‘God, who am I …?’

Tags

2014, 20th century, 7*, distance, faces, girls, history, horizon, identity, library, lost, madness, motion, Nightmare, presence, progress, reading, sitting, sun, sunlight, Sylvia Plath, talking to myself, TH Huxley, thought

picked over, cajoled, placed this way and that, gazed at the upper corner of the room, and eventually written from entry 33. of The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962; Plath wrote this, I merely … Plath wrote this, but the failure is mine, all mine, I tellsya!

                God, who am I?
                I sit in the library tonight
                the lights whirring
                girls everywhere
                reading books
                faces

                And I sit here without identity
                There is history to comprehend
                before I sleep

                Yet back at the house
                there is my room
                full of my presence
                There is my date this weekend:
                believes I am human –
                only indication that I am whole
                not merely a knot
                without identity –

                I’m lost!
                Huxley would have laughed
                What a conditioning this is!
                Hundreds of faces
                beating time along the edge of thought

                a nightmare
                no sun
                only continual motion
                If I rest inward
                I go mad

                There is so much
                in different directions
                pulled thin
                against horizons too distant to reach

                To stop with the German tribes
                and rest awhile: but no!
                On, on, on, through ages of empires
                ceaseless pace
                Will I never rest in sunlight again?

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: 20th century
faces wormhole: jump start
history wormhole: tragic and archival
horizon wormhole: twilight / and parasols down / within minutes
identity wormhole: between
reading wormhole: reating & wriding
sitting wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
sun & Sylvia Plath wormhole: concordance
talking to myself wormhole: a nice grey woollen picnic blanket
thought wormhole: divergent // direction

 

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fresh destiny

Tags

1963, 2016, 4*, buildings, choice, Dr Strange, echo, freedom, glass, green, karma, Nightmare, rain, realisation, society, soul, Stan Lee, Steve Ditko, Strange Tales, windows

                the effect of other
                hangs like water down a single pane
                over the soul: free it

                from bricks and mortar
                transport it across
                all the empty chasms of nightmare

                where there is no
                echo; there is always
                choice to realise within the green thickness

                of glass, there is
                always the turn of
                fresh destiny

 

dripped from “Dr. Strange Master of Black Magic!”, 1st appearance of Dr Strange in Strange Tales #110, July 1963 by Lee & Ditko

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

buildings wormhole: ‘hope for things to come’
Dr Strange wormhole: coagulating
echo wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?
glass wormhole: the figure “46” / in frosted glass
green & society wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I suddenly / remembered
rain wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Contents
windows wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Safe Home

 

Seven A.M, 1948

Tags

'scape, 1948, 2015, clock, depth, doors, Edward Hopper, letting go, light, morning, Nightmare, opening, right angle, shadow, time, trees, years

 

 

 

            Seven A.M, 1948

            too early to open,
            the shadow off the clock
            is too long

            the trees at
            the edges of nightmare
            have yet to release

            the light worries
            the door handle and would
            feign entry already

            but the
            conspiracy is deep, as
            dimension takes a right angle

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

doors wormhole: the open window
Edward Hopper & time & years wormhole: Office at Night, 1940
letting go wormhole: if left alone
light wormhole: ‘in clear oil air …’
morning wormhole: 1967
shaadow wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
trees wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana

 

Dr Strange IV – ellipses

Tags

2012, 6*, being, doors, Dr Strange, ellipsis, Eternity, eyes, Gene Colan, humanity, identity, Nightmare, samsara, sky, society, speech, Steve Englehart, time

 

 

… time comes when the whole universe needs to be in on the discussion, as if it were never integral to each happenstance in the first place; coincides with Dr Strange actually arriving on the scene – funny that

 

                                                              there are ellipses, yes
                                but Strange has long known – they are doorways too

                                he can step through them all
                in the twinkle
of anyone’s eye

                                              he can see the aches
                                of option and perspective
                he can see the nightmares of polarity and stasis

                                                              bounding eternally towards him
                                              but never approaching
                                me                                ME

                                                                                 his own speech
                                                              becomes the twinkle in his eye
                                              he steps

                                and with a flourish
                                              the sky takes a form of the whole universe
                                                              to talk:

 

askance from: Dr Strange #6-13 (Feb 1975-April 1976); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: a gift
Dr Strange & Gene Colan wormhole: Dr Strange III – the needs of billions
doors wormhole: Jean Miller kissed Salinger
eyes wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114
identity & speech wormhole: – sigh! –
samsara wormhole: Dr Strange II – … things are the same again
sky & time wormhole: hint
society wormhole: 20th century / schzoid man

 

Dr Strange #6-13

Tags

1975, 2012, 9*, being, change, continuity, doing, Dormammu, Dr Strange, dream, Edward Hopper, elipse, emptiness, Eternity, Gene Colan, Have, humanity, Nightmare, Paul Simon, reality, society, Steely Dan, Steve Englehart

Dr Strange #6-13 (Feb 1975-April 1976); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan

 

 

 

