Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

November 27, 2016

THERE’S FOG

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 10:39 am

 

 

“Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.”  -Hippocrates

.“In the fog you are sheltered against the outside world, face to face with your inner self. Nebulat ergo cogito.” (fog therefore I think) -Umberto Eco

November 23, 2016

Giving Thanks, Counting Blessings, Yes But, Humility Too

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 2:32 pm

 

 

 

 

November 14, 2016

By the Light of the Moon in Bruges: Henri Le Sidaner, 1898-99.

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 3:08 am

henrilesidaner

October 13, 2016

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 8:04 am

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This All Hallows Eve

I could go out as one true menace to all that is holy. Doctored Dump.

Don’t let that shiny costume fool you; he’s
Super-callous, fragile,racist.Extra braggadocious.

And he wants to take our home. And he ain’t paid for decades for decades

(“He’s a genius”)

 

August 28, 2016

A RESPECTABLE MAN

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , — namelessneed @ 3:29 am

R.I.P.   John Huston (1906–1987)

 

July 30, 2016

glad you were born today, KATE BUSH

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 4:38 am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 24, 2016

surrendering you senseless

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Schlafwagen und Wunderkammer (Richard James Allen)

Posted on May 24, 2016 by in Heightened Talk

FullSizeRender(‘Schlafwagen und Wunderkammer’ is German for ‘sleeper’
or ‘sleeping car’ and
 ‘cabinet of curiosities’ or ‘wonder room’)

you are on the night train to Vienna
and you have already arrived in Berlin
you are about to walk home in Sydney
and you must dash back out to see
the play that is now more popular
than Hamlet in London

you are cold in your high sleeper bed
that you collapsed into
when the night heat came on
suddenly in a rush
without getting under the covers
that are now cold
that you collapsed into

you are wrapped in an old overcoat
you don’t remember owning
dreaming of trying to stay warm
in a high-raked hall of a tall-walled university
listening to a lecture on the mechanics of flashback
and your mind keeps wandering to a back shed
somewhere beyond the Wall in East Germany
full of homemade contraptions that were far too unreconstructed
ever to be sent to a Dickensian-looking patent office
piled high with yellowing documents
that curl like nineteenth century moustaches

you are in the long tail of a tall tale
a cat coiled up in itself asleep
the way those big ropes
that secure ships to their ports
are coiled into perfect circles
by nameless foreign seamen
the forever migrant workers
circling the globe
only one of whom
ever gets off the boat
to become Joseph Conrad

you are being asked by your roommate
your bunkmate your companion
what do you call someone
travelling with you on a night train
in one of the lower bunks
a person who for reasons unknown
shall remain nameless
to set an alarm so that she yes she
that much you can know
can wake up before the guard
who has no English comes with the croissants

you are sure you are reassuring her that you have
and it may be that you have
but you don’t remember in which country
or time zone you would have have-have-have done so
though you like the idea
that this act of thoughtfulness
may have occurred
and you being the enactor
if not the instigator of it

you are thinking that you may have to be the alarm clock yourself
though your clock hands are wrapped inside your imaginary overcoat
and not a lot about the rest of you resembles a device
for the capture and distribution of time

you are of the opinion that when you fell into this  sleep  in  a  cocoon  of  vibration  you
were  sure  or  at  least fairly certain that  it  would be a normal sleep that  is  to say just
like any other sleep but on the contrary  it  feels  as  if  you have been having the whole
history  of  consciousness downloaded into the data banks  of  your  body  which for an
unspecified period  of  time have replaced your usual cells but this  is  most odd as you
are  not  sure  if  you  believe  any more that consciousness  has  a  history  though  you
might  go  so far  as  to  offer  that it gets woven in to history finally realising that it was
only ever  a  visitor  to  the aforesaid state  of  you are not sure what really playing hide
and seek  in  the winding corridors and hallways of time and personality a game  it  got
caught up in but now understands it can step away from any time it wishes to exit
time that is to say whenever it no longer wishes to be part of
the here and the now
and the then and the to come

Knock, knock, knock!

so the question the guard asks you
in English by the way
is not would you care for some breakfast
but are you ready to be awoken from this dream of timelessness
or would you prefer to remain in a room of marvels
a disembodied spectacular down the rabbit hole of the fantasia elevator
taking up semipermanent residence in the cross-eyed manifesto
of time masterpieces of continuous previousness
a conspiracy of angels flocking in all directions at the holy speed of intuition
as you learn to live in the fantastic space

 

____________________________________________________________

smaller-cropped-Richard-James-Allen-portrait-by-Saba-Vasefi-Copyright-©-2016-The-Physical-TV-CompanyRichard James Allen’s ten books of poetry, fiction and performance texts include Fixing the Broken Nightingale(Flying Island Books), The Kamikaze Mind(Brandl & Schlesinger) and Thursday’s Fictions (Five Islands Press), shortlisted for the Kenneth Slessor Prize for Poetry.  He won the Chancellor’s Award for most outstanding PhD thesis at UTS.  Widely published in anthologies, journals and online for over thirty years, Allen has been the recipient of numerous awards, nominations, grants, as well as opportunities for presentations, screenings and broadcasts, in a unique international career as an acclaimed writer, director, choreographer and performer. Further information: http://ww.physicaltv.com.au & http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/allen-richard-james.

April 2, 2016

JIM HARRISON (1937-2016) RIP

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 3:52 am

 

 

 

March 17, 2016

“DIVING INTO THE WRECK”/ ADRIENNE RICH

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 3:43 am

 

 

 

Diving into the Wreck

Adrienne Rich, 19292012

First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.

There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.

 

 

 

January 27, 2016

WHAT ARE YOU READING WEDNESDAYS

Filed under: Uncategorized — namelessneed @ 10:50 am

 

 

What Are You Reading Wednesdays can be a game almost better than  drinking up from yr wordpress blog reader, eating a lettuce & tomato & avecado sandwich

To participate, open your current read to page 34 and answer the three questions listed below. If you have a blog, feel free to leave a link down in the comments so that others can visit and see your post. If you don’t, just leave a note with your answers.

The Questions are:
1. What’s the name of your current read?

2. Go to page 34 in your book  and share at least one complete sentence.

3. Would you like to live in the world that exists within your book? Why or why not?.

 

  1. “The Sunnier Side” short stories by the underdicovered Charles Jackson
  2. )”,,it was medicine now and if the whiskey could give her a small respite till the doctor with his sedatives or whatever. who was i to withhold it from her? She was so far gone in drink by now that one more could do her no harm (it wasn’t as if she’d been off liquor) on the contrary, it might relax her into sleep. I filled the glass nearly full. She sat up in bed, reached for it with both hands, and the edge of the glass struck her teeth sharply as she pulled it to her mouth. Her hands trembled violently and some of the liquor slopped over, but she got it down—and appalingly to watch, got it down in a series of convulsive swallows without pausing once for breath. Then began such a coughing, choking, racking and retching fight for airthat I truely thought for a dreadful moment that she would not recover. But in another moment she sank back into upon the pillow, reached out a hand and put it on my sleeve, nodded, and gazed into space inches above the top of my head.When she spoke again her voice was very tired. “Oh , Charles, if you only know what I’ve been through, they come with those awful tanks and those awful needles and they stick my arms and give me those awful intravenous feedings, and oh, Charles, they take so long, they hurt so,they take so long, so long…”
  3. ) we do live in this kind of world where the very old and dying…
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