Category: Circles & Squares

Hooded caverns.

The snow came overnight and stripped all the colors from your sight.

Even the televisions lost technicolor.

It was all like it was before.

And everyone else rediscovered outside

while we explored inside,

below, then above, the old quilt.

Hands rubbing flesh like flicking sparks from flint.

Thawing out tongues pressed against icy appendages.

Hot breath pronouncing as smoke, in short

vaporized bursts.

Dragon breath lighting dormant pearls contained in shallow

hooded caverns.

Petals under the bottom retaing their flush.

{darkly hushed whispers}

I could remove some of your dreadful readiness; but, to do so would be to denigrate the events within your human condition: Æ says to no-one, in particular.

Speeding along another dissolution of ego through hard knocks followed by unseen but well-heard giggles in the darkness.

Æ said you wanted kindly unkindness: I whisper to no-one, in particular.

Spurning me forward, as I spurn you.

You drew the five of swords, sweet sap of sorrel.

Æ said to tell you that death is a mercy you do not deserve.

How dare you?!

I dared to accept this personally æons ago, dear. Thusly is how I dare.

Tears spring from his eyes.

I begin seeing bleeding horizons, bloody in the sinuous, poet trauma symptomatic of a new birth.

It feels like a backyard, handmade, waterslide, whereupon you sweetly play, dripping;

And given you remain unconcerned about getting grass burns on knees from all the slipping and sliding,

you may have a real devil of a divine time.

You may be rewound, house proud, town mouse.

Let your prise punish you;

you mashed my berserker button.

Teutonic fury arising between my lower limbs.

Never try to take a medal from Muttley the Magnificent.

S/he has many sharp teeth.

corporeal conjuration.

The entheogen that is your your proclivity, inclines me.

That would be my preference, thank you, kindly.

My acting aloof and disinterested becomes my inclination at times.

An odyssey on this odd sea.

Honing of my symbiotic synergy in our exchange.

You want me to howl for you?

Then restrain and discipline me before

I do so unto you.

The struggle that makes your breath short.

The venom that your karanika painstakingly kills you with in dreams, because nothing dies that is not already dead.

So what is the purpose, here in the taking of this meta-sacrament?

To see my shadow, my doppelgänger, and

let Æ out to play.

Another pair of entities at the Pit of the Pylon,

alchemizing the ephemeral into wave currents which conjure the corporeal.

So many keys to nothing.

Fifty two envelopes each with a key.

But, only two unlock the door that

you keep trying to break open.

A gamble you take with ecstatic desperation.

A gamble you hate loving to make.

Whose rapture is whom’s ecstasy?

Wrapped and rapt.

Have you ever wondered who’s the slave and who’s the master?

And remember this.

Keep your boots clean.

Bite a thumbnail from a pretty petty pouting mouth,

Remembering a horrible dream wherein you made an exchange with the devil,

only to remember it on waking,

and be so terrified at what you promised that

You pray to god that

the devil be made to make good on the words,

knowing full well

god and the devil may not care what you want.

So, let me interfere with your energy extraneously and

show you yourself as

you know yourself naught.

Seshat calls to Thoth.

Come Thoth, it is your Seshat.

It is Æ calling us to aid in calming the howls of the

inane pharaohs of this æon.

I hear your verbose silence

spewing strange, novel phonemes.

I grin, sly, at the inaudible sound of your speech.

I came to do the ritual

of stretching the cordon

to measure the dimensions and

align the axis of the temple’s adyton.

Such work makes your Mistress of the Library ravenous.

I am carnivorous.

Press your open mouth to mine

; and, with your flapping tongue,

feed me the meat of your words.

A peckish rhythm

I could tear you apart with teeth shredded like snapped, over-fretted guitar strings.

But, I’d rather simply look upon you quietly and plot the upcoming delicious demise you already seem intent on ensuring.

But, first, just a little something to chew on…

Are you peckish, skittish one?

⊙

What do you call this rhythm?: the independent music journalist asked me.

I call it punctuated equilibrium in syncopated time; and, yes, it will induce sleep paralysis.: I respond with a coy grin.

I snake his fingers between mine, before your eyes.

I saw your invisible snarl at his aura bursting forth in surprised, physical response.

Did you know that I abhor playing zero sum games?: I ask, aloofly, to No-Body.

⊙

Our thoughts are linear, strung out on a line

to hang, mid-air, and dry.

But, Nature is a volume encompassing.

A space within which you find.

Our eyes see at the

speed of light coming.

My ears hear at the speed of sound resonating.

Waves lapping at the sea shore.

The mind perceives its thoughts more slowly.

Your skin already feels heat well before your mind realises

you have already been burned.

This I knew before you showed me.

