zenhell

if you die
in your sleep

instead of waking
up at some exciting
or horrifying juncture

a dream will continue
to a resolution
of pleasure or grief

or become more unresolved,
frustrating, or terrifying

that's what Hamlet said

Novalis said, "Our life is no dream
but it should and perhaps will
become one."

your father storms
into your bedroom

he upends
your bed and throws it
against the wall.

accuses
you for leaving
a book
on the floor

you're face to face
with him

shouting back

"the book
is going
to remain
exactly
where it is.
now get the hell out
of my room"

you follow him
into the hallway

"i'm not perfect and never will be"

down the stairs
through the kitchen
into the living room

"i'm not a child, i'm an adult"

until he turns and
humbly asks
to be left
alone
and in peace

he doesn't understand
that he died
long before
you could begin
to realize

that it takes time
for anger
to seep upwards
in dreams

having dreams
like this in death
is hell

or heaven

until we dream
ourselves
into the womb
and wake
up sobbing


i wanted to write a poem that contained the word "dragon"
death descended like a dragon
death descends upon a magnificent dragon

death is not cruel; it's impersonal

Krishna said "now i am become death, the destroyer of worlds"

if you don't hold my hand, you will regret it
because right now
i am so vulnerable to you
you are like my mother and father to me

in a few months you will beg me on your knees for what i now offer so freely
but it will be dead

dead like a dead dragon

it was never a dragon
it was a dove

dead like a dead dove

i must now learn to live by the Bhagavad Gita
beginning tonight, i will read it every day

there is one central teaching that i must study
the wise don't care about the way things turn out
everyone has a responsibility to perform the action required of them

i must study this every day
i think i can live by the Bhagavad Gita
i will remember

if you don't hold my hand
terrible things will happen
and you will experience shame

all his selfish desires have been consumed in the fire of knowledge

a lifetime of reparation for the unkindness of an hour







burning in spiderland


motionless,
the priestess
lies
on
an unmade
bed,
in a messy
room.

delicate,
a geometry
of design,
mystery
of grace,
shaped
within her
lacerate
skin,
black and
bruised.

steel,
fine
and bright,
falls
from
her hand.

beneath a
floral
tattoo
the
patient spider
waits.

from the basement
room,
the weakened,
winter light
is soon
absorbed
by the outline of
a single
small window.

electric
darkness
metallic
guitar
slow and
rapturous
burns
imagination,

splinters
prism
mind,
like a
diamond shard.


spiral
ascent
to nonbeing,
soul
revolving
in
lucid
spheres

a dimensional
octave
of
saturnine
eyes

spider-god,
amorous
axis
of worlds

infinity of
spidery
touch
caressing
stars.

oblique,
internal
scream,

a petition,
a prayer
to the
eternal
omnivorous.

articulate
blood
ebbing
outward,
in cold
space
vortex,

compelled
back
to the no-
dimensioned
beginning.

alluring
night
descends
upon
anguish
and natal
memories
like a gossamer
web,

like the
pure hymns
of spiderland.

stirring
upon the bed,
awakening
painfully
occupies
physical space,

a coalescing
wound
around
a splinter
of light

sick,
emerging
from
the womb
of a dark
room,
piece
by piece,

the priestess
holds her
body,
and escapes
into
the winter
street.









1. Medea


the first time i returned from california

my hair had grown very long and dark

i was young and attractive then

with a mind full

of black, broken thought


i didn't understand any of you

or your new language

(who are the dominos?

what about the demons?)

after my numerous mental breakdowns

i could no longer hold my booze


years later

alone and drunk in new jersey

i hang a portrait of medea on my wall


a wheel

of tiny fires

turns within your womb


a faerie child comes to birth

little wing?

she memorized

a song

for jimi hendrix


studying the rules

of magic

in former and future lives


a demon seduces her

to punish me

through all the cycles


had i been more disciplined,

worked harder,

with a pure effort,


it had perhaps

brought me

a partner in joy


an instrument in the game of the gods

to expose my hurt and childish soul

to test my faith in aphrodite

and facilitate the psychic breakup


she that endures to the end

shall be saved;


conceal the sorrow

leave by the fire escape



a gravity mess;

unable to focus or concentrate

cannot either understand

or return to the unpoluted sky



i'm driving home from idaho tonight

the crescent moon is great and brilliant

on the western horizon

lightning flashes in the east

an owl flies in front of my headlights




2. Sophie


i broke into your closet

to investigate your clothing

satisfying the need

for a heart-break

venutian design

(a journey to death via death)



comprehending your aloneness

(and everyone else's)

clear and lunar,

vulnerable like an abused child


listening to a lovely song (from 1983)

it's a mistake or overkill

stuck on intensity

and orthodox beauty

studying sophie's sexy pictures

(underneath she's an ordinary girl)


metaphysical contradictions make me ill

let nothing diminish sensual mythology


alone;

secure within dull routines;

leaving soon for new york city


the product of our effective sex magick

instructs me in beauty,

illusion and destiny



a warm and bright afternoon in seattle

standing in line before the moore theater

waiting for the doors to open

madeline is sitting yogin-like on the sidewalk

reading william faulkner


3. Lisa


mental waves saturate this state

spokane/tri-cities/olympia/anyplace


a few more experiments

with a drug

that gives a glimpse

of the future;


imaginations of lisa begin


nascent and idolatrous

i wear clothing identical to hers'

