
Who perpetuated black science upon the human heart, the omphalos luminous
Who strides in the zephyrs that caress tresses and the gale that lashes ash trees
Who aroused me and aroused in me the desire for the numinous
Who hears prayers and petitions of others but only when delivered from their knees
Who resides in electromagnetic storms and ley lines over the kingdom of death
Who swallows every single inhaled and every exhaled breath
Who is avalanche master, total devourer, dead reckoner, great annihilator
Who murdered three year olds with shotguns in Chicago
Who is the lord of all, killer on the dim path, lightfucker, vivid dictator
Who is the hole in everything and the reason nothing is whole
I cut the head from the granite figure of the Christ
To the chime of steel striking stone. Each blow brought sparks and light.
Then I climbed to the roof of the monastery
And pissed upon your virgin Mary.
I, Rebel angel
Maw of the wolf
Leafless tree
Black branch
Claw of hell
I who dwelt amongst dangerous angels
Who yearned for years and desired annihilation at your hands
Who begged you to strike me. I made plans
And goaded you with headless son and piss soaked bride
Who incanted atrocities that smelled of purple Columbine
Who lusted for your touch, even should it destroy
Who heard others address you familiarly
and knew the bitter hemlock taste of envy
What must I do, lord? I hear your voice sometimes and it says,
“Kill her while she sleeps. Take her breath in your hands and kill her.
Squeeze the last wisps of air from her with your fists. This is my touch.
The icy grey waters are my touch, submerge thyself.
The children are dead at Uvalde, this is my touch.
The bombs of the Liberator your grandfather flew during the first daylight raid on Berlin fell on babies, this is my touch.
Who is avalanche master, total devourer, dead reckoner, great annihilator
Who murdered three year olds with shotguns in Chicago
Who is the lord of all, killer on the dim path, lightfucker, vivid dictator
Who is the hole in everything and the reason nothing is whole
I cut the head from the granite figure of the Christ
To the chime of steel striking stone. Each blow brought sparks and light.
Then I climbed to the roof of the monastery
And pissed upon your virgin Mary.
I, Rebel angel
Maw of the wolf
Leafless tree
Black branch
Claw of hell
I who dwelt amongst dangerous angels
Who yearned for years and desired annihilation at your hands
Who begged you to strike me. I made plans
And goaded you with headless son and piss soaked bride
Who incanted atrocities that smelled of purple Columbine
Who lusted for your touch, even should it destroy
Who heard others address you familiarly
and knew the bitter hemlock taste of envy
What must I do, lord? I hear your voice sometimes and it says,
“Kill her while she sleeps. Take her breath in your hands and kill her.
Squeeze the last wisps of air from her with your fists. This is my touch.
The icy grey waters are my touch, submerge thyself.
The children are dead at Uvalde, this is my touch.
The bombs of the Liberator your grandfather flew during the first daylight raid on Berlin fell on babies, this is my touch.
The hole at the center of everything, the hole at your center, this is my touch."
I cut
Down
your son
Down
and looked
Down
his granite eyes stared back from the ground
in the parking lot in front of St. Cletus
I murdered again the Risen Jesus.
If this were but a human head I might feel
His soul flee to the great wheel
And see his eyes go cold like bloom on grapes,
And see his eyes go cold like bloom on grapes,
Becoming monstrous, vapid shapes.
We mocked the ones who took your vows.
You were silent then. You are silent now.
We who became willing slaves to the annihilation of I
Sought your caress in the ecstasy of oblivion
The syringe is a cross and it is a nail
and it is cock and balls and it is Spear of Longinus
We who hoped in driving spike through arm and spear through side
We might be as loved as he who died
Lo, You touched my mother instead of me and gave her stigmata
Lo, I walked amongst rebel angels gathering army and armada
Lo, The dark rivulets of blood welled from the inside of her arms rather than her hands
Lo, I am a witness to sympathetic wounds inflicted by the lamb
Lo, A miracle made from blood and love's spiteful power
Lo, The lions did not devour me though I wished to be devoured.
Not even when I pissed on your bride, your virgin whore, did you answer
The evrso many prayers or strike me down so I shall strike you down so you strike me down
I want your lions to tear me apart. I want the flame to burn me.
