Cartoon Utopia
Somehow,
I found myself lost in a familiar landscape—
suddenly it appeared
both alien and heavenly,
white
in the absence of
however death would have felt.
I was somewhere subterranean,
somewhere forgotten forever and recalled
in a cartoon utopia—
it's a landscape of shredded paper
wavering in the wind.
I felt the metonymic slide
of the authentic fake,
conscious decision defenestrated
from the skin that
separates me from the screen—
the diaphanous portal
of algorithmic liberation,
the anacrusis of ataraxia:
soupcon of abeyance
and peace.
inter alia
Somehow,
in the cloud,
in the electronic meditation,
the zazen disbosomed from
this ecosystem of interruption—
my mind fecundated with
otherworldly innocence,
dehiscence through autoamputation…
the staccato immersion
of open, saccading eyes.
I was hunting for time
in the hypertext—rifled, jutted
information pulsing in disjointed,
overlapping bursts, bustling
over each other
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Somehow,
I found myself lost in a familiar landscape
that suddenly appeared alien and heavenly—
white
in the absence
of however death felt—
and I was hunting for time in hypertext.
Unaware was I
of the scope of my distraction,
following the skimmed passages
of half-fact with half a half-life,
decaying in the brief tapping
of each second's slovenly click.
I was tapered
to the staccato immersion,
collecting the rifled, jutted,
haphazardly dispensed pornography
of Information—
flooding
forth,
disjointed, overlapping bursts
bustling over each other,
skittering
the shrapnel of thought.
All separated.
All eroded—
the paradigms
which once felt stead,
linear—
as if narrative
could calm and concentrate
the chaos of the world,
controlling what is out of control—
that which can control.
I find my eyes tipping,
rebounding up,
my pupils dilating, utter
FOCUS
perturbing the plastic warps
and elastic renegotiations
of what was once
THE
MIND.
I find my eyes skipping
over paraphrases of
of paraphrases, scanning for
pertinence, connecting the
the ever-scrambled dots, ,
repeating them to myself
until they make
sense…
Somehow,
consciousness composed itself
by stripping itself of itself.
Somehow.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Phainesthai
What otherworldly innocence
could fecundate the thoughts
of the mind in the cloud,
So tethered to this world
by a wrapping of tangled
fiber optic wires, humming
The interchangeable vibrations
of sight and sensation as they
blink out into the vanishing gray?
What aphoristic brevity
could challenge the wit
and diminish maieutic
Impulses, withering them
in the unconscious acts of
ever-steady electronic meditation?
What eyes could taste
the cyanide apple before them
and crunch its tender, metallic
Skin, causing the dehiscence
of doxastic currents to subside
to the amplified, yet numbing, tongue?
What vision would saccade
itself, twitching to embed
the cross-pollinated images
Of the undiscerning pupil?
What hegemony of reference
would breed the germs to fester
An ecosystem of interruption—
of an ambrosial distraction—
eschewed forever in the jumble
Of sweet autoamputation?
What noumenal space—
of abstract lacunarity—
could sever our place
as a conduit for—
as an isopraxism
to mirror—
such Dasein,
Being in which Being itself
is confused?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Collide
I felt my heart collapse
On the day that I met him
I felt my heart collapse
It filled up to the rim
I felt my heart collapse
When my eyes traveled 'round
I felt my heart collapse
The one I had found
I felt my heart collapse
When he first touched my skin
I felt my heart collapse
Oh it seemed a lovely sin
I felt my heart collapse
It fell without a sound
I felt my heart collapse
Oh I knew I had found
I felt my heart collapse
When we shared that first kiss
I felt my heart collapse
I thought that I would almost miss
I felt my heart collapse
I was lost in his embrace
I felt my heart collapse
I kept staring at his face
Oh my heart collapsed on that day
Ever since it's been that same way
My love for you has not faded
Ever since the day it escaped
poem by Courtney Beaudry
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Angel Boy
(danny orton)
My mother said theres only one way
A sweet angel boy, narrow and straight
Timing his past, teachings they fade
Now their angel boy has gone astray
Ive felt the hand of the devil, felt his breath on my skin
Dip me into the water, wash me again
Can I still be forgiven for all of these things
Or have I gone too far now
Have I lost my wings
I found a priest, I spoke my mind
Asked if Id sinned one too many times
He said my son, youre only a man
Then I said, sir, you dont understand
Ive felt the hand of the devil, felt his breath on my skin
Dip me into the water, wash me again
Can I still be forgiven for all of these things
Or have I gone too far now
Have I lost my wings
God help us all for what we have done
Weve lost our way, we cant find the son
We make our beds, we seal our fate
Is there still time, or is it too late
Weve felt the hand of the devil, felt his breath our my skin
Dip us into the water, wash us again
Can we still be forgiven for all of these things
Or have we gone too far now
Have we lost our wings
Weve felt the hand of the devil, felt his breath our my skin
Dip us into the water, wash us again
Can we still be forgiven for all of these things
Or have we gone too far now
Have we lost our wings
Have we lost our wings
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She is Looking for a Sign
She is running, running
Forever running
in an endless landscape.
