desolate_and_empty_hours oldephebe these are the desolate and empty hours listen to the breaks between the spaces the street side promenade gleaming chrome- the dark sonorous tones voices, wet, ebony - a sensuous auditory cacoon and you can almost hear the disconsolate wailing of a broken disembodied soul - bring me a brood of banshees - bring me a sandpaper soul bring me all the dead light let me hoard it to the whispering grave growing in my chest the tear of Christ trembles I hope it breaks my fall I want to be broken by it broken and reconstitued shaped into His image there's a charlatan striding back and forth in the gilded pulpit his heart is not pure he is 190 pounds of wantoness he is 6ft 2inches of meretricious solemnity and sanctification the tear of Christ not a damaclesian device when it falls it imparts life and sometimes I feel like a spectre haunting a semblance a sentience in my own skin ragged bag of flesh that I am and now we don our tattered merry masquerade and there's the sun it's impertinent eye hang out with the happy can a fallen life be restored finally irrevocably we'll see ... 030809 ... oldephebe and the wind come out of some corner of the sky and cuts like the icy edge of a knife - this was the kind of darkness that can summon the cold hand of fear, terror, shape those phantoms writhing in those subterrain fissures of the sub-conscious, pull them fully formed out of the well - and the heart thunders in the prepubescent chest - walk across the field - the nightly trek of terror - somehow in February it was transmogrified into some kind of crucible - the black of the abyss - the artic air seizing you inside your coat, beneath your mohair sweater - and y-you m-must w-walk the entire acre alone. I was certain - and even today there is some primordial part of my mind that still shivers,still thinks or knows that some mephistopholean sentience was out there preying on a young boys fear - preparing the canvas for a night of terror - come child your terror awaits -somehow I knew that it waited with a swiftly accelerating elation at my craven, tremulous pace. Every sound in that night choir seemed lit up and slowed down and turned way way up sending rivulets of fear parading up and down the ol' CNS - I couldn't wait to get home and collapse in front of the fireplace and watch the fire meander up and across the cords of maple and spruce, oak and mahogony, smell the wood burning, safe - the grass outside sheathed in ice and frost, crunching beneath my bargain store boots - you've never known dark until you've stood in the middle of a country feild, no stars or moon twinkling benevolently above you - just the impenetrable rural pitch and your imagination suddenly shot into hyperdrive 030809 ... oldephebe an evil, a malevolence that others could walk through unscathed, a presence that was evil for me only, spit up of some nexus of associations and nether realm committed to gorging itself upon the sweet fountain of fear that a rural pitch could stitch into a pre-teens heart...grinning chesirley and coldly caressing the thin carraige of that boys chest... 040303 ... Death of a Rose *quiet applause* 040303 ... stork daddy who are you, in the other hours? 040303 ... oldephebe so i'm thinking that this is like some rhetorical interogatory thing..uttered at the expense of humor or you know maybe...this is the question here, that the query really doesn't constitute a genuine interest in me as an authentic person per se..so having nothing really amusing or insouciant to respond with..or piss on the pavement i'll just continue leisurely perusing my new edition of starkly minimalist hearth imlpements...there's real ivory handled one with platinum mind you coat over stainless steel...so i'm realing looking forward to trying that one out..in the fireplace that is... 040303 ... oldephebe i'm really lookng forward to calling thier cus. serv. dept. and speaking to someone with two years post-high school education, encased in a cubicle, and while made to read a script or abide by a mindlessly onerous and by association soul stealing codification of conduct and yet still yet able to ferociously project a sunny disposition as they take my order and my credit card number. I'm looking forward to calling them back to see when the item will be shipped, and then calling them again to make sure it'll be shipped UPS express and then ask them how much more expensive is FEDEX for the fourth time, and she the harried and yet the still ferociously sunny cust. serv. rep remains unflappable in the face of my neurotic and moronic querelousness..you know to motherly set my mind at rest and then (i) will finally sigh and say thank you and begin calling UPS the next day to get a tracking number and then speak to a brusquely efficient person who although is not rude said person is in no way concerned about my relative comfort w/r/t to having an inate faithlessness in distributive systems spread over continental and highly chaotic arenas..so then i'm looking forward to liberating my hearth poker which is ivory handled and made of stainless steel and looks to be sheathed in some pretend patina of platinum. It's a formidable looking implement though. ... 040304 ... Hal Incadenza '( ... )' 040304 ... Death of a Rose don't stop oE 040326 ... oldephebe I get so...I get so...tired..of..feeling i guess like a great big bowl of 0..as in Nothing. scorched earth suffering inside the..hey I'm so erudite..so blithe..so not that..okay so i've got my sword out so how cum i just don't fall on it? i mean for some the abyss glitters like a lovers hot..beckoning entreaty..open mouth..full lips..death's fragrance..death's promise..a quixotic fall from the craggy ledge as the stone gargoyles smirk..it's the absence..of..i wish i could revise all of these revelations..wish i could make all hearts ache the same..all hearts..FEEL..the same..feel human and broken and passionate and in love with dark smoldering nights...dancing as light as air on the very cusp of a dream..hello chiseled granite masculinity meet your softer side..god just rip the chord already i am so bored..tired of hiding the sadness in my eyes from my only son..tired of at the deepest most eternal part of me..nothing but my soul dry heaving..only life..not really leaving..it's like a stone goliath plodding up and down in me and my GODDDD it tears me down..wears my heart right out..i don't know blather..I am the coffin trying to shirk off it's slack...somewhere in the corner of my head there's a little man...hammering the nails into a destitute soul's plywood coffin..been hearing for quite some time..now..and i know the thing that will free me.is not so much death as it is..walking away from this LIFE..taking my music..my words..and blowing the rest to hell... then sweep it all up..detetritus and demise smiling wanly at the edge of those eyes...nice little pile of ash..leave it the corner somewhere for someone else to rummage through.. pfah! 040327 ... birdmad are the ones i know too well 040327 ... these are the young nights er..my soul it's doing doing that dry heave body quake thing..AGAIN! eternal children... 040328 ... hamlet on hashish a coffin trying to smirk with that line of rusted rickets nail smile..a rusted coffin nail smile... 040328 ... zeke walking home streetlight tempo adagio rubato i play at sleep eyes closed five steps six ten and the tree looms large tree escapes wet hot shine reflects taillight drag air pulls at my lungs tasting of tar someone sings i never see the avenue inhales uneven 040329 ... zeke silence filled with empty noises coffee dream hollow resonance with walking ears open and glass crunch scrape bitter tang in door closings past too fast passages screaming long moment exposure windows close another tempo and i arrive no keys and sit sun a violent friend day begins 040330 ... zeke stand on tilting street in gloss shiny way (air sings as it passes) drawn glance forward drift and glance brings i am words meaning misplaced textures forgotten silence run the ghosts of life persue listen and forget no i will not hear i do not hear i can not hear i am not here now and i sleep 040504 ... Emptyness Alive plague my life 061121 what's it to you? who go blather from