Archive for the ‘A Conspiracy of Zippers’ Category

Asperity Du Jour

Today I met myself coming back 
from being young…I was still happy - 
it was the wind, I think
Its gold-white, sunshine smell 
in fresh, green-breeze ripples 
across a mind that fields still wander

I eased along the crystal perceptions 
learning how to be taught, wishing to be loved, 
in desperate ways and sudden dreams
of interstitial pageants, those acts between sorrows,
made of space torn from the holes
In the tapestry our twilight spirits rove

across the chasm of conscience
I strode with new purpose
and subtle fears creeping at the edges
shaping my perceptions into realities 
I wished to never know
(The reluctant poet makes 
the most rigorous rhyme)

What If November

What if November comes and I am still here 
and the dullness and lack of vision persists. 
The laughter only comes when I visit a place where it lives, 
like getting a New York parking spot by buying a car that's in one.

And if the days pass like flipping pages in a table-bound book 
and the edges and spaces and stories and pictures lace together 
In a halting video performance out of the early days of cinema 
and my cup doth not run at all; much less over

…and I still wait for Godot and find nothing in my shaken boot 
but the remains of last week's look there 
and a sad feeling that this will happen some more.

The days are shorter than I think I remember them 
and I look at the calendar and am not surprised but, dismayed 
at where the date has gone to and the month I know I'm in 
is the one that I was sure I would be over this in. 

So the fountains don't play anymore 
and I don't seem to care very much about them 
but I remember, with a pang - faintly, 
             hoping I would.

The Light at the End of the Funnel

tickle and itch, tingle and twitch
inspires dance, march or fight –
a demand for bold, immediate action

Remember that we are not focusing on Dancing but, the tickle and itch in music that makes us want to dance, to tap our feet, to bob our head in rhythm synchronized with the music. Not the note played but, the sympathetic resonance in the world around it.
– The things that can occur from sound as it pours into our brain – transmogrified resonance…

These sounds become invitations recognized to belong to something larger, the call to be part of the larger group…to dance…to sing…to speak at circle! The herd, pack, flock, hive, tribe, Rotary, Masons, Elks, Lions, DAR, VFW, Boy Scouts, Crips, Extreme fundamentalist Methodist bake sale mothers, Visionary Mystics, mormon tabernacle motorcycle gang, mother mccreedy’s tabernacle of the holy oracle and premature ejaculation control center choir, musicians, stamp collectors (Pederasts of the World UNITE!!) We do so love to exclude! To become a part of a small group with kindred interest. Then, to form a sub-part of that group to control (or disparage) the larger group. – Until finally; Facebook, Twitter, Instant Messaging, linkdin – all indication of how much we really don’t like each other but, are desperately afraid of being alone. The need to belong but, not be there. Texting and cell phone talk in public is the gentle art of not being where you are…of denying where you are of your presence.

streaming vision, reflecting eyes, mirror (half-dark), sound in, images out through imagination.
hear about fairies and dragons, find them in clouds and stars – reflection/transmografication.
hear of the seasons of ones life, feel the fall or winter of your age upon you.
these are resonances. these are,not the string plucked but, the one next to it – the world around it. hear music; be compelled to dance. hear insult; be compelled to fight. hear the trigger words of common cause; be compelled to join.

the empty mind is the ground, the negative space, and imagination – the figure.
imagine the sorting that goes on in the mind of the incredible assortment and quantity of reflected light and sound frequencies to allow identification, location and amplitude, ranging, foreground, background, over, under, behind, left, right, first, after, blue, texture, pattern, recognition,, comprehension, woman, fire, peach pit, 1953 Desoto hood ornament, the edges of an erect nipple beneath a blue cashmere sweater…

Those vibrations in the throat of one
beat against ears of others and impel,
into those minds, abstractions
that become images or actions – dreamt or manifest; our oneiric reality
that make marks on stone or paper which,
later years, will spring into, yet, other minds
to form concepts, precepts, theories, rules and actions
and make skys bleed, oceans wretch, the wakeful – dream.

ideas, like virii, need an host organism to thrive. they can lie dormant on stone, paper or canvas for hundreds of years and one day touch an host mind and spring, 10 and six pence, alive! (beware, the bitch that bore him is in heat again!)

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? -yeats

Oh Fatherland, Fatherland,Show us the sign
Your children have waited to see.
The morning will come
When the world is mine.
Tomorrow belongs to me!