The bleached white sands
and the grey-streked sky
continue in their monotone
Endlessly.
Even the moon never moves,
and all seems fixéd
in this frozen space.
The only thing that changes
is the texture of her skin,
as it dries, ages, roughens,
scarred all over
by the constant daggers
of the icy wind.
She has been running
for an undefined eternity,
still looking, seeking,
searching for the tiny difference
that would mark
her path back home.
But the landscape continues,
and stays unchanged,
and she's still lost, dying,
waiting for
some signal
that could save her
from this desolate,
desolate
destiny.
poem by Yiling Ding
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The Final Painting
The white cloud passed over the land
there is sea always round the land
the sky is blue always above the cloud
the cloud in the blue continues to move
- nothing is limited by the canvas or frame -
the white cloud can be pictured like any
other clouds or like a fist of wool
or a white fur rose
The white cloud passes a shadow across
the landscape and so there is a passing greyness
The grey and the white both envelop
the watcher until he too is drawn into the picture
It is all a journey from a room through a door
down stairs and out into the street
The cloud could possess the house
The watchers have a mutual confidence
with the approaching string of white clouds
It is beyond spoken words what they are
silently mouthing to the sky
There was no mystery in this - only the firm
outline of people in overcoats on a hillside
and the line of clouds above them
The sky is blue The cloud white with touches
of grey - the rest - the landscape below -
can be left to the imagination
The whole painting quietly dissolved itself
into its surrounding clouds
poem by Lee Harwood
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Outcast
For the dim regions whence my fathers came
My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs.
Words felt, but never heard, my lips would frame;
My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs.
I would go back to darkness and to peace,
But the great western world holds me in fee,
And I may never hope for full release
While to its alien gods I bend my knee.
Something in me is lost, forever lost,
Some vital thing has gone out of my heart,
And I must walk the way of life a ghost
Among the sons of earth, a thing apart;
For I was born, far from my native clime,
Under the white man's menace, out of time.
poem by Claude McKay
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Beauty is holistic
Be clean; you are conscious of skin.
Do yoga; you are conscious of body.
Do prnayama; you are conscious of energy.
Do meditation; you are conscious of mind.
Being conscious of it is strengthening of it.
Then which woman can resist you?
12.08.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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You Who Never Arrived
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt
landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and
unsuspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The White Of The Paper
i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they ask such
a simple task from me
write as you wish
think as you want to
or dont want to
I feel a white dove
flying amongst wondrous
cumulus clouds
meditate as much as i wish
so that the white becomes
a mere plane of zen,
a vibration of existence
i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they ask just
such a simple thing of me
to swing myself and exercise
my thoughts so that i let loose
clouds, birds, stars and moon
in the minds of men
i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they always
are my best friends,
open an infinite plane
for me to act out my antics
for the good of men,
exercise their minds and
let their humours flow
i like the white of the
screen and the paper
because they are always
there to accommodate me
to let the gift from heaven flow
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Since I Have Felt The Sense Of Death
Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have borne its dread, its fear—
Oh, how my life has grown more dear
Since I have felt the sense of death!