(shaman black and blue)


making the neccessary effort

to remember;

what she looked like,

the sound of her voice,

the way she walked

beneath the bridge of stars

serving saturn

expecting venus


waiting for a very special day

waiting many lifetimes

to enter the hidden light,

the angelic axis

of the circular universe


from the upstairs window of my room

i can see the girl

alone and in the dark

sitting on the plain, grey concrete steps

that ascend to the door







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


the road you enter upon

contains more that is unseen

than what is visible

the universe itself is a road

it is in fact a multitude of roads

all endless as well as beginingless

roads for travelling souls






HE TOOK ME TO THE OUTSKIRTS OF INFINITY

AND WHEN HE BROUGHT ME BACK

HE GAVE ME A VENUS WITCH'S RING

NOW I'M A MILLION MILES AWAY

AND AT THE SAME TIME

I'M RIGHT THERE IN YOUR PICTURE FRAME







a feeble old man in shabby clothes
he walks with a crutch
he is a child
he wants things he cannot have
he recieves offerings of liquor, tobacco, and toys
he opens the way
lord of chaos
lord of the road
a protector of children
he presides over:
Fate
Chance
roads
doors
mirrors
contradictions
opportunities
crossroads
communication between worlds

i went to the crossroads
i fell down on my knees
i cried have mercy on my soul
save me please
i tried to hitch a ride out of there
but everyone passed right by me
like they didn't even know me
now the sun is going down
it looks like the darkness is going to take me
if i dont survive
tell my only friend willie brown
that im standing at the crossroads
and i believe im sinking down


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


my patron saint is now a stripper
i found out today while talking with her mother about family history highlighting the 7:00 news (multiple homicide of passion (4 lying dead on a barroom floor) followed by a suicide followed by ? (night and day her younger brother kept a fire burning in the driveway, where her father shot himself, until she could get back home)

im not so devout
but when i meet someone so beautiful
(in that uncanny way of beauty that is so compelling)
if i make eye contact
with a saint
in the public library
of my hometown
i cannot ever be
completely free
from longing
for the sublime and unattainable
but in my numerous
private
erotic moments
of profound self-doubt
i still pray.
i may become
rutted
in orthodox sainthood
but i most admire
someone
who would never
if she wasnt working
in another part of the world
i could entertain
an expensive fantasy
but to her pennance
i would not add
my insignificant eyes
is every stripper
beloved
and supremely beautiful
in the mind
of at least one voyuer?
when she worked
in the library
did she still have
dangerous boyfriends?
if she gave me
any ordinary photograph
of herself
with a pet cat
i would be ecstatic
for a moment
and perhaps miserable later

the early morning is pristine
the sun has just risen
the warlord in full armour
surveys the valley
(where the issue will be determined by battle)
with an obvious satisfaction
it will be an easy fight (he imagines)
the skeleton samurai are invincible
but then?
he is seized by a profound uncertainty
a strange brilliance
reflected sunlight from the direction of the enemy encampment
taking up his spyglass
he looks for only a moment to understand that his army must either surrender or retreat
his adversary bears the sword that cannot be overcome
to merely strech it forth in the direction of a foe will ensure that army's defeat
the swordbearer enters the now empty abandoned temple
he thrusts the sword directly through the marble walls, pillars, colonades, and all of the marble furniture
the stone offers no resistance to the fine edge that divides, separates, conquers any union at the ideational level
to wield it
it is essential that the bearer possess concentration, focus, and most important of all belief that the blade will indeed pass through the object before it
without belief it barely functions as an ordinary blade glancing off stone without effect
the bearers belief falters for a moment
but he soon recollects himself and his concentration to continue with the task
the cut is so precise it leaves no indication of its passage
the church in appearance as solid as it ever was has in fact been completely separated from its foundation
in a nearby village there are many feral children whose powers of destruction are so potent
they rule the village and demolish anything they want to
the swordbearer by pointing the sword in their direction is able to command them
he orders them to follow him as his army
as they march away the swordbearer cuts down enormous trees in their wake to practice with the sword
and to make it very difficult for the armies that persue them to overtake them
before they reach the valley of armageddon
(a sterile patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name)

