Seek 7: Randomness

As if he might drown out the clamor of his mind/the silence of his mind

At some point, we have to throw out some dreams to fit the foundations of other aspirations within our minds.

I don't know that I know how to be loved

Oh cursed me! Do I now forget the song that filled my boyish soul? How can I now recall that sacral song that graces me alone in heavy sleep, when Morpheus his works in me has wrought?

Include as little about he govt structure/politics as possible. This is supposed to be about the human heart, the line through the soul.

Ambiguity

Sometimes, there is beauty in confusion

And sometimes poets say the things they say

Simply because they hope the critics will find out what it all really means

So they can move on and live a normal life,

One unencumbered by those emotions and thoughts that make for good poetry--

The depression, the doubt, the loneliness,

The crippling fear that you might just write something

That would change the world.

If we thought we were good at what we are doing, we wouldn't be going to school.

The Lord will cleave the rocks of your wilderness and cause that sweet water shall flow forth from them

Firestorms over the slums, Jonah on the wall overlooking it, his arms reaching up into the infernal heavens, wondering why

Your sympathy for sale

gossamer

Wild landscapes--heath/wilderness, blackened trees, belly of the earth

Jonah and Mara go at one point to a place by the sea. "Can we come back here some day?" / "I don't know if we will ever come back. I don't want to promise anything I can't be sure of." / "I would very much like to come back."

That could be where they go in the end. House upon the cliffs where the winds whisper and the tides crawl up the shore and sink back into the mists.

How am I to navigate these waters dark

To understand htis unintelligible world.

Say, prophesy! Who is it that struck thee?

How am I to hear once more the songs of innocence

Over the clamor of my mind?

How am I to find grace in a graceless, faceless world

Everyone has a past.

"We used to come here to collect wildflowers when we were kids, back before..."

(Someone injured talking to Scout---Simeon or Jonah) "You won't understand this, but you feel like you're just not enough--like there's a part of you missing

-Irony in the fact that that's how she feels all the time b/c of her gender issues

Jonah always calls Scout pal, sport, bud just to annoy him (her).

gods trapped in a mortal shell: stay your hand, Prometheus--here is the fire.

I choose to live in a world of ideas, distilled from reality.

It was as though I thought that by being cold, the vapors of truth might condense upon my being/heart/mind

Pulling everything to it as oxygen to the firestorms over the slums

Red wildflowers charging from the dark earth, springing up form the cracks in the ebony clay

Device allows Simeon to listen in on govt. "Isn't that like, wrong or something?"

"Do you really think that they're not doing the same thing to us right now?"

Fire on the horizon brushed shadow onto the canvas of the sky

The river glowed beneath a starless sky.

Swallowed in the sunbeams

Our long forgotten infancy

Here in my purgatory beneath a copper sun

Sometimes I wish that I could just disappear, be swallowed up in the earth, fade into he gray of twilight--if only I could hide from my inadequacies. Consciousness and conscience are a purgatory.

Rage against the hatred and the un-love.

People listening, all day drowning in their noise

Write about people you don't understand from the point of view of people whom you don't like or understand.

Do you already have life so figured out that you've stopped looking? I can't comprehend your happiness, your peace that passeth all understanding--are you damned all, or am I? Or are both of us? Is your ignorance bliss or is my knowledge sorrow? Or is my sorrow ignorance?

Do I now awake, and dost thou yet slumber? OR do both in Morpheus's embrace now lie, one to rest and one to wander and to wonder? Do dreams dance before my wild eyes, or...

Summon the notes from the ether, bind the chaos of human emotion into lilt and motion, make the soul into a song

But what of the forgotten, the hidden ones, the worn out wanderers, reanimated at the call of dusk to endure a frenzied purgatory, to live out their life sentence ever in the twilight of humanity?

When the night streets are yours and yours alone, and the whole world is yours because no one else showed up

Oh, please pity the dreams--those who long fro sleep but seldom find it: those who even in rare slumber know not how to rest. Envy them their worlds, perhaps, but pity their knowledge and their pain. Look upon the hands raw and blistered by the sun as they pled to the heavens, their knees bruised and bloodied as they bent on the stony ground.

Hall of monuments --corridor of Founders' statues as Jonah walks up to courtroom

Fata Morgana

This world is only a passage to another world (a wandered in a strange land)

Capitalists still can't wrap their heads around the idea that people can be something else and still be happy or even proud.

You cannot contemplate the things of God without some distance from the world.

Science has now known sin

there is love enough is this world for everybody, if people will just look

Pure research--no goal in mind, no better filter, no new formula to cut costs--just discovery

Crystal seeding - crystal fibers grown, recrystallized, scratch glass and crystals form (flossy). Add stabilizers, weave into fractal cloth

Fields of oily stalks with flowers peeking up. easy to spot above the uniformity of the rest. Workers pulling them out, piling them and burning. Symbol of dreamers, "not good for anything." Striving upward, toward the empty sky.

Park with world in bricks used as intro to different continents. "And we would sit on the world and talk of paradise."

Seeding technis crystals to make fractal sails

Death is a forgetting

Man subdued by the mundane elements that he has subdued

Commercila/market district

Wealther merchants live on inner wall

big, broad street through market dist. at night, empty, patrolled by guards (Enforcers?). No permanent residents really.

tribal priests use technis/chakra to convince people of Great Spirit--Jonah sees through this but comes to find God in the end. First denies it. "It's like everything else--fake." Then acknowledges there is something higher, a God, but doesn't know how to perceive it or describe it.

Livestock pens for men (Mara to Jonah)

Why not live outside? There is space enough here for millions and millions beyond those that fester within the walls.

Eyes dull and empty, almost animal likebut with less of a will to sruvive

***Creative literature is too delayerd--it needs an outlet. Self publication, biweekly? Chapbooks?

We can't live in art.

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I quest outside but twice a day

To chase my wintry pale away

And then, with sun kissed cheeks, inside,

To taste the world--in reading, hide.

Popeye's on Tuesday, Kane's Wednesday, Thursday Buffalo Wild Wings

Chicken and lips shining with grease  (Larry from the battery warehouse)

Tempura tempting me, unagi wriggling between wooden spears, before sliding down my gullet. Eel sauce and spicy mayonnaise are  swirl of color on Da Vinci's canvas on the plate,

A starry night where Pisces shies from showing his fins

And the twin dragon sleeps upon the mountainside

The human experience is the poetry of poetry. Good poetry, then, must stir us to remember the joys and beauties that we have lived to experience.

How am I to speak my soul when it is severed from sensation? My cup runneth empty, so how is my soul to overflow, to spill out onto the pages of my shame and solitude?

" all that dreary intercourse of daily life"  Wordsworth

It was time that thought was added to your reason: heart to your charity, soul to your religion.

Modern media blunts the human mind

Poetry is what disrupts the daily doldrums of reality--the flecks of silver/gold scattered in the coal dust

Vulnerability of a new professor: mind still empty and full of dreams at the same time