Sorrows are good, and cares are small,
Since I have known the loss of all.
Since I have felt the sense of death,
And death forever at my side—
Oh, how the world has opened wide
Since I have felt the sense of death!
My hours are jewels that I spend,
For I have seen the hours end.
Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have looked on that black night—
My inmost brain is fierce with light
Since I have felt the sense of death.
O dark, that made my eyes to see!
O death, that gave my life to me!
poem by Helen Hoyt
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Hunting peace
The arrow of time slowly creeps
The archer of inferno with raised brows,
Awaits - the mortal legion, armed for a combat.
Stabbed incessantly I writhe, with open scars that bleed,
I shut my eyes to this world of deceit in reflex
But I can't escape the myth of reality.
God inflicts angst on me.
I cry. I mourn. I shiver. I wail.
I am lost, never to return.
It's a defeated Me.
A Me quite not Myself.
This I - a lone self.
I am Orion, waiting for my place amidst the constellation.
If I could die, in death I would,
Inscribe my inncocence and my endless pain.
My senses lost, my soul entrapped.
I am left cold and numb.
In search of - a warm hand to hold on...
Am ashamed and embarrased of my state,
Never thought it would be so,
The cosmic forces crush me with their might and force.
Life and death, wedded in my mind -
Am living in death,
Am dying to live.
There is a hunting in my head -
There is a hunting in my soul -
There is a hunting in my heart -
Am hunting peace,
Am hunting me,
Am hunting you to rescue me.
poem by Gargi Chakravarty
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Overall, the anarchy was the most creative of all periods of Japanese culture for in it there appeared the greatest landscape painting, the culmination of the skill of landscape gardening and the arts of flower arrangement, and the No drama.
quote by J.M. Roberts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Her Memory
You are abruptly lost
Like a kite
flying on raw threads
Your loss is my memory
Your face hangs in the sky
Against the wind
Oh! your memory!
my words are far away from
The metaphors that could hold on
you to the landscape of my mind
Your memory sings against language
or sounds
You defy my familiar tools
And dimly expose an unknown
familiar to ages
and ages of our species
poem by Bhartendu Second
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You Never Know
You never know
Some folks think the world just moves too slow
But was it you
Told me I'm your everything you
[Chorus]
Hit me like I never felt before
(Hit me like I never felt before)
Hit me like a sucker punch
Running to the car and now you're
Hit me like I never felt before
Stealing for the last time
You never take
A promise from a man who sheds his skin
Had to wait
Formed my aching heart to break it
[Chorus]
Now everyone gets angry
And I feel it when you're holding me
In the right place
At the right time
To the right degree
It's greater than for the great I found
For dealing with your own ??scene??
You know that it ain't easy
(That ain't easy)
(That ain't easy)
(that ain't easy)
Hit me like I never felt before
(Hit me like I never felt before)
Hit me like I never felt before
(Hit me like I never felt before)
I'm stealing for the last time
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0164In Mind
It’s only now, only now, that I remember, that I can see,
how you made your presence felt so often;
so long unlooked for, seeing only absence, never believing presence;
for in the subtlety of your wisdom, the wisdom of your subtlety,
you leave reminders of that presence in that secret place
where it’s as safe as childhood happiness
forgotten, then remembered…
for you speak a closer language to a child,
closer than the growing child comes to believe.
When was the first time - now I can remember who you are,
when you first spoke to me?
Wasn’t it that day when I could toddle unsteadily
but with wide open eyes, where the lion’s head
poured water from its mouth into the basin?
and in the paving of the bricks – which anyone could see –
you left me that private, secret message,
knowing that I’d not notice, (so I’d not forget) ,
until one day it swam out of memory?
For this is your so secret, open generosity: you leave every one of us
this secret message: that moment when we knew
that we knew something certain – and yet,
did not know what that something was?
And then, that time after a year or two – a lifetime for a child –
when you announced your presence by your so painful absence,
and I made that solemn decision for a four-year-old,
never to trust a grown-up ever again; not because
of being a helpless child – but because there was that in me
which knew when you were there, and when you weren’t?
