Arden of Feversham

I’ve been reading of late an interesting little book I picked up in a thrift store

~Minor Elizabethan Drama (1) Pre-Shakespearean Tragedies ..consisting of four plays ..Gorboduc: Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville; Arden of Feversham: [?]; David and Bethsabe: George Peele; The Spanish Tragedy: Thomas Kidd

I started out with Gorboduc but quickly lost interest with it not so much for its tedious style but for its striking similarities to King Lear, and so abandoned it for ‘Arden of Feversham’ interesting for a variety of reasons ..it has a good flowing style ..it is perhaps one of the first English plays about private men and their affairs ..rather than courtly life or continental themes ..as it concerns an actual murder of the period ..Thomas Arden’s wife Alice loves him not ..she bestows her love on a fellow named Mosbie ..together they plot Arden’s muder through the agency of two well known ‘cutters’ by the names of ‘Black Will’ and ‘Shakebag’ ..of all things ..there is the obligatory subplot of suitors for the hand of Mosbie’s fair sister-Susan ..proving to be a sufficient appeal for drawing accomplices into the machinations of their scheme ..’Black Will’ and ‘Shakebag’ prove to be somewhat bunglers of their craft ..naturally luck refuses to be easily complicit in their commission

I rather enjoyed this play ..finding perhaps the two most intriguing things about it to be how the faltering pact of the lovers resembles that of Macbeth and his Lady as also in the curiosity of there being no clear cut hero to speak of ..That this play has been attributed to Shakespeare comes as no surprise ..as I recall reading somewhere that around the vicinity of Arden ..lengthy festivals which were said to be of ‘Faerie’ in nature took place ..and it has been speculated that a very young Shakespeare may well have attended the activities ..perhaps even providing early inspiration for ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream’

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

Tolkiens latest must read..

some years ago now ..I sold a rare edition of a book on 14th century poetry ..with a rather compendious glossary compiled by none other than JRR Tolkien himself [published 1900]..it constituted some 40 % of the entire volume ..this book inspired me sufficiently to finally get around to reading him [in my early 30's] ..I appreciated his legacy of pioneering the 20th century fantasy epic despite fantasy having become quite a sophisticated form in itself ..recently I have read that his elderly son has edited a complete and previously unpublished poem of his fathers on the legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, [J. R. R. Tolkien: The Legend OF Sigurd And Gudrun -Edited by Christopher Tolkien] ..and I look forward to reading it at some point ..for in this sort of work the man was truly in his element.

vespered vaunting

evolved by imitation interpreted as it appears
personified by spirit art fondly volunteers
every subtle nuance expression souvenirs
beguiled by invitations offered over years

formed to fashion a hallowed haunting
diamond dazzled vespered vaunting
charming stars from darkest reach
heavenly orbits of fluencies speech

honoured by dancing candlelight
dreamers do divinely write
tempests spun from secrets of a lie
swanning through some shamanic sky

no other illusions so worthy to concieve
for senses so costly…so destined to decieve
clouded in eyes of hopeless consent
misty with all it surely meant

the troupers

no quillwhipt casts mere pounce of rehearsal
flickering through the spotlit significances
a crystal feathered focus by overstated reflections dark
soliliquy with silvered voice in deep mask there
a metamorphosis of meaning by character shifts
mere forked talk with masks to mean style no more vanities
in pomps pouted frills of rouge masque charade
showcasing verse witted grotesques to the bantered want they will
all curiosities crush.. expectations doubtless by lured suspense
duelling inspirations of zen touched personifications of performance
a suddenly decisive deadpan playwright pens a stunning glare
glass in stars inspiring eyes by inkwell
..each character some shy authorship
pimping dreamed elegance over penned excellence
leers by simpering well worded sycophants sublime
smiling years upon Caesar’s mystic ideas
the kitten purrs for muse magnificant verse

hoodwinked

strung along a loophole
winking in the hood
unicorn at the hawser
dragon by the snout
humoured by gravity’s loft
drifting down the mountains
carved by lateral moraine
sliding through the valley
prancing past the clouds
a silverpoint of sky
drooling braided streams
…of meltwater moment
indulged by flowing dreams