The babe in his cradle is closing his eyes
The blossom embraces the bee
But soon says the whisper, arise, arise
Tomorrow belongs to me – old german folk song impressed into service by the nazis

“Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!”
– Karl Marx

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie! – burns

Wagner’s leitmotifs : musical themes and his extensive musical language/phrasing – Wagner- EG. ride of the valkyries

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; – Henry V – Charles IV – Shakespeare

J P Sousa’s marches

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:
“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.” – M L King

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. – Henley

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. – H W Longfellow

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.” – John Milton

We are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men
leaning together, headpiece filled with straw, Alas!…
This is the way the world ends
not with a bang but a whimper – T S Elliot

Had we but world enough and time…
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run. – Andrew Marvel

Are there not Festus, Are there not, dear Michal,
Two points in the adventure of the diver,—
One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge;
One, when a prince he rises with his pearl?
Festus, I plunge. – R Browning

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat
Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth
With one back-handed blow that wrote
In blood men’s verdict there. North, South,
East, West, I looked. The lie was dead,
And damned, and truth stood up instead. – R Browning

When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly wise,
life will have given me the truth and taken in exchange my youth – SaraTeasdale

do not carve in stone or wood he was honest or he was good
write in smoke on a summer breeze just seven words and the words are these
telling all that a volume could he lived, he laughed and he understood – D Blanding

Why I Was Young Once

Why I Was Young Once
            a working hypothesis (rocks back)
It was the wind, I think,
Whistling in the shrouds of daytime
Tinkling in now-and-ever's chimes 
with forgivefulness coloring every scorn

Maybe, (catching edge) almost, later,
Pricking those needful times
Dashed, perhaps, like stones on sand
To lie - unbroken puppies - in sun and sky

It was the chiaroscuro sky , Looking Up, 
along that streaming vision, 
(our reflecting eyes)
Into that half-dark mirror

perhaps the smell of blue, then,
of that cashmere sweater
And the edges her nipples made
In that rippled sea of deepening age

I think - her breath,
Warm and wet on my neck and ear
And hand, with fingers, as happy as sky;
Smooth as nap hair 

On my thigh and dreams


Any frangible object occupying the pre-kinetic temporal space
 of about-to-be-dashed-to-the floor, may be properly referred to 
as a smither. Once the kinetics transpire, a resulting subelement 
is rightly designated a smithereen.

That adumbrative in place, a single member of a culture that has 
undergone or is undergoing diaspora (The Jews out of Babylon, 
Romani - Gypsys - out of India, Messenians out of Sparta) may 
be described as smithereenesque .

A manager (Joe) and a salesman with whom I worked were standing 
in the hotel hallway after our seminar presentation. As I approached 
them there came from the opposite direction a young woman of 
approximately 140 pounds wearing  a 120 pound-test leather pants 
and jacket outfit. She passed them just before I reached them. 
After she had passed, Alex turned and said to Joe: "Zaftic!" and then 
immediately looked at me and asked: "Do you know what that yiddish 
word means?" Having no yiddish in my vocabulary I resorted to mental 
comparison with things I did know. Reaching for my well-honed 
"cross domain mapping" tool, I replied: "Marginally Rubenesque!".

Vocabulary (especially with metaphoric sweep - culture) is your 
friend. The more of it you know the more about the world you can 

Amphigory Schmamphigory; Twiddle This Metaphore!!

Vocabulary, metaphor, rhyme and rhythm  conspiring as an exercise for R.A.S. development work wonders for the spirit as well as the mind. Poetry, prose and simple verbal discourse all can provide opportunity for R.A.S. feeding by looking for chances to deploy new word patterns, higher minded vocabulary, interestingly unique metaphore, rhyme and rhythms.

Many poets use amphigory as an exercise to reinforce their poetic resources and style. Amphigory is usually poetry that has well formed metaphors, perfect rhyme and meter and is utterly meaningless.


A flat-bottomed horse awash in a sea of despair
A freshly-feathered artichoke leaps into the air
The moon like a giant doughnut falls to the shape of a hook
And all the pigs in swaddling stood in the night air and shook.

Say “good night” Jerry! 

© 2018 What's That On the Road – A Head
Magic Vision | Design: NET-TEC of Holzhäuser. Coding: Bullerjan of Geschenke.