Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

The poem is a pied piper for the rats in my mind

TNB Interview

https://thenervousbreakdown.com/ecanavan/2020/01/edward-canavan-the-tnb-self-interview/

the sunday times 1.26.20

different pages

 

just outside the middle

 

beneath the waves

of resentment rejoicing

 

all along

the wires bristle

 

terms conditioned

by the first and the last

 

somewhere lost in the wild stare

that sees right thru me

 

branded by this burning heart

and the endurance of its longing.

*

it’s never about what it’s about

 

fools we are

burning in wisdom

 

pulling back from where we are

to dwell upon where we’re going or

obsess over where we’ve been

 

running to and from the darkness

thinking the light will follow

 

everything wrong with everything else

it’s nobody’s fault yet everything seems ruined

 

once and back

again and gone

 

high hopes and shit luck

 

still this something needing to be found

to hold and be held again

 

with clear mind and right intention

 

searching for something lost to the years of oblivion

something that aches to be felt again

 

now that i’ve finally learned

how to feel.

*

deep break

 

open division

 

seasons pretending

here is away

 

slaked heart

still bone dry

 

spaces occupied

by only emptiness

 

rarely is always

never seldom

 

every word a world

shifting along the timeline

 

unlocking dimensions

of infinite otherness

 

every thought a candle

somewhere burning forever.

*

stardust

 

rung true

to the ear

 

just a word,

touch, or sigh

 

a soft simplicity

 

no jargon

to be deciphered

 

uncluttered

in the mess

of the fray

 

all that is asked

within a breath

 

is but

an invitation

to disappear.

***

“In this short span of life

there is fire and passion

and beauty and love.

Everything else is a

fucking lie.”

  • Jonny Ox

silence and retreat

untitled #49

 

touching the tender ground

of unwantedness

 

too long carried

this imagined burden

 

taking up valuable space

in the heart

 

now free to go.

*

the cloud in the rose, the rose in the cloud

 

in everything there is one

 

separation is illusory

 

these words mean nothing

beyond their meaning

 

symbols and smoke signals

nothing more than remains

 

echoes of reality

misconstrued

 

unremembered memories

of all that never was

 

as the night stares back

into this aging soul

 

and lights dance

down distant roads

 

far beyond the windows

of my perception

 

the immediacy of continuity

upholds its apparent appearance

 

perpetuating the dividing belief

that anyone is in control.

*

quality of presence

 

from this nothing

everything can be

 

steeped in the hollow

of the undefined

 

every moment

a clean slate

 

with each dawn

a spreading

of infinite light.

*

apprehending reality

 

forth brought

remains follow

shadow

 

as memories lift

from the body

 

catching breath

from first to last

 

the cyclic wandering of the soul

out beyond the land of the dead

 

to come to rest

once realized

 

the light

at the end

of the tunnel

is your own.

*

true north

 

i am a broken compass clock

falling thru the cracks in the heart

 

destination

anywhere but

here

 

finding clarity in the clouds

upon the mountain forged

in silence and retreat

 

far from the eyes

the hands the voices

the footsteps

 

drained of color

needing the sky the trees

the cat the bluebird

 

to serve only the word

summoned to the page

 

i seek only

a reasonable kindness and comfort

offered and afforded without hidden agenda

 

i sleep like a dog

and fuck like a…

like a…   i can’t remember…

it’s been awhile

 

but suffice to say

i am a patchwork

of experience and delusion

with a bit of dementia and neurosis

thrown in for good measure

 

and my only wish

is that everyone, everything

just be ok

 

that somehow it all

just evens out in the end

 

with no hard feelings

 

and if it doesn’t

well, at least i tried

 

which is a whole lot more

than i used to be able to say

 

so i guess

that’s something.

*

forty-nine plus one

 

other side now

 

room dark

with the leaving

day

 

writing

by the blue light

of the heart

 

in hope

and in promise

 

that upon this road ahead

lies love.

***

“Knowing you might not make it…

in that knowledge courage is born.”

  • William S. Burroughs

the sunday times 1.19.20

fledglings of the abyss

 

just enough of not enough

to even things out

 

rain on pavement

coals in the heart

 

the constant weather of the soul

 

treading light

anchors tossed

 

solace and storm

 

all parts washed ashore

pieced back together

 

awaiting the tides

to arise with a reason

to set sail once again.

