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

May 20, 2018

PROSE FROM A DREAM MAN

Filed under: dream, DREAMS, fragments, lost, prose, stream of consciousness, surreal, Uncategorized, visions — Tags: , — namelessneed @ 10:53 am

 

Grand Hotel Sousse

Sousse Monday, March 15, 1920

This Africa is incredible

. . . Unfortunately, I cannot write coherently to you, for it is all too much. Only sidelights. After cold, heavy weather at sea, a sparkling morning in Algiers. Bright houses and streets, dark green clumps of trees, tall palms’ crowns rising among them. White burnooses, red fezzes, and among these the yellow uniforms of the Tirailleurs d’Afrique, the red of the Spahis, then the Botanical Gardens, an enchanted tropical forest, an Indian vision, holy acvatta trees with gigantic aerial roots like monsters, fantastic dwellings of the gods, enormous in extent, heavy, dark green foliage rustling in the sea wind.

Then thirty hours by rail to Tunis. The Arab city is classical antiquity and Moorish middle ages, Granada and the fairy tale of Baghdad. You no longer think of yourself; you are dissolved in this potpourri which cannot be evaluated, still less described: a Roman column stands here as part of a wall; an old Jewess of unspeakable ugliness goes by in white baggy breeches; a crier with a load of burnooses pushes through the crowd, shouting in gutturals that might have come straight from the canton of Zurich; a patch of deep blue sky, a snow-white mosque dome; a shoemaker busily stitching away at shoes in a small vaulted niche, with a hot, dazzling patch of sunlight on the mat before him; blind musicians with a (hum and tiny three-stringed lute; a beggar who consists of nothing but rags; smoke from oil cakes, and swarms of flies; up above, on a white minaret in the blissful ether, a muezzin sings the midday chant; below, a cool, shady, colonnaded yard with horseshoe portal framed in glazed tiles; on die wall a mangy cat lies in the sun;ia coming and going of red, white, yellow, blue, brown mantles, white turbans, red fezzes, uniforms, faces ranging from white and light yellow to deep black; a shuffling of yellow and red slippers, a noiseless scurrying of naked black feet, and so on and so on.

In the morning the great god rises and fills both horizons with his joy and power, and all living things obey him. At night the moon is so silvery and glows with such divine clarity that no one can doubt the existence of Astarte.

Between Algiers and Tunis He 550 miles of African soil, towering up to the noble and spreading shapes of the great Atlas range, wide valleys and plateaus bursting with grapes and grain, dark green forests of cork oak. Today Horus rose out of distant, pale mountains over an unending green and brown plain, and from tie desert there sprang up a mighty wind which blew out to the dark blue sea. On rolling, gray-green hills yellow-brown remains of whole Roman cities, small flocks of black goats grazing around them, nearby a Bedouin camp with black tents, camels, and donkeys. The train runs into a camel which cannot make up its mind to get off the tracks; the beast is killed; there is a great running up, shrieking, and gesticulating of white-clad figures; and always the sea, now deep blue, now hurting the eyes with its glitter in the sunlight. Out of olive groves and palms and hedges of giant cactus floating in the flickering, sun-shot air rises a snow-white city with divinely white domes and towers, gloriously spread out over a hill. Then comes Sousse, with white walls and towers, the harbor below; beyond the harbor wall the deep blue sea, and in the port lies the sailing ship with two lateen sails which I
once painted!!!!

You stumble over Roman remains; with my cane I dug a piece of Roman pottery out of the ground.

This is all nothing but miserable stammering; I do not know what Africa is really saying to me, but it speaks. Imagine a tremendous sun, air clear as in the highest mountains, a sea bluer than any you have ever seen, all colors of incredible power. In the markets you can still buy the amphorae of antiquity things like that and the moonlll! . . .~Carl Jung; (Memories Dreams and Reflections; Pages 371-372.)

LETTER TO EMMA JUNG FROM NORTH AFRICA (1920)

December 27, 2016

From author Jim Crace’s “Quarantine”

Filed under: fragments, prose, visions — Tags: , , , — namelessneed @ 5:40 pm

“After his boyhood years of study at the temple school, steadying the scroffs and holding down the parchments beneath the pointing fingers of the priest, Jesus had learned to match up some of these Aramaic shapes to sounds–the little candelabra of the letter sha, the lightening strike of enn, the falling plough sign of the kaoh. He liked the places on these parchments where scribes were changed. The one who’d stitched his way across the page with wary, threadlike marks passed on his verses to the playful and untidy  one who led his muddy sparrows leave their tracks in undulating lines. Then came the scribe whose writing always toppled backwards, as if the meanings to the words were riding faster than the shapes which soon would fall on to their spines.