Do you not understand this? Have you forgotten me?
We mocked the ones who took your vows.
You were silent then. You are silent now.
We who became willing slaves to the annihilation of I
Sought your caress in the ecstasy of oblivion
The syringe is a cross and it is a nail
and it is cock and balls and it is Spear of Longinus
We who hoped in driving spike through arm and spear through side
We might be as loved as he who died
Lo, You touched my mother instead of me and gave her stigmata
Lo, I walked amongst rebel angels gathering army and armada
Lo, The dark rivulets of blood welled from the inside of her arms rather than her hands
Lo, I am a witness to sympathetic wounds inflicted by the lamb
Lo, A miracle made from blood and love's spiteful power
Lo, The lions did not devour me though I wished to be devoured.
Not even when I pissed on your bride, your virgin whore, did you answer
The evrso many prayers or strike me down so I shall strike you down so you strike me down
I want your lions to tear me apart. I want the flame to burn me.
Do you not understand this? Have you forgotten me?
I am Daniel,
which is you are my judge,
You made me for prescience, to be the knower of dreams
Exile, veteran of the rebellion
Who knows the taste of dead friends and lovers:
Steven who we watched while he had a heart attack
You made me for prescience, to be the knower of dreams
Exile, veteran of the rebellion
Who knows the taste of dead friends and lovers:
Steven who we watched while he had a heart attack
and lingered in hospice braindead while his wife held hope
so tenderly, like tiny dandelions gifted to her by her daughters
Plum who is irrevocably lost and whose light I no longer
so tenderly, like tiny dandelions gifted to her by her daughters
Plum who is irrevocably lost and whose light I no longer
see or feel when I reach out in the Great Dark
Chris who I loved and fought with and who fled and
Chris who I loved and fought with and who fled and
Who I saw again only once he had been made ash
And Chris who lay for days in overdose, withered thin,
And the frenzied maenads come upon me
And they are named: One is Alexandra and One is Galen
And they desire me and their desire saves me from monstrous murder
And they will tear me apart as they would a lost fawn and I will let them
And they poured sticky liquor on their breasts and bade me suck,
And yet I still exist in the scant moments between sex and dope and wrath
And in her betrayal she cannot meet my gaze and I see her death wish and how she wants to be touched
And it is god’s touch she provokes not mine and we are alike as we provoke the touch of god
And a weapon comes to me through bloodsoaked backstreets
And she will know the hand of the lord is upon her and I am but his proxy and praxis
And I will behead her and hold her head aloft by the hair and make her face me
And watch her eyes cloud over and go frigid
And watch as her light leaves and her fingers go rigid
And I want to be consumed entire and yes I do miss her, I am a coward,
And it matters not whether by poetry or love or wrath or heroin or god I am devoured
III. Upharsin: Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persian
I encounter Mrs. South at the outer doors
In the insectoid orange of sodium lights
She has lost her keys this night
And she begins to weep and I throw my arms around her
when her grandfather died she wailed in the shower
and I entered the water clothed and held her as she cowered
She only weeps when something is beyond repair
She rocks in agony as we enter the lion’s lair
And she says she has been to the doctor and there
will never be children, no hope for her ovaries, the bulging stomach
pregnant only with tumors that stud her uterus
and we are the abomination of desolation
I see in the ash of prescience the grey days that stray away from us
And the years become the intolerable product of aimlessness
And cats who are but pale replacements
No,
No weeping and screaming thing at 2AM
No,
No human heart upon which to perpetuate black science
No,
No life everlasting No vessel of hope to be lost
No,
No being to love into being
No being to love into loving
No no never never
In the invisible ink of our childless marriage -
(a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside)
And Chris who lay for days in overdose, withered thin,
Shrinking as his muscle rotted beneath his skin.
In his casket he looked so old and so small.
Thus was I made to know the writing on the wall.
II. Tekel: You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.
And I am lost in the woods, all is a Dionysian blur
In his casket he looked so old and so small.
Thus was I made to know the writing on the wall.
