Which is
Hell?”
BLACK OR WHITE
I
will do it. Unnoticed
by the others I
will step back,
as
if a savage before a thunderstorm,
pondering
the afterdrench- I call it rain.
The
drops gather like immanence. The Lord
is
what He is. He does not choose
what
we reflect. He is godhead,
which
is recognition. He is finality
beyond
comfort. And I am his servant.
And
the Devil is at the doorstep.
And the Negress
in the kitchen adheres
to
her tasks, as I to mine. In our way
parts
and parcels of the divine:
the
mouth, as well the anus;
the kine, as well the swine-
Go
ask the cows of their silence, before
the
butcher's knife! And of the pigs' obstinance!-
All
things must accept their fates!
Children
will find identity upon the rocks,
and
other paths. Though the heaving
showers
may uncover other rocks, and paths,
it
is the small man, the humble woman,
who
divines the way through the wood, the dark
imperative
is too plain for those of desires
gilted
to extremis. This Massachusetts
Colony
is the Promised Place.
Here,
none but the cleanly shall partake
of
what should be Holy. God's hand
grips
the great, as it grips the small.
The
whole of the earth is reduced
as
my heart is consumed by the flesh
of
his touch. Out there, in the fields,
my
daughters engage the world, which engages
the
Lord, who engages my heart
surely
as accusation engages
denial.
There is no denial.
|
The
savage state is impossible.
A mist cowers in from the sea.
A
distant cheer gathers.
A
woman acquaints another branch.
My
daughters venture homeward.
A
melody cowers in from the sea.
|
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THE AMERICAN
IMPERIUM: ARCADIA
MONTICELLO
*for Thomas Cole, deux
July 4th, 1826
The
Argument: This may be the last moment
before the death of Thomas Jefferson, as he lays in his alcove bed in the unfinished downstairs
bedroom of his uncompleted manse, Monticello.
SIX WEEKS AGO
"Is this the 4th?"
Dear
John,
No debt deters me from death, nor
its
consequent peace. I am relieved, and
heartened
that the flames we kindled on the
4th
of July, so long ago, are a
beacon
to the globe for freedom, and an
unextinguishable
inferno. But
more
need be done to fortify and but-
tress
liberty from its ravagers, or
it
shall fall prey to negligence, the an-
nihilator
of advancing Man, and
destroyer
of idea, intense, yet a-
part
from the daily toil of life, the
sweat
of- Old Friend, do you remember the
night
of our first argument?- Sharp, but
impersonal.
I fondly recall a
moment:
at the tavern by Taylor's- or
was
it....? But, the point is....your letters and
tidings
are a great boon to my health; an
aphrodisiac
to liberty; an
emollient
of pasts- Do you recall the
joys
Patty and I shared? Loneliness and
separation
were most of our days, but
I
can still recall her with child- or
kindnesses
to old Jupiter. What a
wife
she was! She was everything that a
man
of passions could need- much more than an
accessory
to success: she is- or
was-
the foundation of my being, the
rock
upon which my vision landed. But,
time
claims aught- there is no denial, and
no
refusal accepted....I know And-
rew
Jackson is our punition, a
divine
retribution for our sins. But,
we
are old- his new ways are coming; an
apostle
of mutation from all the-
se
older ways of or-
der,
or-
but the....
a....an-
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Ex
Of
principle: stand like a rock.
Of
taste: swim swift with the current.
Sally
Hemings is my servant;
Mr.
Callender slandered me.
Her
son- Madison- is not mine.
That
which I have fathered is known.
They
are an inferior race.
Their
value is too great to me.
En
Sally,
what is the use of grief?
I
have lost too many I love.
I
shall never free Madison.
The
family over freedom.
Truth
has its own interior.
The
Declaration. The Statutes.
The
University. My name.
These
are my accomplishments. My....
SEVENTEEN
YEARS AGO
"Religion
is the source of all imaginable follies and disturbances; it is the
parent of fanaticism and civil discord, it is the enemy of
mankind."
