Well, the time has come. Ol' B5C is leaving SG, and this time for real. It's for financial reasons on the surface, but I've come to realize that I've achieved, not what I came here to do, but something much, much richer.
I originally signed on to get in touch with the spirit, the "me", of my teens and early twenties, but what happened instead is that I've learned ways to better be a man who's going on 40.
Can't really tell you what that means, but I can feel it. Yes, indeed, I can. And it feels wonderful.
I've made some of the best friends of my life here, people I've never even met face-to-face. I spent many, many hours bullshitting and pontificating on the boards, learning about humanity, and therefore, myself. Occasionally i even looked at a naked girl or three. Seldom. But I did.
I may be back at some time, but I can't tell you when or really even, if.
If you have my email address, please contact me. If you don't, and you would like to stay in touch or make a new connection, please send me a message here, and I'll send it along.
Wow.
I've loved it here. So much has happened over the last year and a half.
Looking back over my journal, it's been at least a couple of lifetimes in that short time.
Onward and upward. The best is yet to be.
Billy Fivecrows
Keep an eye out for that name.
I guarantee you'll see it.
Love.
b.
I originally signed on to get in touch with the spirit, the "me", of my teens and early twenties, but what happened instead is that I've learned ways to better be a man who's going on 40.
Can't really tell you what that means, but I can feel it. Yes, indeed, I can. And it feels wonderful.
I've made some of the best friends of my life here, people I've never even met face-to-face. I spent many, many hours bullshitting and pontificating on the boards, learning about humanity, and therefore, myself. Occasionally i even looked at a naked girl or three. Seldom. But I did.
I may be back at some time, but I can't tell you when or really even, if.
If you have my email address, please contact me. If you don't, and you would like to stay in touch or make a new connection, please send me a message here, and I'll send it along.
Wow.
I've loved it here. So much has happened over the last year and a half.
Looking back over my journal, it's been at least a couple of lifetimes in that short time.
Onward and upward. The best is yet to be.
Billy Fivecrows
Keep an eye out for that name.
I guarantee you'll see it.
Love.
b.
A man is a neck
Holding up the weight
Of a star. Brightness
On the stretched bones crowned
With the bright hours of thought.
He thinks of her, the dawn
Spread at chin like a shattered
Cage, the ages in a frame, the
Line of time, allegoric, his
Body roiled through the cracks
In image. What wait? What
Weight like Atlas standing
In the plume of sediment's
Still-life flight
And the glowing's moving
"It's all I could do
To see
To be
Alive..."
Holding up the weight
Of a star. Brightness
On the stretched bones crowned
With the bright hours of thought.
He thinks of her, the dawn
Spread at chin like a shattered
Cage, the ages in a frame, the
Line of time, allegoric, his
Body roiled through the cracks
In image. What wait? What
Weight like Atlas standing
In the plume of sediment's
Still-life flight
And the glowing's moving
"It's all I could do
To see
To be
Alive..."
The interpreter among the elders
Was no longer riveted. (S)he was
Not mercy, that is why; the speech
Was mild, the minds no longer wild
A child was a shapeless lion
In the breath-space of the world.
Peeling the shock from the glass, the
Palace of crass, immutable vibration
Her last thread severed from the first
Shed of the final bed "Happy to know you"
It said, and called for her head to rest.
(Anxiety. Trampled table. The ugly birth
That would darken the dinner of a
Starving earth. Two mirrors magnetic
One vision made hectic
By the fortune of reflection spent.
Some life
Is teaching vision
To a signature)
Some word is ripe to be known....
(improv. 2.58-3.05, 19-10-'06)
Was no longer riveted. (S)he was
Not mercy, that is why; the speech
Was mild, the minds no longer wild
A child was a shapeless lion
In the breath-space of the world.
Peeling the shock from the glass, the
Palace of crass, immutable vibration
Her last thread severed from the first
Shed of the final bed "Happy to know you"
It said, and called for her head to rest.
(Anxiety. Trampled table. The ugly birth
That would darken the dinner of a
Starving earth. Two mirrors magnetic
One vision made hectic
By the fortune of reflection spent.
Some life
Is teaching vision
To a signature)
Some word is ripe to be known....
(improv. 2.58-3.05, 19-10-'06)
Got the apartment.
Boo-ya! Heh!
