Forest Of Error

wrote this a while ago, at least two years ago. for a project which was alas absconded. so out of a perverse sense of fun i 'ave maria druggt it outta those jaws of dem serial mice, and 'ave plug plonkt it down here for all to enjoy

---

Halfway through this the journey of our century
I found I was estranged my way
Hard against a misty wood glum
I stumbled slumbering

Not with God
Or angels or daemons or 
Satan or magick or Buddha
Or Yoga or Zimmermann

    The wind sang to me...
    With Avarice has
        No one a painted
        Paradise

Not for their eye nor heart
Nor mind nor soul

    CONTRA NATURA

Corpses alone
Are brought to banquet
With Avarice

And all along the wide 
Fine road is now over 
Grown darling buds 

Vampirism
Chewers of Flesh
Gnawers of Bone
Dispensers of Life & Death

They mock and flog
    The OTHER

And i am all alone in
This spreading oscura
Alone this wide cold
Universe of nothing
But nothing - endless
Cycles of Nothing

Houses of whores
    Of pink brick 
    Golf course roos false
    Collanades & meat four
    Times a day (or more!)

Out with piggy wives
Clutching forks and knifes
To eat their bacon

    And 51% of people
    Surveyed are not wiling
    To pay any more than 
    A tenner a month

Never gets any better than this
This is as good as it gets

Ratcuntprickdog
Costellohowardr
Uddbushblairpu
Tinpalin

And they wonder why
The young have no 
Respect

Wars and rumors of wars
Matthew 24:6
And the blood up lust 
Of the non combatant


    And i am alone
    This spreading wood
    Of mine olde 
    Glum gloom

        And the wood dissolves
        And i stand at the gate
        Of a great city

At this great city
Stinking already of
    Greed and Death.

The Aboot

The scarab is the rising sun.
As WSB says - once one becomes one whose head expands, and the cut up method is applied directly to brain, den furniture summer times comes earl well gushing wise inn. dissa one was ywrit served a copra yearns ago. agony, and now seams more kneaded.

---

Abort the abbot about NOW.

The internal interval of the integral
Integer (digit insertion) --

And how bored bone she stood stand
Stock drip drab still earing
A fainting swooning swan lub dub
From the Lord Kelvin plutocrat
FROM HELL
Or this pitter patter of
FATHER


Debilitatingly boren
Abound a browned
Boreal forest of
Bubbling methane bog
Tyger sorrel soup sup
Orbit
Obit
Mob gym gun dodo doco
Spinish dock DUCK.


My stoma ache
Be horn dance piping
The hokey pokey
And my nik nak neck
She be cloak clocked.

Transition

My attempt to create a materialist mysticism.

---

As the flaming embers of the roaring
Fire burn and rise high in the air
Tumbling and panicking before the storm.
Caught within the uprising vortex
Gyre and gimble mass of heated air.
High into the air, drifting without
Reason, without instinct, caught
In the wild battering chaos.
And then long away in another time
Unknown to the roaring fire flames
Storm, the ember falls, flutters 
To the ground. Falling onto the right
Conditions, the tinderbox of dried
Out dessication, igniting, 
Flames dancing. Even so do the ideas
Of the lost, dead, burnt books flutter
Fragments and half contextualised 
Critiques of second hand hearsay 
Across the generations to flame
The old errors into new growth.
Like the singed leaves, the smoldering
Strips of bark fall onto the slopes
Of watered hills, even so do the half 
Forgotten ideas fall, fertilising
The rich soil of enquiring. 

A body of matter cannot disappear completely. 
It only changes its form, condition, composition, 
Color and other properties and turns into 
A different complex 
Or elementary matter.

Summer Hot Heat

On the shore seashore
Where ancient tetrapods roamed
Age old dreams explored
Wet sand drips her hands

Sea side towers of Narragansett
Minarets of Kialoa
Extraordinary lines rise the foam
Unutterable song lines rise the foam

At the dawn of Western Literature (i)
A woman; worse than death, brings labour into the world
Eternal Eve at the mouth of Hell lies spread legg'd
And screaming bringing forth endless sinners.

At the dawn of Western Literature
The gods petty and childish made her
A commodity to be passed around
Guilt, Wrath, sexual abuse at the first.

On the shore seashore
The rolling endless waves splashed
Destroyed her tower
Rising tears broke forth her eyes.

And these same waves crashed
Beaches of Viet Nam
Of Papua, Malaysia, Korea
Timor and Borneo.

i)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_literature#Classical_Antiquity
Ancient Greek society placed considerable emphasis upon
literature. Many authors consider the western literary tradition to
have begun with the epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey, which remain giants in the literary canon for their skillful and vivid depictions of war and peace, honor and disgrace, love and hatred.

proletarius

proletarius, literally child producers. the ones; in ancient rome, who had no wealth, only their children. proles -is means children or offspring. so regardless of what you think, it is what the great majority of us are, those who have no wealth, and who need to work to allow the reproduction of every day life. i know if i do not work, i will after not many weeks be seriously in the poop.