                                I

            the always-aslant encounter
                                of humans and street
                      making their lives
                                in the grounds they see
            in the grounds they have been given
                                           constant encounter
                      as variable as the daily

                                           for those who see
            elliptical to the happenstance
                                the skyline to the treeline
                                           the glide to the cobble
                      the palm to the point
                                the both-step-aside to avoid each other’s path
                                and collide
                                           Hopper saw it
and Colan saw it and Strange had already
                                stepped into it
                                           stepped through it and out again

                      moment

                                           but now
            his pupils are that much more round
                      the trashcan tilted
                                the better to see now
                                           the street
                                                       the face in the orb implied
            that everything had changed and that
                                things
would never be the same again

                                continued …

                                II

            … things are the same again
                      always have
                      always had
                                the second half of the twentieth century
            incorporated it
                                you either had it or you wanted it
                      either way it fed the corporation
                      everyone fed the corporation
                                           by wealth by health
                                                       by belief
                                this is the way things are
                                           dwelt at the very heart of the world
                                                               turning growing and fiery
            there comes a time
                      when the power
                                and the beauty become elliptical
                                           to each other
                                           to themselves
                                                       then chaos will come
                      you mark my words
            thinks the aged Genghis high on the edge of the world
                                aged enough in life
                      to see beyond self:             there is nothing there
there is nothing there

                                III

                                a colossus
            strides effortlessly across canyons and generations
                      fed by the needs of billions
                                engorged enough to consume
                                itself
                      it speaks with a flaming head
unstable
                      too much
                                           too much that
                                it will disperse itself even as it reaches
                      the needs of billions
                                flooded through a world of veins
                                           like tumbling yellow fat
                                                       the mother is bound
                      the father is blind
                                and only all the words of worlds
                                                       will speak
                                           while Strange and devotion
                                           expand through dimensions
            growing alarmingly through the stages of their lives
                                quick to get there while
                      wanting it all
                                a son sits ‘by the blackened wall
                                           he does it all he thinks he’s died
                      and gone to heaven’*

                                IV

                                there are ellipses yes
            but Strange has long known that they are doorways too
                                           he can step through them all
                                in the twinkle
                      of anyone’s eye
                                           he can see the aches
                                of option and perspective
            he can see the nightmares
                                of polarity and stasis
                      bounding towards him
                      but never approaching
                                           me             ME

                                his own speech
                                becomes the twinkle in his eye
                                           he steps
            and with a flourish
                      the sky takes a form of the whole universe
                                to talk:

                                V**

                      ‘communication
                                           has undone you
                                you know of all others’ success
            and see only your own failure
                                you will not have ignorance
                                           you would have all knowledge
                      all the words of worlds speak
                                           and from each word
            you draw more closely in upon yourself
                                unable to settle on shared or
                                           compromise ‘… stand
            on their differences
                      and shoot at the moon’ ***
                                each man must win
                                so all men must lose
                                           all expansion
                                                       must take the turn of contraction
                      you cannot have
                                           sustained growth
                                ‘first comes spring and summer
                      but then we have fall and winter … Ben’ ****

                                VI

                                the twinkle
                      becomes my eye
                                           I see my life
            from inside the many faces I have worn
                                as I contrive power and plan escape
                      over/from/death/life
                                vainglorious
                                                               compulsive
            petulant

                      and failed every time I act
                                [and compose]
                                the more I do
                                           the less I get anywhere
                                and the more
                                                               my selves multiply and reside
                                I could lose
                      the whole world
                                           through my asides and schemes
                                                       my power and play
                                all of the ellipses spinning
                                           to conjure my face
            spinning fit to vortex to hold my face to the world
                                           and the more I am
                      a sorcerer supreme the more
                                I am grotesque
                                           the more I gestate the mad messiah-killers
                      in the backrush and tail-
                                           spin

                                                       I hadn’t thought
            I hadn’t given
                      I hadn’t laughed
                                I hadn’t loved
                                           another

                                VII

too late
            planet Earth is no more
                      for all my fighting and struggle
            I have achieved only the madness of Mordo
                      the whole span and play of existence
                                           ssspunnn
                                into its opposite:
                                                               being
            death
                                ovum
                                           rebirth
                                everything
                                           is the same as it ever was but
classic classic comicbook
                      it was all just a dream
                                it is everything that is dream

 

 

 

* Steely Dan, The Royal Scam, The Royal Scam, 1976
** Steve Englehart, Dr Strange#10, Oct 1975, from p.15-16
*** Paul Simon, Cars Are Cars, Hearts and Bones, 1983
**** Being There (1979), dir: Hal Ashby, Chance the Gardener

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: what comes first … // the poem or the content … // the shamatha or the vipashyana … // the posture … // or the sitting?
change & Dr Strange & & Edward Hopper Gene Colan wormhole: Dr Strange #6 (Feb 1975)
doing wormhole: writing is not a container of reality / it is being the reality / itself
dream wormhole: dream / 150910
emptiness & Have wormholes: poessay IV
reality wormhole: the bottom line
society wormhole: poessay II