Seven Line Poem
Endymion’s a restless dreamer
Stormtossed coffin bound in raging moonlight
Cold skin, warm lips,heart full of nails
Your Sleeping Beauty’s a boy tonight
That Siren sweet singing will never raise the dead
But the song is a prayer and his breathing is steady
And the night smells like Hyacinth and miracles…
Four of Wands (Completion): A chance to rest and rejoice, having successfully resolved a matter of great import. The initial success of a business venture or creative project. The blossoming of a friendship or romantic relationship. Conclusions drawn based on hard won experience. Spiritual, material, or emotional rewards for diligent effort. May suggest marriage, childbirth, or a victory celebration.
Queen of Pentacles: The essence of earth behaving as water, such as a hot spring: A warm and generous host, providing shelter and comfort for all who would seek it. A person steadfast, practical, and domestic, able to create opulence and stability in any setting. The qualities of maturity and sensibility, coupled with an innate appreciation for nature and the material world.
I ask very, very little. That doesn’t mean I want nothing. So maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe I should stop being so easy going and understanding and then I won’t ever be in a position to be treated like a doormat again. Maybe failure to be demanding is essentially saying to a guy “your needs and quirks and intricacies are way more important than anything to do with stupid little me. Which is why they are repeatedly baffled when I make any sort of request at all and stunned when I react negatively to their inevitable failure to fulfill said request. Maybe it’s my own fault, I don’t know. All I know is that I never, EVER want to hear anything approximating the following phrases ever again:
“Can we just order pizza for our anniversary dinner?”
“I know we RSVPd a month ago but can we blow off the party? I’m tired.”
“Let’s skip Christmas presents this year. It’ll save so much money and I don’t really care about presents.”
Perhaps I ask too much. Perhaps my only sexual appeal is in that doormat type quality. But damned if the next guy I date won’t be required to fake a little enthusiasm when I enter a room.
There’s an episode of “Friends” in which one of the characters is so frightened by a Stephen King novel that the book has to be put in the freezer. A friend of mine told me recently that they threw a copy of “The Shining” into the desert because it bothered them that much. While I myself am not a great Stephen King fan per se, I’ve been reading one of his books and I’ve come to the point where I think it needs to go into the freezer. Only it isn’t a horror novel at all. It’s “On Writing” which is part advice manual, part autobiographical epistle and overall a very sincere and insightful bit of nonfiction. But the postscript, or rather the idea of it, is terrifying me a bit. It’s about his accident. And I know I should read it. I have a feeling it would be good for me to read it. But I’m kind of scared to. So I think I’m going to put the book in the freezer for just a little while.
…I have too much on my plate.
Baby’s an amnesiac
and never ever calls you back
you could die tonight of a heart attack
would never discover
might confuse you with another
tells the same stories
tells the same stories
tells the same stories
a hundred times a day
Wanted: some sort of divine being or pantheon or mythical entity I can invoke to solve my immediate concerns just to the degree that I can cope with them and reverse my sour luck. Vengeful Father Gods and crucified martyrs need not apply. The proper candidate will enjoy my songs and praises and libations as well as some good word of mouth on my various blogs and maybe a statuette or a tattoo or something. Don’t be shy. Do my bidding. Gender or species unimportant. I am an equal oppurtunity petitioner. No animal sacrifices or head shaving requirements, please. Requiring a vow of silence is probably unwise. Bonus points for religions involving temple prostitutes, feasting on roasted lamb and/or genourous imbibing of wine. I do still like to have my occasional reverie…
“The butcher the baker and the baseline maker say you can leave her I can take her you spend your whole life like a minute or two later one day it’s gonna and sooner than greater…oh, what would the loved ones say, what would the loved ones say?”
“I’m gonna ask you the question people always ask me…what do you do?
Show me don’t tell me. Send me something you’ve written (fiction, poetics, obscenely verbose ranting, I don’t care) or digital photos or scanned art or some music you’ve recorded or whatever else you do that’s creative other than things of a tactile or aromatic nature. We’re creating something here. We’re on a mission from god. We’re reviving my frustrated literary editor ambitions and giving the lot of you an audience and a forum all at the same time. It’ll be Punk, it’ll be diverse, it’ll be cool. I’m calling it Spitegeist. Send me some things to put in it. I’ll post the link when the inaugural version is ready to go live. Then I’ll feel important:)
That is all,