Chapter One
“Libertine Love Songs”
and it came to pass
And it came to pass:
Jesus has been dead 2000 years.
Everyone is so chic
Living in the 21st century . . .
It is cool to live by one’s instincts,
Trusting one’s passions
Living for the moment,
Loving in equal shares
The heroes and the beggars alike.
Squeezing and coddling,
All the same, all in vain.
For as Mary Magdalena saw
Washing Jesus’ feet.
Jesus is human.
Magdalena says to him,
“Josef the camel herder is real sexy.”
So Mary Magdalena kissed his feet
Confessing all.
Jesus forgave her.
Yet, as she knelt washing his feet,
He suffered.
And it came to pass:
Mary Magdalena came the third day.
She saw his body vanished.
She ran exclaiming, “Christ has risen!
Only then did she come to know her Lord.
THE FALL
The world is morose
For the brave youth
Devil in his eye
Sadness in his heart.
Where is she?
The beloved for whom he longs?
Shall he never again kiss the memory of his soul?
Never again with her to lay
Unleashing his passion, uncalculating,
Renewing in death?
“I have fallen from a star.
In the Abyss, I stand looking up
Remembering my Goddess
And the golden eternity of her kiss.
ODE TO ANGEL OF THE NIGHT
In the late night dark, my nerves zing and thrill. I am entranced. I cannot believe what is happening to me! Half way to heaven’s promised bliss, her kiss, I come to a rude awakening. She slips away into the darkness. The spell is broken. The magic is gone. I am alone. The thrill is now an empty feeling of disappointment. My excitement has proven to be founded on fantasy. I feel cheated by her fallow and fancy falseness though she has taught me a valuable lesson. She has taught me how, final and forever, the frenzy of a fool is foredoomed!
A BLACK NIGHT IN NUEVO LAREDO
Omens of things to come: the highway winding through the sage, tarantulas, single and in pairs, a rattlesnake dead on the asphalt, and a bloody sun downing to usher in a black night in Nuevo Laredo.
My soul is bottled, labeled, measured out in shot glasses. My soul is consumed.
I was with raunchy ‘India Juana de la Zona Rosa’ this morning before dawn. She came up to me in the path leading away from the clubs and she took me to her hovel where she got down and dirty. I gotta tell the truth! I knew what was happening. I can’t pretend it was just a dream. Nor can I excuse myself saying I was drunk even though I was out of my head crazy from tequila and sleaze.
Her soulless performance left me depressed. I got up, found my jeans, and got away from there. Then, I stumbled in the dark and fell down. I was so wasted I couldn’t even get up. I just laid there until I passed out.
Charley Vickers came along looking for me. He was worried because I was so out of it but, when he found me he laughed at me and made fun of me saying any fool should know better than that! He told me I looked like garbage lying there. He said he thought about leaving me to teach me a lesson. He got me up, dusted me off, and took me back to Texas.
I went over to Mexico looking for a good time. I wanted to get with a Mexican whore, dance and party, then, go to her room. Just the usual Friday night in Boys Town! I got to slamming tequila. What happened after that was nothin’ nice!
India Juanita de la Zona Rosa could not care less about me. Like a parasitic opportunist she hemmed me in and suckered me for $40. I paid her money to violate my body. She took my money and then she sent me straight to hell!
ILLUSION
Illusion abounds
Permeates all matter with shadow
Distorting truth
Truth is concealed by veils
Veil of Time
Veil of Space
Eternity and infinity
Faceless
NOTHING MATTERS
Then come the days,
Nothing matters; neither body nor soul.
Life is a streaming, glazed sensation.
Pleasure and pain mean nothing.
Passion belongs to the past.
No longer desires this atrophied body.
Love and beauty are memories
Of a vapid soul.
Yet will come a day,
(So the wisest ones say,)
Body and soul together
Transcend this world of nothingness
To a world of substance
Perchance finding meaning
Where none has been before.
STREETS OF GOLD
They say, you say, we say,
I see, you see, he sees,
Me soaring, deploring, exploring,
Ignoring, abhorring,
Wishing . . . !
