don’t know what you’re talking about

must this always be the same ..why can’t you kiss like her ..have you always been  lovin’ class ..why does your ass have you come last ..are you often too proud to yield ..does your daddy keep your shield ..do you rush the tower to fail ..does your coach think you’re too pale ..do you think you can play guitar ..does your lover think you’re a star ..does your mommy know where you are?

error message

…noooooo !

Othello

have just been watching Oliver Parker’s adaption of Shakespeare’s Othello ..with Fishbourne in the lead ..an excellent work ..a very masterful essay on deceits so familiar to so many of us ..piecing our lives together from what remains of our humanity

..life is somewhat like a jigsaw puzzle and its pieces..or several.. ~our impressions of ourselves ..our regard for others ..our worldviews ..our sense of right or wrong ..all assembled from fact and fiction ..honesty and lies ..hope and fear ..objectivity and subjectivity ..charity and malevolence ..freedom and control

if you’ve ever tried to live outside the jigsaw ..if you find yourself there or have been there for even a moment ..you will no doubt know how hard it is to remain there ..where it often seems that every dynamic and interplay conspires to force one back into the image of the puzzle ..where the pieces are lonely for completion ..where the process and the picture serve to imperil every promise ..it is such an effort to not become a piece of someone elses puzzle ..

fuck that ..seriously ..fuck that ..don’t stand for it ..and if in this you cannot succeed ..keep at least a part of yourself ..outside a puzzle

Aaron should have such an Othello trespass within ..or Cain be so Able
a halfmoon struck so poorly coined upon some fable
where many a puzzle pegged as pieces
fitted as keys to turn some wheel of fortune
full circling those dizzy spirits spun to be spoken so

shamanism

I have been reading of late ..Roger Walsh in his book: The world of Shamanism: New Views of an Ancient Tradition ..this is a well researched and cogent offering on the phenomena of shamanism and ‘NeoShamanic’ developments ..it gives sound insight into traditional origins as well as current trends

..I have always had a lot of time for people who devote themselves to this sort of thing ..-even though I have never considered myself to be one such as they. Shaman are for the most part dedicated to community ..culture and tribe ..in this they serve ..culture is a thing I as an artist see fit to be transformed  ..in this I mean mine ..and no-one elses.. I would not be so presumptuous ..I for my part have seen fit to pursue community through synonomies of attribute ..activity and disposition ..-other artists ..writers and suchlike ..there are yet still more profound differences of outlook to consider ..while I have a great and abiding interest in all things metaphysical ..we differ significantly in our perceptions of the spirit world ..it is my contention that when death occurs that life is an entity no more ..never suchlike again ..when I experience what others refer to as the spirit world ..I am referring to psi like resonances such as I believe to be within the facility of any human to know ..an aspect of collective consciousness or race-memory if you like ..such as the trance like state numerous tribal groups undergo to commune with their ancestors ..so I believe that when a person encounters these spirits it usually indicates that a person or persons very alive and real are thinking in certain ways ..the spirits encountered are quite substantial in a manner of abstracts ..significant psychological phenomena ..all things being considered I believe real shaman to be of a higher academic pedigree than psychologists ..

nothing like a Kangaroo

‘A mouse … a mouse’ ..Renmao shrilled striking out here and there with a flail…overturning tables and chairs ..skittering madly about the shadows..quite an unbecoming thing for the Pharoah’s accountant ..passing close by Suten Anu …the Kings favourite scribe ..who casually extends a foot ..tripping him up ..Renmao falls quite heavily ..there is even some blood ..’you shall regret this Suten Anu ..you may have the Pharoahs ear ..but I have his money!’ ..Suten Anu gives a withering smile ..’it is not a mouse it is a Jerboa‘ ..he kneels down hand extended …making kissing sounds as a strange little creature ..comes timidly to him ..jumping onto his palm ..’look here Renmao …see his tiny little forelegs …how quite extraordinarily large his hindlegs are …how long his tail is? ..Renmao is blinking ..still wiping the blood from his nose ..Suten Anu continues ..’this little one’s name is Sokkwi …he is the beloved pet of Anok Sabe …the Pharoahs second son …interestingly enough the last person that interfered with Sokkwi ..Anok Sabe had none other than General Hetshepsu himself personally drown …quite the sentamentalist is our little Anok Sabe ..perhaps you’d like to tell him yourself’ ..it was sort of put like a question ..one that Renmao seemed loathe to answer ..’I see ..I see’ said Renmao …’such things are good to know ..thank you Suten Anu …you always were the wise one’ ..Suten Anu sets Sokkwi down again, smiling craftily ..’see that no harm comes to him’

prelude

a contrapuntal candlelight
in heat of nights dreaming flight
burning truth into sight
like frozen stars in spiral dark
silent signs of distant marque
a diamond road to deaths delight
sequined through the Janus night

…tell the other Directors what you saw

time out was called ..swatting at yet another mosquito, skip said something to the male lead ..they both disappeared into his trailer ..everyone else went to lunch with the real stars …the caterers ..inside the van Mr filmstar was being dressed down ..skip had left the air con on ..they’d cracked a six pack ..’your delivery of key lines is shearing towards the wooden’ ..the actor asks for an example ..’the line ..whoah ..I just divided 60 by 1.32 and got 45.45454545 etcetera,  I feel like Pythagoras dude ..what are the chances of that?’ ..the actor interjects ..’ aaw c’mon man ..I put a lot of emphasis there’ ..’yeah’ says skip ..’the wrong kind of emphasis ..the punter needs to know that not only does this guy love numbers ..they love him’ ..the actor is laughing now ‘..c’mon  ..dude ..eheh ..who sez shit like that anyhow ..eheh ..and what’s he doing in the freakin jungle anyway?’   ..skip is already into his second beer ..’right ..this is how it’s gonna be ..think rgb ..red green blue   ..red is toned by anger or …decisiveness ..green is toned by passion ..obsession ..madness ..blue is toned with despair  ..angst ..regret ..you got that? ..we’re gonna shoot everything 3 times ..in red ..green ..blue ..are you up with that?’ ..the actor is stunned ..silent for a pause ..breaking into a grin, saying ..’I like it’

eight weeks later ..an extraordinary parallax of coincidences ocurred.. if you were lucky enough to observe their simultaneity ..during post production ..skip was over the moon ..’there’s enough here for two good movies at least’ ..dollar signs in his smiling eye’s