*dancy dancy dancy dance*
I shit you not... I did 70% of the packing in the first two hours after we found out!
I wouldn't shit you.
You're my favorite turd!
Boo-ya!
Heh!
*dancy dancy dancy dancy*
Boo-ya! Heh!
*dancy dancy dancy dance*
I shit you not... I did 70% of the packing in the first two hours after we found out!
I wouldn't shit you.
You're my favorite turd!
Boo-ya!
Heh!
*dancy dancy dancy dancy*
I thought I was good, ya know? I thought I was okay. But when something grabs you by not only the heart, but by the soul, and the compatibility is so acute that this person feels like, not only have they always been with you, but they are you, well, it takes its own sweet time drifting away.
I can puff up my chest and do the fun, funny sweet-and-flirty dance with a million other women, but the fact is, it's just not the same. Foolish to think it would be, that I could change enough so quickly to be able to know someone else so intimately so soon.
Thing is, those eyes I miss, that sweet, halting, elliptical voice... they have to be my own now, looking back from a mirror, looking and listening from within.
Yeah. I thought I was good, but I didn't mourn properly, so I haven't really begun to heal.
If you don't know the particulars, you really don't need to. If you do know who I'm talking about, then you understand.
Yes. I am okay. Better than, maybe.
Clarity.
Uncertainty of "the future", but then again, it's always Today.
I beat myself up, briefly, faintly. Maybe if I had a place of my own and steady work. I've been a caregiver for a sick relative for over a year. That has been my work. Couldn't be helped. Just... not enough.. Bottomless pit of self pity, that is! At least I see it, saw it. Nipped it in the bud.
Where have I been? Sometimes when I'm working on something serious, emotionally, and I'm not completely conscious of it, I shut down, and drift off into my head. I think my closest friends understand this. Numbness that eventually gives way to mellow introspection.... then I'm back.
Also: Been waiting on a new apartment. Still not sure what's happening. Serious red tape... such and such has to fax this and that to such and such. Blah blah blah. You didn't sign here! We need to call here and find out this. Etc.
For a week and a half, two weeks now. Everyday I call. We call. "Uhhhh... no.... don't know anything yet."
I hope we don't lose the place.
I feel as though I may go nuts.
But, nah. Not constructive.
What will be, will be.
As Depak Chopra says: "....med-eeeee-taaate... med-eeee-taaaaate...."
Imma go laugh or cry myself to sleep now.
I can puff up my chest and do the fun, funny sweet-and-flirty dance with a million other women, but the fact is, it's just not the same. Foolish to think it would be, that I could change enough so quickly to be able to know someone else so intimately so soon.
Thing is, those eyes I miss, that sweet, halting, elliptical voice... they have to be my own now, looking back from a mirror, looking and listening from within.
Yeah. I thought I was good, but I didn't mourn properly, so I haven't really begun to heal.
If you don't know the particulars, you really don't need to. If you do know who I'm talking about, then you understand.
Yes. I am okay. Better than, maybe.
Clarity.
Uncertainty of "the future", but then again, it's always Today.
I beat myself up, briefly, faintly. Maybe if I had a place of my own and steady work. I've been a caregiver for a sick relative for over a year. That has been my work. Couldn't be helped. Just... not enough.. Bottomless pit of self pity, that is! At least I see it, saw it. Nipped it in the bud.
Where have I been? Sometimes when I'm working on something serious, emotionally, and I'm not completely conscious of it, I shut down, and drift off into my head. I think my closest friends understand this. Numbness that eventually gives way to mellow introspection.... then I'm back.
Also: Been waiting on a new apartment. Still not sure what's happening. Serious red tape... such and such has to fax this and that to such and such. Blah blah blah. You didn't sign here! We need to call here and find out this. Etc.
For a week and a half, two weeks now. Everyday I call. We call. "Uhhhh... no.... don't know anything yet."
I hope we don't lose the place.
I feel as though I may go nuts.
But, nah. Not constructive.
What will be, will be.
As Depak Chopra says: "....med-eeeee-taaate... med-eeee-taaaaate...."
Imma go laugh or cry myself to sleep now.
(stellar)
He lived about the thigh and
The gaze of whorled wood,
The cabinets full of bottles
Colored with a captivation
Less like thought, and more
Like an ignorance of color,
The caps rusting, something
Crawling in the ceiling, the
Wind. He pulled the smooth
Flesh up between his fingers
She "ouched" and laughter
Made her pretend her anger
Was real. There were nine
Boats in two lakes
In the picture suspended
In place of their door.