Someday, some way.
Wake up.
No pain. Ever again!
As in days of old, streets of gold.
Blue heaven above,
Sweet earth below.
KANSAS BITCH
The memory of his time with her was always with him. Days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months. All this time her image haunted him, taunting him. Gradually, a plain and silly girl from Kansas was transformed. She would appear to him as an evanescent vision of such loveliness! She would come to him and she would beckon to him sweetly, enticingly. Then, she would turn nasty. As a fanged she-devil, she haunted him, taunting him with these words: “I do not love you anymore.”
SURCEASE OF SORROW
These days, these nights
All seems lost.
Hope is gone.
Poor children!
Bear up to the strain.
Endure the pain
And surcease from sorrow,
A balm to Heart’s sores
Will come.
Just do as you must,
Never to betray trust.
For as you are, so will you view the world.
For as you are, so will you view the world.
THE TREASURE
Upon opening the box
My eyes behold a treasure.
To see is to know.
Follow the instinctual, intuitive self.
CONSTANTINOPLE
Table that before me bore death
Room where I sat aware
Four walls stare back at me
I hear the scream of centuries of pain
Life and Sun and Moon and Star
Venus glows forevermore
On a world going nowhere
Forever and again
THE JOURNEY
The sun wends its westerly way.
Dusk deepens, a violet hue,
Heralding the close of the day.
Shadow falls obscuring the view.
A babe is borne in Mother’s arms,
Early morning, all fresh and new.
Now a youth paces, lithe and strong.
It is midday. So much to do!
There a man hurries down the road
Toward his home. The hour is late.
Progress is slow with heavy load.
Night on the road will be his fate.
Look to the east at break of day.
The sun’s light guides you on your way.
MASKED THE MILLION EYES THE STARS
Wind whipped clouds cloud the moon;
Masked the million eyes the stars
On the night of our joining.
Writhing and moaning through the night.
We mate at dawn.
Wind whipped clouds cloud the moon;
Mask
ed the million eyes the stars
On the night our child is born.
Wicked eyes and scowling lips,
Lo, our child is born.
Wind whipped clouds cloud the moon;
Masked the million eyes the stars
Tonight our sin has come home.
We crush the skull of the demon!
We bury him in the night.
Wind whipped clouds cloud the moon;
Masked the million eyes the stars
On the night of our cursing.
Cursed are we and unholy.
Our sins have been brought to light.
Woe to heaven!
Woe to earth!
Woe to all!
N Y C MONSTER
N Y C monster,
So tall and hard,
Jutting and piercing the gentle sky;
Heaven is death.
It is cold and I wish, I wish,
I WISH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ……
Take me up, stifled and choking,
Up the stairs to the stars.
Bless me Mother, Father.
I am your child.
AN ASTRAL WORLD IMPRESSION
As it were to be hype and nothing more, we decided to go uptown to look at the temples, one against the other, in line, two rows, arranged perfectly, solid and reliable, steel and stone, and towering dark over corrupting flesh.
My companion and I tried to explain it to ourselves for a while. We tried to explain it to each other for a while, always thinking to ourselves, “That’s not quite it!” So, we take a cab back to where we just came from looking for a place to sit down away from the ’Eye.’ We were looking for a place we could pull ourselves together, a place we could pray.
“Oh, God! Help me! Oh, God! Help me!”
I stare into the mirror. My blood engorges every cell. My thoughts aspire, despair in a never-ending sequence of hope and regret.
“Don’t you know? Do you not realize that I am a living Son of the One True God? I can heal the sick, calm the waters, and feed the multitudes. I will change the water into vintage wine. I am ordained and when the time is ripe, I will ascend to my Father in Heaven. I do all this and more, projecting images from my heart and soul. I know the Mystery of Woman. Sophia is my Bride. I know the Father. Alpha and Omega, I am the Eternal Now!
“Not really! I just pretend to be special. I dream and I make believe! This is the truth about me: When I am frightened, I cry out for mommy to pick me up and wrap me in her arms to protect me. Feeling comforted and secure, I smile meekly to myself. I know my weaknesses.
