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I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

-E.E. Cummings

Aquiline

I'm twenty-eight now, young, and not so young. A sophomore, a 'wise fool' by definition. Life is finally getting somewhere near something. I am doing some things, that's about all I know - and even that I do not know. Maybe some things are just happening and I am in their way? A filter of a human being for a universal mechanism to play out; a cog and a wheel, oft fancying himself driver and mechanic.

If I am my own biggest fan, then I am also my own deepest critic. So I seek one who knows my movements before I know I will make them, which is to say, an enemy. One whose movements I learn by heart, so that we may continually try and surprise one another. Not just any enemy, but my enemy, which is to say, my lover; but wherein lies my ability to battle? My vestments are loose, and armor aches to shine through it's tears. A rosary hangs like a sword, a crucifix like a bow and arrow. I, once action and reaction, have become response.

I pray to learn enjoyment in the wrestle; the inside grasping the outside - grasping the inside; both threatening to take one another down - a mixture of earth and sky - tectonic plates locked in a warriors embrace with dark and electric clouds. The ocean flows out, up through my throat. I breathe deeply now days. At times clenching my jaw to draw in more air - my eyebrows arch, my nerves focus, my cells prepare for romance, and war. Alas, one must have a good nose...

I'm pretty sure I could live a full life at the center of a book.

So I found some prime real estate prospects for myself.

You've won me over Bookmans...largest used-book retailer in Arizona you [bats lashes].

...all too human

This is just fantastic. The BBC recaps human history for us humans in one minute using stop motion, paper-craft, and clay. Enjoy.

BBC Knowledge - Honk If You're Human

Paradise, Lost

"As I bent down to look, just opposite,
A shape within the watery gleam appeared
Bending to look on me, I started back,
It started back, but pleas'd I soon returned,
Pleas'd it returned as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love; there I had fixt
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warned me, What thou seest,
What there thou seest fair Creature is thy self ..."

-Milton, Paradise Lost 4:460

Looking for a love which suits you is like looking into a lake and becoming fixated on a phantom. In this scenario it is only themselves one is in love with, it is narcissism at some of it's finest - for it comes with cloak and dagger; posing as our ultimate unity with desire and truth, whilst stabbing our true paradise to death.

The only love I've witnessed which works is conscious, and does not seek it's own self. Love which is curious as a child is curious - a point which resonates like a hammer in all my thinking. It reminds me of 1Corinthians 13:5 and of Mathew 18:1-3.

"self-seeking" to be understood also as seeking the reflection of one's humor, one's interests, one's goals - one's whole self, and with this as the gauge, then surely any water would appear mildly, or grossly, polluted. "Turn and become like children" to be understood also as the acceptance of a child's love. Staggeringly free, for it doesn't even enjoy loving, it is not conscious enough of itself to think thusly.

As maturity brings awareness of self, and that awareness is informed by the circumstances a child is raised with - which is to say impacting his or her confidence, values, humor, etc. the child often becomes obscured and lost within the construct of their budding self-awareness.

To truly "fall in love" then - and we may say, 'to become able' to take that fall - is to incorporate the learned behaviors of adulthood with the inherent exuberance of 'child-likeness'; which is to say, to marry one's mind with one's heart.

Dude.

Click it. Get a tea.

Click this.

Boo

I seriously have no idea how to translate what...whatever this feeling in me is.

It started, singing to Robert Devir

If you click and enlarge the image you'll see what's highlighted. I also enjoy what's directly below what is highlighted.

Getting a call from a friend following this was very cool, and it not being the first time was very cool as well. My music gives me something besides my diaries to bestow to my children and grand children - should I have them.

Letting them know, once there was a world before they ever were conscious- and further, that their father, or bald and laughing grand-father, was doing things in that world.

I love it.

Thanks Juliet.

Tune in to hear an interview, some live songs, and some songs off the album this Wednesday after 8 pm on 91.3 WYSO - to stream it out of town you may also use this link -

http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/wyso/arts.artsmain?action=viewArticle&sid=16&id=1713149&pid=25

Alma Mater

slip

Travelling across the universe, searching for those who see a bloody sun covered in dirt; he plugs in his electric guitar and the sound stings the back of every peasant's throat.

He's laughing; it sounds like he needs a haircut. He's frightening those who want his blood. He's laughing with well-fed mosquitoes.

The sounds of crows and hawks fill the hallways. One picks at an eye, the other an ear.

No one moves the laughing mouth.