Brainstorms from 2011

THE REAL ZING ZINGER (Six)

antonymical anatomy atomistology analogy anamorph ardvark

bifurcatve benevolent beguilded bound bent bribe

calciprian calcium copper corn core cobs

deluvian delight drawn dear dynamic day

evokation eliqsur emancipation eruditional earning extatic

finds for found finest feifdoms fort

granted galvanized gargantuan glorious garrulous great

hexigonic halcions hapenstance helvetical hounds harm

indigo irrasible ire is irrelevant immulant

jest just jokes jeer jauts jail

kilt king kingdom kingfish kvetch ken

lamentation loquatious leftover liscention linger lust

malevolent mean meander methinks mountains moan

notational notion nation nutrition not natural

orchestrated odiferous oceanic occipital ocular ostentation

perrimander peculiar perpetration polymorphous pragmatic pundits

queens quotient quoting quips quothed queerly

resembling ragged rage remembered remorsefully redundently

triumphant tribulation taunts to tear trumpets

under umbrellas underhangs underhanded ubermensh unworthy

vested vogue voice vice vicars vociferous

wet with wonders wellsprings wicked wind

xylophone xerxes xenophon xenopolies x x

zebra zeal zoo zoa zing zinger

 

 

SEVEN IS THE LONLIEST NUMBER

Time's all that seperates us, longing too

Heaven must be wrong he thought himself

nothing on earth takes back the day

memories so fleeting searches just the stay

of what's retained by boredom brought blatant

gaps between the words and worlds unspoken

halfwonder wonderlust part probability flux and form

taken much luster's light from daily dorm

of sunbent sky blue catapult nights wing

where dreams descend to quicken waking question

for quests so often sought unearthing unknowable

skyquest nautical arms traced of all mythologies

Hold me in your dreaming abode longer

shalestorm microbes scattering the eather's escavation

tell me not what you might dream

when we were once almost together awake

perhaps the same form small wonders bound

like a great prometheus meeting ravenous sting

I remember nothing and I remember all

how much longer must longing wait longer

along dear downtrodden half lived searches stronger

rip me from the yoke of time

once more and more and more again

once more and more and more again

seven is the loneliest number indeed friend

seven days seven sorrows seven searching tomorrows

weaker and weaker without you my love.

 

The Ballad of William Wonder

Seven days into the blasts now. The airplanes above have been hammering the city, like a great hephaestean hammer forming of our aim and purpose a double edged sword. I've been separated from my unit, and have been taking care of the small child and young woman who have for the most part been silent and in a state of shock. Looking upon the carnage, for far too long, it does this to people. Puts that blank stare in their eyes.

What are we fighting for anyhow. Some of it used to make sense to me. Not much of it anymore. It just seems an ongoing cycle. The world's become some kind of Orwellian nightmare. Just a few states left battling it out, building, leveling, building leveling. I was young when it all started for me, but it's been going on for generations. They don't tell you evertything in school, they don't show you the images of it all, and the interlink doesn't do it justice either. Sure you can TAM in a stream once in a while but the hacks have it. You basically work through it in real life, you see it, you don't believe it, and we're all left with that stare, that's like a gaping wound.

And to think, just three weeks ago, I was counting down the days to my end of service. Just going through the motions I thought. Well what did you think, war could NEVER happen. I feel like such an idiot. I'm no hero, I can't kill. Isn't that what hero's do, kill. No, I guess I'm a coward. What's heroic about guarding these two anyhow. It's nice the way she clings to me though, and the child, her child. I have no idea, Since the Interlink went down, I have no way of communicating. I remember in grade school being taught to read, but when we think without the interlink nothing comes out somehow. I'm afraid the TAMs rewired us all or something too. What did they call it in University, right, Private Language. Some philosophy course was on about. We haven't been able to be heard, we have had this way for some time though. Now only the up and ups speak. It's just the nature of the beast I guess you could say.