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

on writing

Recently on the web there were numerous articles and exhibitions revolving around the writers workspace ..generally featuring desks and studies etc ..my apartment has an open plan ground floor …comprising the lounge and kitchen …it is the largest space in my home …it also has the new aircon.. I like to keep a clean desk ..I like to see space on it …which is why I love my wacom bamboo 6×9 pen tablet …its usually all that I use ..being able to put aside the cordless mouse and keypad ..I have 2 pc’s both connected to the same 22 inch LCD monitor ..one is always online ..the other almost never ..they are not networked ..at the moment I also use 4 notebooks ..red …green and yellow ..as well as another that is folio size ..sometimes I construct the work in notepad form before typing in to my offline pc ..using XP’s onscreen keyboard ..to undergo further rewriting ..otherwise it’s direct into my offline pc …oh, ocaissionally I write directly into the text editor of this blog ..usually when I’ve been drinking ..there are also numerous works commited only to memory itself ..because .. I’m like that ..I can write anywhere ..pretty much under almost any conditions ..so on ocaission I may be found writing in a bar ..tucked away in a booth somewhere ..just not so much these days ..

I sometimes work rewriting older ..more romantic pieces I wrote in my 20’s ..I am almost always listening to music when I write ..notably 181 classical guitar ..groovera ..secret agent lounge  ..Datempo lounge [all online] ..I often give voice to my writing by performing it as I’m writing it ..with little regard for what my neighbours might think ..I particularly enjoy fabricating convincing cathartic outbursts as a kind of hoax episode ..one never knows when one is being profiled and it’s always fun to flag soft spots of irresistable sensitivity for future reference ..you know …games people play and suchlike ..it’s also a way of adding something like drama to my fairly undramatic life ..I like humour and romance ..though I find it difficult to write about romance [as realities beyond ideals] when I’m not amorously connected to anyone ..this is why I enjoy rewriting my own accounts of love since lost ..I use Verse perfect …rhymezone ..and even mobysaurus ..as well as an old Oxford concise that has utterly deteriorated into something like a loose leaf heap of grubby neglect

the audition

‘hhmmm’ ..Spillforth humms at his desk …he looks grumpy ..several manuscripts are neatly stacked in front of him.. he drinks wine ..mumbling as he writes something on a scrap of paper ..presently looking up at a young woman  -Emily   ..around 22 or so standing before him ..he smiles unconvincingly  ..somewhat of a glare in his stare ..’good .. good ..you read well and have a fine memory..’ ..she blushes happily …’now its just a matter of seeing you improvise… you’re doing really well’.. he reaches for a manuscript then thinks better of it.. rising from his chair he stands over by the window ..he lights a pipe ..running his hands through his hair .. ‘..it’s a romance ..after much travail ..we have finally had our first rendezvous ..even until now we have not spoken ..we have just separated from a passionate kiss .. after I recite what follows..then you follow…do you follow’ he asks her..’oh yes ..yes of course Mr Spillforth ..’ she waits quietly ..patiently ..for the words to come to him ..soon enough they go rushing by her like a mountain stream…

[Spillforth]

here now wings a deep delight
in new extremes of fancies flight
love bestowed where it plateaued
over it flowed beyond a gracenote
twilight raptures of silence embrace
surpassing stealth of a shadows grace
speechless in the quick of crystal bright
a moment well held to swift recite…

[Emily]

…the moon holds my heart in a chalice sky
she bids me …speak of our love..
…no more

….no more!… [she is screaming it now]

[Spillforth]

ever may I sunder sweet sunrise from mourning skies
…if upon this day love were to lose its pride..

[Emily] —[still screaming]

..no moooooooooore !

..nooooooooooo moooore !

