Monday, April 28, 2008


The gig is up. If anything, it's interesting. Been fun.


Sunday, April 13, 2008

I didn't write this.

But what of the precocious
Prematurers of inchoate vision,
Waiting all night in line
On the strength of persistent
And clandestine rumor
Of a second edition
After two millennia?
Driven by anticipatory tensions
To brave the tweed, tenured fury
Of vituperative academicians,
The steel-rimmed patronizing
Of cynically derisive scientists,
T he amoral refractivity
Of the theological police,
And the pervasive cultural deafness
That stunts the child,
Contracts the adult,
Enervates the ancients,
They have wandered, bewildered,
Futants and aliens in their time,
Furtively scouring the mindless bazaars
For hand-made parts for their vision;
Naturally noble, sensitive, precocious
Children refusing to close the doors
Of perception on parental command;
Royalty, provided only one conform.
Not nurtured, nor educated to dance
To the rhythms of our private
Genetic harmonics
No toe-hold in the dark,
No adequate maps, no context
So many lost to the mad world,
We have lost too many
In that lonely unnecessary fire.
No longer must the few survivors
Stagger from that scorching reentry
In dazed glory. We need never
Do that to ourselves again.
At the convoluted coda
Of current consensual reality
(A brief period of static grace)
It is history or hallucination,
Nothing less, as we awake
from the suprafamilar,
Ultimate schizophrenia
Of history as mythology,

We need no longer live recycling
The fragmented, maudlin tales
Told by confused ancestors
Across the dying embers
Of somnambulant cultures,
Shuddering at the old words,
The antique awe, self-inditing
Metaphors imprinted in the womb.
Trembling in the fear of our fear,
Wracked and torn by weird irruptions
Of suppressed archetypes
From beneath our dignity.
In the elational daylight
Of genetic enlightenment
We shall overcome the ancient godspell
Slave blindness, god-fright,
Parent taboo, Babel-factoring
Our genetic genius into negative quotients.
Rather, in our time, we shall learn
The sound of our own freedom,
At first disconcerting in the gentleness
Of its echo off the back wall of infinity,
Learn the intricate steps of the quaint
Dance of our oscillatory and peculiar
Kind of consciousness; re-discover
The threads of our common humanity
Woven in the tapestries of our cultures,
Struggle into the lightness
Of an unaccustomed, unassailable integrity.

In the satisfactory afternoon
Of bicameral integration
We become our own
Genetic credentials,
Mythic dimensions,
Merging our planetary genius
Into positive unity.
The godspell is broken;
Let our god games begin.