Then you left so many messages I did not need to heed
-or so it seemed, because they were so obvious –
and only in your absence was your presence felt:
the day after a gale, the ozone of the beach, the sea
now brown but calming, seaweed salty on the stones;
the field of flowers and dewdrops –the moths in ecstasy;
and in that silent glade of woodland, as if you had made that space
between the trees, to leave a message loud and clear: that
you live in space, so visibly invisible…
then later, on the tennis court, green grass just newly cut,
that exhilarating smell; lime-white lines just newly marked;
and when the ball hit the centre of the racquet, just so,
I missed your message, in the will to win…
And then, grown up: how are we to know – until we know –
your messages left all around, in so many places, all so different?
When, like the unicorn, we know we’ll never see you,
yet know we know that in our minds, you live?
That single horn upon its clear-eyed brow,
that dips in recognition of innocence,
how could we miss your message, so gently elegant,
one-pointed image of yourself, in mind?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Day Dreaming
I sat in the office feeling really very bored.
I began to go through the file in my mind,
Where my favourite daydreams are stored.
As I felt my concentration begin to go,
I took my eyes off my computer screen,
And they drifted towards the office window.
The most gorgeous looking guy ever passed by,
And, as I sat there staring distantly into space,
We suddenly found ourselves interlocking eyes.
I pictured myself as an imprisoned princess,
And him as my brave knight in shining armour,
Who was going to save me from this awful mess.
He would arrive on a bright white steed,
Then knock down the heavy wooden door,
Take me in his arms, and then I’d be free.
We’d live inside a magnificent fairytale castle,
And my life would be wonderful once again.
Then, one day, he’d present me with a tiny parcel.
I’d open it up and inside would be a diamond ring.
He’d ask me to do the honour of becoming his wife,
And I’d be so very happy, that I’d run around and sing.
One day, I’d become a queen and he’d become a king,
And we’d live so happily ever after, till death do us part:
When, suddenly, I’m back to reality when the phone rings.
They do say that nothing is ever what it quite seems,
Which can sometimes be extremely disappointing,
As now I realise that I’ve just had a lovely daydream.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Grave Yard Suicide
I walked through the local cemetery last night.
It was so quiet, everyone was sleeping.
All quiet everything at peace.
I felt so welcome, so at home
there among the deceased.
I began thinking, why do I continue on?
why must I inhale even one more breath?
when all I dream of is the means to an end.
That can only be brought about by death.
Was it time for the end?
Yes it was I had to go
This was the choice which I faced
After all, everyday is merely a continuation
of the one which passed us by.
There have ben times when I felt slightly hopeful
but there was never any hope when I most needed it.
And there is little I wish to recall
the years are wrought with sadness
I've lost my mind, a million times
but I always find it again within madness.
As my heart has drifted along
I knew it could not stay afloat
with each day that passed
I felt it sink deeper in misery's boat
So there, amongst the dead
I came to the conclusion
That it was time to bring
an end to my life's illusions
The blood flowed like a river
as I took a razor to my wrist
I would have made preparations, said good-byes
but, I doubt I'll be missed
It became so cold
as everything went black
for the first time, I felt peace
because I knew there was no going back
No hope. No dreams. No anything.
I had no further reason to try
I no longer wished to live
I do not regret the decision I made to die
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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An Escape into Hope
Under a dull gray sky
I suddenly felt happy.
It was a winter morn,
There was little to be happy about.
The trees were shedding leaves,
All around deprivations groaned,
Tears of agonies wailed,
Yet something in me swelled!
In the famished landscape,
I discovered an escape,
The drowning found a tip of rope,
Inside me glowed a beacon of hope!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Second Skin
The bullets deep, Im not dreaming,
The blood I keep, while youre healing.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Second skin.
Youre riding high, you wont be falling
Dont look behind, Im crawling.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Oh you could have been born to swim,
You could have been born to camouflage.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Does it pull ? a ring around your finger ?
Does it hurt ? and will it linger on ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you have you have you have you x5
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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