Taipan

verge (n)
Etymology:
Middle English, rod, measuring rod, margin, from Anglo-French, rod, area of jurisdiction, from Latin virga twig, rod, line
Date:  15th century
1 a (1): a rod or staff carried as an emblem of authority or symbol of office (2)obsolete : a stick or wand held by a person being admitted to tenancy while he swears fealty b: the spindle of a watch balance ; especially : a spindle with pallets in an old vertical escapement c: the male copulatory organ of any of various invertebrates
2 a: something that borders, limits, or bounds: as (1): an outer margin of an object or structural part (2): the edge of roof covering (as tiling) projecting over the gable of a roof (3)British : a paved or planted strip of land at the edge of a road :   – Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary  2009

Taipan

be fearful of your footfalls
the queen of the pond is 14 foot long,
you linger near the verge of a Taipan
gifted with venom to instantly nail ya’
now so predisposed to test it to failure
being one people or the other
as opportunity requires
even on ocaission seeming all as one
when it suits her
making her three times the snake
we’ll never be
loved by any one of her faces three
softly this way…tread carefully

D.O.A.

it was wrong…
…all so very wrong
inexplicably agitated ..unsettled
his scopic drive… subverted
oversaturated by red shifts
looking for something
…somehow not there
no longer a spectator
..yet somehow not an actor
no more superfluous jouissance in the mirror
a very real feeling of destiny
transformed into a looked at being
revisited by lost involvement
weak from ennui
he could take it no more
barely able to walk
he stumbles down dark streets of despair
faltering ..falling
seeking the expertise of only one man

…the masterful Dr Lacan

incredibly …against all pleasure
he finds him in his shabby clinic
begging him to run some tests
a specialist in metynomy
he is obliged to acquiesce

..he waits
not daring to hope
anxiety in his shallow breath

Dr Lacan returns
it is not good
.. he seems grim
surprised

“how bad is it …doc?”
suddenly so pale

“its liminal poisoning “
such sympathy in his voice

“give it to me straight ..doc ..how long have I got?”

young Perninni steals the show

Meet the Strangels

“all your figures are so beautiful.. innocent.. child-like.. you are a fine sculptor.. quite prodigious.. I hope I live till you are older..I want to see you finish some less divine examples of humanity.. someting with a bit more ooomph..rather faces that tell stories than fairy tails that tell faces”
the lad seemed to take it so well..inside he was furious… after begging leave of his master and patron.. he consoled himself in the arms of his sweetheart..
“everything I do.. I do old school ..that old prick uses the latest Holo-paint programs..with the kind of composite analysis wizards that tell you when the ears are too low.. or the elbows too long.. I’m gonna make my next ones outta real stuff.. using my bare fucking hands.. and little pointy sticks n’shit noamsayin?… when we have our next exhibition he’s gonna look like a fucking relic…”
and so it came to pass..some months later..the exhibition opened to uncertain acclaim and certain controversy ..the old masters holograms were always recieved with sentimental attention.. and this time he’d outdone himself with the sorriest collection of knaves and felons a millionare had ever studied.. and yet the public swarmed about the boys work.. ten small figurines.. made to look like dolls.. highlighted with groovy packaging and everything.. when the master found him he persuaded the boy to guide him through the works..
“I call them Strangels..this first one here is Equonon.. he’s the strangel of karmic disparity.. otherwise known as the anathema of philosophy.. with wings of stained glass.. an ’80’s style jet pilots helmet.. skate shorts.. black tee ..sandals and knee high white socks.. his fetish is infidelity ..ever wondered if anything goes on in there beyond the strange telemetry of skepticism?”
“this little lady is named Ashkura.. her fetish is pathomimesis.. loves to pretend she’s drowning in the pool.. very sexy ..she’s the strangel of dysfunctional innocence.. or rather -the anathema of psychology ..she has wings of velvet plushie ..translucent lingerie.. cats ears in her hair.. golf shoes..”
“here we have Faerasus..the strangel of critical misperception.. and the anathema of real politik ..his fetish is uncertainty .. or is it certainty.. wings of elastic.. camo fatigue pants..leather jacket.. moccasins..goatee..orange goggles.. an actual beret ..and look ..he’s carrying a kitten”
“cute as a button is Sothearus -strangel of gestalt exploitation or .. taran tara ..the anathema of sociology.. wings of Teflon.. oversize head.. large outsize eyes.. looks like a small child..but she’s ageless you know ..grey smear of a badly drawn smile.. reminiscent of the crow or the joker ..more of a seagull really.. carries a scarecrow plushie.. she’s hot for idiots “
“Esotaluna.. the strangel of wandering fixation ..the anathema of the dance -carousels get this one going .. wings of moodstone.. gold lycra micro-shorts ..topless apart from a pair of x’s taped over her nipples.. 8 inch heels when not wearing tap shoes.. elbow length black silk gloves ..carrying a water pistol of some kind ..perhaps a super soaker”
“Primapriori ..the inimitable strangel of divine inelegance ..anathema of consciousness.. she’s into massage ..wings of lava lamps ..neat huh.. hiking shoes.. psychadelic stripped leggings.. oversize turtleneck sweater.. dreadlocks.. carrying a butterfly net ..naturally”
“Next is sweet Neoteneo.. modelled on my girlfriend ..she’s into sundials ..not my girlfriend .. I mean.. wings of sharkskin..pink vinyl lederhosen ..would that be vinylhosen ..umm..white stockings.. pirate shirt.. snowboots.. greek fishermans hat in red velvet ..carrying candy cane ..she’s the strangel of ridiculous satori ..inevitably.. the anathema of art ..”
“Now this one was quite a challenge ..took forever to get her feet right ..Laersophrossi ..the strangel of ornamental wisdom ..also known as the anathema of music ..really into gadgets ..wings of fimo.. tie-die singlet.. loincloth.. combat boots.. carries a microphone”
“and so to Hypheulus.. anathema of history ..strangel of cosmic contempt ..his fetish is.. the last word ..wings of velcro ..baggy trousers ..tangerine hoody.. size ‘F’ clown shoes.. carries a backpack for his wings when his self loathing gets the better of him”
“finally we come to Cosimadeus ..matchless strangel of anthrocentric projection ..really an odd sort of fellow ..anathema of anthropology and all that ..deeply into vibrations ..knee length denim cut-offs ..gumboots ..rodeo shirt.. carrying a pichfork ..oh.. wings of knapped obsidian ..you know like those stone age arrow-heads ..oh I really liked your pieces by the way ..such a visceral appeal ..nothing sensualist at all about them ..bravo master ..bravo “