II. Tekel: You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.
And I am lost in the woods, all is a Dionysian blur
And the frenzied maenads come upon me
And they are named: One is Alexandra and One is Galen
And they desire me and their desire saves me from monstrous murder
And they will tear me apart as they would a lost fawn and I will let them
And they poured sticky liquor on their breasts and bade me suck,
And they said take, this is my Body, take, this is my Blood
And the hips jerk and the Body shudders in pleasure of its own accord, the Body automatic
And no input is needed from the brain at a certain stage once the I is annihilated
And Galen’s irish irises the blue grey of storm clouds reflected in the frigid river
And Alexandra’s greek eyes green like the moss of old ponds and money
And cascade of red curls, and smooth black tresses, and musk of unshaven females and their desire
And marine reek of semen and sugar of liquor
And pale and unmarked flesh, and tanned and supple flesh, and twilit morning
And they exclaim you are so rough but not too rough
And my hands against the core of them, smooth pudenda snowcaps of fat low on the Body
And they writhe in my grip and I writhe in theirs and we will leave a mark
And expressions of total excitement and affirmations chanted and eyes widened in pleasure
And they are like cats in how they luxuriate in my touch and arch their backs
And the greek girl wraps her arms about me and pushes my Body into her Body from behind
And touch and tongue and her arms about my stomach
And nipples graze my back and fingers caressing my throat
And hands on her thighs and ass she holds my wrists as she strokes my face
And as she grabs my hair and as she kisses me and my love
And they tangle and make love to each other and to me
And the fuck goes on and on forever, world without end, until the annihilation of I
And we speak to each other in the secret language with no words
And there are only moans and the open notes of pure pleasure
And there is no way to say jealousy or hatred or property
And sursum corda, quod amantes amentes
And afterwards the greek girl strokes my arms, scarred and bitten by steel kisses
And my perfect circular scars as if I have spilled drops of hot fat or acid on them
And I show these to the corner boys and they are my pass to the underworld
And the irish girl asks me if I miss it and miss her
And I recall the annihilation of I that was delivered mainline to me through my blood
And I recall my love, my Plum, and her desire for annihilation
And how we have been in each other’s veins and annihilated I
And how we fucked each other while we lay together bleeding and lost
And she has been in my veins and I in hers
And that is a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside
And the hips jerk and the Body shudders in pleasure of its own accord, the Body automatic
And no input is needed from the brain at a certain stage once the I is annihilated
And Galen’s irish irises the blue grey of storm clouds reflected in the frigid river
And Alexandra’s greek eyes green like the moss of old ponds and money
And cascade of red curls, and smooth black tresses, and musk of unshaven females and their desire
And marine reek of semen and sugar of liquor
And pale and unmarked flesh, and tanned and supple flesh, and twilit morning
And they exclaim you are so rough but not too rough
And my hands against the core of them, smooth pudenda snowcaps of fat low on the Body
And they writhe in my grip and I writhe in theirs and we will leave a mark
And expressions of total excitement and affirmations chanted and eyes widened in pleasure
And they are like cats in how they luxuriate in my touch and arch their backs
And the greek girl wraps her arms about me and pushes my Body into her Body from behind
And touch and tongue and her arms about my stomach
And nipples graze my back and fingers caressing my throat
And hands on her thighs and ass she holds my wrists as she strokes my face
And as she grabs my hair and as she kisses me and my love
And they tangle and make love to each other and to me
And the fuck goes on and on forever, world without end, until the annihilation of I
And we speak to each other in the secret language with no words
And there are only moans and the open notes of pure pleasure
And there is no way to say jealousy or hatred or property
And sursum corda, quod amantes amentes
And afterwards the greek girl strokes my arms, scarred and bitten by steel kisses
And my perfect circular scars as if I have spilled drops of hot fat or acid on them
And I show these to the corner boys and they are my pass to the underworld
And the irish girl asks me if I miss it and miss her
And I recall the annihilation of I that was delivered mainline to me through my blood
And I recall my love, my Plum, and her desire for annihilation
And how we have been in each other’s veins and annihilated I
And how we fucked each other while we lay together bleeding and lost
And she has been in my veins and I in hers
And that is a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside
And yet I still exist in the scant moments between sex and dope and wrath
And in her betrayal she cannot meet my gaze and I see her death wish and how she wants to be touched