-Francois Voltaire
As
the glassen eye of this age shatters,
presumptions
of the past, I do declare
it
is Man makes Truth great, and what matters
is
his science, its consequence, the care
with
which he undertakes to seek and find
that
Truth which every religion has missed,
for
space is merely the wake of Man's mind,
in
quest for Truth. I am a scientist,
a
farmer- a statesman reluctantly.
Now,
I must return to my primal love:
Monticello
must not remain folly!
When
it is done my eyes shall turn above
the
chores of hammer and plane, the soil
which
TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO
Say
Yes to living! Say Yes to adventure! Embrace the Corps
Of Discovery! The vastity of the newfound richness of our expanded country awaits! The
breadth of the continent awaits and calls for hardy men and women to brave and
tame its wilds! The acquisition of the Louisiana Territory marks the end of European
domination of our continent! No longer shall foreign kings and powers have the
financial need and imperative to impress American seamen into their service. The
bounty of this Arcadian land shall bear and sustain the harvest that liberty
thrives upon. It is only 'midst the Primeval that a people can test and prove
their character. It is only 'midst the Edenic that Man can co-nature with
his inmost essences. And as the horizon's end looms it only opens and beckons
more opportunity for the American nation to unloose and secure the dreams of good
and common men alike. To the visionary amongst us I say that this day
marks the third birth of our young country. And both the common and the visionary
Minds shall profit from the seeds of discovery sown this day by these brave
explorers, and we who believe in their quest. The perfection of our
country begins and rides upon this expedition. May the grace of the....
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
"He is as ambitious as Oliver Cromwell!"
-John Adams
(1)
Friends
and fellow citizens, I call upon
you
to assist me in the task we begin
today
at the start of a new century.
These
are the Big Times, that test men and countries,
and
I shall not shrink from the call of duty.
During
the contest of opinion through which
we
have passed, we have witnessed a full and rich
spectrum
of idea [BUT IT IS MINE WHICH WON!]
and
discourse that is the strength of this nation-
but
we must bear in mind that the strength which frees
us
from the chains of Europe's feudalism
is
tolerance of the minority view,
[Hamilton
be damned!] and never the schism
between
that which we say and that which we do.
Let
us restore discourse to the harmonies
of intelligent action, not reveries.
(2)
Bear
in mind this most sacred of principles:
Never
put perceived motive above the act.
It
is this pure idea which preserves the will
of
the majority, and seeks to protect
the
dissent of the minority! [That Burr
can
go to Hell!] During the agonal throes
and
convulsions of the Classical Era
many
a wrong was rewarded; and error
writ
in blood. Yet, we Americans can choose
to
settle our differences without war
as
the preserver of democracy's tide.
Differing
opinions are not principles
of
separation- and that we can abide.
We
are all Republicans, and we are all
Federalists.
Are there any who abhor
the honest debate only choices restore?
(3)
I
believe this: we are the best government
that
this Earth has ever brought forth! [Yet, only
certain
Americans can be fit to be
within!]
And I believe our descendants
will
cheer the wisdom with which we have granted
ourselves
due honor, and a due sense of
our
equal right to the use of our
own
faculties, their wise and benign power,
to
shape the future free of the petty love
of
squalid pursuits, embrace the enchanted
realms
of honesty, temperance, gratitude,
and
the love of
FORTY YEARS AGO
"Sally,
my dear, please bring us some jelly
to
go with our wafers." the Master cried,
as
he tried to impress Miss Maria,
silly
wonder that she wasn't impressed,
though
he tried, for the Master couldn't hide
his
love of life, nor of her decadence-
this
is Paris, y'know!- But his moral
side
wouldn't let him indulge- at least since
Mistress
Patty died. Ol' Jupiter said
that's
why the Master seeks comfort, and love,
from
Miss Maria- and from my slavebed!
How
good the Master is, and right with me!