..no moooooooooooore ! [now frothing at the mouth]

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 “

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

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

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

Gotholalia

in honour of his new flaxen haired wife Brunhilde.. Percival Fletcher named their first son..born on a moonvexed Friday eve..Tor..and so he became known about the county..after learning every detail of the family stock in trade..the young man grew into an audacious fellow ..surpassing even his father in craft..and learning more on his own account so that soon his wares were sought even from abroad..if a man can be defined by his friends we can define Tor Fletcher as being somehow careless and suspicious ..calculating and candid..his best friend Slickwit ..a heavy drinker..a dandy and a dilettante ..a heavy set small man Tor appears younger looking than he is possibly due to the fastidious grooming of the same feted flaxen locks his mother generously bestowed upon him.. quick to vent an always under the surface spleen or burst out into laughter he is mostly considered an engaging fellow..he is sometimes want to spout strange words in a made up foreign language which his local priest refers to as Gotholalia ..despite his best efforts to expunge certain bawdy ballads of his supposed trysts with ladies above his station he seems destined to fail and doesn’t seem to mind ..always keeps abreast of the latest verse ..an excellent swordsman having three times being called to account for his dalliances..none surviving his skill..all about his business he has numerous workshops where the finest arrowheads and bolts are crafted..some would even say..jewelled..his laminated bows are finished with exquisite detail..intricately engraved..a far superior range ..naturally anyone who was anyone wanted a Tor bow…

Talent scout

well known and highly regarded by everyone in the business.. he is engaging and warm.. believes in impartial integrity and takes care not to say anything that may be politicized.. often refusing to take sides on anything at all.. an easy smile and an unassuming nature he is always immaculately dressed.. likes home cooked food.. fast cars.. diplomatically adroit and always seems to know what to say when that unexpected complication arises.. in his mid 50’s he has old school charm and quite a way with the ladies.. uses transparent vocabulary to impress a point.. capable of swiftly enabling a group to express what it had apparently been thinking/feeling all along.. only resorts to his considerable personal charisma when moved by acts of greatness.. utterly mystified by his own true nature.. ever vigilant for public opportunities of self reproach or random acts of kindness.. still flicks at a no longer extant fringe from time to time.. once implicated in a counterfeiting racket he became the star witness for a prosecution shakedown of the mob and was whisked away to a new life by the witness protection program and was expertly tutored for his new role as talent scout for a major recording label.. he fit right in

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

Only a boy

the little fellow had run so fast for so long that to be trapped here.. finally, certainly felt like relief ..still, he was sad and a little angry that he was only seven .. so unfair ..it all ends ..here ..like this ..a tireless and ferocious lion had cornered him at the cliffs ..and he could run no more “after I die lion.. my spirit will rise up to the sky and I will deliver unto you and your kind.. a thousand eternities of daily ruin and dark despair” even as the lion roars ..with fullblooded triumph ..his rage cannot be deflected “also know ..psychopussy ..that I shall set upon you and your kind all the other skyfolk and together we will visit upon you and yours ..a thousand eternities of utter devastation and starstruck carnage that you will wish you ate a sage instead” at this the lion falls on his haunches laughing uncontrollably ..now and then wiping the tears on his shoulder then blinking out again laughing  ..wiping ..stopping for a bit  ..laughing again “now where did a boy like you learn to talk like that?”

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

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

Voice

avoid by means of addition
all increase to attrition
deeper still…
frame those moments in lingering endurances
that transequently…
place all proximal necessities
fittingly within
a contextual specificity of exemplars
or…as a sample in salience…
let connaturually synonymous comparisons
define corresponding equivocalities
so craft juxtaposition compellingly
through another’s eyes…
to put it in its little black dress
let clarification be pervasive…
for where cause will contingently inspire
effect may be nuanced by supervenience
qualified…
without modesty,
a concession to convention
consensually accounted for
functionally conclusive…
on purpose

thought I might add that this monologue..on transitions of thread..is voiced  during a nice tryst with a pretty lady …perhaps ..she asks for his name..he may say something like….’Winston’…

…’Winston Churchill…and I am not wholly …from around here’…

©Gregory David Andrews 2008