Here are petals to serve as your flesh’s exfoliant.

I yawn; Æ questions.

Why do you whisper ‘thank you’ everytime you yawn?: Æ asks.

Because, for me, such a breath is a true ethereal blessing. Portentous of the ability to enter the sleeping, dreaming, state.: I respond.

The strangest, subliminal inhalation i know, akin to the exorcism of an involuntary, sneezing exhalation.

Magick-ally mundane.

Nāscitūrus (a future participle)

A hejira of horses bandying bridles about

by chomping bits between teeth.

A knife can neither cut itself nor water.

This I scribbled to paper seconds before

the lightning strikes the six foot iron rod driven into some monstrous, man-made composite rock slab.

The rod, the rock, and I all a’sat upon the hilltop

to weather the transpiring storm.

A’sat before the nine stone pillars of the valley below.

The energetic transfer blasts plasma like fourth of july sparklers drip floating light like rain.

A corona of solar flares eclipsing my sky like the sun reflected off a stranger’s bald head.

Succour without denigration of emotions rendered me in transparency.

Release.

Seeing the bleeding horizons sinuously bloodied because when you do not know that what you are enumerating,

you are rendered speechless.

⊙

nascor

gnašcor

gnāskõr

gen

gennáõ.

I am born: begotten

I arise: proceed

I grow: spring forth

Encompassing solitude.

You are only you when you are alone;

yet, you are not you at all when you are alone-

you are everything and everyone

there is

atop the mountain

or a’laid in the valley.

Trough and crest.

Sweet skittish, humming one.

I will stalk the perimeter of your peripheral until I

no longer surprise you unduly

, my sweet sap of sorrel.

And, yes, your ephemeral

devil may care if you serve eviction notice.

So, come,

see your sly gal, would-be ephebe.

My dæmon will coax your demon into relishing those new, fiendish exploits that arise from your newfound piety.

Sit at my feet as I rise to my knees and part a slitted skirt.

Æ am Blodeuedd conjured by Math and Gwendolyn.

Come, and as I arise from a cauldron’s vaporic outpouring,

I shall gift you a name, abandoned one,

with a new pair of cobbled brogues,

to boot.

Put your face between these two palms of mine, so I can let

Æ show you transient waves of temporality transpiring in

etheric extensions of

trough and crest.

trough and crest.

I am going to wrangle your talent and be your hosting site.

Ping me anytime.

Forget yourself and you will have nothing to fear.

It wilt be what it is.

You do not have to assume the future, wild thing.

The ability to move most quickly will only make others expect more from you.

So, when you realise this, beast, come and visit me in ewer own time,

because energy has only a here and a now, in this,

our art of dreaming.

Æ and Parçigal tye one on.

Ask me. Please. To slip into that which in you want to see me. My pride wants to hear you use your words.

You lie on your side and I will on mine.

Facing you, to slip a leg in between yours.

Feeling the weight of the difference between us, resting upon my sidelong knee.

⊙

I’m a little tipsy: I say.

No. You’re a little drunk: Æ tells myself.

I reply in query: No. Not necessarily. Am I driving a car?

No. Absolutely not: is Æ’s response.

Right then. That’s what I thought. If that’s the case(y) then I’m only a little tipsy: I reaffirm.

Æ sighs: Fine.

⊙

Then let us go outside the palings

in order to release yourself of your own name.

Then they can never call you from playing in the garden to do chores!

Like Alice, I wœnder-landed until I strolled through the Looking-Glass House of Blue.

There; within did Æ teach myself to deconstruct I

to the point where

I would no longer be surprised

if the theory of gravity, quite suddenly, proved to be untrue.

sound sleeper

I procured twelve stones and one pebble,

from the tidal pool,

while the water was low and you slept,

under high moon.

Rock hounding the Sound on

A cloudless night.

Bouldering about, unseen, in all black.

You could see all the usually obscured mountains.

I could see what you were presently dreaming.

Effie at Sound Level

Ø

The real price of your handbag involves multiple lives and wages of economies. Repair your brogues with a local cobbler, on the Main (sic. high) Street.

Crystal palaces aside dashes bisecting Eisenhower’s tar strips for the machines of some imagined war. The ones we drive and call highways. Four ways. Parallel, running lanes. Bits of varicose veins on this nation’s aging skin. The final passage of the Kon-Tiki, Ra Expeditions.

And, the cars passing by on the high road of the hilly bowl a’layed before the Sound, sound like currents running through macro-Boolean gates.

{Red light, stop.}

{Green light, go.}

{Yellow light…}

Use your best judgement.

~

I sit in reverie before an altered, candle flame.

Through my open windows, the sound of gravel ground under pedestrian boots crunches now and then. A honking car horn’s reassurance, echoing, as someone redundantly clicks a particular button affixed to a keychain.