Above
all the others he trusts me e-
nough
to speak of his grief over Lucy's
death
last year. A man doesn't share that love
with
no one who ain't the one he chooses
to
love. With Miss Maria he speaks so
high
and mighty: "The tree of liberty....”
and
on and on. Miss Maria is nice
to
him, but only his Sally knows the
Master
best- for he knows she ain't impressed
by
his fancy words, like: "The man must be
a
prodigy whose manners and morals
are
not depressed with vile slavery!",
for
I've heard it all before- at least since
I
was bought! I am the one he chooses
to
despair over vile slavery
with-
"Sally, my dear, please bring us some-
FORTY-FOUR YEARS AGO
"Time wastes too fast
......
-Tristram Shandy,
Laurence Sterne
Shadowmen,
at their bottom, make no noise.
. .
.
with
which to tempt the world, nor its evils,
for
there are evils no shadow avoids,
nor
none that a love of liberty spills
[BREAK- 1771- marry Martha *aka Patty.
1772- birth of daughter Patsy.
1773- death of Dabney Carr *of bilious fever.
1776- what? ]
[ ]
? [
]
into
a love which liberty fulfills
as
a prophecy- Here is where she died-
PATTY-
his life- beyond all- the evils-
of
the world- for three long weeks he has TRIED
TONTINETONTINETONTINETONTINETONTINE damn them all damn
the life damn the state
damn the war damn Washington O Patty Patty
Patty dead all these minutes weeks hours days
I do not care I do not hope I do not I do not I do not
need comfort from a soul much
less an ignorant O I am weak and I am the one who should
have the dirt heaped on Dab
to
put his head above his heart. SHE DIED
and
he cobbles his thoughts- to place an ad-
to
rid himself- of Jupiter- he lied-
when
he told his old slave a tale- SO SAD-
NECESSITY
MY OLD MENTOR IT IS BUT NECESSITY N*E*C*E*S*S*I*T*Y GOT IT NO HOW CAN
ONE LIVE AS LONG AS YOU HAVE AND NOT HAVE A BASIC UNDERSTANDING OF THE
MERCANTILE PRESSURES THAT AFFECT MY GOD YOU DISGRACE ME WITH YOUR
IGNORANCE OLD MAN YOU ARE
A
DISGRACE NOT ONLY TO YOUR OWN EBON RACE BUT TO THE WHOLE OF THE HUMAN
RACE AH
of
needing to sell him- All that HE HAD
was
his property- and his YOUNG CHILDREN!
He
convinced his faithful slave. That was that.
So
the ad ran SIMPLY: A GENTLEMAN
For
the full well of memory=
Understand, old friend=
Can we part with no bitterness?=
K***=
IN NEED. Not as Governor- just A MAN
seeking-
to make- the most- out of his life-
and
his property- and his young children-
beyond-
the death of his beloved wife-
@#&**#$+(&^%$#@^%@~%^^&&
)*&%$#^@+|!@$$^^&*(^%@#@
@@#$%^&**&^+”@!~`%@^&*(&
$%&&^$#@@)+|~@`~!#$%@$@@
buried
beside the best friend of his life-
Dabney
Carr- who died back in seventy-
three-
and who wasted....
FIFTY-SIX YEARS AGO
To
become American is the urge
that
all desire, as we long to purge
ourselves
of injustice, as no one is
perfect.
If no one submits to what is
tyranny,
then we will live in an age
that
moves beyond all the childish dreams
and
establishes a land where life seems
to
promise one hope of betterment, and
to become American
is
this chance that all who yearn to breathe free
can
succeed at- this the mere foundation
of-
Oh, Jupiter, please bring me some tea!-
of
what can be Mankind's greatest nation:
a
place where the concept of Liberty
can become A-
SEVENTY-SEVEN YEARS AGO
The
rhapsody of the unattainable
has
not detained the child, yet. He says, to
everyone
who will lend an ear to him, that
America
is the future- and his is
more
than a dream, for he feels that dreams are too
easily
dismissed; these notions which are not
reconciled
within the child's small world.