"Who are they for?"
She asked,deciding
To float a little. He
Pooled his receding mane
To the back of his neck
And denied he hadn't heard her.
"I suppose. Yes, I do."
She swallowed a questionmark
And clamped him closer.
Before my name gets complicated.
Before my game is a tool unlearned.
Sharp corners laugh at dull corners.
Fried jewels froth their own mouths.
It's an
Ugly
Truth
That
Quickening is
A weapon
Toward
The impatient. Running
Faster than
The mastery
Of a lasting
Day
Brings more
Day, and
Something tired
In the sun...
He lived about the thigh and
The gaze of whorled wood,
The cabinets full of bottles
Colored with a captivation
Less like thought, and more
Like an ignorance of color,
The caps rusting, something
Crawling in the ceiling, the
Wind. He pulled the smooth
Flesh up between his fingers
She "ouched" and laughter
Made her pretend her anger
Was real. There were nine
Boats in two lakes
In the picture suspended
In place of their door.
"Who are they for?"
She asked,deciding
To float a little. He
Pooled his receding mane
To the back of his neck
And denied he hadn't heard her.
"I suppose. Yes, I do."
She swallowed a questionmark
And clamped him closer.
Before my name gets complicated.
Before my game is a tool unlearned.
Sharp corners laugh at dull corners.
Fried jewels froth their own mouths.
It's an
Ugly
Truth
That
Quickening is
A weapon
Toward
The impatient. Running
Faster than
The mastery
Of a lasting
Day
Brings more
Day, and
Something tired
In the sun...
medicine show
May I use
The room
You've
Unknown?
Tactical light. Town
Is distance smashed
By a surgeon on a
Voyage. Distance
Is a town without
A suture, all of
The frowns flow
Out and around, the
Smiles. Miles, you see.
These are more like
Peripheries, unusually
Centered like circumference
Based on a stretch of
Empty arms. I bit
Through the glass I was
Spying through. I knew
Of a skull standing like
The belly of a spider,
The rider of a ceiling
Above a well-made bed.
The illness of room is
A change not emerging.
The room of illness
Is lingual eyes
Mispronouncing muted colors.
There is a purple organ
Like a blossoming aiming
For a coppery light. There
Is a coin in the heart
That pays its way.
There is a pastoral haze
Scalpeled from a maze.
There is life.
(Wondering what kind
Of roof I've made. Would
Make, could
Make.
Should. Cups
Of water, the boards
Of
The
Porch are
Dead. I am
Not
So
Still...)
May I use
The room
You've
Unknown?
Tactical light. Town
Is distance smashed
By a surgeon on a
Voyage. Distance
Is a town without
A suture, all of
The frowns flow
Out and around, the
Smiles. Miles, you see.
These are more like
Peripheries, unusually
Centered like circumference
Based on a stretch of
Empty arms. I bit
Through the glass I was
Spying through. I knew
Of a skull standing like
The belly of a spider,
The rider of a ceiling
Above a well-made bed.
The illness of room is
A change not emerging.
The room of illness
Is lingual eyes
Mispronouncing muted colors.
There is a purple organ
Like a blossoming aiming
For a coppery light. There
Is a coin in the heart
That pays its way.
There is a pastoral haze
Scalpeled from a maze.
There is life.
(Wondering what kind
Of roof I've made. Would
Make, could
Make.
Should. Cups
Of water, the boards
Of
The
Porch are
Dead. I am
Not
So
Still...)
flood
1.
The ascending saints
Are like an army of rain
If the earth were flipped
Doom-wise.
No insect
Burns its wing
On a star. No sun
Forgets the vein
Of their warming.
(One sun, one
Strategy of
Forever turned into
A torching rhythm.
I'll pretend
To rediscover
The sky. I'll cry
Out only to have
The blueness refuse
To respond, I'll whistle
Like leaves of Japan
In an old picturebook, frayed
And faded, but better than the real
Thing
Because it's
Here, it's
Near...)
2.
Burn the churches, make
Ink
From
The
Ashes. (That's
An old
Lone
Line of
Mine. I
Have to refine
My repetition
By repetition, I
Have to define
My repetition
Through remission
tell me what it means
tell me what it means
Streams arising
"Stream's a rising"
Means comprising means...)