true enough

‘yer doin’ it right kid..inna cupla years Granma’ll let ya start firin’ the 410′..young Angus is all like..cool..then..’whats a 410 Grandpa?’..as he..pretty expertly for a young’n..fitted the bolt back into his Parker-Hale..Granpa quickdraws an odd looking shotgun from his full length Dryazabone..’I calls this baby my sawn off solicitor..its just a scaled down shotty..with the right shells..it can still waste just about anything in close quarters’..Granma has returned from the garden..busying herself at the woodstove..-or the range..as she called it..slipping on his gloves like a surgeon..then putting on his black balaclava..already on his way out..saying to Granma..’just off down the bank love’..as he sits down to eat..Granma tells Angus that he’s now allowed to go dingo trapping with Uncle Bill..he’s so surprised..so pleased..wolfing down his food he’s out the door ..running across the pastures to Bills little shack near the fence line yelling..   ..’Bill..Bill..Granma sez I can go trappin with ya!’..breathless he’s there..to see old Bill smiling quietly ..always his way..the politest man he was ever going to know well ..tho’ he didn’t yet know it..’feel like carrying me gun then, Angus’ ..it wasn’t a question..’aaw can I?’..is his hasty reply..Bill gathers up his traps with their long chains and substantial stakes..draping them over his elderly shoulders..passing over his Merkel to young Angus ..Bill always carried side by side 12 gauge shotties..but this one was special..it was ornately worked with very fine engravings that Angus fancied were scrolling off the metalwork onto his hands as he handled it..communing with this beautiful weapon..they set off across the fields and meadows of his Granpa’s farm..till at last they come to the tree line where Bill last tracked some Dingo’s..the dog had pulled up the trap and its path through the underbrush was easily visible as Bill always attached a 4 or 5 foot branch to the chain as a sort of a drag ..’Wait here..will you Angus’..signaling for him to pass him the Merkel ..as he limped off ..lamed from an old legacy of a hunting mishap years ago..young Angus wondered again why they were doing this ..the oldies were saying stuff like..’they run down pregnant cattle causing them to drop the calf which they happily eat’..he’d never seen it before..in fact it wasn’t until some almost 40 years later that reports of Dingo attacks  ..especially on children ..were becomingcommonplace ..especially at Fraser Island..well after the Lindy Chamberlain affair ..looking back on it all..years later..he realised that those oldies were quite wise ..the family farm was often seething with small children ..disappearing off into the bush unsupervised ..the upshot of all that trapping saw the Dingo’s adjusting and never setting foot on his Granpa’s farm again ..suddenly young Angus hears a shot and then Bill calling out  ..’allright then..come on over’..it wasn’t hard to find him ..standing there next to a dead dingo..some 5-6 feet long from tail to nose..’look at this’ Bill gestures to a nearby stringy bark tree ..recently scorched black from a bushfire..it had been ringbarked ..stripped down to the red raw bark 4 inches or so wide and an inch or more deep..’she must have been in that much pain..she set upon the tree’ ..nothing was said for ages..it struck young Angus there and then as being almost mythical in proportions..and still does to this day

poor little match girl

Trust in the tale
A drunken and delinquent angel takes an already disturbed matchgirl on a tour of Hades.

Misery cuts
A malignant narcissist..gainfully employed by a popular webnews site..struggles to keep a clear boundary between her online cover story and her real identity when she falls for a celebrity psychiatrist

Clownshop 9
Natural comedy is on the verge of disappearing after a new style unique to ‘Clownshop 9′ -the industry standard in visual gag software.. becomes increasingly ubiquitous

Heart for love
After 6 years of abstinence a shaman finds his spirit finally returned to an adolescent state where he is vulnerable enough to love again.. through a series of almost perfect liaisons he learns he is not so vulnerable that he can love anyone other than his soulmate.