“When I grow up, I will be brave. When I am big, I will be a hero! When I grow up . . .”
“When he grows up? You’d think the little dude was grown!”
It would be real nice to sleep right here on this bench or over there in the grass. Just fall out unconscious. Only, the anguished screaming of centuries of horror and pain is ringing in my ears. I probably wouldn’t sleep and if I did close my eyes and drift off to sleep I am afraid I might wake up and be in New York in the 21st century.
“It is dawn! Dark gives way to light. Melancholia slumbers when darkness creeps into its crevices. Up everybody! Everybody has to get up! Children, grandchildren, up! Open your eyes and see!”
Maybe I won’t get up. Lying here is luxury. I stretch languorously, yawning and dozing. Today is as nothing to me.
Daylight forces my eye to open. My head from beneath the pillow peers into gloom. Panned laughter irritates me. The light’s glare infuriates me. Memory arouses me. Fully awake, I envision last night’s action as I remember who I am.
“Hi! Remember me? I’m back. You said something about money for sex . . . Just for the record, do I pay you or do you pay me? Well, do you still want to get laid?”
“I am hard and insistent. I find myself probing for the womb. If I can just get it in everything will work out fine! If I can just . . . Oh! Oh! Catch me! I am flying! Oh! Oh! Home!”
It is fully daylight. Good night has become good morrow. Memory has stolen my pensiveness. I get up only because I must begin the drudgery called living again . . .
There she is in the line of ticket holders waiting to board the plane for the flight home. She is real cute. She pirouettes, primps, and keeps looking sideways at me trying to catch me checking her out. I pass her in the aisle brushing against her standing there fiddling with her baggage. She follows me down the aisle toward the business class seats. I take the window seat so I can look out the porthole.
I see her there. She smiles coyly and she sits down. She is right there! Only the vacant seat between us keeps us from touching.
What shall I do? Buy her a drink? I shall not as she orders her own, a Scotch. There she is! She smells really good! She is dressed in mauve. She has really nice breasts! She is so very seductive.
So, what do I do?
I fluff my pillow. I close my eyes. I have had a tiresome day after a disaster of a night and all the phoniness pains my soul. I never even glance her way. I turn my head so she cannot see my face. I close my eyes. Darkness settles as I slip into unconsciousness. I am 29,000 feet high, asleep.
Money is an illusion.
Power is an illusion.
Success is an illusion.
Back down to earth, the present moment slips into eternity. The sun has died a fiery death. Night has signaled the end of another episode of the unfolding saga recounting events in the history of earth and one of the countless multitudes of insignificant souls who, by happenstance, creep and slither about down here. This particular soul, the hero of this episode of the saga of earth’s history, has a mild distemper causing him to scratch his head in questioning as to why and how and when and where. He wants to know what has made the world as it is and what has brought us here to dwell. Solipsism, that he exists and that nothing else can be known for certain, he rejects this rationale as a cop out. He probes the recesses of his brain and has an epiphany. His gut instinct is to reject out of hand the skepticism and pessimism of atheists and materialists. The reflections of these moments engender a desire to begin an intensive study into the mysteries. As a neophyte, the first thing he must do, faithfully and sincerely, he must swear a solemn oath to that which is highest and grandest within him. Then, if found worthy and well qualified, he will be given permission to pass through the portal of initiation for further instruction into the mysteries.
Cause precedes subsequent events. The first cause initiates the moment of creation. All events unfold thereafter. One can only speculate as to the nature of the Thrones and Powers that made the Universes. Science is confined in its investigations to the material world. Scientific theory must be mindful of the Laws and Principles of the natural world. Disregard of natural law draws one’s investigation into the realm of chimera and delusion. Science does not venture beyond the singularity of creation and its cause(s). Only philosophers and pompous fools stumble upon black hole vortices and big bangs!