*

bleed

 

for sakes of goodness

and other saving graces

 

one must keep in touch

with the quivering heart

 

suffering is avoidable

pain is not

 

each on their own

can only become what is

 

be not lost

in dim harbors of concern

 

for with every piercing arrow

there comes a choice

 

to fight it

or to feel it

 

simple

as

that.

*

slaughterhouse jive

 

down in the muscle

seeds of trauma reside

 

staining random intervals

with the stamped unapproval

of memory

 

twisted in the winding sheets

of a guttural ballet

 

as spotlights shine black

into the gaping maw of god.

*

spectre

 

done with games

and the soulless search

 

for something better

somewhere else

 

faceless faces

falling away

 

nothing to see

but everything seen

 

surfacing from dark reflection

to finally break thru the mirror

 

and find out

exactly who it is

staring back.

*

blue velvet morning

 

nothing stranger than the heart

 

sacred in its silent way

 

the mind of the soul

the soul of the mind

 

a lighthouse

in the abyss

of existence

 

ever guiding us

to the break of a

brighter day…

 

we hope.

***

“The only thing that makes life possible is

permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not

knowing what comes next.”

  • Ursula K. Le Guin

 

 

 

the sunday times 1.12.20

down in the break

 

sameness resides

in the newest cracks revealed

 

phantom scars

of expectation

 

well walked roads

of hopes dashed and

trust fallen

 

as the tooth grows longer,

the heart sinks deeper

 

and the years

continue to pass.

*

shadows of abandon

 

falling visions

from once where

we stood

 

unearthed abundance

in the unease of gathering

 

the spaces between the light

rest in the peripheral

 

center stage of the psyche

 

comprehension is elsewhere

no need in the vertigo of operation

 

breath returns

as crowds disperse

 

small talk silenced

 

the dust of existence

expelled from the bellows

 

making way

for the solitude

so desired.

*

blueprint

 

lines fused

 

networks of pattern and routine

embedded codes engaged into action

 

all this easily broken

by one step away

 

one link removed

 

continuously strengthened

by repetition

 

lighting new lamps

along the way

 

if only to see

how far we’ve come.

*

am i only

 

fade into flicker

 

love is a ghost

falling away

 

longer in the wait

as expectation looms

 

fear is a liar

but hope is sometimes

a thief

 

while certain things fall into place

other things run out of time

 

for as ruthlessly as the rules of chance abide

we are often drawn to believe otherwise

 

simply because it seems to be

the only thing left we can never

know for sure.

***

“In your head is the answer

Let it guide you along

Let your heart be the anchor

And the beat of your song.”

  • Neil Peart

 

 

 

the sunday times 1.5.20

points of distance

 

tandem released

flights unfancied

 

no want for waste

or factions warred

 

simple words

simple actions

simple truth

 

void of smoke and mirrors

 

and anything else

that tends to keep

us apart.

*

the lost art of getting lost

 

too much to hold

too much to let go

 

the manifested physicality of gadgetry

dares the mind to be left to its own device

 

back to thought and fire

the basics of existence

 

exponentially diluted

 

more and more everything

becomes less than nothing

 

with no place left to go

but everywhere gone.

*

dead grateful

 

for the blood loss

of the broken heart

 

for the grief

of the mourning soul

 

for this life

that lights the way forward

 

for the death of innocence

and the exile from imaginary gardens

 

for the gold beneath the stone

for the dying stars coursing thru our veins

 

for this life that lights the way

 

for the turning of screws

and the biting of bullets

 

for the rites and wrongs of passage

for the highest and lowest roads

 

for this life that lights

 

for abandonment and reunion

for the edges of swords

for the respite of dream

 

for this life

 

for the evils of eden

and the glory of impending doom

 

for winter’s last summer

and humanity’s final fall

 

all in all in all

 

all of us one

 

for

this.

*

upon departure

 

forward to return

 

meeting old souls anew

lifetimes in tandem across the miles

 

bond and blood

 

above the depths of sky

beneath the heights of the sea

 

linked in place

from distance to descent

 

back thru the womb of time

from the youth that has now become

who we are.

*

upon return

 

middle to the side

marching down the center

 

making peace

with occurrence

and predicament

 

beyond the above

to a home inside the mind

 

as the ascent begins.

***

“To be a human being among

people and to remain one forever,

no matter in what circumstances,

not to grow despondent and not to lose heart,

that’s what life is all about, that’s it’s task.”