Spinal Draft

Spinal Draft
An elite team of crack scriptwriters are selected to beta test some 7th generation scriptwriting software in a reality TV contest filmed at a luxurious eco-resort in Oz..a Russian military satellite has crashed nearby..leaking stem cells into the environment..Koala’s mutate into crazed vampire like beings that drop from the tree’s with a taste for human spinal fluid..plot points ramped up to..eleven.

Goodness Thief
A holy man is welcomed into a busy country town..people begin to change as they become familiar with his ways..until it seems they are being sapped of all their goodness and mercy..they turn on him and martyr him in the belief that they will be restored to their former selves

The Embarrassment
Creative and healthy …capable and talented..Joost is the constant victim of the wrath of envy..doomed to be endlessly *cured* by sick people..just to make them feel better.

ace of shamrocks

a diminutive merry fellow….always smoking a pipe
fond of rainbows..riverrunning..and journalists
an accomplished fiddle player
his smiling eyes are his hidden assets
..bushy eyebrows
dedicated his life to inspirational mischief
drinks stout from a pot of gold
never leaves home without his knobby little club
tho’ a wordy fellow with a sharp tongue..he is sentimental at heart
his patented magic dancing shoes have made him fabulously rich
he has a habit of wandering off when no-ones looking
always ornately dressed -matching buckles on his shoes belt and hat
fancy buttons on his green velvet coat
he always wears green..even has a suit of shamrocks
…lost the ace sometime back in the ’80’s
listens to Gilbert O’sullivan

Jump cut

Just discovered an excellent film journal  – Jumpcut…while following up on Metz’ cinesemiotics…and an essay that kind of relates to my previous post and elements of the raison d’etre of  Shadowloop.

Here are two extracts:

“The multiple voices (codes)in the texts end in a superior voice, a singular voice which finally silences all other voices. That voice is no less than the voice of the subject-author fully constituted by the singular unique textual system. In that sense the dominant code “speaks” as the code of unique individual expression and creativity. The text literally constructs a transcendental subject as the source of the text. To whom does it speak? It speaks to me, the reader-subject. It establishes a social exchange, a communication of meaning between subjects, author and reader, or more precisely, producer and end consumer. The text has become complete, replete, in short, a product. The textual system becomes the expression of the author. The unique expression of the author is the unique textual system.”

“The cinesemiotics of Christian Metz marks a crucial beginning for a critical semiotics of the cinema. The gaps, the contradictions in his writings point to the necessity for a genuine return to the text, not as site of finalization, as ultimate goal, but as opening, initiation, commencement into an infinitude of difference, play and pleasure.”

Metz and film semiotics:  opening the field  -Sam Rohdie
from Jump Cut, no. 7, 1975, pp. 22-24  ©Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, 1975, 2004

Jumpcut

Laboratory zen

My interest in drama and film is purely amateur..almost a year ago..being between jobs..I decided to study film.. I had already done some indie acting when I was young and smoldering and still practice it purely because it improves the choreography of pen, paper and voice ..being a research expert meant I could design my own curriculum …which was the whole point…my interest in film was twofold ..mainly to add more dimension to my writing…also in an effort to understand contemporary drama..After not watching tv for..like forever… I had just ponied up for a HDTV USB device..which worked really well..it was just a shame about the content is all..[pawned it after 10 days]..I also needed to amuse myself beyond select DVDs..I go through cycles with my reading…and haven’t been reading fiction since 2001 or something …tho’  I am a voracious reader still.. I rarely even read poetry anymore …just the facts thanx…oh and sorry, but I don’t care who wins the Booker, Pulitzer or Nobel prize… never did …probably never will and won’t ever read anyone on account of them either …anyway after another bullshit job in Mediocrutopia..I find myself between enslavement’s and in the second phase of a pointless learning curve..[I thought I should 'fess up to this to the 5 or 6 people who on ocaission visit this blog..-which is more of an online collation of unorthodox notes on non-existent curiosities of drama and film than a choice selection of biographical moments]…

I started out by stormin’ up loglines -300 in 3 weeks..I love a challenge..it was a wholly worthwhile and instructive process.. I learned that insofar as developing a compelling idea is concerned originality should probably start right there…and that it is not as easy as it at first seems..[even if you have been writing poetry for just under 30 years...]
Then of course there is so much fun to be had dabbling with plot structures.. I tend to consider it a kind of primary math meant to map dynamics of event via an algebra of character

Film and to a lesser extent, drama…also interests me as a visual artist… -something I’ve been doing longer than writing.. but it is the same appeal..the same mystery..the same challenge.. a visible syntax .. a narrative stripped of language… a transequential montage of symbology..universal transitions in plasticities of consciousness..the hybrid realities of personal iconography…the work of film theorists such as Mitry and Metz..have an interdisciplinary appeal that speaks for a structural order that wrestles with the urge to remain silent..

Poetic licence

A country manor…a harpsichord is playing…diverse small birds flit about a great hall..wine is being served…an artist is sketching some actors ..others pace about practicing their lines..dwarfs on stilts tilt at each other, rehearsing pratfalls, several poets are swapping couplets while a beautiful woman cradles her lover on a lounge..over near the lovers a fool plays the lute…eyes full of tears…softly whimpering as they neck like swans..the lover raises his head from her shoulder for a moment to say…

[Darkertower]

…be generous boy

…my love has lost track of my style
searches with sparkles strung trembling by smile
all composure outwritten by a prettier quill
and still…
…it’s all there

the luckiest look to see in her eyes
for just a moment more
breathing kisses to adore
a mouthful of rapport
…willowed in affections

I fear

…have me fainting here

his lipstick smeared face is again smothered in murmuring kisses as the boy plays on…until their pleasures are interrupted by an exuberant bard who gathers them all together to speak

