Saturday, July 18, 2009


But Orpheus the gods sent empty away, and presented to him an apparition only of her whom he sought, but herself they would not give up, because he did not dare to die for love, but was contriving how he might enter Hades alive.
-Plato: Symposium 179d

[…] If only he might
turn once more (if looking back
were not the ruin of all his work)
-Rainer Maria Rilke: Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes, 1904

...he has been trying to sing
love into existence again
and he has failed...
-Margaret Atwood: Orpheus 2

Not Chaos, not
The darkest pit of lowest Erebus,
Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out
By help of dreams—can breed such fear and awe
As fall upon us often when we look
Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man—
My Haunt, and the main region of my song.
-William Wordsworth: "Prospectus" to The Excursion, 1814

Eurydice, Orpheus & One
-for M.A.S. & One

He probably didn't know her any better
than a dewdrop
trembling, pure
soul of goodnatured
and alchemically solvent
but she made herself his

To hear himself tell her he was
sorry, he wanted for that One
ideal legend caught in lyre & tangled lineage
his version that came not to pass
& whose spell once perfected
he could not pronounce
not that any of it was false / untenable
but his was the enchanted voice of Youth
embryonic, sprung of Vision incurable
a kiss that bade but curse to beasts;
Curse they bore back
upon his head in the clouds
& his "Baby, Let's Play House"
not so much due to the rankling
domesticity of his affections
as to the intolerable fable told the blind brutes
disclosing the Bright Tapestry of the Unseen,
vivid in his eyeshine

Taming the Wild Kingdom-
- that never happened
in his own head
he saw it that way
but the Savage gets even

He wanted to tell her he was
sorry with his belly full of remorse
belching in Hell just loud enough
to get their attention
gone all the way down
Orpheus in the Dark, forgotten promise
that had to keep
but nothing can be
kept in the godawful Dark
past knowing gone
all the way collapsing
numb to name
upon the desolate throne of Grief
hewn from the age-old skull of Atlas clutched
in both skeleton hands
agonized & gray

She might have come to him then
or so it is told by the tellers of Tale
and feeling her hand on his
there in the terrible
dark led them forth
orphaned voice gone ahead of them
mumbling incoherent imprecations
moaning misery's blessing
rent from the very bonemarrow of the blues.

Last Resort of the Lost,
Erebus' amenities include
complimentary asphodel, long black Lethean limo
where the shadow of nightingales hover,
even a pro-shop & club for avalanche extreme sport
but any climbing in this party
and every gain here strips
you down to your Alighieri undies
til all that remains
is the Dantesque masque that mocks your guilt
& the obolus you got in with

I'm not sure Orpheus ever really emerged...
for the further on he got
his guilt glowed with a heat such that
he could begin to see things
-things he hadn't aught to see

" can look back babe,
but it's best not to stare."

Last I heard
he was torn all to pieces,
depictions survive;
some aged auditor perhaps
in prayer, holding his head & silent lyre
that One perfect legend still waiting to

-John Meador

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Sooey. Sooey!

Ragnarokettes do a mean goose stepping can-can while they pillage Valhalla. Through the smoking carnage you can see dimly their prim petticoats by the low spark of them high heeled boys wending their way through the charnel grounds still seeking fresh kill; certain of your relatives desperately seeking asylum...
"The world's most powerful investment bank is a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money"

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Café Americain

"Life had given Americans so much by the mid-sixties that we were all a little drunk on possibility. Things were speeding out of control before we could define them. Those who cared most deeply about the changes, those who gave their lives to them, were, I think, the most deceived. "
-Robert Stone

"Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
—Hunter Thompson: The Great Shark Hunt, 1979

"When the last red man has become a myth among the white men, when your childrens children think themselves alone in the field, upon the highway or in the silence paths of the woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets ofyour cities are silent, and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land."
-Chief Seattle, 1786-1866