Our feeble minds can only scratch around in the rubble and the ruins of all that has gone down since the moment of creation. Someone states the obvious, distorts the truth, deletes and excludes pertinent data in conformity to established academic dogma to gain peer acceptance and a lucrative career. Natural law: physics, biology, chemistry, mathematics, medicine, science, the humanities, history, psychology, philosophy, sociology, ethics, culture and the individual, local, national, and world news and current events, public personalities, celebrities still alive, famous people long dead, material and objective reality. Very uncommon in this world of falseness and vanity are the real and true men and women whose goodness and godliness supersede the phony ways of the world and its weak-willed sell-outs who bow down in servility to a parasitic class of reptilian, anal, and effete elitists who hoard the wealth and oppress the poor and stupid underclass weaving a web of deceit. . .
We are, all of us, being cunningly manipulated and lied to! This has been going on for a long time. We have given th
e sophists and the spin artists power over every aspect of our lives. We gave up the sanctity of self for the security of the herd. We have ceded the earth’s bounty to them and let them do as they please. Only by reclaiming our divine heritage that is our right and responsibility and to begin again to think for ourselves, will this darkness pass.
We must overcome our fixation on materialism and the allurement of the glamour of status and wealth. We must explore the numinous aspects of the psyche and of consciousness. Being . . . The power to be . . . The tendency to be . . . !
We are the creatures of a divine creator. This makes us special! Every mother’s son is special!
Being begins at birth. We are born to woman who suffers at our birth. Her suffering is a universal condition for women. Moreover, it is the human condition that we, every one of us, must suffer. We are separated from our core being. This condition of separation has stripped humanity of knowledge of his true identity. Ignorance and isolation has condemned the race to wander about the face of the earth in utter, pathological dissociation. Fulfillment eludes us unto the bitter end when looming mortality becomes an horrific obsession. Death brings vermin infested decay and dissolution.
That’s it? There is no more to existence than this? Who among us knows? No one knows much of anything. I will admit from the beginning, I do not know anything other than what I have been taught and these folkways are not reliable. I may feign knowledge. I may desperately want there to be more to life than birth, death, and the inexorable procession of the ages. But bitter truth is harsh and decisive. The evidence clearly shows time reduces everything to nothing. Look around! Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. All things holy and good? Nothing! Legendary heroes? Dead!
All this pomp going on all around us is vanity. Our world is an illusion. Striving after social standing and its rewards makes no sense. Even the greatest among us will soon be covered over by dirt. We accord the newly dead a few hollow words and fake tears. Very soon the person is forgotten!
I say, “There must be a hidden agenda. Give me a secret sign that tells more than this tale of vanity in pointless living to die and be forgotten forever!”
Nihilism, that life is pointless and human values are worthless, leaves me empty. It is better for me to think of something of cheer, even if I have no good reason to think this way. So, I hang on to a strand of rope in a vain hope that this thread might forestall the inevitable descent into disillusion and despair. That is why I like to talk about streets of gold and the Pearly Gates and keeping the beatific in focus and not letting it fall away in not believing.
The Pearly Gates are the Gates into Heaven. The Pearly Gates are pear-shaped. They are shaped like a pear. They are named Pearly Gates because of the shape. The figure of a woman is also like a pear.
That’s it! This is the secret sign telling more than a tale of vanity! The entry into Heaven is through the Pearly Gates! By virtue of the divine Law of Correspondences, I have deduced universal truth! “To being there is no beginning.”
It is Mother who carries us to delivery into this world. She delivers us at birth. It follows to reason that it be her duty and sacred privilege to carry us in her loving arms from the clutches of the Reaper into the empyrean. This explains why we hold her so dear!
It all begins to make sense, but, sense is a vapor dispersing into thin air! Wait! There must be meaning, a truth that will keep me and make me whole!
We worship Woman in life. We adore Woman in death. She procures our deliverance. It is she who brings purpose to fill the emptiness of desultory existence! Now I got it all figured out!
When I die the body of a voluptuous woman will carry me to paradise! Embracing this image, the body of a voluptuous woman, I place her at her symbolic station. She is the eternally beloved. She is the awe inspiring guardian of the threshold.