The blast of a ferry foghorn. The doppleganging drone of the passing by train’s horn. These things sound like the call to the adytum of the temple.

I enjoy the world immediately around me, settling itself towards bed. Cars are little pups, turning circles til all tired out. A slowly descending cacophony.

The difference between darkness and the absence of light.

I consider the chartreuse evening and imagine you toiling the earth, tilling, to sow your seed

beneath the pylon of the pit.

Æ plays my favorite game

Æ dreamt of Blue House, with its strangely angulared architectural

In the tiny library, we saw sharp, slanted writing on every inch of the walls.

Covered in sigils unreadable, sentences ineffable,

Interjections conjuncted with exclamations.

An indifferent, yet, energetic-ally aggressive atmosphere

devoid of hostility.

From there, last night,

I wrote to you :

Will you halt me with your mouth

and show me your mind?

I wonder as

a coquettish muscle spasms in my left foot.

Musculature malefactors.

I love the almost-pain of it.

Malediction, subliminally decried, to inoculate.

What is the difference between chaos

and the constant state of affairs?

Is there one?

Or, does that inclination follow the declination of the earth’s disposition?

⊙

A punk band called No Vigil

battling

A punk band called No Sigil.

⊙

I dreamt I held back the masses of an audience

, for you,

by making them wait on me

while I was waiting on you,

according to some malfeasant line of time.

⊙

Æ asks me: shall we play your favorite game?

What is the difference?

Yes, pleas.

What is the difference

between hidden and secret?

between esoteric and occult?

A cabaline cabal, prancing, at Sette’s auction.

It made you giggle when

my response to your heady sentence was:

Oh my, I do like your phrase “operative formulæ.” How are you spelling it?

Does it make a difference?

⊙

Your forehead wrinkles show a perpetual proclivity for a quizzical, lopsided expression of interested curiosity.

You made yourself the background and

predicate to my subject;

and, in doing so,

you taught me to make others the subject against my background,

the positive space to my negative space,

And, to invert.

⊙

Where the web traps, there does To-Be

become

the difference between to deceive and duplicity.

A copy of the copy of a copy.

What is the difference between revealed and reveiled?

A ‘I’.

“The thraldom of imagined existence.”

Æ waxes to the vintner.

Someone and someone

were down by the pond.

A berserker producing a glass of Norton wine that makes you want to shake the hand.

It is an Ibis’ vintage.

Breathe.

I have not heard you speak so.

Voice trembling and slightly rushing.

{Words between the lines}

Who did you envision as your audience¿: Æ wonder.

⊙

I remain Wittgenstein’s Mistress to the bibliophiles.

In the quadrangle, where others play chess,

where others play tennis,

where Æ square(ly) dance in strange ellipses, orbiting

the pieces and players,

our cads and minnesänger, wondering

Since when did “simple” imply “stupid”¿

⊙

And, minne-spæker,

it is because you bit and swallowed the Sardonios plant, that you convulse and laugh so strangely and hard. I have read it tastes bitter to the buds.

Is it so to the taste of your tongue¿

It has got you laughing so hard that the neighbors complain.

Sardonic giggling at the guilt of being worry=free,

at your shamelessly feeling restless when you have no desire to idle,

at the inability to enact due to your concern for being imperfect.

An ideal idyll.

⊙

An Arizonian dream of summer, intension of heat, arises within me,

even though, the ambient temperature is frigid, like desert (k)nights.

It radiates outward and into all which my skin contains.

And, I’m sweating heavy like summer.

Smelling for you.

Feeling beadlets bursting from the multitudes of singular pores in my face.

My visor and visage.

A strong craving for coffee consumes me.

in the

Blue House.

Now, I’m sitting here
hoping
this water will boil,

simple

Old Guard to new guard,

the Blackguard exchange.

The timing of a skipping phonograph’s needle.

The sound of a thick, braided, leather belt

str-

-etch-

-ing

across a gateful of extravagance.

A’poised atop a capstone.

Simple balance.

In sight unseen.

Living level with a parking lot.

The true danger of always opening windows is

what the neighbors must think during the winter.

It is not about the thieves, that which you worry.

How strange you, too, recall that same thing that never happened.

A sweet rendezvous in a town of busybodies,

where it is both

easy and hard

to remain in sight yet unseen.

Æ as Vesta In-Skin.

The subtext of the Magnicat whispered to me, during

evening vespers.

“The Nerbudda River runs

seven hundred and thirty five miles,

towards and eventually into, the Arabian Sea,”

You appear vestal.

And, I feel myself becoming

Vesta who is often

, simultaneously

, Blodeuedd of the House of Dôn.