[Spillforth]

I have just madly dashed by coach from Hushminster to bring you the best of news in the greatest haste..Prince Rufus has issued us with his royal licence…

[he commences to read an from an elaborately penned document]

Rufus I… by earthly graces and natural dominion etcetera… To all our ministers, Mayors, Constables and other of our officers of might or motion ..loving subjects. Know ye that we of our facility fond and worthy, exceptional humilities and mere merit, have licenced and authorized and by these flourishes do license and endow these our subjects; William Spillforth, Gregorio Darkertower, Bunter Toffin, Simon Pond, Kit Marley, Orlando D’angelillio, Winston Weston, Amadeus Strange, Chesterfield Defoe, Scarlett Hepburn, Constance Chatterley, Fanny Swift, Miriam Columbine and all others associated with their labors, freely to study, teach, practice, produce, perform and compose; comedies, histories, harlequinnades, grotesques, tragedies, masques, mysteries, pranks, shenanigans, foolery, japes, romances, bungles and pratfalls to shew or otherwise exhibit, to the utmost of their considerable talents, imagination, learning, wisdom, flair and finesse within a purpose built house henceforth known as Darling House and to be funded from the public purse..as also in setting forth about the ale-houses, taverns, inns or any other convenient places such as town halls, universities or cathedrals within the liberties of our free dominion and having our special dispensation of theatrical immunity so that they may refine their art with clear conscience…..witnessed ourself at Hushminster…this 23rd day of May…

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

Diet of Smaug

had an idea..as well as some red wine..began to flesh out some characters..perhaps I might script some exchanges beyond the 5 or 6 or so that inspired it..it’s unlikely..it woulda been secret anyhoo

Prince Rufus -Conqueror of Smaug: he has cut a dashing figure..little is known of his socio-political outlook..not known for surprises..being so young -the council imagine him to be easily managed

Atticus -Archbishop of Smaug:  amiable..very busy..more of a planner than a thinker.. loves parties

Cardinal Reynard: supercilious ..forceful..more threatening than persuasive..believes Parliament is not fit to consider certain issues..

Lord Vandalf  -Earl of Daintree: an utter enigma..no-one has heard of him..

Lady Parnell -Viceroy of  Smaug: charming…intelligent..sensitive.. decent.. scary

Sir  Gecko -Lord of the Ministry:  overall a good man..infrequently impulsive..cautious..instinctive…-yet with mediocre intuition ..imaginative only within design constraints ..a tad more superstitious than he should be

Flashman Tuvoc: charismatic..clever..passionate..creative..inspiring in the way he appears to be more of a risk taker than he really is

Field Marshall Cardioblast:  …never grew into anything worthwhile

looking up Goethe

In the round
While traveling abroad a sculptor discovers a 400 year old oil painting in an obscure provincial gallery to be identical to a bozetto he is currently working on.

The gatekeepers
A community of spirits that failed to accept their ‘inner child’ haunt an enchanted dream bridge they are unable to cross..

Fatima falls in love
A pedophile cardinal converts to Islam only to discover his secret online arabian boy lover is in fact an al queda agent named Fatima.

Sikh cooking
After decades of fruitless searching an archeologist finally unearths the fabled glass onion..said to reveal all the world in its transparency.

The little people
Anxious to exhibit to his foreign counterparts his Machiavellian decisiveness a ruthless statesman boasts that his psy-ops people  will ‘turn’ a well known atheist  dissident into  a devout Muslim…

splash

The movie Gothic fairly intrigued me when I saw it in my early 20’s ..principally as a poet who had just read Don Juan..also due to the eccentricities of Polidori..who happened to be so uncannily like some of the ’special’ folks I was sharing digs with at the time that I was quite astounded and became suspicious that  certain pathologies were more ubiquitous than I’d assumed..over time I learned that those who present as dedicated to change..often never did or do..or that the change was merely a ceremonial lapse of self..a rite of passage only to come full circle..of those that do..not enough can be said of them..-this tho’..not being the place..how a ceremonial lapse of self can lead to real change seemed mysterious to me..as most examples I’d encountered really only signified shallow transformations..

I became interested then..in the notion of deep ceremonial transformation ..especially as a writer  who preferred his characters to be unique as well as convincing..it seemed especially necessary at that particular point as I found only a few people to be actually convincing in real life anyway..so I developed a personal science of prototyping fictitious identities by means of immersion..[ nothing to do with sensory deprivation or waterboarding ]..this involves expert research..real experience ..keen observation..a perceptual rather than judgmental mindset..and so on..one becomes keenly aware of complex factors never seriously noticed before..oscillating capacities of self..-their ability to see themselves clearly or coherently ..perceiving their own behaviors with varying acuity etcetera…

Interestingly enough..at 44 I no longer have a high regard for the works of Byron..

velvet forest

her dreams fused with such melancholy…

held in a hue of bottomless blue

a velvet forest…just passing through

…nothing she could do

a fluttering falling cry from the sky

raining wings of butterfly

…only a matter of time

before…she…you know…

[sniff]