Reverently, I place her before the Pearly Gates. I know that as she is consecrated and made holy by my thoughts and devotions, she will be true!
Heavenly truths are exclusively for those who dare to know, to will, and to be silent. I am sworn to secrecy that I never disclose spiritual verities to the uninitiated. I am never to divulge Secret Doctrine to those who are unworthy and unqualified being not in the proper position to receive it. But everyone, even the profane dissemblers, wants to know and needs to know the answer to the question of how and why and when and where.
I am compelled to divulge this truth to the world! To those that hear and hearing understand, the secret that answers the riddle of life and will solve all your problems is to affirm the highest and the grandest of ideals. These high ideals will lead the way!
Simple words, profound truths! Even if the world is still in the dark it is clear to me and I know what to do and I know where my baby will be waiting. I know where to find her. She will be waiting for me outside the Pearly Gates. My girl is sexy and she will be waiting for me outside the Pearly Gates and she will be true to her promise. She will be waiting for me and she will be true to her promise to carry me. She will be true to her promise to carry me all the way to paradise.
SUFFER NOW OR SUFFER LATER
Suffer now or suffer later
For thoughts and deeds and hopes
Of the past and present.
Or, cease to suffer
For those things that one can never change.
One has a choice;
To laugh or smile or cry, to live or die,
To wish and sigh and hope against hope;
Or, merely to be.
Spilled milk, water under the bridge, lost lover?
Why suffer?
Yet endures the cow, the cloud, and the seed.
All is not lost in death and decay.
All is not gained in birth and growth.
All is . . . No more . . . Change . . . No less.
Suffer now or cease to suffer.
There is no pain for one who knows;
For the one who sees the truth.
HIS WIFE
Honeysuckle blonde and skin of olive
And eyes a piercing deep green blue,
As she flashes;
A slate grey as she moans
A woman’s insensible deep grievous moan.
A little girl has grown up.
All is well,
As sultriness wells up within
And deep caverns pulsate and flow
And lithe limbs open wide.
HER HUSBAND
Silent, brooding, dark and mysterious
Sly, shy, sigh . . .
Honeysuckle blonde delightful!
Full.
Complete.
Finis.
FIRST LOVE
High above earth, soaring on the wind, heavenward. Earth is a golden green and blue sphere. The sun is glory and joy . . . Soaring on a wind borne cloud . . .
Her bounteous lips, a drop of moisture enshrines her lip. It clings to the lower lip looking as a pearl would. Her sparkling eyes shine love and goodness. His head is cradled in her arms. His mouth nurses at her swelling breasts. Her breasts flow with a holy virgin’s milk. Heavenly truths and heavenly righteousnesses rain down hard all over his body. Their arms embrace and hold tight one another. Thighs, hips, and bellies are pressed together and lips touch. They breathe in unison. They breathe as one and time stands still.
Stillness is prelude to the explosion of the primordial universe. A universe of infinitesimal particles speeds and careens in every dimension. A single particle breaks free from the totality to enter her womb. His essence penetrates the void.
Everything is now blissful and pure. Sound embellishes crystalline and pure. The air is fragrant with rose and jasmine, roses and cinnamon, sandalwood and myrtle, saffron and myrrh and hyssop and olive and galangal. A sublime glow affixes the chamber where they lay in glory. Glorious and golden and rosy light bathes to purify the world. The world is getting a good cleaning. This wreck of a world stands ready to be transfigured and transformed by their rapture. If they
proclaimed to the cynical world they had been touched by God and were now spiritual creatures, would the world believe them? For the moment they are utterly lost in their happiness. They are floating away to an eternal resting place reserved only for lovers.
It had seemed like it would last forever! But, a moment is just a moment after all is said and done and no ‘thing’ endures beyond its time.
The Spell of Blissful First Love is the Trance of Sorrow. The Trance of Sorrow is the Curse of Lovers. The Law of Contradiction, all powerful, obligates the change. This is why mortal love will never pass the test of time; why nothing, no matter how beautiful, will last forever!
