Groove 6: [audible]
here there are stones. stones that were books that were songs that were warm hands warm from weeping. black silk worn deep blue by years of weather, macabre tablecloth on a slab of stone. sacrifice who? it is done. stones are not hungry nor do they thirst. flesh nor blood.
where the stones are there was a forest.
the winds are harsh and the ground stays damp without roots to drink from it.
night is wholly visible, they say.
Groove 7: [audible, hidden]
stone time a dream marvel impetuous f/light streaking across night sky
deploy fire icy dust because core changed very little and still in icy depths
the mission ends [
Groove 5: [inaudible]
in childhood recall reading books that seal fate. Selections will be displayed in the MUSIC ROOM (above).
childhood simplicity: a lover of artifacts.
Mourn the commonplace. Stitch the embroideries (depicted ). Hold
the black silk, unassuming, over the beloved.
- phoenix is a one-note bird.
- that note is on fire.
- bedside candle.
- no paper no pen.
- can’t write down dreams.
- owl listens, omni-ambient headphones around omni-acoustical eyes.
- odalisque your pillow is on fire. lie down. sleep.
tap tap, who will be beautiful, flesh sockets packed with black?
so beautiful, gnarled stick
the gods prize whose skin whose eye?
you’ll find time harsh because-of beauty
youth pulped, cored.
want seeds. want soil.
[upper aside]: cracks melt smooth like wax
[lower aside]: blush flame, so beautiful. balance ruin.
The phoenix burns billet-doux on my pillow. Read the last one here.
ODALISQUE DOES NOT SAY HELLO NO SHE DOES NOT.
I AM SORRY.
I AM TRYING TO RECORD HER DREAMS IT IS VERY HARD.
MAYBE I WILL SHARE ONE SOON.
I AM SORRY SHE HAS NOTHING TO SAY.
I HAVE THINGS TO SAY.
HELLO I AM OWL.
in a dark and dated hotel room with the boy you tried to kiss his name the name of greek statues the ones that hold up temple porches
get ready. before a plate glass mirror get ready
to fly north for an event.
planes to catch in metallic hangars it is so hard to get to these planes.
city streets treacherous they all drop down into round-a-bout bottoms like the bottoms of bowls. bowl bottom is stable equilibrium says math class. no catching a plane in the bottom of a bowl without a dose of irrational energy.
i fly. afraid to lose the earth. no worries. boy and girl are bound to earth. i bear them.
sidewalk man in suspenders makes chalk mandalas on the concrete very colorful they are.
maybe he is the one.
that girl has fantastic boots. red cross-stitched.
maybe she is the one.
will the bicycle make it up the hill, out of the city, to that dark road running home? see road slope and curve beneath o’erhanging trees shadow trees where insects sing.
we / land / ground / earth on a paved plaza.
event hotel! off-center lobby. elevators to rooms where folded schedules are forgotten. long brown halls. stumble upon an intimate, semi-circular hall where businesspeople in frumpy suits karaoke made-up lyrics to classic rock songs. in one room girl having an argument with staff about what she knows to be true. time to go home. surely the event is practically over time to catch another plane. for vacation. girl can’t find keys to room where her things are and can’t remember where her room is but
look a forest. a cube of forest bounded by glass. stunning concept. balanced with fore-thought / but wild. red leaves / peacock blues of ever-greens. deep deep ground forest sunk so to see into canopy
technicolor forest caged between glass viewing corridors of event hotel.
here was well thought-out. here is worthy of contemplation. here be still.
There are no birds in this picture. Saturn and his wise centaurs. All a-flutter and creepy-crawly. Floriferous, sword in scabbard and spear.
Rummaging through loose papers to find out where on earth/in space I found that face! Faces are unusual in my scrapbook! Here’s the only other one I can think of. It’s from my favorite movie.
