Besides being a recurring theme in the following, the story is that "today - 12/29/95" I finally got the old software I needed to make my HP ScanJet Null (B&W) work. So seized by the desire to play, I grabbed these old line drawings and poems I did in the 80's and threw them together into this jazz. -- veyr
Semi-gold the rafters
Crawling with potential of things undone.
A ringing cascade off the walls
To blind the mind.
Moving in my careful leper's stagger
So as not to lose too much between this world and the next.
A holiday from pain to rest the nerves
So returning will be fresher,
So the line of flesh where autism begins
Can be remembered sadly.
Without wishing it to change.
More Pain. Less pain.
The answer is not in these things.
The cloudy cloudy mixture
Of misbegotten desire
Intoxicates
And consumes.
The mind clears
If it wants to
But must still bide its time
In this heartless place.
Can it be held fast?
This feeble struggle
In a nightmare of reality.
Can it be held fast?
The tender yearning for God.
And what is to last?
Is it the death-knell
As hopes again crack apart on the floor.
And what is to last?
If not this yearning.
When all things are past.
The struggle, the strife,
Will take on their true meaning.
When all things are past.
I will be with My Lord.
Be swift, be swift my light
And snuff this burnt-edged darkness from my brow.
The weeping ages settle in a teacup while,
Beyond the porch, glory shines.
So wake me lover. My soul is tired with this toxic melancholy.
To rise, to greet you, it is my pleasure
And my yearning, my lover, my light.
For Night
In a dark place
I know
The light of the piercing unknown.
Trusted.
Gratefully yours.
A sheer midnight hand
Of birth.
A credible newborn
From beneath,
Behind,
Unknown.
Black on black
Rolls over
To me.
Touch.
The health
Of stars
Within.
Trusting
My inadequate embrace
Sufficient
For its mute strength.
Intoxicating breath, ignite my worried body.
Every day my many seconds set this beat of need.
A tune. A tool. Some red-blue bloom that works.
Fix me with some dizzy fun in real-time.
The flame, once set,
Cannot be extinguished.
The particles of light
Harrow their way
Through the dense void.
Waiting stars, waiting void,
Cannot stop them.
That flame, once set,
Burns forever.
So do we.
The final remedy
Is a thing of the past.
The beast
And its torn life
Have no cure.
But the sound of dancing comes from over the mountains.
The Whole Story
The whole story is not a lie.
The whole story is not evil.
Though the hero dies
In the whole story the hero is remembered.
The whole story is not faint.
The whole story is breathtaking.
Give me the strength to tell the whole story.
This life twists you and leaves you
Lifeless. And then
Life comes again
In the whole story.
How many times have I suffered.
How many times have I cried.
How many more times have I suffered
And been without the strength for tears.
Come join me. Let's live the whole story.
We do without knowing that we're doing it already.
Let's keep our eye on the whole story.
So...that was me as a soulful, self-pitying twentysomething -- before I became a Mr. Mom and things got tougher but better (much). To complete our 80's writing package, I have a nifty little ghost story and a piece I wrote about life before I turned 6 and my dad died. (If the links aren't active yet, it's because Letterman is ending and I stopped for the night.)
Just for the record, this spilling-over of self-revealing material is based on the whole concept that the Web is a place this can be made available to those few who are really interested. Surely you didn't read this far because you had to.
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