---

The proletarian leaves the house
And drives alone, or maybe takes 
The bus. Engages in small talk.
How is the Weather? Today is 
Tuesday, almost half way through the
Week, I hope it rains. And into
The office, the factory, the shop,
The hospital, et alia. Cocooned
With noise or barriers alone
The proletarian does an
Alloted amount of work within
A well measured amount of time.
Inequality of pay comes 
About due to the supply
And demand of specific skills
Of the individual worker.
Some are worth more to the bosses
In one particular place and time.

In this manner human, social
Activity is carried out.

The Two Thieves

A good thing about home schooling is forcing the children to watch docos on telly. we watched a show about a painting by Picasso, and then one about ancient Egypt. The two shows urged me to write this poem.

---

The broken bodies
    Of the thieves
    Taken off the cross
    Thrown upon the ground
    (discarded and broken)
        Turning from yellow
        To blue - as if death
        Was overtaking.

And
    The cannibalistic virgin

And
    The bird call of
    The first sun rise
    That began time.

Cycles & cycles of time
The all-at-once
Spasms of disconnection
Most of us can not even
See Orion.

Walk Against Warming

It was an interesting weekend. Obama gave his speech for winning the
Nobel peace prize. A speech, he wrote himself, and a speech which
nodded in the direction of King and Ghandi. A speech which then
admitted that, as President, as Commander In Chief, he lived in a real
world, one in which evil exists. Tired and banal words wrapped up in
some sort of archaic morality in which we are to accept war as a
rational activity. Could non violence have stopped Hitler? This is
hard to say as it was never tried. Did the West get itself wrapped in
duplicity and counter duplicity, leading to an uncontrollable
situation resulting in World War Two? I am no professional historian,
indeed I am but a small insignificant person, no more than a speck in
the relentless cosmos that is (for all practical purposes) infinite in
time and space, but this does seem a likely scenario to me.

Did non violence in India face down the greatest empire the world has
ever seen, one on which the sun never set?

Did non violence in the United States overturn 100 years of terror and
lynchings?

So we can argue left and right if Hitler could have been stopped with
non violence or not. While a pleasant diversion for speech makers and
cocktail party chit chat this is of course this is an argument which
has no answer. We can, however, safely say that Hitler and the Axis
Powers stood firmly within that rich tradition of racism and bogus
moral superiority, of violence and war as methods of diplomacy, which
we call Western Civilization. A tradition more honoured in the breach.
A tradition the West shows no glimmer of backing away from.

So as the first weekend of the Cokenhagen talks wound round and round
we took the kids off to the Walk Against Warming Rally at the grounds
of Parliament House. A fair crowd (some 1500 according to the papers -
so maybe more like 3000 in real life) for quiet old Canberra showed
up, which was heartening, we spoke to some vegan activists, and some
of the various socialist newspaper sellers. King Coal showed up. Two
stilted birds added a note of the festival to the rally and of course
scared the little ones.

The papers wailed as 900 climate change activists were arrested in
Copenhagen, and hollered as 900 were arrested in Queensland in a police
crackdown on drunken behavior. One arrest due to the political passion
of struggle against mindless consumption. Another arrest for the pure
and simple experience of over consumption, sanctified by our current
age. With the same amount of arrests, I know which paddy wagon I would
like my children to be riding and singing old timey unions songs in.

So I wrote a short poem.

Peeling paint.
Melting ice cream.

Maggie chases the galah across the
Glowing early morning twilight.

Walk again.
Nohopenhagen mumble of words words
Words stress dance the whirlwind
Stage.

Peace to War Inert Award Ceremony.


Bright blue cloudless
Contrail widening
Sky.

Deep green manicured
Lawn of Authority.



Brown frail hills
Roll treeless desiccation
Across the shimmering
Distance.

Bright red police car
Of a thin blue line
Of repression of Black
Skin of dispossession.
Army of occupation.




Pure white parliament
Power obsoleted the pale
Sandy bland smoothness
Of the new.



Byrds of a feather
Suffer together.

The elected trick evening drone
On and on stinkly blue
Glowing and radiating your
Turn will a-come. Whistle
Blowing marchers
Whistle blowing
For action
Until blue in the face
Of climate change crap of
The other party, upset
Unsettled
At being labeled
Pour diddums denyers like
Some sort of anti-semite.
Ole King Cole
And a cheep olde soul
Was Kev,
Fattened with public monies
Destroyed of climate
Science crap main political
Faction opposition, loyal
That is. Black gold.

The whole world in his hands.

Tyme of alto buildings