dreamattack | a dialogue in pictures

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Do you have an unconscious belief that the forces of evil are loud, vigorous, and strong, while good is quiet, gentle, and passive? If so, you’ll soon get vivid evidence that will contradict your theory. Are you secretly suspicious of joy because you think it’s inevitably rooted in wishful thinking and a willful ignorance about the true nature of reality? If so, your suspicions are about to be exposed as unfounded. Do you fear that when you’re in the presence of love and beauty you tend to become softheaded, whereas you’re likely to feel smart and powerful when sneering at the ugliness around you? Get ready to see an alternative possibility.

Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology

expect 2 weeks of radio silence.
picking company up from the airport in about an hour.

MIAMI — Three masked men in capes stole a baby owl monkey Thursday from the home of a primate expert, police said. [ read more ]

hrm - wonder what’s up with the whole “capes” thing. broadway stars stealing monkays?

Then

When I am dead, even then,
I will still love you, I will wait in these poems.
When I am dead, even then
I am still listening to you.
I will still be making poems for you
Out of silence;
Silence will be falling into that silence,
it is building music.

–Muriel Rukeyser

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Mirrors will be your best teachers this week. The revelations they bring may sometimes make you uncomfortable, but for the most part they will energize you. By week’s end, you’ll have every reason to celebrate because of their lessons. Keep in mind that the mirror of the moment won’t always be a shiny glass surface that reflects images. It may be a person giving you feedback, an unfamiliar situation that shows you surprising secrets about yourself, the way an animal behaves around you, and other things that neither you nor I could predict.

Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology

what can we do?

at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn’t
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it’s best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, murder.

what can we do with it, this Humanity?

nothing.

avoid the thing as much as possible.
treat it as you would anything poisonous, vicious
and mindless.
but be careful. it has enacted laws to protect
itself from you.
it can kill you without cause.
and to escape it you must be subtle.
few escape.

it’s up to you to figure a plan.

I have met nobody who has escaped.

I have met some of the great and
famous but they have not escaped
for they are only great and famous within
Humanity.

I have not escaped
but I have not failed in trying again and
again.

before my death I hope to obtain my
life.

–Charles Bukowski

the lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

– Don Marquis

and if I have strength, then I’ve belief
if I have love, my heart still beats
here under stars
far from home . . .

Sleet

What was it like before the doctor got there?

Till then, we were in the back seat of the warm
dark bubble of the old Buick. We were where
we’d never not been, no matter where we were.

And when the doctor got there?

Everything outside was in a rage of wind and sleet,
we were children, brothers, safe in the back seat,
for once not fighting, just listening, watching the storm.

Weren’t you afraid that something bad might happen?

Our father held the wheel with just two fingers
even though the car skidded and fishtailed
and the chains clanged raggedly over ice and asphalt.

Weren’t you afraid at all?

Dad sang for someone to fly him to the moon,
to let him play among the stars, while Mom
held up the lighter to another Marlboro.

But when the doctor started speaking. . .

The tip of the Marlboro was a bright red star.
Her lips pursed and she released a ring of Saturn,
which dissolved as we caught at it, as my dad sang Mars.

When you realized what the doctor was saying. . .

They were closer to the storm in the front seat.
The high beams, weak as steam against the walled swirling,
only illuminated what we couldn’t see.

When he described it, the tumor in the brain and what it meant. . .

See, we were children. Then we weren’t. Or my brother wasn’t.
He was driving now, he gripped the steering wheel
with both hands and stared hard at the panicked wipers.

What did you feel?

Just sleet, the slick road, the car going way too fast,
no brother beside me in the back seat, no singing father,
no mother, no ring of Saturn to catch at as it floats.

– Alan Shapiro, from Song & Dance

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): British medical researchers recently announced that contrary to conventional wisdom, brief periods of stress are healthy for us–so much so that they boost longevity and enhance our cells’ ability to repair themselves. At the same time, the scientists emphasized that intense, long-term stress is still just as bad for us as we’ve always thought. If they’re right, Capricorn, you should be the picture of vitality right now. The difficulties you’ve been facing lately have passed the Goldilocks’ test: neither too great nor too small, but just right.

Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

– Mary Oliver

Night Talk 5

What you and I
are enduring
is not really today;
it is tomorrow.

And what you and I
are enduring
is not really living;
it is life.

A continent of reproduction and deluge
skirts the black mountain
beneath unroofed stars.

What you and I
are wetting our throats with
is not really wine;
it is poverty.

And what is that thing
from across the thorns
that draws us,
you and I?

And what is that thing
when nothing covers our sleep
that warms us,
you and I?

Ah, what you and I are enduring
is not really today;
it is tomorrow.

And what you and I are enduring
is not really life;
it is love.

– Cho Byung-Hwa, translated in 1988 by Kevin O’Rourke

The Grown-Up

All this stood upon her and was the world
and stood upon her with all its fear and grace
as trees stand, growing straight up, imageless
yet wholly image, like the Ark of God,
and solemn, as if imposed upon a race.

As she endured it all: bore up under
the swift-as-flight, the fleeting, the far-gone,
the inconceivably vast, the still-to-learn,
serenely as a woman carrying water
moves with a full jug. Till in the midst of play,
transfiguring and preparing for the future,
the first white veil descended, gliding softly

over her opened face, almost opaque there,
never to be lifted off again, and somehow
giving to all her questions just one answer:
In you, who were a child once-in you.