And it is god’s touch she provokes not mine and we are alike as we provoke the touch of god
And a weapon comes to me through bloodsoaked backstreets
And she will know the hand of the lord is upon her and I am but his proxy and praxis
And I will behead her and hold her head aloft by the hair and make her face me
And watch her eyes cloud over and go frigid
And watch as her light leaves and her fingers go rigid
And I want to be consumed entire and yes I do miss her, I am a coward,
And it matters not whether by poetry or love or wrath or heroin or god I am devoured
III. Upharsin: Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persian
I encounter Mrs. South at the outer doors
In the insectoid orange of sodium lights
She has lost her keys this night
And she begins to weep and I throw my arms around her
when her grandfather died she wailed in the shower
and I entered the water clothed and held her as she cowered
She only weeps when something is beyond repair
She rocks in agony as we enter the lion’s lair
And she says she has been to the doctor and there
will never be children, no hope for her ovaries, the bulging stomach
pregnant only with tumors that stud her uterus
and we are the abomination of desolation
I see in the ash of prescience the grey days that stray away from us
And the years become the intolerable product of aimlessness
And cats who are but pale replacements
No,
No weeping and screaming thing at 2AM
No,
No human heart upon which to perpetuate black science
No,
No life everlasting No vessel of hope to be lost
No,
No being to love into being
No being to love into loving
No no never never
No no never never no no no no
No,
No sin of fatherhood to put aside
No sin of fatherhood to put aside
Now,
There is nowhere left for god to hide.
Maneless lion I,
Withered vine.
Burnt and leafless tree,
Maneless lion I,
Withered vine.
Burnt and leafless tree,
Seeker for the sign,
Black branch stripped of bark,
Repeater of the fall,
The kingdom of the lamb is dark.
I write upon heaven’s wall
Black branch stripped of bark,
Repeater of the fall,
The kingdom of the lamb is dark.
I write upon heaven’s wall
In the invisible ink of our childless marriage -
(a level of intimacy not soon forgotten or put aside)
In tears torn from my wife’s broken visage:
Ego te absolve - τετέλεσται.
Ego te absolve - τετέλεσται.
I read the cat poem post first and the difference in tone is striking 0.o, but these are all very good. I feel like there is a certain degree to which these are all connected but not entirely sure how much, but there are obviously some recurring concepts or themes between them. But that could just be because they're all expressions of living in the world. With the last one in particular, I don't know if that's speaking to a personal experience in a literal or more metaphoric sense, but either way it reads like it's coming from a place of some kind of sorrow, so I hope it's something you have or are working towards resolving, or coming to terms with, for yourself, or that writing this or knowing people are reading it helps in some way.
ReplyDeleteYes, very VERY different tone! This is a quote unquote serious piece. There is a lot going on here for sure, a lot of uncomfortable and messy stuff. This is a first draft, and I perhaps should have waited a bit to publish it, but the thing is I get freaked out by stuff that is messy and uncomfortable and I get scared to share it. But because it is often so important, and the thing that really gets through to people or moves them in some way, I feel like it’s important for me to put it out there before I lose my nerve because then I can endlessly prevaricate and delay and perhaps will never show it to anyone, and I’m not sure how much time I have left.
DeleteI think you are absolutely right that there are connections between these three parts of this (and perhaps my work more generally).
I was trying to write about the search for and the silence of God, as well as the emptiness and beauty of physical gratification, and also I think about being able to forgive God for the presence of pain and sorrow and the existence of evil and the even for the consciousness to pose the universal existential question (that is “Why is there anything? Why am I here?”). I think for a lot of people the existential question is answered by having children – there are very strong biological drives for this and when they go unfulfilled it can leave one wondering just what the fuck all of it is for, lol.
At the end of the first year of our marriage, several tumors were discovered on my wife’s ovaries and they were removed. We discussed adoption, but she was unready to move ahead with that at the time, and now…well, now, while it’s still possible, it’s a little late. I have strong and ambivalent feelings about this - of frustration and sorrow (for the unrealized potential), of fear (that my life might wind up meaning nothing to anyone in any way), of gratitude (they turned out to be large but non-cancerous and I still have her with me), and of relief (it feels very much to me as if the rock of western society has started to roll down the hill and is simply too heavy for anyone to stop – the direction the world and the country seems to be headed in freaks me out and if I had kids I can only imagine that those fears would be magnified a thousandfold).