i have returned to denmark but not in triumph
i have returned home after an extended vacation at Camarillo State Mental Hospital
returned to the wreckage
(a psychic epidemic has broken my family and my country)
casualties:
a teenage girl, who had experienced a complete mental breakdown
and collapse into an incomphrehensible schizophrienic state,
was found drowned in a swimming pool
her father, a venerated sage
his country's foremost authority on kierkegarrd,
was, just days prior,
murdered in a castle bedroom
by his lover's jealous oedipal inflected teenage son
who was also his daughters boyfiend
the skull of the court jester
missing for years
but my only real friend as a child
was unearthed by detectives
following the directions of an anonymous phone call
(a grim but grinning reminder
that in cases of clinical or national schizophrenia
the initial symptom is loss of humor
every random detail word gesture becomes deadly serious suspicious and highly significant
the responsibility for humor is then relegated to gravediggers)
the metaphysical twins i once considered friends
my old school chums:
yin and yang
become spies in the service of a treacherous usurper:
plot and counterplot
what is castle life but an intricate endless web of sexual desire and political ambition?
at the present time
many blame me
falsely imagining that i was born into some position
of real power and authority
they inculpate my opium induced visions as the doorway
through which destruction entered this otherwise pristine fairy tale world
poisoning the illusions of the young with the dreams of the ancient
some have suggested this gloomy castle and its melancholy history are merely the physical manifestations of my own depression
what did i have to be depressed about?
i was a prince by birth
a scholar and an athlete by accomplishment
in love with and beloved by
an intelligent beautiful girl with latent schizophrenia
when the citizens discovered poltergeist in their cupboards
they turned to me
(a college graduate
an exorcist
a psychoanalyst in the classic freudian mold)
to solve the problem
by seance or psychodrama
but i couldnt sleep
i would dress up in my armour before midnight
then walk the battlements of the castle until daybreak
when i would retire to my bedchamber
and the recurring dreams of the dead
one possible conclusion:
interactions with astral beings are by their very nature perilous for physical beings
not only for the person that comes into direct contact with them
but for all others that are bound to that person by some powerful emotion such as:
1 love
2 hatred
3 fear
4 desire

two questions:
1 are their pronouncements meant to be taken literally or symbolically?
2 why do these speculations engender such violent consequences?


the soul seeks escape from the golden cage of the skull
the last time i saw strawberry fields he was leaving the marketplace in the city of pyramids just as i was entering
i hadnt thought much about him since the time before that
he was living solely for love and sex with the gentle but broken-winged schizophrenic in that cockroach overrun hotel room in bangkok
i said at the time "he's leaving us he's not coming back and where he's going his patron saint Gustav Mahler cant protect him"
i was surprised to see him still alive
wearing a long military trenchcoat like a beatnik
so different now from the alchoholic teahead i used to know
it seemed like some part of him had been worn thin by time
all the superfluities of his youth had been purged
clean thin ascetic
starved and impoverished in all aspects but will and determination
like a holy man who fasts and meditates
keen edged and noble but crazy with existentialism and the suffering of immanent satori
i had never actually known a kierkegarrd type before
i dont mean someone who reads books of course but a person who embodies that ideal
that rare combination of earnestness and detachment
a person for whom religion is an inescapable madness and after years of wrestling with god arrives at an uneasy peace like the acceptance of aging and death
as he is leaving i call his name several times but he just keeps looking forward and walking like he cant relent from his vision for even a moment or has no time for a
weak-willed
sybarite/heretic/fop
such as myself
but as i prepare to follow him he is accosted by another person for whom he seems to have plenty of time
a person afflicted by severe childhood trauma and emotional damage that would probably never heal completely
but who finds some relief or sanctuary from his internal agony in a bizarre but widespread religious cult of the christian variety that is characterized by frenetic dogmatic emotionalism
this fanatic demands that strawberry fields pray with him right then and there in the street (perhaps to test his religous authenticity) and immediately launches into a loud frenzied public petition to his gods
to my surprise strawberry fields joins in this madmans ritualized paranoid fantasy with calm quiet detached compassion




what kind of knowledge have the dead? can they still love their mortal acquaintances? what do they remember of us?




i am awakened by the calling of crows

i look through the window and know

this rain is not going to stop for a long long time




but i am protected from the world that i created

that did not know me

that told me i wasnt pretty



here with you in this hotel room

laboring beneath the burden of self

drifting in the vortex

poisoning the womb of night





a geometric radio

a deck of tarot cards

two bottles of absinthe

a good supply of soma

another turn on the endless spiral stairway of light and darkness






i want you to want me

i need you to need me

id love you to love me

im begging you to beg me







the archangel lucifer attained the long desired moment of absolute triumph then immediately began to experience the neverending fall through all levels of human incarnation

savior

magician

teacher

sacrifice

someone told me that all the attention i lavished upon you was completely wasted









he continues his descent more and more deeply into the beautiful shocking confusion

has gladly relinquished all his spiritual abilities

i feel improved in some way by my passionate devotion and admiration for someone who really doesnt care if i live or die







it was not his style to court anyones sustained attention

he didnt value the kind of erotic fixation that deifies another person

"eros is not a waste" is one possible counter-argument









yet he found a reason to keep living


i do believe

if you dont like things you leave

for some place youve never gone before









he walked down lifes lonely highways

hand in hand with himself

and realized how many paths had crossed between us


how can passion be wasted?







he promised to be different from all the others

he promised that he would never hurt a soul

you didnt know your own soul






what did it do for him?