In
his world he studies the history of
Classical
Greece- but, it is only the past.
And
the boy returns beyond the dreams of the
now,
and into the future, where he shudders
enigmatically
before hypocrisy-
not
grand justice- as the child knows that it
is
the sleeping thing that Jupiter denies
going
to sleep with, secure in the knowledge
mother
and father deny
as
THE
AMERICAN IMPERIUM: ORGASMA
CAROL FOR THE
ROCK
1940
*for Thomas Cole, trois
"In his great rooms, the countries of the world
....how many candles guttered
unnoticed?"
-Homage To Karl Marx, Edwin Rolfe
The skater remembered. The skater denied
remembrance. The years deny her
a bit of herself. And that
which rises is the fountain
beyond her. She is the motion
beneath it all. She is Agassiz
and the glacier, or the blossom
through rusted foliage, invading
the moment of the man, and his time
is now, in the complex of steel
that shuttles all skyward,
in intimacies of stone, and flesh
denied. She is not alone.
He sees the swarm beneath the tree.
The search for form becomes the steel
Prometheus gathers above them all.
To deny them all he raises his hand
to deny the hand, and deny the man
the cloudless skies agree is his
to conquer, and surmount. Speculations
on humanity flow into this
cosmic place. A heap of stars,
and he below the surface of light,
for which there is no real reason
for, the light which echoes. From below
the skater, on a single leg
her other skate, points to a star,
above the chaos designing all design,
unnoticed as she. And Standard Oil
is the bar others ascend to,
frozen with why. The fire not far
away. The cries of gray birds,
under shady towers, become moraines
of a tunneled mind. And flame
defines the end he sees,
shapes the world about itself,
the body of a cracked, silent planet
becomes the separation that separates
beauty, pushing thought to place:
his is here. The skater's is there.
The voices that wither in liberty
are fragmented, and momentary;
an unbroken song of broken voices
history forgets. He draws the blinds.
The skater skates a figure eight
sound moves gracefully on.
Refrain Of
The RCA Building
0, you flowering race of idiots
which swells to the Promethean fire,
glide quietly on your icy waters,
and know your feelings were already felt
before this cathedral became your world,
which inspired all your sons and daughters
to voice, in a dim-lit, freshen choir,
the notes of a time a Titan forgets.
Snow rises- rushes- toward tall buildings,
those things which recede even as they crest
to a heaven he knows is only dreamt of.
And the skater skates on. The man,
again, at his window, is drawn
to the apex of youth in the underworld,
below his greatest embellishment,
which casts a tepid specter below,
where nothing ends. Nothing begins
without. He knows the sky is only
the sky. In spite of it all,
the pulsating eyes of a million eyes
which descry him the man, the lyrical
politics of Standard Oil, the game
he made art, the lives he destroyed,
he watches her, pursuing the circuit
on ice. The skater mixes motion
with his breath. He denies
the balance denying the weight.
of neither- this middle of time
which tenders attention is all
his time. The fountains caress
the waters to chorus, the bringer
of wisdom has gainful employment,
and broken lips which sing no songs
of the befoulment of ice, and familiar eyes
from a distant place above the perpetual
seasons of limestone, and death,
the way hesitant bells still reach
the tower. The endless motion,
the ceaseless still blankets
sifting motions below. The skater
remembered. The skater denied remembrance,
the lapse of dread playing within,
is resumed by the man. And the skater
breaks into elements of December.
Silence fogs in all hints of sound.
You are the thing amongst things.
THE AMERICAN
IMPERIUM: SHIVA
NIXON
*for Thomas Cole, yet again
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"
-Juvenal
"The weeping child could not
be heard.
The weeping parents wept in vain:
They strip'd him to his little shirt.
And bound him in an iron chain."
-William Blake
1977
Heh-heh.
Yes, that Frost is a rube and a fool!