“Our virgin huntress inspires in her ascendancy. When she no longer fulfills her natural functions she becomes the Hag. The crone is Queen of Despair.”
Cruel, cruel, so cruel is love. Better never to have known love! Better I never met you. Bitter words spoken so true!
MARRIAGE OF THE WORLD
This love has gone by.
My love is not here.
She has decided to fly,
Neglecting to cheer
As she tickles any;
She tickles all with her smile.
It is free to those who pay.
Everyone must pay
And a mortal love must die.
True love goes by,
No glance my way,
A ship in the distance,
No fond remembrance.
Farewell to love.
Adieu to death’s decay.
7 MINUTES = 420 SECONDS
Venus, morning star, full moon
Angelic etheric influence
Awaiting re-entry into the evolutionary current.
Through the looking glass + -,
1. 2. 3.
Back and forth (to and fro)
Sufficient to catalyze a thought process.
Divergent, confluent,
Coming together, drifting apart.
‘A portly gentleman I see
A little on the dense side.
Yet he is able to transform in a mind flash
To another and another
Or another, with power to convey
Sense to a Sensor.’
Diamond
Forehead Star
Prescience + -,
1. 2. 3.
IN THE TRENCHES OF WAR AND LOVE
A war must be fought daily.
Battles, with the tide
Ebbing this way,
Flowing back again,
Away.
Planting in the midst
Of this wreck of a world
Confusion and deception.
The rule and order of the day
Is to pay obeisance to untruth;
Mouthing glories and praises to false symbols,
Perverted sigils of the one true Way.
And Glory is trodden down.
The Lie!
Implanted at the very root and soul
Of these very human children,
Victims of their own designs;
They reject the power and the glory
To emblazon disgrace and mockery
Into their protective shields.
In jest, they go laughing.
They say, “No way
Will this disgrace follow me down . . .”
Down to the bridal chamber;
The promise of peaceful slumbers,
Rejuvenation, regeneration,
Birth and creation . . .
Horrors, terrific specters of our follies
Surmount us.
We have sullied the bridal chamber
With the filth of our vulgarities.
We have missed the Virginal Bride.
Shocked and repulsed, she scorns our way.
We are compelled to go on alone.
DEATH SWEET MISTRESS
Death sweet mistress, embrace me.
This night of nights, this world of worlds
Is bitter, is sweet.
Death sweet mistress, embrace me.
I have seen you. I never recognized you ‘til now.
Death, sweet mistress, embrace me.
Come swiftly, mercifully.
DEATH SWEET MISTRESS, reprise
Death sweet mistress, embrace me.
This night of nights, this world of worlds
Is bitter, is sweet.
Death sweet mistress, embrace me.
I have seen you. I never recognized you ‘til now.
Death sweet mistress, embrace me.
Come swiftly, mercifully.
Come to me and I will be your lover!
Come to me and I will be your lover forever!
Come to me and I will be your lover forever and ever!
And ever and ever and ever! Say it again! One more time!
A JUNKIE’S PRAYER, the dream of God’s son
“Get off your ass!
Get me my hypodermic syringe,
You fat, white-assed slut!”
Wake up from a dream to realize,
It was just a dream! It was just a dream.
Once and for all time, to realize, it is just a dream!
It is just a dream.
“Get off your ass.
Get me my hypodermic syringe,
You fat, white-assed slut!”
We’ve awakened from dreaming beautiful dreams
Into a world of the living, a wretched world,
To realize we are still dreaming.
All this pain and sorrow?
It is a dream. It is just a dream!
“Get off your ass.
Get me my hypodermic syringe,
You fat, white-assed slut!”
Go to sleep and dreaming;
Awake to life. Still dreaming?
Asleep? Awake? Living? Dreaming?
It is all the same, the same!
It is all the same.
“Come here. Kiss me. I am sorry!
But, I told you to get off your ass.
Get me my hypodermic syringe.
I am dying for a shot!”
This life we are living is just a dream.
Life is just a dream.
