Ice Cave IV
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Monday, December 27, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Solstice (rap excerpt)
Metroparks and silver tracks
pornography and slum shacks
helicopter pads at Battery Park.
Shiny autos so sleek and dark.
Chicken dinners and charity
masses prayed in sanctity.
Human beauty in every face I see."
pornography and slum shacks
helicopter pads at Battery Park.
Shiny autos so sleek and dark.
Chicken dinners and charity
masses prayed in sanctity.
Human beauty in every face I see."
Self Statement
One of these days I intend to discuss my artistic 'philosophy' or aesthetic sensibility. I often think about this---why I consider one object 'pretty' or 'valuable' versus the dullness of all what passes unnoticed. Like what ends up getting posted to blog versus not.
Merry Christ (realization) mas!
Crunch.
Merry Christ (realization) mas!
Crunch.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
O Solstice, O Long Day!
Krispy Kreme donut and coffee
Amtrak shimmy, rattle and hum
loudspeaker baying
mystics praying.
ATM machines
crispy greens.
Silver coinsong
takes another spin ‘round the till.
quarters clacking
change spilling out on the gritty street.
Bare trees, waste heaps,
morning men speaking "spare change"
offering their dark bearded,
brown skinned Christmas blessing.
Out of New York by rail into the roseate first haze of a December morning.
The beige brown estuary reeds reeds opposite Secaucus.
Hymns to the working class
neatly spaced row houses
neatly spaced parcels of America!
The sun emerges like an orange pillow behind the Manhattan skyline and careen off
the Twin Towers.
Reflected off of the billowing factory pipes---wisps of clouds
in purple gray magnificence.
Luminous,
ethereal,
orange and rose light,
returning to the spiritual sky.
O! Mighty sun, your shortest day,
illumine me with your golden bliss,
you give joy to the blank silver factory walls.
O, Morning bliss, your secret emergence,
your dark gypsy eyes blinking behind the projects in Spanish Harlem.
Your waking city with its dull, scraping feet,
on webs of trails and tracks, yellow taxis in mid-flight
through Times Square.
What,
What does all of this mean?
Nothing.
Only joy.
Only surfaces shimmering,
only eyes grinning
in the human pasttime.
Round and round and round again.
Metroparks and silver tracks
pornography and slum shacks
helicopter pads at Battery Park.
Shiny autos so sleek and dark.
Chicken dinners and charity
masses prayed in sanctity.
Human beauty in every face I see.
Great clouds breathing in/ breathing out
the solar effulgence,
the endless turquoise baby blue sky
falling into transcendental darkness.
O, rainbow earth shinning in the center of the deep night
velvet ocean of intelligence
awaken me!
Cosmic poet
I see you on your train stop waiting,
peering into the sky ---contemplating
the ever deeper universal Being
wondrous mountain peaked
prayerful yogi
alone with the last rock
on top of the world in Shambhala.
O final war!
O, everlasting battle!
The universe entire
rocking in spasm to become permanent.
To hold forth and stand there
for just this moment---Wow!
O silver lines of communication,
our conscious nexus
connect us with higher thoughts at Christmas,
words of love bringing us
closer to our families' bosom.
Fly us to the heaven that is within our reach.
Cosmic operator connect me to the one,
the source of all sources
what contains my parents
and every molecule of my ancestors,
like this black, Jersey river mirroring the frozen sky.
Frost on the stones---winter chill
inescapable aching cold of interstellar space.
O warming sphere
drawing us into your honey gold
life sustaining fire.
Ancient Sun,
O, Solstice
to you this hymn
on your shortest day.
December 21, 1997
Amtrak shimmy, rattle and hum
loudspeaker baying
mystics praying.
ATM machines
crispy greens.
Silver coinsong
takes another spin ‘round the till.
quarters clacking
change spilling out on the gritty street.
Bare trees, waste heaps,
morning men speaking "spare change"
offering their dark bearded,
brown skinned Christmas blessing.
Out of New York by rail into the roseate first haze of a December morning.
The beige brown estuary reeds reeds opposite Secaucus.
Hymns to the working class
neatly spaced row houses
neatly spaced parcels of America!
The sun emerges like an orange pillow behind the Manhattan skyline and careen off
the Twin Towers.
Reflected off of the billowing factory pipes---wisps of clouds
in purple gray magnificence.
Luminous,
ethereal,
orange and rose light,
returning to the spiritual sky.
O! Mighty sun, your shortest day,
illumine me with your golden bliss,
you give joy to the blank silver factory walls.
O, Morning bliss, your secret emergence,
your dark gypsy eyes blinking behind the projects in Spanish Harlem.
Your waking city with its dull, scraping feet,
on webs of trails and tracks, yellow taxis in mid-flight
through Times Square.
What,
What does all of this mean?
Nothing.
Only joy.
Only surfaces shimmering,
only eyes grinning
in the human pasttime.
Round and round and round again.
Metroparks and silver tracks
pornography and slum shacks
helicopter pads at Battery Park.
Shiny autos so sleek and dark.
Chicken dinners and charity
masses prayed in sanctity.
Human beauty in every face I see.
Great clouds breathing in/ breathing out
the solar effulgence,
the endless turquoise baby blue sky
falling into transcendental darkness.
O, rainbow earth shinning in the center of the deep night
velvet ocean of intelligence
awaken me!
Cosmic poet
I see you on your train stop waiting,
peering into the sky ---contemplating
the ever deeper universal Being
wondrous mountain peaked
prayerful yogi
alone with the last rock
on top of the world in Shambhala.
O final war!
O, everlasting battle!
The universe entire
rocking in spasm to become permanent.
To hold forth and stand there
for just this moment---Wow!
O silver lines of communication,
our conscious nexus
connect us with higher thoughts at Christmas,
words of love bringing us
closer to our families' bosom.
Fly us to the heaven that is within our reach.
Cosmic operator connect me to the one,
the source of all sources
what contains my parents
and every molecule of my ancestors,
like this black, Jersey river mirroring the frozen sky.
Frost on the stones---winter chill
inescapable aching cold of interstellar space.
O warming sphere
drawing us into your honey gold
life sustaining fire.
Ancient Sun,
O, Solstice
to you this hymn
on your shortest day.
December 21, 1997
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Friday, December 10, 2004
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