i stole your photograph

i read your diary

i erected this shrine






hardly anything of grace wit or beauty


i proved that i could be as dull and as common as anyone else






there is a moment after death when you behold the clear pure light of reality

(but it is not recognized)

then begins the neverending fall through myriad bodies and lifetimes of sensory experience

you broke my heart and i loved you all the more for that extraordinary accomplishment





`````````````````````````````````

asymmetrical games(such as those between the unequal partners of therapy)result in one opponent killing the other at some level

here is the first clue:

(a painful pronouncement)




i have survived the dissolution of another body



feeling displaced

nauseous with the mental reek of extinction

anticipating the next world of pure unmediated experience



broken by futile desires i wander aimless and helpless within the eternal labyrinth




all we really know is that the psyche always defines some aspect of itself as insane



i can live without love numbered among the unwanted abandoned rejected thrown away magic beings we have our own worlds impinging upon uncounted other worlds




there are worlds of plants and animals to encroach upon

worlds of ghosts to tresspass in

worlds of human fear

worlds of anxiety

worlds of nakedness



i accept the symbols of death

i accept the initiation of insignificance

i accept the whole garbage heap boneyard of the world


what was accomplished within the verbal science of theology

what was acquired through the tribal cosmology and poetry of race records

the canonization of new and original rituals based upon the superstitions of comparative mythology religion and psychology?


the messages i recieved in my mind at that time were distorted by universal truths

relinquishing the comforting seductive warm darkness of the womb advancing into the bright agony of light

my father was a legend a creator of the new german cinema


who was the father of the stillborn?


the elven princess

in a shimmering gown of silk and light

is tripping out of her skull



lying unconscious on the floor

within a circle of crystalline forms

a trickle of blood from her nose

a radio emits eerie geometric noise



when your life decays it is merely resolution to simple more pure elements



maybe she would have preferred to wait around for the new world after all



nothings gonna change my world



by a great effort of desire and sadness

at midnight

she would expell the demon from her body

set it adrift in the unfamiliar dimensions of the astral world

there guided by its own hunger it would seek its prey until dawn

when it would return home



she says "you are my angel" as she holds its head in her hands searching deeply within the empty fires of its eyes



she had never heard such music before

or fully comprehended its significance

but now she could for a fleeting moment of bliss and oblivion feel some emotion of pleasure

before it suddenly all vanished beyond recall

like an irretrievable wisp of lost memories



i dont think anyone could remain in that state permanently

it goes against the laws of nature

it would damage the central nervous system

it would deplete the soul



the singer/musician?

perished

a long time ago

in an asian hotel (Bangkok/katoey beauty/fire/tragedy)

before he had a chance to completely restructure the world of hallucinations


passionate attachments embroiling away from the lucid vantage point of a perspective



we missed you darling

welcome back to the big city in the sky


Jai Guru Deva Om


the ancient priest could sense it in the air

like the palpable presence of magic

exciting but dangerous


many years of training had developed his intuition

he knew that action was required

he could not just ignore it

or pretend it wasnt really happening

it wasnt going to just go away

there would be some demand made upon him as a priest

it was here in the village

harbouring among the occultists that had conjured it

[consciously or unconsciously?(are such distinctions even pertinent in these cases?)]


he could try to negotiate with the fox women the erudite scarabs and the skeleton samurai

and they on their part would try to seduce him with sex and logic

or threaten him with violence and death

in theory he had a choice he could take the cowards way and just run

in actuallity he knew there would have to be a showdown

he would be the bait in the trap

but the trap had already been sprung when he took his vows as a monk long years ago

and now he in a sense belonged to it

as he moved around his room preparing
for the entrance of his special guest

he imagined for some reason that it would appear suddenly in the middle of the room like a shining cloud from which would gradually emerge the graceful form of a handsome young student of the sutras

frightening (certainly) dangerous (absolutely) but maybe not so terrible

when he is done with his arrangements he goes to the door and opens it

the tropical night is calm and lovely

he is consoled by the sounds of everyday life that reach him from the nearby village


he then begins to focus his will and his lifeforce to a single point of determination within himself

and utters the single word into the darkness

"Come"


there is a shudder within himself that resonates like a profound tone pervasively through the night

ambivalent necessity

the fear as well as desire for what will happen

he can sense within himself the power to command

it is irresistible


again he speaks into the ineluctible night
with even greater exertion

"Come"


he prepares himself to speak the summoning for the third time and then abruptly stops as though something had stolen his breath

now he sees it through the window

he is awed and at the same time amused by his own inability to foresee or remember what now seems so obvious and perfectly natural

the tiger is laying calmly in the forest a few yards from the cabin looking directly into his eyes with a greater than human perception

in love and fear he goes back to the door but before he can open the screen the tiger breaks through it



In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

`````````````````````````````
beautiful arachnid

if only you would call

or send me

one little word

in a letter

secreteing

a web-like structure

in place of a tongue a tiny hand would extend from his mouth reaching out palm upward to receive the gift or steal it if neccessary

i know i truly matter

when i am enveloped

by the sticky silken threads

of your intricate dimensions


he wants the perfect wife
he wants the perfect child
he doesnt care for the baby demon
the church calls it an elemental
a changeling



forever yours

(ephemeral and utterly insignificant)



the word

as it came to the ancient black sorcerors



the sacred primal syllable

that is also the final word of humanity

as it struggles

within the inevitable darkness and silence

that ultimately concludes everything



a personal message

for you and you alone

from the center of the mandala

that is the web of life and death




a skeleton samurai waves a razor sharp blade in an intoxicated threatening dance

he says

this is a hold up

give me all your arcane bibles and political blueprints

surrender your magical hermaphrodites

you are compelled to choose between your own trivial life or the significant lives of the magical beings entrusted to your care

the divine albinos (the gentle son/daughters of Mercury and Venus) were slaughtered like innocent sacrificial lambs

in a desperate blood frenzied eleventh hour attempt

to abort by sorcery and propitiation the black spiders terminal design for the future

now get out the paintbrushes

be certain there is not one spot in the room left uncovered

on the walls floor or ceiling

it all must be perfect

a deep rich crimson saturating every surface

to ensure the success of our final ceremony


and our eternal rule by sword and iron scepter

and the subjugation of the race of arachnids forever

the clever politics of the articulate scarabs have failed along with the seductive sexual witchery of the fox demons

in three days we will ressurect an invincible army of skeleton samurai

employing their might and valor we will vanquish
the black spiders of Mars once and for all time