“I am dying! Help me with this shot.
Oh! Yes! Now I feel good!
Come here! Kiss me! Hold me! Love me forever!”
This life we are living is just a dream.
Life is just a dream.
FIRST ORISON
Lord, be with me.
Thank you for your many blessings.
Forgive me for my sins.
Send your holy angels to guide me.
Bless and protect me.
I am your child.
Naughty or nice.
I am your child.
21ST CENTURY BLUES
Lurking, the ever-present danger, as the twenty first century has come and mankind has, in a limited way, rediscovered aspects of his spiritual being only to fall victim to those spiritually perverse entities that loom large in his newly expanded field of vision. Perverse entities, not creatures like we are, but more like aggregates of unwholesome desires, co-inhabit the astral world, the world of emotion and desire. These tramp spirits preside at indulgences of our collective sin bodies. In normal states of mind, men are unaware of these presences and of the influence such as these have over weak-willed and unsuspecting people. This benign co-existence can change to a chaotic living hell if the psychic centers are forced open prematurely. Think of little, new-born kittens having the protective eyelids ripped open. The ripping mechanisms that bring about susceptibility to the unwholesome influences of the astral tramps are unnatural psychic activities like the involuntary medium-ship practiced at séances, occult experimentation in disregard of proper banishing and purification rituals, breathing techniques of advanced yogic disciplines without knowing what you are doing, and foremost, use of psychotropic drugs that are capable of affecting the mind. Potential off-shoots of these activities are br
oken health, shattered morale, mental disquiet, even insanity! Picture in your mind allegorical denizens of hell waiting on their prey; waiting to strike, manipulate, overwhelm, to possess and control . . . And to think these forces are mere imaginings and the real world does not work this way when we have seen their twisted and distorted forms come over our brothers and sisters and in our own reflection in the mirror! Our passions and desires can rule us. Our scattered thoughts can beguile and deceive us, especially, when we swoon in sensual abandonment. Yet, the power of the will made strong by truth and knowledge and purified by pain and suffering, holds dominion over unclean spirits and the destiny of human will is to assert its power and exercise divine right to hold dominion on the earth and in the spirit. Peace, love, beauty, and goodness shall be the rule and order “long awaited of the nations” when mankind remembers how things were before the ‘fall’ and aspires to a heightening of consciousness through sublimation and regeneration. Meanwhile, here is a little spell to use on those long, dark, lonely nights when you might have had a little too much of the magical elixir and are not quite feeling like yourself. You keep getting a shudder up your spine. You see movement in the corner of your eye, and the tap, tap, tapping sound is coming closer and closer and all of a sudden, everything turns icy cold, the TV comes on all by itself as the howling wind takes on a demonic pitch. Better do something, anything, or go stark, raving mad. Recite this spell while moving clockwise in a circle. Clap your hands as hard as you can five times. Stomp your right foot on the floor as hard as you can five times. Say your daddy’s name out loud five times. Then, take two aspirins and go to bed.
THE BORNLESS ONE, a magical spell
“Hear me, and make all spirits subject unto me: so that every spirit of the firmament and of the ether; upon the earth and under the earth: on dry land and in the water: of whirling air and of rushing fire: and every spell and scourge of God may be obedient unto me.”
NEW JERUSALEM
Begin.
Though tentative still,
Begin.
Tarry no more in the dismal way.
Embark.
Voyage to that distant country,
The land of dreams.
Lift above the billowing sails.
Look into the distance
And see that sparkling city.
Look within and see
The ship, thy body, and the way.
Tarry no longer.
The course is true.
Fear no longer.
The way is true.
The joy is in thy going.
Go here. Go there.
It matter not where.
Here or there.
It matter not where.
EVEN LITTLE SISTER, she has no breasts
Even little sister,
Though she has no breasts,
Is in love with the hero.
And when she has breasts
She will return
That he might see her with breasts.
Even little sister
Is his baby girl, too.
And when she has breasts,
He shall take her as bride.
When she said
“I love you a lot, daddy,”
She meant to say she loved him a lot.