He
thinks he can trick Dick Nixon? He thinks he
is
so much smarter than me? I fooled'em all-
and
regret not a bit. Jews in the Ivy
League
think they can sic this lame British attack
dog
after me? Well, I'll show'em all, again
and
again, that you can't beat me with a hack,
or
an expert. Fuck'em all! Heh-heh. Nixon
is
the ticket! I beat them all at their game,
and
they'll never let me rest for it, until
death-
and not then! Aw, Hell! It's always the same,
whether
at Whittier, left to ring the bell,
or
after six years in the Presidency,
they'll
still keep coming and coming after me.
1970
to
William Safire
I
need a Jew, Bill, to fill the seat left by Fortas,
I
need a Jew on the Court, for Abe Fortas has quit,
I
need a Jew to show the blacks and Hispanics I care,
I
need a Jew, and I dare not anger the left or right,
I
need a Jew- fuck Buckley!- he's got his man Burger,
I
need a Jew- it's their seat, or so they will claim,
I
need a Jew- er, Bill….is this Harry Blackmun a Jew?,
I
need a Jew- and one who has less love of money (haha!),
I
need a Jew to calm that goddamn Marshall down,
I
need a Jew- Damn that Haynsworth!- no one else from Dixie,
I
need a Jew with more than a few tricks up his sleeve,
I
need a Jew- they're always there when you need them,
I
need a Jew, Bill, it's always the same, you play their game,
I
need a Jew, and they know that if I lose they win!
10/15/73
I
don't understand this man. What kind of plan
could
he have, Pat? I recall, in '68
I
asked him of skeletons. What was this man
thinking?
That I would willingly share his fate?
To
resign, so tawdry- were he innocent
he
would stay and fight! The public can relate
to
a fighter- but a quitter is more bent
than
a queer on his knees- heh-heh. And for what?
Ah,
good riddance- maybe this was heaven-sent.
Now
I can slip Nelson into my pocket,
lock
up New York in 1976-
or
better yet, get Jerry Ford, that dimwit
loved
by all- unlike Agnew- that fucking dick!
It
never ends- all this shit- just makes me sick.
9/55
My
God, Pat, it's as if everything they fear
has
come to pass. The General is dying,
or
so it seems, and all I have been trying
to
achieve is here. I couldn't be nearer
to
it all- yet I'm fearful. I'm so worried
about
failing. My God, Pat, what if they're right?,
and
old Tricky Dick is the dark in the light
that
they fear? My God, Pat, it seems so hurried.
It
was only a decade ago I left
the
service- the War! It was so long ago,
Pat,
and I-I'm still a young man, with the rest
of
my life. Am I ready if Ike passes?
I
don't know what to do or say. I don't know
if
I should feel scared- or if this increases?
1957
Ghana
I
know what poverty is like, Martin. I
know
the growl in the belly. I see all these
people
on death's door. I care. I'm not Hoover,
that
damn fairy! If you would throw support my
way
I could convince the N.A.A.C.P.
to
come aboard, in '60. We could move the
whole
damn country's opinion of the Negro
Problem.
Martin, Martin….I'm asking you, please,
to
think it over- y'know Jack would leave you
high
and dry- like that!- if it suited him so;
while
I….
1968
I
don't know one sane person who'd back Reagan!
The
gibbering fool thinks he can come steal it-
MY nomination!? It will take one
ballot
and
that bastard will have to begin again
when
he's sucking steak through a straw. It's over!
All
this bullshit is just that. Ask Goldwater
how
this country loves conservative blather.
I
know of his meetings, in New York City,
with
Rockefeller- all done behind my back!
And
the fundraising Jews, New York Times, and that
bastard,
Bill Buckley. Suggesting John Lindsay
for
V.P.?- Damn!- we thought George Wallace was bad
enough
for the country!- Lindsay can be had
for
a dime! Let Reagan have him- he's so sad….
12/1/63
I
don't give a rat’s-ass about you, Jack,
-anymore-
you and your whores. You got yours!
That
boy- Malcolm- had it right, when he said
that
shit about the chickens- where are your
whores,
now, rich-boy?...why do I seem to lack
the
public's love? They overlook your Red
ties/look
me dead in the eyes and laugh- why?