Are you bringing me flowers? I like flowers. Particularly the ones that open themselves so fully they fall apart. Hearts do this, and the ego, yearning for transcendence. So, too, the prismatic doors of glass, with no hinges and no handle. You (yes you) must crash through. Oh the light, smashing everywhere and glass shattering like a fist smashed into still water drops like glass throwing light.
My favorite flower, the petals dropleted with moisture, shatters on the sill.
Wait, just a little bit. I will make you a bouquet.
I showed off my party dress. So the birds are ready to dance. They’ve brought out their best.
If I could only dance with one, which would I choose?
I like that black swan brings me fetid flowers. The book could be a gift or maybe black swan intends to read to me later. I hope not. There’s nothing worse than long phrases comparing odalisques to astronomical bodies, natural phenomena, or flowers. How can you enjoy yourself when everything you do reminds someone of the moon? I’ve been to the moon, and it’s nothing to throw garlands at. Stop talking about the moon. I am The Odalisque!
Fetid flowers or… a dead branch?
The branch is for me to hold when we dance, so I don’t catch on fire. That might be a trick, though, because Phoenix really wants me to burn. At least if I dance with Phoenix, there is a window nearby. I will need to stick my head out into that high, clear air, after a whirl in Phoenix’s flagrant embrace.
Crow-as-parrot offers to lead me through greener pastures. Crow has a message but I’ve already opened it. Or did Crow open it first and scramble the intended meaning? Crow wears the fool’s hat. Crow, where are we going?
The starlings clothe themselves in the soft robes of nightfall. It is the hour of murmuration. Behind them, obscure. If I allow myself to be taken in their arms I will be the space between earth and sky consecrated by their hushed, joyful swarm. I will be the ever-evolving absence of thousands of birds.
Hawk, discretely, but superbly dressed, waits beneath an ordinary chandelier. The silk dress is for changing into when Hawk tires of leading.
Hawk carries a scarlet fan for me: when I want everyone to go away I will hide my face like ostrich sticking its head in the sand. Everyone knows: leave me alone.
Hawk is thoughtful in that way.
I will dance with Hawk.
Black Swan, aghast, is sputtering phrases from the book. The phrases aren’t about me or the moon! They’re all about Black Swan! Typical. Black Swan, do you remember how to call out, over the marsh, the wild, mute cry of your forebearers? If so, I will dance with you.
Fashionable birds. See how they first made their fashion fetish known here, or click the Fashion tag for that and more.
If a tree is cut down and paper or pencil made, and I then write with them?
If you were a tree
would you be my pencil?
my blank page?
my unblank page?
If you were a tree would you be the page preserved in an archive, its climate controlled with combustion, the burning of ferny compression we call fossil fuels?
Would you be my paper, my pencil, preserved?
A tree would prefer I crumple this page, throw pencil away.
Better yet, would I please bury both in dirt?
When I fall something shoot its pale cusp from the trunk that was me.
Come back wild moment from far before
I took up my sword call it pencil say paper or page.
Killing impulse, I took up pencil and page.
I ruined everything.
On New Year’s Day, crow became a parrot.
I asked him how he did this. Here is our conversation:
disregard the moon and all arrangements of stars.
if stones stand be sure light nowhere specially shines.
do not go to the great tree in the forest, the one that is itself and all its ancestors.
light no fire.
scatter no grain.
spill no milk no honey no blood.
do not mark yourself with stakes or nails or knives or thorns, the bones of dead creatures or the inks of poisonous flowers.
know who you are and choose
to behave differently.
i went to sleep on my usual branch.
it doesn’t matter what i dreamed. the dream was of myself.
when i awoke, i cracked one eye like crow. then i opened both eyes like parrot. i flashed my wings like parrot. i did not caw i squawked.
what is the difference between parrot and crow?
what do you know? i choose how i act.
pretty parrot pirate ship. squawking word mirror.
what do you know? i know crow
stole you something shiny to rob you of your lustre.
is that a mirror?
where where going
you are you
are you are
(read the last conversation with the crow here.)