The subway is littered with dead bodies, the stench is feirce, unbearable. You want to vomit all the time, and so we've moved into the tunnels deeper into the dark bowels, our eyes unable to fully adjust under the flicker of the lights. I've been dragging the rubble out, but its hopeless, and on the hour the whole place quivers and shakes and growls like a hungry ache. I've been somewhat successful, IF we can make it down a few more blocks we'll be at the edge of the city. We'll be safe. Far from harm.

The small kid helps me and I smile to him. He looks blankly then gives me a small grin, The woman she must be his mother I think. Some life, just waiting to die. You can see that she's given up. Somehow it comforts me, reminds me it's all been a lie up till now. My father told me you have to make your way in the world but I never imagined it would be like this.

I went from Military grad to immediate enlistment. The Cybs descended to decimate us. After they attacked our Millilink, we were done for. HOW could this have happened. There must have been a mole, someone in the department. There's just no explanation. I have to get to the outer boundary and find the General collect again with the others assuming anything or anyone's left. They're using ultrasonic bombs, this destroys some of the nearby buildings, shatters your eardrums if you're too close. You just feel like someone hit you for a week. Luckily I had my Millitink link safety on. This helped, but I watched someone's ears explode with blood, right in front of me. THIS weapon, just to keep the buildings safe, free for future use after decimation. I can see they changed their minds, they're just bombing now any and everything I suppose.

We burrow through the whole night. Seven, going on eight days, and if these two weren't with me, I'd feel as if there's no purpose to it really. Nothing to really make better. I remove some of the rubble, and the woman shouts LIGHT. So, she can speak the language, like the ancients and up and ups could, she must be from a good family, funny you wouldn't know it from looking at her. Just a few more stones, and we can slink through, get to the other side, the subway snakes along an open channel and we can somewhat see a fence ahead, just a bit further and we'll be to safety perhaps. You can just feel it. The final stone pushed out with all my might opens a channel of air and you can smell a sort of sickly sweet smell, what burning flesh might smell like. Sweet to smell all that fresh air mingled in with it, I suppose, this has been otherwise like living in the world's largest coffin, and we're almost there. The sonic blasts cause you to be unable to breathe, can cause bones to shatter, unless you're indoors or wearing the proper attire. Many of those who made it to the underground shelter were just waiting to die. It was four days of wailing, till finally silence. NOT words, not the old language, the wailing, you know, no amount of training can take that away, we may be without a voice but our pain, that's always still there, consoling us.

 

Child gets killed in crossfire, woman jumps emotionally is dragged to safety. Mililink comes on. Got three D viz cap back on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 

boomerang sound tsunami windtunnel slingstream

Quasi anchor of love spent in the vertigo of veridian fields

Multiclover overpasses personality becoming a cat and mouse game between individual and collectives.

WELL SUE ME A FUCKING RIVER. Nature's breaking my attention span in, and the bank's have it.

yellowjacket spincycle meridian monsoon eyes of heartshaped displays beyond the tropics of your eyes

we are that which is unknown trying to let those who do not understand what it is this force of life.

there are the two who believe not you for anything, and for nothing.

in the 70's the neighbourhoods still looked like the 50's. The 80's looked a bit like the 90's. The first decade of the Millennium ended as usual for me on New Years, when I fell in love, this time with a little queen about to have her last year.

Nearly One year into this the 4th decade of my life, and I can't tell what makes it different, just yet, maybe that's because there's too much in it. This is the year Music was borne to me. This is the year that I was basically given to fall in love, with a cadence perhaps of depths, but with lots more going on. Oh and it's definitely because I never leave the house.

knowledge unbound to themes

a pantheon of competing uncertainties about what the truth is

Parading games over losses.

The living unknown, animative answering quizzically to the quixotic, being in effect just this.

Automatic mechanisms ensuring life, aware of being, but being unawares.

Can't tell in one world what the illusions are not,

Can tell in another world what truths are and how they connect to this other world.

They feign understanding because of the good I have to say they understand, and because of the good I have to say they profit from denying.

I and the ten thousand things are bust.

I am king of newness, creativity and art.

Copyright 2011

Like 0 Pin it 0