…asks herself the obvious question

On consignment

Clueless drags himself into the diner at about 4.20 am..Lurlene pours him a cup..handing it to him..just giggling..’you don’t wanna know’   giving her that look..she’s already serving a spacetrucker  ..anyhow.. he takes a window booth..no-one gets tired of watching the nearby pulsar..Clueless sat there fidgeting ..trying to grasp some elusive train of thought or something..whispering into his player every now and then..’can’t believe my luck..I got a consignment of robots  ..one of them was some kind of hinky AI..it just sat there sulking like an unwanted marionette..just facial expressions and lots of eyework..I shut it down and ran a full diagnostic on its bioware  ..nothing..so I check the software ..almost totally reprogrammed  ..250000 thousand new words in its vocab..some kind of word association/ ident crapplet running the most demented set of personality configuration plugins I’ve ever seen ..most still enabled and in conflict with each other..it appears to have re-written its own programming and circumvented its data protection systems by wireless..after restoring the system..I asked the little guy ..no longer an AI..what he’d been doing to himself..he just gave me an idiot grin and said..’acting’.. but thats not all he’d been doing..he was working on a play’..[he reads from a scrap of paper]…

Bauhaus Masterscene: No more.
” It is twilight..drapes are fluttering pennant like..revealing another glorious sunset..marbling over the polished wooden floor.. martinis sit chilling on steel and glass.. Leonora is liberally spreading pate on ciabatta.. Juan turns to her..saying callously…’oooh Leonora ..I can’t believe you went for corduroy on this lounge’..there is the startled shock in Leonora’s eyes ..the coldest of pauses.. the clatter of that knife on the floor…a flurry of sobbing footsteps..the slamming of a door.”

‘does he mind being taken back..no..sometimes tho’..I kinda get this feeling he’s scamming me’..

flowers for the game

a most interesting character..soo obstinate in some ways..so easygoing in all others..an atheist mystic of all things.. once..while we were making our way through busy afternoon streets..we were accosted by a group of evangelists..he shouted at them.. ‘get thee hence false prophets..I do not venerate the works of man..the victim thinks about God’..and he strode off.. fuming..-I had  to quite hoof it to catch up with the chap..he has no time for politics either..best summed up in his own words..’I know  you’re not up with the very latest developments in philosophy..so to give you a lil’ heads up..a code of ethics is not something that requires decryption’..he spoke further on his existential outlook by describing himself as a rogue ethologist living amongst a virtual community of artificial beings  ..playing a theatrical game he called Schizethica..one of the special characteristics of Schizethica is a free market approach to identity and intellectual property..yet no character is permitted to refer or otherwise allude to any other characters ’schiznicity

‘..that is to say.. those things that they may project as.. or ..believe to be ..constituting their substance.. usually assertions of ..race ..politics ..religion ..psychology ..philosophy ..intelligence or integrity

..Due to the implicit dynamic.. all of the players simultaneously find themselves at the lowest points of their character arcs..its also a world that is frequently hacked..complete with a rampant trojan that amplifies suspicion into hatred..hatred into obsession..until the game itself retaliates..

Silverlight Lantern

Unicorn Diaries
A gang of trolls reinvent themselves to get hired as erotic dancers in a trollettes only strip club. They conceal numerous cameras and orchestrate a lucrative blackmail sex tape racket until the clubs three owners, Psychepatra, Unaminerva, and Persepholilah wise up to their scam. In the midst of all this one of the trolls learns his brothers have been lying to him and that he is not a troll at all…

Vever
Already intrigued by the mysterious and charming 47year old ‘Wolfgang Vever’ -assigned to her as a convicted safe cracker, a young parole officer is amazed to learn that he was also an ’80’s porn star. Her curiosity leads to obsession as she begins collecting his films and losing her self control.

A Tragedy of Triumph
A secret family heirloom -an unknown folio of an unperformed work by Shakespeare is inherited by a journalist. Realising she is not clever enough to  pass the work off as her own, she swaps it for an apartment in Dubai.  Although an instant Bollywood hit, she is scandalised in the UK press and just when she thinks it can’t get any worse, she receives a ghostly visitor…

Acrolatte
Shipwrecked for 20 years, a monk, upon returning to his little city learns that he was presumed dead and posthumously canonised due to a series of miracles falsely attributed to him.  After abandoning the city in disgust he returns, posing as a sophisticated and urbane merchant who sells the very latest in beverages -”Acrolatte”, a name he gave to an unusual strain of coffee he cultivated on the island that, when prepared with hot vixens milk, causes an unconscious urge to speak freely..

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

Gothish

cloudswept silver spun pearling
a sky scented jeweled mysterious
spirit shrine to butterfly dreams
chrysalis weave of shadow lace gossamer
moon frosted velvet blossomings

Sad Cologne on a rainy day

One of only two works in the public collection by the little known Artist Mausengeist who embedded elements of self portraiture into landscape works…a sprawling canvas in brooding greys and sultry silvers… currently in the Gothenhoffer…his only other cityscape is fused with considered washes of coral and gold -Cologne again …naturally

Constance

pretty much keeps to herself.. sings in a band.. works in a surf shop.. 20 or so.. studies art at University.. on her desktop one of her sketches depicts a pair of adolescent angels.. a boy and a girl.. knives drawn circling each other in a cloud.. lives on a property owned by a friend of her Moms.. has her studio in a tepee.. a dancer since she was a child she is very graceful.. a tall platinum blond with numerous dreads.. she is very attractive.. guys find her adorable and intimidating ..she reads science journals.. likes whole food.. graphic novels and revenge thrillers.. everything she wears is some kind of a statement.. she often dresses almost ceremoniously.. tends to avoid too much direct eye contact as her eyes are devastatingly beautiful and can easily add too much emphasis.. kind of half seriously learning to play guitar.. likes protest music.. once sabotaged a bulldozer in a rainforest.. very polite and well spoken.. often smiling as if keeping a little secret.. very self contained posture.. desperately wants to fall deeply in love although dislikes most guys she meets.. sees herself as gifted enough to challenge mainstream expectations with her work.. secretly reads Vogue