When she looked to see him
And kept her eye on him,
She meant to say she loved him a lot.
PAEAN TO YOUNG GIRLS
Don’t pretend those sideways glances
Don’t portend amorous advances
Forward toward love.
The Achilles heel; weakest part of man . . .
The seduced is the seducer
For you have seduced me.
A young girl’s soft arched foot falls
And touches his foot.
A million sensate nerves
Stir at touching.
Her arched foot falls . . .
The Achilles heel; weakest part of man . . .
The seduced is the seducer
For you have seduced me.
Come on to me.
Rape me.
Do it quickly.
Don’t hurt me.
I am virgin still.
UNCLE DUTCH
MOTHER:
“Today would have been Dutch’s 33rd birthday.”
CHILD:
“Mother, tell me the story about Uncle Dutch and the mean ole’ school teacher again! Please!
MOTHER:
“You love that story, don’t you, son? Louise, tell him the story while I do the dishes.”
AUNT LOUISE:
“Well, let me see. Oh, yes! Your Uncle Dutch had gotten in trouble at school. He was always in trouble of one sort or another, fighting or tearing something up. Anyway, he whipped the Thetford boy. Dutch whipped him good too! They fought all day right behind the school house in that little grove of live oaks. The teacher was a mean old thing! Old Clara Rayborn!”
MOTHER:
“She had it in for Dutch. When dumb Ike Thetford came in all bloody, she threw a fit. She got a log of firewood and was going to beat Dutch. Dutch took it away from her and broke her leg!”
AUNT LOUISE:
That was the last day we had to put up with her nonsense!” MOTHER: (laughing)
“Dutch showed her how the cow ate the cabbage, didn’t he, Louise?”
AUNT LOUISE:
“She never did like us Robersons much after that! Clorene, have you talked to Loquita since the Wilson Reunion?”
MOTHER:
“No, but I have been thinking of her a lot. If she could have had more time with him before he ran off and got shot! She could have settled him down. Didn’t Loquita and Dutch have a beautiful wedding?”
CHILD:
“I remember that wedding! I remember Loquita’s white dress!”
MOTHER:
“Son that was three years before you were even born!”
CHILD:
“But, I remember! We were all there! Our whole family was there!”
MOTHER:
“That was before you were even born. You’ve just heard us talking about it so much it seems to you like you were there. Or, maybe you had a dream or something. Now, go outside and play. Let me and your Aunt Louise talk and snap these black eyed peas so we can get them canned and put up.” (Child goes out the door)
AUNT LOUISE:
“He looks more like Clifford Dutch every day!”
MOTHER:
“Acts just like him, too!
JESSE
I wait on dawn.
Is dawn to never come?
I wait on day.
Has day come and gone?
Ever faithful dawn
Coming to me each day;
I pledge faith to dawn,
Faith to day.
She child of light, born to___, born to___:
Dear child of love,
Conceived by means of a kiss,
Heaven above
Nurtures and directs toward bliss.
Fear not the night.
Darkness shall measure its pain
In hours, not days;
For day dawns again,
Soothing the pain wrought by loneliness and cares.
Ending the pain of those desolate years.
COME THEN
Come then, employ your lofty inspiration
To carry out the poet’s avocation
Just as we carry out a love affair.
Two meet by chance, are pleased, they linger there.
Insensibly are linked they scarce know how.
Their lives seem propitious, adverse now
And ‘tis a true romance ere one’s aware.
Just such a romance let us now compose.
Plunge boldly into life, its depths disclose.
MY RECORDED MAGIC
Oh, my recorded magic
Presenting
Art and ac
tion of heart and body and of
Soul searching, searching, and searching through
Illusion-delusion in a
Magic-Mirror of Mirror-Magic of
Crystal, the magical elixir; bringing vision into the
Imaginal world of dreams.
Go there for she is there.
Her image has been captured.
Her image is thine image reflecting two in one.
By now she knows how
To stir thee, to still thee.
Make pregnant the womanly womb of thee,
That thou be reborn a magical child.