I’m not religious, but I believe that man has a need for the numinous and divine and that religions (at their best) fulfill that need, and have useful metaphors and tools for exploring and understanding these kinds of struggles with divinity (which is one of the reasons there is so much religious language in this).
I think ultimately I hold a hope that the creative potential and purpose that for me goes unrealized in procreation will be fulfilled in the creation of art.
Well, this got way longer than I intended and should probably be its own post. Apologies if this is all a bit heavier than you were looking for! It sounds like this made you think and wonder, and if so, I am very glad. Thank you for taking the time to both read it and comment on it!
No, this is all very consistent with what I was thinking, but I appreciate you elaborating further, and I'm glad to hear that you and your wife are ok.
DeleteI've definitely also been thinking a lot about that stuff as I'm currently in my early/mid-30's and not in a long-term relationship nor have I historically been great at those. I have never wanted children, but I now have three nieces between two of my three siblings, one of which I was supposed to finally meet on my vacation but due to unfortunate circumstances I was unable to meet her (hopefully this summer...), but the other two are very much in my life since they also live in NYC, so anyway it's been on my mind.
I am definitely not one of those people who thinks people who have children should be shamed for it, but I also do have very atypical and very strong feelings about what it means to have children and the nature of the obligations entailed, and those feelings as well as the more practical concerns all make me ambivalent about having children of my own. But all the same, I have those feelings about legacy and meaning, whether wrt religion or children or art.
Yeah, these are difficult things to wrestle with, but I think most of us wrestle with it at some point, though it may well be that not everyone is so aware of that struggle. I personally feel that bringing another consciousness into the world entails pretty heavy responsibilities. But I know not all people see that the same way, and who's to say they are wrong? In the end, I don't have any more answers or anything than anyone else to any of the issues raised in this poem, but I am doing my best to make peace with these things as they are. That turns out to be a sort of ongoing process for me rather than something which is dealt with once and finished.
DeleteWell, whether or not one chooses to have children is fine, but I do feel strongly, in agreement with you at least in broad strokes I think, that it is a heavy responsibility, and one who does not see it that way is as far as I'm concerned absolutely in the wrong. Forcing something into being, even if they are ultimately grateful for it, is an inherently, unavoidably non-consensual act. That doesn't mean people shouldn't have children, but it does mean the burden of responsibility is on the parent to be worthy of the child they forced into existence. If one chooses to venerate their elders or ancestors or whatever then fine. That said, frankly I find it really gross the way most cultures throughout the world and throughout history uncritically take as a given that it is not only acceptable but desirable that the more powerful agent in the relationship, the parent/elder/ancestor, should indoctrinate into their children their own veneration, sometimes on the same level as gods or in service to a god, like a leader of their own little cult. You can see how toxic that gets when coupled with hetero-normative, nuclear, patriarchal family unit, but even in itself it's a system that lends itself to abuse by power structures- it's power propagating itself. In any other kind of hierarchy or power structure reasonable people at least critique this notion- and while as I've acknowledged in this case it is unavoidable, that doesn't mean we shouldn't be mindful of it- to have a child and not be mindful of this burden I find, personally, totally unacceptable.
DeleteI had a proper response typed up and totally failed to notice that my organization had trigged a browser update and lost it. It's interesting that you've brought this up in light of the rest of the poem, which is really thematically adjacent to these kinds of things as they relate to the spiritual realm.
DeleteI do think we are largely in agreement here. The sort of relationship you describe above makes me think of someone I knew whose parents (his dad, really) chose his faith and his career for him and really forced him back on to the track they had chosen for him when he tried to explore other possibilities. He ultimately reconciled with their wishes but I believe he was desperately unhappy after doing so. I think its very likely that they did this out of a sense of love and responsibility. It seems to me that one of the tragedies that plays out over and over again in life is that the people who should probably be grappling with these questions the most do so the least.