1968
Bebe,
I don't get it. I just met Hoover,
and
he says not to worry about Bobby
and
the Democrats. I need to know, old pal,
what
you're hearing on your end. What do they say
in
the boardrooms? They know I'm tough on Castro,
don't
they? I mean, who could they want- old Eugene
McCarthy?-
Haha!- I mean, the man's a fruit-
cake,
and loser! Look what's left: Hubert
Humphrey's
deadmeat- for the sins of LBJ.
And
Wallace can't win- I mean, c'mon, get real,
Bebe!
So that just leaves Bobby Kennedy-
and
why didn't the Bay Of Pigs fiasco
cling
to him? It's not fair. Y'know what I mean?
It's
my time, Bebe!- That's what the fairy said….
1950
I
like old Helen- she's a friend, but a fool!
Roy,
see what you can get on her. Get it all
down,
pal. We know she believes in the World Peace
bullshit-
she was marching with all the pinkos
we
know infest Washington. Why don't you see
what
your boss has on her? Lemme know if Joe's
got
some dirt. I need this seat. I don't suppose
that
a debate would expose anything new
that
the public doesn't know? It sorta goes
for
her style. Roy, howdaya think the Jews
will
view her? Do you think that they like her? Do
you
think that they'd vote for a schiksa, instead
of
a war hero, like me? You have no clue?
Roy- make Helen into the worst kind of Red!
1960
stump
speech, Harlem
I
just wanna say: Thank you for your support,
Jackie
Robinson! I've always been a fan
of
the Yankees, as well as the colored man,
and-
er….uh….heh-heh- I mean Dem Bums, of course!….
Er….y'know,
Jackie, I played a little sports
in
my day, too- just like you! I played football
back
in Whittier. The Quakers thought me nuts
but
I persisted- well- in spite of it all!
And
the Negro should, too! I mean, after all,
this
is America- not the Soviet
Union!
Look how you've made it, Jackie! They call
you
a hero- to all Americans, not
just
your kind! And I'm proud to call you a friend,
Jackie
Robinson. And I mean that; and….and….
1970
I'm
telling you it's not hard as it looks,
Henry.
The war
will
last no more
than
a month or two more. Those lousy Gooks
can't
handle more. Our Cambodian hooks
will
force the war
to
worst- a draw.
I've
seen it before. Doug MacArthur took
alot
worse in Korea, and the polls.
Henry,
get those
Ivy
League Jews
behind
us. You were born to play this role
of
the dealmaker, the broker, the cold
hand
of the pose.
The
great men choose
to
be so- Pol Pot can be bought and sold
like
that. Don't worry about the fallout.
Everything
will fall into place, and how
and
where we will know. Brezhnev doesn't give
a
damn- he's not willing to go all out
for
Ho- and you gotta know that old Mao
would
love to see him fall- the V.C. lives
to
spite that fat commie. Wipe them all out!
Rolling
Thunder must roll!- I don't care how
it's
done- fuck all the costs, fuck all the lives!
Henry,
I have a feeling it's about
time
that this country knows we won't be kowed
until
peace comes- and Ho finally gives.
1971
"Ter
Chew"…."Ter Chew"…."Ter Chew"….that’s
what they say,
Henry,
behind your back- those bastards at
Harvard
and Yale; why can't you see the facts?
I
am the one who tells you the truth, day-
after-day.
Dammit, man, I went to bat
for
you, disregarding all the attacks
on
both of us. Henry- I need you bad,
to
take care of this creepy E11sberg queer.
I
know you know the ins and outs of smear.
This
little faggot will cry for his dad
once
we sic the press up his ass! He's led
a
fucked-up life. I hear he went damn near-
loony
a few years back. I want his fear
that
I know of every dick that he's had.