+++++++++++++++++++++



the sunlight of an autumn afternoon in the astral world pure and lucid

three children stand at the window of the dark upstairs bedroom of the old old house

looking out upon that world that for some entirely incomprehensible reason or purpose they had been forbidden to enter

they stand at the window in a loose line the two younger children a little bit closer to the window the eldest a step or two behind deeper within the darkness

in the astral world time and memory work differently than in the physical world

this ancient house for example is a composite of the memories of its three inhabitants two of whom are now old men and the third died a violent death as a child many many years ago

of course in the astral world the words life and death have no concrete meaning in that world there are only actions and the emotional consquences of those actions like pebbles dropped in a pool that ripples for eternity

in the astral world past present and future are all simultaneously real and immediate


the children closest to the window turn back to look into the dark room staring at the third child their eyes are filled with accusation the injury and anger of the betrayed

the eldest child turns away from them going to the ancient oak chest of drawers

the bottom drawer is already open there is a paper grocerey bag of clothing he frantically begins tearing through the clothes which might be just a bunch of rags as though he is desperately seeking something

he then begins to laugh loud strong and deep like the laughter has taken possession of him from some source beyond himself

he finally says "you guys crack me up"

at this point the youngest child is so upset he flees from the room in grief

the eldest then worries he fears the now absent child may inform on him to the parents

he then hears an infant crying downstairs
and he wonders

is that my infant son crying

or is that my long dead youngest brother crying

or is that me crying as an infant long ago

the babys cries are anguished

the boy gets to his feet and runs into the hallway and then down the stairs to the door beyond which he can hear the childs agony

he violently opens the door not to the familiar kitchen to aid the neglected infant as he intended but to the pure palpable suffocation and terror of complete and silent envelopement by physical darkness

precariously the old man balances on the ledge that is the threshold of two worlds the astral and the physical

where the pronouncement of a single word requires the greatest effort of will struggling to surface above the dark paralysis that fills the mouth the lungs the stomach

and he says

"stop"


++++++++++++++++++++++




in the astral world

there is a field of sunlight

and an endless prairie

of tall grass


where i devoutly follow

walking behind

the beautiful woman (a fox demon)

who turns back

for a moment

to look at me

and smiles

beatifically






the fox demon had manifested itself in what is called for convenience the physical world through the physical life of someone i have only exchanged a few words with but last night in a relatively public forum on the nature of reality and the infinite modes of perception i listened to her speak at some length as part of a ceremony that would conclude her 60 days of initiation at her current level of magical practice and at which time she also received the appropriate talisman in recognition of her accomplishments in witchcraft i dont know if im fatally attracted to her at this point perhaps time alone can reveal that i have the slightest suspicion of a love spell directed by her towards me but it doesnt really explain anything conclusively to say its merely the backlash of the one i directed towards her which in itself is remarkable for the fact that i have not had any inclination to utilize glamour for many centuries since life itself is sufficiently illusory not requiring any artificial enhancement but in this instance i begin the familiar ritual that is initiated by passion and desire and the forces it will untimately set in motion are unknown the spell is there now shimmering in the astral world a living creature of nascent features
contemplating its own destiny in the larger uncomprehended pattern of worlds within worlds




in the primitive log house

of the astral world

she asks me for a cigarette


a lucky strike

my last one

i light it with a match



she says "when i ask you for a cigarette dont ignore me and light one for yourself"

i say " i lit it for you"

as i hand it to her


she turns and leaves

with the cigarette

in an violent emotional state




later

she compliments my sense of humor

with her high divine laughter

and then

passionately kisses my friend (rock star)





this raises questions?

in the labyrinth of desire death and possession

the ceremony begins with the appearance of a black kid goat

the high priest dismembers the black goat cutting all four legs off at the knee joint

following its dismemberment the goat rises up on its bleeding stumps of legs and begins an unholy dance

appalled by this spectacle which is considered improper in every way

the priest seizes the dancing black goat and immediately cuts its throat with a curved ceremonial blade allowing its blood to flow freely down its throat and into the ground




im hiding

in the river

of the astral world

trying to escape

from those i feel threatened by (biomechanical horrors)

i surface cautiously

to look around

am i safe


the dead body

of a black goat

is floating beside me



++++++++++++++++++++++++




from the far side of the ocean
if i put the wheels in motion
and i stand with my arms behind me
and im pushin on the door
could you find me?




