Philadelphia: the crust of plebeian scum

In Philadelphia

“It's a town full of losers

Then we're pulling out of here to win”

~ Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road

When I first read Lovecraft as I child, I didn’t believe that towns could have personalities. How wrong I was!

A certain substance of impersonal conformism pervades the town of Philadelphia (it doesn’t deserve the appellation “city”)

Tattooed men and sluttish women

Those with various diseases, writhing forbidden in rooms not their own

A fellow with a penchant for philosophy and poetry fucking a bitch ten years older in a room with no hot water

Why?

Time takes its toll, and makes us all slaves to its sluttishness

My first orgasm was a revelation of otherness

My second was dirty

My third: PAINFUL

My fourth and final a gaze into eyes belonging to a dark demon, an eye of the pit, with no love, no mercy, nor any sense of inter-personal passion.

That gaze was celebratory of only the deepest spasms of the body

Not of the soul.

When the monsters showed up at the door and I stood my ground

Everyone surprised (including me)

I felt like a god!

They all ran off.

Me in my Armani suit and silk shirt scaring off dudes with big muscles

Who would’ve thunk?

But it happened.

I have only myself to thank.

I took the worst the world has to offer, and I gave back my own violence

Which is deeper and more powerful than anything lurking here in the sun.

After All … Wordsworth was Right!

Nature is the only source of poetry …. Although I AGREE WITH Coleridge that the language of the common peasant is not sufficient to convey the intricate pronomials of Nature that a reflective mind demands.

But Wordsworth, who said that “poetry is the spontaneous overflow of feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility” (Preface to Lyrical Ballads, 1802) was more than right.

We sit and wonder why the world grins and smirks at us with a manner approaching derision

.

It is because we refuse to allow our bodies and minds to be taken away – into a realm of Lovecraftian space – by the immortal Beauty that lands itself before us.

One day I sat in a park, drinking vodka, and watched a couple (hand-in-hand) walk about the lake …

And I felt derision.

The next day, seeing the same spectacle, I felt hope.

Moods change, but people prevail.

Tomorrow may bring a monster or an angel, or a some half-life Ialdabaoth betwixt BOTH.

OK

In the meantime, Edward is here, dying, waiting for his beloved.

She is resolutely unavailable.

Screening Myself

In tight spaces lonely people meet

In the dark and moist areas of life people often come together

Momentarily

Too many people are afraid of a kiss, not because it will change anything, but because it won't

A note from a clandestine lover at a rehab is worth more to me than all the works of Beethoven

The musicality of proto-love cannot be granted access to the realm of art:

It is too beautiful to be called 'art'

It is the enamoration of lost souls (a cliché I know -- but true nonetheless)

A loving glimpse into the eyes of the Other that no one (not even a philosopher) can conceptualize!

Thank whatever Force holds this galaxy together ( I'm being Star Warsy silly now)

Permits such things

A certain woman, a Vietnamese woman with a name that I cannot pronounce, made me feel like a soul capable of embrace:

Oh! that it would come, and that Wordsworth and whatever poets called out to nature in her country lived today would applaud and call us blessed!

Grace Smothers

The first thing you must do is kiss the woman's foot

Then you must kiss her butt, and ask her respectfully not to sit on your face for too long

Or else you might not wake up

If she is cruel, and gets you to the edge of consciousness, only to revive you and start again, you know your fantasy has gone too far

In Fact, it's no longer a fantasy, but outright torture

The desperation felt by a suffocating man beneath a merciless woman cannot be described: only shown

Once upom a time I succumbed to this

: I thought I was about to check out!

I woke up alone

which is nothing new

I fell down hard and had to rethink my symmetry

This is a poem about an atheist who desperately wants to be(come) a Christian

Tine will kill us if we're not careful

Time is a whore and a bitch and a block of bad cheese

Fuck time! As hard as you can!

Make her beg from the exit of your cock from her dispirited cunt!!!

nocturnal epiphany

As the night screws with us like a cowardly bully, we fight back

Temporary respite from the pain is no cure

What is needed is a word from above: a theotic utterance that won't just give us hope but the necessary love that makes life endurable

Recall Faulkner, in his Nobel speech:

:

I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice.

I agree with Bill up to a point: our voice is inexhaustible.

But we are also immortal: we just talk too much

The speech that we utter relieves our pain: it is not a desperate attempt to delay Charon.

I write and speak because my personality demands it

I'm not trying to overcome others with my prosopon

Instead, I'm trying to keep my heart from breaking and -- more importantly -- my soul from decaying

My sweet love, if you're still out there, please remember who and what I am!

Nocturnal Epiphany

Once I believed that the loss of my wife was enough to take God out of the world.

At this moment I'm recalling my devotion to theos

Not sure if I'm being honest, but I need someone right now

Loneliness is torment: it's a reminder of how fragile life is ....

As Faulkner said, we are not meant to endure but to prevail.

Prevail over what? Over the fragile shell of our existence?!!

I scent death every day: soon I shall be gone.

My like is declining

Perhaps some day soon I shall be able to express myself to all those who have loved me

In the meantine I suffer, and watch my hands shake, strangely (un)aware of the dominant

Dunamis

of the world

It's all fucking cruel. amd I want to smash it. But I'm too weak

I drank away the woman I love the most

I've licked the pussies of those that mean nothing to me

But here's the reality: never again

If I ever experience love again, it's going to be with an angel: and YES!

They do exist!