1949
The
queers make it so easy. I love homos
almost
as much as the commies. Don't they see
the
simplicity of it all?- or the pros
and
cons of messing with Nixon? Victory
is
mine. I even feel sorry, and will miss
the
excitement of it all- Pumpkin Papers
and
such- Ha!- I'll even miss that old fool Hiss-
"THE
LIE will get you!", mom said of my capers-
And
she was right! God bless everything Quaker!
I
think we should go out, Pat, and celebrate,
and
lift a toast to that cocksucking Chambers-
were
it not for him I'd just be a farmer,
like
Dad, poor bastard died worthless. No such fate
awaits
us. O, The Lie, The Lie- O, Mother!
1958
Mother's
Day
in
mid-flight to Bogota, Colombia
Uh,
hello, hello….Mother, it's me, Richard!
Richard….Richard
Nixon- Nixon. Yes- Nixon!
Richard-
the Vice-President. Yes, I'm your son!
I'm
in flight to South America, but I'd
be
remiss if I didn't call, send a card,
or-
yes. Richard. Your son….thought it would be fun
if-
oh….I'm sorry, Mrs. Flanders- I'm done
"prattling
aimlessly" mom there?….if you would….
Uh….yes,
yes….is this Hannah Nixon? Hannah!
Good!
Well, mom, it's me- Richard. I'm on a jet
plane
making this phone call home to you. The sun
is
setting and I just wanted to tell ya'
I
love you!, Mother, and I'd never forget
you,
this day, and….Richard Nixon….I'm your son!
APPENDIX
1)
Shakespearea
2)
Whitmania
3)
Sonnetelle
4)
Rilkea
5)
Curtal Sonnet
6)
Alternasonnet
7)
Sonnetette
8)
Schneideria
9)
Antisonnet
10)
Spenseria
11)
Dusonnet
12)
Sonnetessa
13)
Baudelairea
14)
Petrarcha
“Presently,
I see myself clearer,
Why time I visualize….”
-Soundgarden
THE AMERICAN IMPERIUM: DESOLATA
NEVER THE MACHINE FOREVER
*for Thomas Cole, finally
Later
A sideways glance in the mirror
Still, it was hard
not to fault the Americans, and their boundless consumerism, for
inviting the cybernetic Keelaks to earth.
One look at their 1,732
sustained medraks of Planetary Economic Growth and the Chairman of the
Federal Reserve Bank
convinced President Hoover and United Nations
Secretary Guevara to open diplomatic relations with this species long
admired, but little known, in these parsecs for their economic
algorithms. Who could have guessed their taste for things
Madagascan
would have included Madagascans themselves? Or that Madagascan fat
would be so perfect a lubricant that
even other ethnic groups were
soon to vatted and shipped to the home planet? Or that, in response to
the Great Terran
Rebellion of 2148, the Keelaks would unleash a
program of mind-monstery to frighten the weak fleshy humans back in to
subservience- or that it would fail? So, you see, there is genuine
confusion over whether King Kong and Godzilla’s storied
battle,
which soon carried over onto Cape Breton Island, was real. And over
600 people were injured, and 232 killed,
when the determined
governments of the United Maritimes Coalition (U.M.C.- formed after
the Quebecker/Canadian
Nuclear war of 2068) strapped the two 20th
Century horrors onto rafts, after their tired carcasses washed up on
Bretonian
soil. The plan was to tow the goliathon scourges up to
Baffin Bay and nuke their asses in to Arctic oblivion.
-But this was not how the dream (if it was) ended. Surely Minya
(you remember him- Godzilla’s smoke
ring blowing son?) would come to
save his daddy? Or I would wake to the dulcet strains of Saturn’s
Revenge’s latest
chart-topping tune? Or was I a Star Marine,
returning from a 3 year tour in the Midlongoran Sector, out on a
little R & R,
not recalling my name, as the first thug dropped his
drawers and was ready to pickle a little pussy? Or was I a Keelak spy?
I turn
and pull the hoodlums off the screaming girl,
who stands in her tattered nudity, smiles at me
and-
In the dream it is 1962, and the world is nearer
its end, desolated in the President’s chair, ruins of-
Basking in their
ingenuity, the Keelaks
crept in to our
world, and took it with little notice.