some characteristics of the astral world:

many of its inhabitants can rapidly change their form and cast glamour over those whom they choose to seduce or enslave

objects are seen from all sides at once



standin with the look of avarice

talkin to huddie ledbetter

showin pictures on the wall

whisperin in the hall

and pointin a finger at me





often referred to as the realm of illusion
not because it is any more illusory than the physical world but because of the extreme unreliability of the impressions of it brought back by any untrained seer




wrapped up in your magic shroud as ecstasy surrounds you

this time its found you




when people dream they enter the astral world but typically in an uncontrolled manner




way down on the diamond studded highway where you wander

and you roam from your retreat and view





for convenience the inhabitants of the astral world can be classified by three categories:

human non-human and artificial




past your window with a lantern lit
you held it in the doorway
and you cast against the pointed island breeze
said your time was open





the beings of the astral world classified as artificial are creations of magic




you turn around you turn around you turn around you turn around

and im beside you






the astral plane is the habitation of the dead






where immobile steel rims crack

and the ditch in the back roads stops





a shadow calls your name

then away like a whirling flame





and as you leave the room is filled with music
walking away from it all so cold



++++++++++++++++++



hail noble and beautiful dragons

the madhouses are crammed with seers who behold the face of god every day

and i am drowning in a molecule of its thought


"the blindness of humanity to all the beauty and wonder of the universe is due to the illusion of straightness"


++++++++++++++++++++



a gentle young magician and his following(mostly women)

seemed to threaten the established order

he was therefore brought before an angry king

the magician confronted the king

not with defiance

but with meekness

and yet with a subtle confidence

and an underlying laughter

the forehead of the magician was wreathed with vine tendrils

a very graceful and feminine figure he presented

yet the vines concealed horns

the proud frustrated king was enraged

by the magicians abscence of fear

before the intimidating threat of his royal power

he therefore commanded

that the young magician be scourged mocked enchained

and ultimately executed with cruel tortures



good bye ruby tuesday

gallows birds kiss your knees to agony


my sweet lady jane

the blood has seeped into the earth

in the place

where it was spilled

grapes are growing


i am yesterday today and tomorrows brother

i am yesterdays girl

drowning in a swimming pool





"it is not that most utterly worthless part of a man (his individual consciousness) which defies death"
jjf



+++++++++++++++++++




down to the river of fire

there to meet with a beautiful skeleton

the nothingness of the great void

sparkles in her eyes

her hair the fractal trees of eternity

her left hand holds a silver cup

from which she pours forth

the immortal fluid of her life


i am drunk with the poisoned darkness

fallen amidst the litter of worlds



the black towers of the nameless

where the moon of witchcraft drops blood



Anubis watcher in the twilight
god of the threshold
jackal god of Khem
guide us on the only path


+++++++++++++++++++++





"If thou thyself hast not a sure foundation, whereon wilt thou stand to direct the forces of Nature?"

jumpin jack flash (a homeless street preacher from the city of skeletons)



++++++++++++++++++++






the mind aches

to behold the battle

waged upon the fiery plains of hell

the black spiders are attacking

the skeleton samurai are losing ground

a cobra bites my ear

opium wearing off

second sight failing

brian jones is dead

let us bathe our hands in his blood

and besmear our swords

a grievous hour tolls

in the city of pyramids

now i must betray

this lovely enslaving fox demon

to save my life

or fall upon my own sword



if we do lose this battle then is this

the very last time we shall speak together


goodbye ruby tuesday

time is come round

and where i did begin there shall i end



i prithee jack flash

thou art a fellow of a good respect

hold then my sword and turn away thy face

while i do run upon it







+++++++++++++++++++





what is this great mystical deterioration that we come to seek in hell

satori
the shining jewel
the brilliant confusion

to not know where you are between the pulse of one thought and the next

creating the pretence of an ordinary conversation about any ordinary matter

utter emptiness of voice and visage

is anyone here truly present or is your soul shuttling back and forth between the delight and terror of infernal regions created by mind

skeleton face reality

that way is the circle reserved for rock star groupies with fire and brimstone plaster casts of demon lovers

my sweet lady jane

dont leave me alone

i hear the eternal echoes of alcoholic exuberance

there where the river of fire drains into its lake

the beach of sacred litter

the local riff raff swimming hole of negation

the bodies converse with each other while the minds range other universes

tattered illusion gracefuly undulates in a current of thought and emotion

the conclusion is shocking

when will these so very dull dreams from hell conclude and return to the mythological themes of excitement

the wind of hell carrying you away with it to a thinner less substantial illusion

to more and more deeply question your own existance
as its firm incontrovertible bedrock

as real as the firery wind blowing in hell

someones talking to your body and its answering by means of some mysterious unnamed agency like synchronicity an acausal connecting principle

someone is asking you a question and your body answers magically like a vetriloquist like a medium at a seance

is this what is meant by possession

to be so completely owned by some other

who was the original possessor of this body the mind that initially shaped it to its own arcane specifications

a variety of demons shifting around in society like actors taking turns with different parts in a play

because every one is required to play every role

its just a rag fluttering in the breeze of hell


you and i meet once more in the aeons

once more beside the river of fire

remembering

but pretending weve only come here for the first time

thats the rule of love

blindness to the all too obvious karmic scars

pretend they are not serious

pretend they dont exist

pretend innocence

pretend everything in eternal hell is newly created in this moment for you and i alone

infernal companion of all my eternities

is there some new thing an eternity of repetition has not exhausted

it doesnt matter

repetition is fine

only aspire to some strange unexplored nuance of torment

the heart is desirous

it is detatched

another cycle in hell

another ingenious agony

another beautiful jewel

on the demon hand



++++++++++++++++++++





Me and the Devil Blues by Robert Johnson(1911-1938)

