goao

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
costs
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

"...you 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
Spring

-John Meador
7/11-7/17/09

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"

old haints

"Bells rungs. Drums beat. Noises natural and unnatural were heard. A cabinet revolved and flash fired. A row of departed skulls came into view."

" One of the things that I am trying to emphasize is that we can't ever really completely detach the imagination from the real."

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

Fatherhood

Wasn't that, like- Robinhood's Old Man???

I meant to start this post off lightly, with this bit about our President's regard for Fatherhood:

President Obama at an event on Friday intended to start a national conversation on fatherhood.
In his memoir, “Dreams From My Father,” Mr. Obama describes his father, who died when Mr. Obama was 21, as “a myth to me, both more and less than a man.”

Obama told teenagers and community leaders in the East Room of the White House, beginning what he called a “national conversation on responsible fatherhood

student Larry Holmes from St. Albans School, asked Mr. Obama: “Traveling from state to state, country to country, being the president, which one is funner? Being a father or being a president?”

“There’s nothing more fun than being a father,” Mr. Obama said, then quipped, “Now, my kids aren’t teenagers yet, so I don’t know whether that will maintain itself.”

but the day grew dark, and my momentum slipped; my gray beard grew wet with the same old tears that dripped

A young sixteen year old woman died in the streets of Iran yesterday, shot in Tehran 19:05 June 20th on Karekar Avenue, at the corner crossing Khosravi Street and Salehi Street amidst protestors against the regime; her Father reportedly holding a simple sign saying " Freedom"
Her name was ندا (#Neda), which means voice or call in Farsi-now, voice of the people, a call to freedom.

I'm here to tell you my sister died while in her father's hands I'm here to tell you my sister had big dreams... I'm here to tell you my sister who died was a decent person... and like me yearned for a day when her hair would be swept by the wind... and like me read "Forough" [Forough Farrokhzad]... and longed to live free and equal... and she longed to hold her head up and announce, "I'm Iranian"... and she longed to one day fall in love to a man with a shaggy hair... and she longed for a daughter to braid her hair and sing lullaby by her crib... my sister died from not having life... my sister died as injustice has no end... my sister died since she loved life too much... and my sister died since she lovingly cared for people... my loving sister, I wish you had closed your eyes when your time had come... the very end of your last glance burns my soul.... sister have a short sleep. your last dream be sweet.

"A reader who couldn't quite make out what her father was saying in the video understood after learning that her name is Neda. He sent in the transcript: "Neda, don't be afraid. Neda, don't be afraid. (There is yelling and screaming.) Neda, stay with me. Neda stay with me!"

















Children of the New World - daevid allen

Tell me what's it all about
What is this funny old world that
We can't do without
Tell me why we argue like we do.
We rob & rape & kill & still don't understand
We only rob ourselves
& then we wonder why we suffer like we do
soon we'll remember
& understand
THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW WORLD
& THE DIFFERENT GAMES THEY PLAY
cos we made love all the night time
turned out to be the right time

now there's children everywhere

Tell me where you're really from
What is this funny old world the human race has won
Tell me why to die fills us with fear
Its not the first its not the last time we'll be born
Our turn will come again
Pick up put down those clothes of human flesh we wear
Slowly we're learning
To understand
THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW WORLD
ARE THE CHILDREN OF TODAY
Soon they'll begin
Revolutionizing
& reorganising

As the old world fades away
Lets start today

Iran, midsummer's eve

I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you, as 'twere any nightingale.
-William Shakespeare: A Midsummer Night's Dream, 1. 2

hear the roar
and the twitter


Masters, spread yourselves.
-A Midsummer Night's Dream, 1. 2

Tales of the Perilous Lands

Captain Bing

Captain Bing was a Pirate King,
And sailed the broad seas o`er;
On many a lark he sailed his bark
Where none had sailed before,
And filled his hold so full of gold
That it would hold no more.

The sea was smooth, and so, forsooth,
They took a bit of leisure,
And all the crew good men and true
A hornpipe dance for pleasure
And had their fling, while Captain Bing
Kept watch above the treasure.

The wind it blew, and all the crew
Were sorry that it blew so;
If they were wrecked they might expect
To share the fate of Crusoe,
And ride the spars like jolly tars--
All shipwrecked men must do so.

The gale it roared, and all on board
Began to say their prayers,
And Captain Bing commenced to sing,
To drown his many cares
But when he found that he had drowned,
It took him unawares.

- Lyman Frank Baum: Father Goose, His Book, 1900

THE KING OF OO-RINKTUM-JING

DAINTY Baby Austin!
Your Daddy's gone to Boston

To see the King

Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing
And the whale he rode acrost on!

Boston Town's a city:
But it's such a pity!

They'll greet the King

Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing
With never a nursery ditty!

But me and you and Mother
Can stay with Baby-brother,

And sing of the King

Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing
And laugh at one another!

So what cares Baby Austin
If Daddy has gone to Boston

To see the King

Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing
And the whale he rode acrost on?

-James Whitcomb Riley, 1894


The Holly Tree

Highty, tighty, paradighty clothed in green,
The king could not read it, no more could the queen;
They sent for a wise man out of the East,
Who said it had horns, but was not a beast!