1.
The ascending saints
Are like an army of rain
If the earth were flipped
Doom-wise.
No insect
Burns its wing
On a star. No sun
Forgets the vein
Of their warming.
(One sun, one
Strategy of
Forever turned into
A torching rhythm.
I'll pretend
To rediscover
The sky. I'll cry
Out only to have
The blueness refuse
To respond, I'll whistle
Like leaves of Japan
In an old picturebook, frayed
And faded, but better than the real
Thing
Because it's
Here, it's
Near...)
2.
Burn the churches, make
Ink
From
The
Ashes. (That's
An old
Lone
Line of
Mine. I
Have to refine
My repetition
By repetition, I
Have to define
My repetition
Through remission
tell me what it means
tell me what it means
Streams arising
"Stream's a rising"
Means comprising means...)
diamond mind
Pebbles of
Poison, rounded
Like
Tumbled
Teeth, bit
By bit
They
Roll
Or
Crumble
Down an
Inclination
Or are
Ground
Into
Ground. The
Daily
Antidote
Is to
Dote
Upon
Mandalas
Of
Mud, and
The
Gravity
Of
Lonliness, the
Symbol
Of
Value
In the
Process
Of
Life (I
Have an
Appetite
For
The
Living
Candy. I
Affix
My sweet
Tooth
To a
Chain
Of
Truth
And fragment
This
Stone
For
Appraisal....)
***
For the past few days I've set an informal personal goal to write a poem every night before bed and post it here in my journal. Thank you to everyone who has commented. It means alot and makes it all worthwhile.
I've much freetime right now, being in a sort of limbo of life/work/residence, so there is space and time to write.
Boredom is a bitch, though. If anyone needs me to help move a couch, or wants to take a walk in the park, let me know. (Plane tickets are on you!)
Namaste and much love
b.
Pebbles of
Poison, rounded
Like
Tumbled
Teeth, bit
By bit
They
Roll
Or
Crumble
Down an
Inclination
Or are
Ground
Into
Ground. The
Daily
Antidote
Is to
Dote
Upon
Mandalas
Of
Mud, and
The
Gravity
Of
Lonliness, the
Symbol
Of
Value
In the
Process
Of
Life (I
Have an
Appetite
For
The
Living
Candy. I
Affix
My sweet
Tooth
To a
Chain
Of
Truth
And fragment
This
Stone
For
Appraisal....)
***
For the past few days I've set an informal personal goal to write a poem every night before bed and post it here in my journal. Thank you to everyone who has commented. It means alot and makes it all worthwhile.
I've much freetime right now, being in a sort of limbo of life/work/residence, so there is space and time to write.
Boredom is a bitch, though. If anyone needs me to help move a couch, or wants to take a walk in the park, let me know. (Plane tickets are on you!)
Namaste and much love
b.
Straight praise
Is the climate
For perforating
Bells. I
Am sitting
On the wheel
Of ideal, ringing
Base until
Place
Is
The chiming
Of swelling
Chest, released. At
Best I've
Clogged my
Ears with
Summer, at least
I've brought the beast
A slumber, a number
Of clappers like
My soul has
Legs, a sleep
Until
The ringing
Begs
No
Answer and
The parallel
Belly
Is
A growling
In my
Ear...
(Marvelous
Joy is
A cherub
Rubbing
A doorknob.
Marvelous
Joy is
A note from
The nipple of
A
Tree. Me?
I'm a question
For the watermills'
Thighs. Eyes
Gone dry
In the muscled
Stream...)
Is the climate
For perforating
Bells. I
Am sitting
On the wheel
Of ideal, ringing
Base until
Place
Is
The chiming
Of swelling
Chest, released. At
Best I've
Clogged my
Ears with
Summer, at least
I've brought the beast
A slumber, a number
Of clappers like
My soul has
Legs, a sleep
Until
The ringing
Begs
No
Answer and
The parallel
Belly
Is
A growling
In my
Ear...
(Marvelous
Joy is
A cherub
Rubbing
A doorknob.
Marvelous
Joy is
A note from
The nipple of
A
Tree. Me?
I'm a question
For the watermills'
Thighs. Eyes
Gone dry
In the muscled
Stream...)