Early this mornin
when you knocked upon my door
I said Hello Satan
I believe its time to go

Me and the Devil
was walkin side by side
and im goin to beat my woman
until i get satisfied

She say you dont see why
that you will dog me round
it must a be that old evil spirit
so deep down in the ground

you may bury my body
down by the highway side
so my old evil spirit
can catch a Greyhound bus and ride

originally recorded June 1937 in Dallas TX


+++++++++++++++++++



i love laudanum

i would sell my tv to procure it

oh the demon lovers my opiate heightened mind will conjure



or sometimes quietly in the haze and darkness of the opium den

where i dream away the sultry hours of midday

breathlessly watching spiders stalk insects across
the walls and ceilings

the other patrons that frequent mostly chinese sorcerers and broken down professors of litterature
i barely notice

im too much entranced by the stillness and silence

away from the heat sweat and dust of the marketplace

listen to duke ellington in the cool blueness

my dreaming endless and lucid

reveals the copper domes

and ivory minarets of imagination

elaborate and arabesque

the city of pyramids

inhabited by swarming populations

of articulate scarabs

alluring fox demons

skeleton samurai

and nameless biomechanical horrors

++++++++++++++++++++




tripping out of my skull
all night long
in green and purple
harlequin darkness
batwing cyclone
of mind parasites
sad psychic rape

beautiful confusion
coveted madness
exquisite fear
lovely torment

leonard cohen says
true love leaves no traces

watching the numbers of the digital clock
mutating in warp time
there where the body is left fainting
depleting the soul in ecstasy
breath by breath

the sea of dark
psychedelic waves
ebbs at dawn
taking all the lost with it

wandering alone in an unknown city
a body of cold flesh

standing at the crossroads
of the other worlds

++++++++++++++++++


why is it that
true love leaves no traces?


++++++++++++++++++


Love blinds in order to extinguish the wrong and daily vision so that another eye may be opened that perceives from soul to soul. the habitual perspective cannot see through the dense skin of appearances: how you look, what you wear, how you are. the blind eye of love sees through into the invisible, making the opaque mistake of my loving transparent. i see the symbol you are and what you mean to my death. i can see through the blind and foolish visibility that everyone sees and into the psychic neccessity of my erotic desire.



+++++++++++++++++++++


nothing to do but?

absinthe
laudanum
mescaline

nothing to watch but?

television

nothing to play with but?

tarot cards

nothing to experience but?

euphoria
rapture
heartache
insomnia
astral projection

nowhere to go but?

stonehenge
camelot
las vegas

no one to love but?

billie holiday
miles davis
t s eliot

no one to worship but?

lord krishna
VALIS
lucifer

nothing to be but?

a swami
a modernist
a fool


stoned immaculate

+++++++++++++++++




the question of what is trivial and what is meaningful depends on the archetype that gives meaning and this says Jung is the self. once the self is constellated meaning comes with it. but as with any archetypal event it has its undifferentiated foolish side. like a person who has fallen into love so a person who has fallen into meaning begins that process of self-validation and self-justification of trivia which belongs to the experience of the archetype within any complex and forms part of its defense. paranoia has been defined as a disorder of meaning

dont shake me
dont shake me lucifer
ive been up all night with no suicide clock to work
the PCP seems to be no calm privacy
dont shake me lucifer you are all i receive
well now theyre rockin in hades
rockin on the elevator up
is this not pullin your plug
is this not going to the last set up
now the world was shakin
lookin like it shakes to bits
dont shake me lucifer ive had another fit

all the forces of evil are in full sway
stand for the fire demon
spirits say boo and the paper bursts into fire

++++++++++++++++++++



I the oblation and I the flame into which it is offered. I am the sire of the world and this worlds mother and grandsire. I am he who awards to each the fruit of his action. I make all things clean. I am Om. OM OM OM


+++++++++++++++++


i was walking among the fires of Hell delighted with the enjoyments of Genius which to Angels look like torment and insanity



when new people arrive in hell what are the most common difficulties they must face?

its like being born again

very much like infancy

confusion awkwardness a certain helplessness

difficulty in coming to terms with the idea of endless suffering?

thats only to be expected from those who were once human/animals suffering in a rather oblivious state of semi consciousness

i admit im a busybody

i was trying to help someone who had arrived some time after i had

though this is not exactly forbidden (in hell nothing is forbidden)

its generaly considered a poor practice an emotional residue carried over from human/animal state

a type of behavior viewed as backwards and primitive on this refined plane derisively referred to in hell as old woman zen

so i was in my dull manner trying to explain some things about how things work around here

of course denial is a river in egypt

most/every lost soul clings with singular tenacity to the fixation that they are either (a.) still in their previous existance or (b.) only here temporarily. at any moment the enormous cosmic mistake will be cleared up and the governors pardon will arrive in a sweet chariot swinging low to carry them to a proper celestial mansion with streets of gold

any attempt to disabuse the desperate will probably not be welcomed

most would be devils actually dont care much for hell fire in fact most just cannot seem to become acclimated to the condtions prevailing here