Today, some still
don’t seem to notice or care.
Few knew how to do
without their machines….
As I shave my shadow with a warmer
lather
I recall when death was viewed with
fear,
and fire became a different form of
magic, again-
“ –are you doing?”
“Yes, pardons. There was that
time I cut myself
shaving, and something on the other
side giggled
as the blood trickled down my jaw
and- ”
“ –are you doing?”
Never means forever brings everything
Who heard the night
opining with the chiming
of Mass was not there
in the celestial
cathedral, back in
2308,
when queries trickled
through the razor blade
atmosphere cracked by
the Keelak King vessels
strewn against the
lathe of time’s graying squall.
A blond woman crosses
to the church steps,
ahead of the hour,
rivering in
to the pew, caught on
God’s fragile fingers,
sowing faith into the
immaterial
warders that deposit
the past’s mulled self.
Here is where
antitime creeps inside me,
and I peak at 6000
years from when
I left my last-
a man taps my shoulder
and queries, “What
form of two-bit deity
has brought this
great mechanization plague
to our planet? Did we
not know enough
of ourselves? Did our
dreams not fill
the grandest and most
unremarked-of things
in our breaths? It is
as if some jury
in the heavens voted
its plurality
against our race-
oh, are you Mexican,
by the way?” I
turned to the questioner
and saw he was not
there. That was years ago
when I was not me,
and when Mars was new
to human travelers,
and America
still held the
world’s Gross Planetary Product
in the caverns of
Wall Street’s bravest thieves.
He continued:
“What cosmic
debutante
voted against our
tragic race? It seems
we are alone, on this
drifted scoria
of the sun, and this
church merely a balm
or narcotic- ”
I said: “No, I am not,
by the way.”
“And what of the Trinity?
Doesn’t God figure
at all into this
equation?” But he
was gone. Yet, he was
well fed, reasonably
free to choose his way
in life, clothed,
employed, educated, and full
of health.
Still, the call of astrology
or religion brought
him here. These ruins
are what I am. He
says: “No. I am here.
You are just my fear
speaking back to me.”
I said: “I see.”
I didn’t, but I am
polite. And perhaps I
was the projection
of a projection
deeper still. He said:
“Perhaps Malthus
was not correct, after all,
is not starvation a
thing long gone by?
And what supersystem
of man could hope
to have brought that
nigh? Perhaps silicon
was the answer, all
along? Beyond morals
lay reason- ”
“And reasons?”, I interjected.
He countered: “Are
you doing or seeing
others do?”
Proximate to a sated flea
I pried my reason
from the past, and left
the ruins. The man
breathed in and faded.
I had heard tell of
ghostly encounters
in the ancient past,
before the Machine
reduced absence and
loneliness to nothing
but an algorithm
(another faith)
breathing in the
emptiness of 0-1-
0-1-0-1-0-1- -
Is man
but the mere
physiognomy
of man? Or is he a
dream of such things,
laden with the
burdens of love and mind?
As I wondered in the
gathering waves
of night, my rare
companion was still gone
with the fears of
time prompting alien
thoughts. The Keelaks
knew love in dream. I did
it a few decades ago.
In my Machine
I traveled back in
time, wrote a virus
which spread, and in
a month or less, they dreamt
they were flesh, for
the first time in centuries,
and not just flesh,
but of the Donnean kind,
and when the sickness
had spread, in silence,
they did a most
mortal thing, working the ill
for all it was worth.
Was it mere ennui
which left me here in
this dread cold spring?
Or was it the dream,
in another key?
My questioner returned. The
roseate church
reminded him of the Oregon coast,
squalls cowering in from the
Pacific,
waiting. The ocean
feeds its monsters well,
as they climb on to
the girl with hair I dream
as lighter than the
day. Theme waves unequal
to the mass who grind
out checkmated themes
under lenses
indifferent. Nature goes on.