Lionman

strangers come and go there all the time.. a coffee stop in the very center of town.. so another tall athletic young man hardly stood out at all.. waiting for his coffee.. his eyes sly with furtive contact.. all the women working there noticed.. until he held his gaze lazily over the machine hissing and frothing in front of him.. strangely intrigued by an image struck on a gold medallion fixed to its exterior.. a winged lion holding forth an open and weighty book.. at one moment.. looking further afield.. out on the periphery of his vision he spied the lion turn another page.. Taking his coffee outside.. he found himself a place in the morning sunshine.. to sit there thinking about that childhood ordeal with the lion.. recalling how he was found as fortune may sometimes have it.. by the rest of the tour group.. somewhat agitated and with no memory of the days events.. until now.. fourteen years later

“I have had many names for I am very old and you.. you are new.. however I shall spare you.. for until just now.. I hadn’t laughed for a thousand years..” smiled the lion.. picking himself up.. “don’t be scared ..it’s a variation on a theme..” he said.. his body taken with strange light.. shapeshifting into a man’s form.. with the head of a lion.. Taking him by the hand he led him back to his people.. bringing him near enough to hear their frantic calls.. saying to him “we shall meet again one day.. when your life turns another page..”

Sipping at his coffee.. lost in a Manga moment.. he just sat there.. confused

The writer and the actor

Quite a stir ensued upon his arrival. Everyone recognised him as he was shown to the exclusive balcony setting, where an older fellow looked up from a menu. Having concluded formalities the older man, smiling..asks ’so..you’d like to know more about your part’ ..the actor smiles ‘everything is fine insofar as character arc and transformation within the script is concerned ..but I really want to nail this role…and I thought if I could get to the source…that is the author of the work the screenplay was adapted from..I might learn more about who he was when his adventure begins’ …he places a recorder on the table…

The writer grins, nodding sagely, his eyes closed …’well…he has a lot of intellectual arrogance..his parents were academics..in his case that meant distant and eccentric..sees himself as special and enlightened on account of it..he was left alone to his own devices as a child ..subsequently was often deemed to be too intense or even too mature by other children when he tried to make friends.. he later sought solace in this..and endeavoured to cultivate his intensities..he can be quite quirky…but never talks to himself..which is sort of why his work never amounts to much…he grows more and more accustomed to seeing himself as some sort of dark horse..or force of atonement.. he frequently attracts women..yet rarely scores because he usually wierds them out..or pisses them off’..the actor is chuckling now, saying ‘excellent …this is exactly what I need’…the writer goes on ‘ he makes a fair bit as a mid-level geek..and manages to save quite a bit..being as frugal as he is..he holds a lot of stock in the power of personal charisma ..despite exhibiting little..oh its all there..except it only comes out online ..he has an ongoing struggle between solipsism and scepticism and yet curiously, he believes in a soulmate..’

‘What of his intensities?’ asks the actor as the writer sips at his merlot…’aah..’ says the writer..’his particular intensity..that is his most contrived intensity..is his belief in the uniqueness of his personal vision..ask him what this in fact is and he would obfuscate..as if unsure anyone could be trusted with such priceless intellectual property..when in reality he doesn’t really have one..hasn’t even bothered fabricating one’…at this point their meals arrive..though they keep at it.
‘He’s an absolute sucker for any kind of friendliness or charm…tho’ conversely he flares up at any hint of being patronised…you see -its as if he see’s that as his special privilege alone..politically he’s extremely superficial ..the complete populist..always wanting to be seen to be saying the best possible thing at the best possible time..shallow..but a seasoned social survivor..insofar as religon is concerned..it is just the same..he keeps fish..tho’ never bothered to name them..his thoughtforms are more his favoutite pets..and well..needless to say his favourite hobby is other peoples lives.’

‘How about his tastes and whatnot?…’ the actor asks narrowing his focus..’Hmmm..in my mind..I always kind of saw him shopping at hipster dufous…drives one of those little bubble cars..collects really weird old suits ..loves hats..listens to jazz and movie soundtracks  ..loves to hang out in trendy or bohemian coffee shops..often loiters around that part of town where all the seconds and cheap womens clothing shops are…for the chicks …drinks at jazz clubs cos’ someone told him divorcee’s go there to get laid…he’s really quite naive, even for a psuedo-intellectual..sort of a child in a way ..sometimes shuts himself in a cupboard to gather his thoughts…any dream but a directed one seriously disturbs him..which explains his expertise with them..like a lot of people he is certain he is destined for something significant   ..and tries to look the part..you will see him often near fountains   ..adopting either a poetic or philosophical expression   ..in fact he rehearses a small suite of expressions almost daily ..of his mannerisms ..such as they are..most are contrived ..lifted from key performances ..and purely contextual..as he likes character driven stories ..publically his posture is as affected..very classic..very noble   ..yet alone in his own home he sprawls about..the master of his own myth..he is in reality ..constantly in a kind of a state of confusion   ..repressed or submerged confusion..shut away somewhere so his ‘tactical persona‘ can call the shots..this nebulous state of certainty/uncertainty has underpinned all of his choices and reactions for most of his adult life..he is in a sense..half asleep at the wheel..and remains this way until he actually cares for something which is genuinely at stake’..the writer has obviously concluded ..the actor switches off the recorder ..saying nothing..mulling things over.