“This was a happy ignorance for jesus, only knowing a dozen words amongst so many thousands. He would not want to read as easily as scholars, he told himself, for that would only help to split the meaning from the sound, to divorce the music from the shape. If he could read like his priest could, by simply dragging the forefinger underneath the script and speaking every word he touched as if these were not verses but an endless rote of errands to be run, then the scriptures might become little more than strings of tiny tasks, a list. There’d be no mystery. But in his ignorance, he could both listen to the words of the reader and marvel, too, at the unspoken narrative of shapes, or concentrate not only on the script but also on the spaces in between. God was in the spaces, he was sure. God went to the very edges of the page.”

Author Jim Crace, from “Quarantine”

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

September 19, 2015

The Infinite Up Against The Finite, Up Again

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 4:49 pm

After a rain

I have to stand straight

As my back pain

Will let me  and  wait

To take note.

Take it all in,  Breath first.

“Skin second,”  He wrote,

Then Worked to recall.  All by breakfast.

July 1, 2015

BIT OF A RECLUSE

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 6:09 am

It could be I got bit

Three times by a recluse spider.

Here in the sub-tropics

Where recluse spiders are risky.

But I’m a bit of a recluse, too.

I like the dark,

My own time, & whiskey.

Oh, the friends and kin  call me;

They go “Cool Guy!”,

They might  “Night Falls” me.

The three red moons on my arm,

They do enthrall me,

Almost with their own flow chart.

It’s  dangerous  art,

Three red, full moons on my arm.

June 19, 2015

LEG LIFTS JUST BEFORE THOSE SWIFT DOORS CLOSE; AN EXERCISE

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 10:18 am

The next step/ waiting maybe  too wrong

into  dark matter

An other thing/ a rung on a dark ladder

A nothing/

As it happens/ not to happen/

The next step/ leg stiff/ fixing to flex

to a leg lift/

I’m fixing to find/ A gift of intentions

To move me to move/

given/ attention enough

to move on/ away from the station

June 3, 2015

What are you reading Wednesday (A Game better than solitaire?)– Jim Harrison’s “The Big Seven”

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What Are You Reading Wednesdays can be a game better than Solitaire.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 or 34% in your eBook 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?

.

My Answers this week are:

1. “The Big Seven”  by Jim Harrison

2.”He reflected that in literature our lives were rivers which seemed inappropriate to him. Rivers were unstoppable, of great power. We were primarily creeks or rivulets that flowed into rivers. You could hope your life to be a smooth, clear, strong creek. You could make it so with care. Or you could muddy it up with carelessness. Sunderson had to put himself in the latter category but then nothing was stopping a change.”

3.A careless old man in the woods, just this side of change? Um, OK

May 25, 2015

SO FAR

the creatures there  were at their creek

when they witnessed me by the moon

I was quiet enough on my path

but they looked up, then back down to their drinking

I was so lost they didn’t scatter

so lost the full moon only considered my prayers

I got turned around when the wind picked up

I can’t find my feet or so far

my way back

.

.

.                                         (from 2009)

May 23, 2015

LOUD BARE TREES SWING ‘ROUND, THEN STOP

I must discuss

A dark circus is in town

A boy in a spin, and trees swing around

He drops, and the swing stops

New dewfrost falls, he’s lost

In all the bare trees

.

A heavy disguise

Could be of use here

So cover your eyes, please

Your lover’s indecent

And trying on lies

His heart’s denying hard here

It’s a fact;  Abstract lies

.

Squeezebox  hymns  seem

To squish by inbetween

Aligned  treebark

Lighted & Loudened by a fullmooncloud

Lions let free/  Dark

Circus tonight and if I might

Mix in that crowd

A heavy disguise could

Be of some use

May 11, 2015

SEA FOAM PHANTOMS

very lately

I’ve looked to see

just off a shoulder,

sharp right outside a window,

just off camera,

some one  or thing, I think.

The  There, then not  trick.

Here I’ll see it

here I’ll see it for what makes sense.

Y’see, I’ve evidence.

sea foam phantoms

left a belated beat back

just after this wave sweeps back.

I don’t think it’s drink

or the hours I should sleep or

all the private pranks I

fall for.

I’ll envision these

(facts)

green sea black deep.

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