singularity

It is time to become as stable as a giant piece of rock floating through space.  A sleeping, dreaming, igneous-being.  No one is an island, so they say, but maybe we can aspire to be heavenly bodies.  We will have terrifying molten hearts that construct and destroy, and an outward visage that may in time learn to sustain other life than our own.  Three-hundred and sixty degrees of face to perpetually greet the shining stars, our distant relatives speaking to us across eons.  Imperfect spheres, orbs, glittering in the emptiness, head and heart pulsing within as one fire.

The larger hurts.

For those who lose more than they gain, and give more than they get, thank you.  I pray indifference and disdain can have a powerful, radical force on economics.  Grubby fingers splitting hairs leave us with crazy bald-heads wed to greed.  Wealthiness and a healthy world are not proving to be successful bed-fellows. Someone's getting fucked in this scenario, and there do not appear to be any effective safe-words to stop the rape.  I live in a country that was once a haven for ideas, with a political landscape that was still in an innocent state of growth and self-consciousness.  Canada right now is no longer such a place.  We're mired in muck by a government of small-minded, power-hungry, white, Anglophone men who busily, behind closed doors, sell freedom and the wilderness that fosters us (and for which we are here to protect) wholesale to the highest corporate bidder.  Our country is sick.  People have been manipulated and polarized, and the centre has imploded.  There are not enough tears, but there are always enough opportunities to make a difference. First thing, we must vote. Second thing, we must write and think. A smart friend of mine said recently that "thinking is painless".  The fear, the emotion, the stress: those bring pain.  But thinking, with an open mind and a view to learning and changing one's perspective should it be necessary, painless. Priceless. Love and understanding before Hate and thoughtless fear, every single day.  That's all.

lolling in the rain

To be so happy as to spill
A trillion, trillion joyful tears
All in a moment
I am the sky.

yet more swimming Siamese cats

A lark for a pussy-cat, getting something for nothing
Siamese cats swimming Southward
Swallowing the small birds they seduce
Whose titterings seem
Like non-sense
'…zmzgbzn…? ' mangled consonants
Murmurred together 
Throat to throat. 

27072014poem

The news is grim
For the wild old world
Long black veils
Dim the skies,
Forest falls as
Chimneys rise.

Yet may we live
And the years unfurl
Reams and sails
Tangled rope,
A wilderness
Of change is hope.

Upon reading 3/4 of Michael Crichton's "Sphere" and reviewing blog history.

This alien monster appears to have a pulse.  Your readership keeps it alive.  First it nibbles away at your eyes.  Then it burrows into your brain.  It may hide away in there for a time, ruminating, making cud of your lost memories, regurgitating them as your dreams, masticating them over and over again until they form a tiny doorway into your heart.  The creature will try to squeeze its bulk through the orifice.  It will clutch its jaws around the organ.  Your heart and the creature will entangle and become indistinguishable.  You have given it life.  The story is within you now.  May your alien life also find a pulse, and spawn in others.

Grassed

He wrote a new poem today
Composed after hours
There in the middle-distance
Down the street half a block
Then straight up half a mile:
In the diminishing place.
I arose on a green, reedy carpet
Adroning
And stole it away.