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

being

a moment transcending its own specificity
carried beyond identity
lingers longer than it lasted

ringing like a bell

struck by the resonance of always

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

filipendulous lethologica

Composite creativity and soul incubation
multiple matrices vying for ubiquity
the transphenomenality of translucidity and quantum continuity
projection of useful profiles and the persistence of belief in self regard
proprietary omniscience as inbuilt obsolescence
pre-emptive transcendence expressed at its own peril
initiated by victories incisions -like blood from a cardiology of soul
converging on the moment of discovery

a singularity oscillating certainty
every imposition of egocentric inquisition
a spontaneous discovery of endless division
charmed ghosts of vexatious equivocality
somehow lost without fallacies of recognition
stone deaf to disguise..made sightless by success
whispering weaknesses of inarticulation

instrument of self as universal diagnostic..
even if the instrument has to seem poorly fashioned
being only in concordance with other instruments
..mis-shaped by the same design
..all in concert..at the mercy of the virtuosity of speculative composition

can the butterfly resist classification by the pedagogue?

a well mapped singularity openly persuaded or
covertly reinforced by natural or contrived intervening stimuli
may precipitate extraordinarily predictable outcomes
unless the same factors were also inadvertently or covertly mapped

….there sometimes exists reasonable ethical grounds

…to appear not to be free

all that they project born of no respect..no humanity to intrigue them..
no honesty to plead them..
false maps never yield them their disguise.. share the prize

a self fullfilling prophesy …another false embassy ..a sophistry of soul

©Gregory David Andrews 2008

esoteria 26

speed

bloodsong chills a death most sudden
a slipping mantle heals an ancient wound
marked by the mask
a diamond in the groove
linked by moons of betrayal
…a circuit sliced in the mirror
ash black petals of nightblown roses

patience

a point bled of all anticipation
a gloss of eyes silver-crossing the sun
all a blur of unseemly disguise
swiftly intimate ephemeral surprise
sabotaging the script
being principally equipped
to elaborately depict
all the telling truths
the lies outstripped

finesse

a serpent soothed by pendulous sword
seahorse in the well there to tell
a lion snared by its own revenge
caged by the dweller within

direction

a scheme so schemed
it begged to be dreamed
woven in threads on chances loom
a tapestry of soul in spirit perfume
a throw of a switch away
a tripwire of tragedy strained until

pursuit

a troop of vigilantes that want for eyes
the mindless charm the vicious blind
a dragon mimics the jackals mind
a talisman in the garden
hidden by craft
a blade buried deeper
than its darker haft

protection

a cunning honed by armors calm
sweetened to the point of honeyed charm
wired through the roots
a current surges with venoms repute
all through the forest
the trees are mute

risk

the ancient ones are gathering clouds
a winding path is worn with hours
silent stars are quiet with flowers
a symphony falters
an orchestra in disarray
the conductor has escaped
to live another day

space

transmissions eluding covert spaces
set aside by nights desolate places
decryptions applied to no real sign
the message is quenched in oils of time

preparation

shifting sands of altered states
signs occulted from future fates
crystal shaped by secret hands
designed to resonate forgotten plans
the one that sees the eyes of time
to catch the jade before the crime
restores the summit to its climb
to see the clouds in their prime

alchemy

by the next transmutation
the die is cast
elemental forms transcend their past
by the last transmutation
all has begun
three times closer one by one

spirit

ribbons are held across the way
to mark the moment the line is crossed
turned by the tide till all is lost
blogged into a corner
where the shadows were tossed

future

butterflies weep for dreams decieved
beating their wings to be believed
an ocean that hears only silence
a thread burning with finalities violence

past

the trajectory is set
the bullets are poised
chambered…pointed…released
five beads of darkness
a pendulum cut from its trembling wire
one last shot…
plunging through and through
a fictitious dreaming mind
…and everything it knew

mettle

hardened by hammers of outrage
honed to the quick of focus
hovering above insatiable flame
an anonymous potential
poised to plummet

solution

elusive revelation thrice transmuted
never beheld and already refuted
ephemeral method by chance informed
tree of knowledge wholly transformed
uncommon depth guessed before seen
a strategy shaped by what it may mean

quest

query the quill that pre-empts the fact
to know the will before its act
so mind and soul are left intact
for the greater good and its impact

potential

a treasure so surpassing all others
…to know it humbles a person…
-lies waiting to be thieved
the moment its perceived
…even ghosts are played to games
strangers waiting to stake their claims

dimension

a place is hidden secure in all hearts
shape shifting to whim of obscure arts
a desire that sleeps deeper than all
a knowing secretly overflowing
an etheric singularity
a crystal dance of cascading flux

fusion

a solar resonance of defied decay
intangible shadows strike at their prey
the jaguar purrs in the velvet moss
the lion scents an uncertain loss
birds have grown quiet
with the passing sun
clouds swollen with moonswift pride
through threshhold of night softly glide

fission

a crucible of separation
just to pickle a blade
a firestorm of devastation
hidden by the shade
anonymous gravitation
an impressive cavitation
collectively displayed

motion

fractal footprints of a selfish past
a torus turned inside out
passing dopplers into rings of diamonds
heavy with scattering shadows
a softly tipped crush of dust
ground by wishful thinking

medium

early come the aces cluttering up the hands
an overflow of hearts broken covenants
though the house seems set to win
by all the laws applied within
the jokers wild by any extreme
a conclusion held in high esteem

prophesy

ashen gray smiles washed away by rain
kisses blown deep inside a strangers pain
a frozen moment carried off by the breeze
escaping the enmity of expertise

healing

leave to rest the wounds of learning
tightly wrapped in fond discerning
shaping cures that end in sleep
to heal a heart love would keep

challenge

each and every milestone by passage of day
passes into night along the way
a journey finished a task performed
a challenge completed a story transformed

sorcery

they had no art for the best of things
their best of faith in the worst of things
shaped by forces as frightening
as all their own spent lightening

©Gregory David Andrews -2008