Jim Lang

 

WHERE I HAVE BEEN, WHERE IAM GOING

The vision licks me into remorse. My current perspective is deteriorating rapidly, the first tongues of water, a black formica at low tide. I do not think I can blow up the moon without using explosives anymore. That was sheer delusion, a theatre at night waiting for its ocean.

Iam done with wandering. I’ve decided to return home to worship at the feet of the archetype. It is at least possible to make her happy; she demands only to weep in agony, once a month, surrounded by starfish and sleepwalking children. Possibly, in a previous era, she found herself in a different situation comparable to that of the heart of Nature. Undoubtedly there used to be a chalice connected to the functioning of the whole, which we are no longer able to understand; there was undoubtedly the pleasure of seducing sampled notions and the earth’s shadow, conceived with the purpose of accomplishing a discrete series of tasks, and these tasks, through repetition, ejaculated secret envy appearing as Qabalistic blackness. All that has disappeared, along with the chanting, liquid revelations.

Iam alone with my eternal life, no longer shaken by terror or by music that refuses to go away. I move through crystal; time is dyed blue.

Robert Chrysler

 

WAITING

it’s a long wait for the beginning
and for the beginning of the end
for the calm to pass
for the hurricane to spend itself
a long wait for love
for the end of love
for the lost to return
and to live
and to die
a long wait for news of the war

Jack McGuane