therefore like any private club if you complain loudly and persistently enough eventually you will be asked to leave to make room for those thorough masochists who might actually show some appreciation for the oppourtunities available here

not that there is any shortage of space or suffering here those images of crowded hells are symbolic not literal

hell is the most spacious abode the potential for solitude here is beyond astronomical

so anyone who cannot adapt gets to leave but they dont go to heaven

from what i can learn from the speech of the ancient devils like william blake this is the faint peripheral radiance of something else this place called hell is merely a by product of something that is perhaps even closer to the core of reality

the yet unimagined regions of mind

there are ways that lead more deeply into hell but no one ever returns from that journey to say where those ways ultimately end

rumors suggest bodhisattvas went that way


no one is permanently stuck here that myth is also symbolic not literal in the sense that there are actually and only two places in the afterlife

you can leave after a 40 day trial period but in a certain sense once youve been there is no where really to leave to

the meaning being that its all the same place
but there is also the meaning that its a completely different place in the mind of every individual

in the parlance of zen hell those who choose to leave are metaphorically described as having entered once more into the cycle of birth and death

this refers to a mind that has such pronounced aversion to hell and the idea of hell that it exercises all its powers to induce something like a hypnotic trance state upon itself and others to eradicate the memory

like a cacoon for the psyche that creates an entire world

but of course it never works 100% but somtimes in dreams or waking at three a.m. for no apparent reason to unnamable dread of obscure origin but of course obscure only to those who desperately need to forget

this creates a compensatory action in the mind some become obsessed with escaping hell for eternity and so religion is created as part of the illusion

heresy is not a word utilized within the theology of hell and devils are the most compassionate of all beings in hell theology is something like a combination of poetry and psychology in precise and descriptive infernal terminolgy heaven is the ultimate symbol of the infantile fantasy of escape oblivion and forgetfullness


this is the infernal gospel

hail lucifer light bringer


+++++++++++++++++++++


hymn of hell


white hot

point of light

burning

diamond seed

of mind

infinity of darkness sleeping

only womb of night

swarming dreaming incubating

demon fetus

dark angel fledgling

flight in primal flame

on bat wing

of silver membrane

existance screams

at eternal silence

pulsing light

of sacred pain

a burning star falling

ignites darkness

forever





AUM







the music of hell is sublime the closest thing to it existing on the earth plane is john coltranes ascension which is a musical interpretaion of the fall of lucifer and characteristic of coltranes genius that he should
call it of all things ascension refering of course to lucifers ascension to the throne of hell


+++++++++++++++++++


i once got so disoriented on psilocybin that i forgot my name who i was and where i lived

i lost my sense of identity to the point that i no longer perceived my self as a human being but more like a geometric shaped species of demon

this state of mind left me sadly at the mercy of many foolish notions resulting in actions that would land me in jail that very night

which was the fourth of july
i thought it was a brilliant and original idea to get fucked up and watch the fireworks
but when they actually happened the exploding gunpowder seemed quite insignificant and paltry beside the scintillating exhibit of my own subjective mind

i was out on the street just a few blocks from home but was too far over the edge to consider the need for refuge from my own raging madness

and really quite incapable of finding it had any such considerations arisen

one odd thing about it is i didnt even take the whole tablet i split it with another person i dont know what happened to him i know he didnt go to jail he went home i must have somehow taken the bigger half with my typical greediness

we went to the urban castle where the coven resided to score from wayne the reigning prince of darkness there who had a singular reputation for high quality exotics

ah the pleasure of scoring when you know you have the whole night stretching out before you in your imagination a veritable wonderland of unlimited possibility and pleasure

he's got the works gives you sweet taste ah then you got to split because you got no time to waste

wayne probably told me it was a four way hit but i didnt take that kind of talk seriously but realize in retrospect if i had halved my dosage it would have been wonderful wizard of oz perfect as it turned out my quest for kicks quickly became a memorable night of primal terror

a little bit later at home i unwrap a piece of tinfoil to reveal a little brown tablet
i cut the tab with a dull kitchen knife gave one half to frank ate the other and we were off

the drug hit me like a psychotic tidal wave with such force it just swept me right out to inner space i was completely unprepared and i instinctively knew from the start that i was in the shit and i probably wasnt going to have much fun tonight and immediately began to muster up what ever will to psychlogically survive that i could

my connection to anything resembling sanity just got stretched and stretched to such a tenuous degree and then complete break with collective reality

after the ordinary fireworks were long over
we were both sitting in the house and in my paranoid delusion i remember we were shaking hands and then he yells at me telling me im crazy and runs out the door

now i am alone

i begin to shout the sacred syllable OM as loudly as possible because i had been using the Bahgavad Gita as a guide to alternate realities on other occasions we would go way out into the woods smoke tea and shout OM for recreation

now i would surrender myself to Brahman as my only hope of preserving my soul

OM the primal WORD that echos Home and mimics the syllable for mother because i had a great dread of homelessness abandonment and displacement on all levels not particularly or exclusively on the material/physical level but more a psychological metaphysical homelessness the homelessness of angels evicted from the celestial kingdom and having now no place to set their foot or lay thier head

the abandonment of the lost soul