⊙

Magenta to yellow honeycomb energy frames my perceptivity.

I come as

I came,

octagon-ally.

And, I work my role.

Tending the hearth and protecting the flame within,

remaining wylde and seeming untamæble.

Small flowers of the temple work alongside.

Eagle at my right shoulder.

I show them my tool for starting pyres.

A frictionless=match.

A Wax Vesta is also a whirling dervish of

embedded cotton strands

strewn amongst a waxen stem and

tipped with a phosphorous head.

⊙

Hesperus is Phosphorus.

Phosphorus is Eosphorus.

And, Eos made them both.

We remind the othered that the Evening Star was determined to also

be the Morning Star.

⊙

The vexillum distinguishes the two troops serving under separate standards;

And, the blazon of

the web of a feather distinguishes each and every of us

as a vexillary.

A deadbeat heart.

Pounding.

⊙

Understand that returning to base

(camp)

; is not a setback

; it is not regressive

; it is not going backwards.

It is a cycle

seeking its own resumption

through completion.

⊙

A warrior struggling with perpetual reality.

So yammer

; and give ’em howl, yellow hammer.

A fluid ounce is a preponderance in candle’s magic light.

A meditation.

A drawing.

Makes me wonder how your childhood face

, smiling,

appeared.

⊙

Are we to heed that as a call?: asked the Name=less One.

All things feel as bindings abiding.

Perhaps, Præter=being is the natural state of affairs,

after all this free-fall.

And, maybe

, Judas was just some heckler in the crowd

at jesus’s stand=up comedy special.

Just do not knock the quiver

of the Archer’s arrows.

He is basic but deadly in the face of the clumsy.

Simple and simply fatal.

Go a’head and

miss=under=estimate his prowess

as has countless bison before you.

⊙

Find the hideous freedom to be exactly who you are.

Now.

The delicious self=noitcelfer that arises from the awareness of transparency.

Because, the windows of Looking=Glass House are two=way.

But, there will you find only sand

with no stones which may be thrown.

⊙

Where your perception of what is outside your skin

is actually the reception of the content presented

by that which is contained

by your in=skin.

A’bridged nuzzling.

The sun made like a runaway today.

Let me lay you on your back, bare.

Crawl up on you like a curious, hungry animal,

and occupy myself with sniffing your scent.

Smells of you.

Because, the smell of the skin below your wrist

is not the smell of the skin stretching over your ankles

is not the smell of the thumping skin above your jugular

nor that of the skin behind your ear.

It will not smell of the skin between your legs

which will not smell as does the stench of your armpit.

Or the smell of your open mouth.

And, my incessant humming

will become Sygyt.

The strangely drone of polyphonic overtone singing.

And once I’m done,

I would pad circles on you

, like a dog preparing to sleep

, of tossing and turning

, and

, wrapping round you.

For warm comfort.

Finding the right proper position of

a deep winter nuzzle.

Vision of the 36th Ellipsis.

Thirty five completed ellipses.

Comprising the matricies of now.

Begin compiling the thirty-sixth,

presently. Of today.

And, my eyes first narrow before going wide as the tableau reveals.

Speak to me mine sheep and mine mæstyre satyr.

No malice shalt invade my mind or sour myself,

yet, still can I sense your maleficent power

comingle.

Why do you howl thusly? And, do you know that

this has Æ heard before.

I want, too.

I want two.

I want to.

They have nothing if you less the faun

who dies thrice in triangular trinities

allowing

you to circumnavigate her through triangulation.

As drawing a five pointed star is not drawing a

six,

seven,

eight,

nine,

pointed one.

Quit your baying sheep for this shearing is not for you.

Æ, too, is a beastly, sacred dæmon,

sweetly contained in this gossamer and goosedown

Conspicuously unsuspicious.

Inauspicious.

I fear not your moment of judgement on this howliday. Thou shalt never judge me as harshly as

Æ have previously taken myself whilst in captivity.

Snarl, smile. Do you, now, see?

Why is ritual an honor to behold

?

You reply: because it should be so.

You could stop traffic dressed suchly.

Do you not know a pedestrian has paths to

right of way.

As I jaywalk onward,

across paths,

I find my head adorned with a sea holly wreath, in tribute to unknown;

see how its roots grew long and serpentine over æges ago

so that it may adorn without being torn

from the earth?

Unplucked.

Worn before; to be worn again.

I draw the force and send it mine in reply.

Starling a’wing, chasing behind me.

You awoke in a pond full of dead fish(,) talking.

And, only dead fish go with the tide.

Of the five streams pouring forth, sea-ward,

one unnaturally flows upstream to BayTown’s Strange-House.

The starling now a’lights on my left shoulder.

Worn as I wear the stow of the red dragon in early autumn.