– Rainer Maria Rilke

Separation

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

– W.S. Merwin

Untimely Meditations

the fiery sun of my passions
evaporates the love lakes of my soul
clouds my thoughts
and rains you into existence

as i take flight on bolts of lightening
claiming chaos as my concubine
and you as my me
eye of the storm
you of the sea
we of the moon
land of the free
what have i done to deserve this?
am i happy?

happiness is a mediocre standard
for a middle class existence
i see through smiles and smell truth in the
distance
beyond the one dimensional smiles and
laughter
lies a hereafter where tears echo
laughter
(you would have to do the math to…)
divide a smile by a tear
times fear

equals mere truth
that simply dwells in the air
but if that’s the case all i have to do is
breathe
and all else will follow
that’s why drums are hollow

and i like drums
drums are but
i can’t think straight

i lack the attention span to meditate
my attention spans galaxies
here and now are immense
seconds are secular
moments are mine
self is illusion
music’s devine

noosed by the strings of Jimi’s guitar
i swing, purple haze pendulum
hypnotizing the part of i that never dies

look into my

eyes are the mirror of the
soul is fried chicken, collards, and
cornbread is meal, flour, sour
scream, eggs and
oil is the stolen blood of the earth
used to make cars run and kill the fish

who me?
i play scales
the scales of dead fish of oil slicked seas
my sister blows wind through the
hollows of the fallen trees
and we are the echoes of eternity
echoes of eternity
echoes of eternity

maybe you’ve heard of us
we do rebirths, revolts,
and resurrections

we threw basement parties in pyramids
(i left my tag on the wall)
the beats would echo off the stone
and solidify into the forms of light bulbs
destined to light up the heads of
future generations
they recently lit up in the form of
ba boom boom ohm…

maybe you’ve heard of us
if not,
then you must be trying to hear us

and in such cases we can’t be heard
we remain in teh darkness, unseen
in the center of unpeeled bananas,
we exist
uncolored by perceptions
clothed to the naked eye
five sense cannot sense
the fact of our existence

and that’s the only fact
in fact, there are no facts
fax me a fact and
i’ll telegram a hologram
or telephone the son of man
and tell him he is done
leave a message on his
answering machine
and tell him there are none

God and I are one!
times moon
times star
times sun
the factor is me

you remember me
i slung amethyst rocks on Saturn blocks
’til i got up by earthling cops
they wanted me for their army or whatever

picture me: i swirl like the wind
tempting tomorrow to be today
tip-toeing the fine line between
everything and everything else
i am simply Saturn swirling sevens
through sooth
the sole living heir of air
and I *inhale* and *exhale*
and all else follows
reverberating the space inside of drum
hollows
packaged in bottles
shipped to tomorrow
and sold to the highest nigga

i swing from the tallest tree
lynched by the lowest branches of me
praying that my physical will set me free

’cause i’m afraid that all else is vanity
mere language is profanity
i’d rather hum or
have my sould tattooed on my tongue
and let the scriptures be sung
in giberish
’cause words by simple fish
in my soulquarium
and intellect can’t swim

so i stop combing my mind
so my thoughts could lock

i’m tired of trying to understand
perceptions are mangled, matted, and
knotted anyway
life is more what meets the eye
and i
so elevate eye to the third
but even that shit seems absurd
when your thoughts leave you
third eye-solated
no man is an island
but i often feel alone
so i find peace through

ohm…….

– Saul Williams

oh how I love summer thunderstorms. the delicious rumbles and crashes surge through me and make me feel so very alive again.

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, not seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can’t honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Leap incandescent

Out of the kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then —
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); sceptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait’s begun again,
The long wait for the angel.
For that rare, random descent.

– Sylvia Plath

The Real Me

The only time I want your tongue
in my mouth
is about an hour after I’ve eaten.
Yeah, right when the bacteria
starts to form
and take their real
gut-killing position.

The only time I want your tongue
in my cunt
is when it’s bloody.
Yeah, so you can really
taste what’s
inside a girl.

You see, baby, I want you to
taste the real me

I want you to see that
I’m full of bacteria
that can eat you alive.

I want you to see that
I’m full of blood that
drips drips drips
four days a month.

I want to give you
my life.

What do you want to give me?

– Kathi Georges

no sleep. only pain. going to have to regroup and find a different way to deal with this.

Body Parts From Jet Hit Long Island Home

ew.

[ edit: i only posted this so i could use the post title in a witty and disgusting way ]

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Artist Max Ernst (1891-1976) specialized in using creative techniques that relied on the element of chance. He was a master of collage, assembling materials he got from newspapers, botanical drawings, catalogs, and scientific journals. He also liked to run a paintbrush over a piece of a canvas that was lying on a rough wooden floor, thereby making an impression of the underlying texture. This random approach drove some critics crazy, since it undermined the idea that worthwhile art can only be made by trained experts. Ernst seemed to imply that anyone could fabricate interesting stuff. He’s your role model right now, Capricorn. Let him inspire you to shed any beliefs you might have that you’re not creative. Capitalize on the element of chance to bring novelty into everything you do. Be alert for lucky accidents that you could take advantage of in order to freshen up everyone’s perspective.

Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology

30 Cents, Two Transfers, Love

Thinking hard about you
I got on the bus
and paid 30 cents car fare
and asked the driver for two transfers
before discovering
that I was
alone.

– Richard Brautigan