  • Fyodor Dostoyevsky

the sunday times 12.22.19

right time

 

it’s ok

to be lost

wherever you are

 

realign the stars

dismantle your compass

disable your alarms

 

be at ease

with the nothingness

of everything

 

and start again from there

every chance you get.

*

instinct and collision

 

down the pressing

caught in the vague undertow

of missed queues

 

playback stutters and fails

as the mind peeks thru keyholes

 

framing circumstance

with either fate or falter

 

in order to fit inside

the tiny boxes of memory

we impose upon our thoughts

 

whether or dreaming life is our waking life

or our waking life our death

 

there are no lines to be drawn

 

there is nothing

and there is everything

 

and there is no answer

we don’t already know.

*

remain nowhere

 

safely numberless

adrift in the ether of solace

 

deep in the light of darkness

shooting sparks from solitude

 

pondering perches

both lonesome and beloved

 

both sides of either coin

seem to shine for different reasons

 

yet still i fret and fray

over the empty spaces

 

that continue to echo

thru the chambers of the heart.

*

first, last, always

 

falling in

 

locked steps

of primitive motive

 

boxed and pinned

until the break of opening

 

until the crack of sky

 

nothing can forever be

 

things needs change

 

but truth

will always

remain

 

whether we

believe it

or not.

*

in closing

 

light accumulation

 

culminating

in the finished end

and the start of the beginning

 

again around

and once more anew

 

a chance to take what comes

and leave what goes

 

and figure out what,

if anything, needs

keeping.

***

“A story has no beginning or end;

arbitrarily one chooses that moment of

experience from which to look back or

from which to look ahead.”

  • Graham Greene

 

 

The Sunday Times will return 1/5/2019

Wishing you all a peaceful holiday season and

a new year filled with love and light.

 

ELC

 

the sunday times 12.15.19

late start

 

no cause for alarm

sleep overtook the sunrise

 

but still

the morning

arrived

 

always as it is

 

swathed in time

fog abating

 

the minutes gained in slumber

now settled into the comfort of this nest

 

fingers coaxing words

from the ether

 

to finally get things going.

*

in fields of broken infinity

 

blown glass mind

spinning in the kiln

 

neither heads nor tails made

most of the time

 

but ends beginning to meet

 

staked in the somewhat delusion

of an inner peace

 

never the goal to reach

 

just to simply stay the course

and remain upon the path

 

until our time is done.

*

insanity and epiphany

 

the buzz of circuits completed

between the many moons

of horizons within

 

unveiled in the blue light

of hungry ghosts freed

from the haunting chains

of memory

 

as the clang and folly of regret

echo thru this empty cage

 

and while we can still remember the past

it is no longer painful to do so.

*

the best worst yet

 

down comes the world

following thru the fallout

 

another day

another depth

 

somewhat darker

but somehow better

 

a glimmer of hope

thru the black flames

of despair

 

one step closer to cracking the code

of the seemingly unfathomable equation

 

when all we need to know

is that it never gets solved

 

it only gets

more bearable.

*

if not this

 

consider these words impossible

 

a broken piece of time

reaching up thru the flower

 

the plans unmade

by a poverty of the soul

 

the gathering nothingness

that surrounds everything

 

forget the lies you never told

 

and begin the life

that was never meant to be.

***

“Existence is a series of footnotes

to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.”

  • Vladimir Nabokov

the sunday times 12.8.19

drop by drop

 

day breaks slow

beneath the rising light

 

zeroed out

to scratch and slate

 

graced with another chance

and no other choice

 

but to try again.

*

here where the night becomes us

 

settled not knowing

wandering and taken back

 

as states of mind rumble passed

like subway trains thru tunnels and darkness

 

thru breaks, bends and brighter days…

 

far off in the mind

unwired and free

 

still this hope burns

from the embers of joy

once remembered

beautifully alight

 

no ash

no cinder

no smoke

 

just glorious fire

 

miles and miles

of scarless wonder

 

swaying in darkness bright

with the harmony of our abyss.

*

all the rain

 

come to fire

upon the skin

of jealous bones

 

nothing but shadows and ghosts

in this living dream of a nightmare

 

yet all is well

in bigger pictures

and grander schemes

 

still the mind tends to zero in

on less common denominators

 

but with clutches

repeatedly released

 

with deep breath after deep breath

 

with spaciousness cultivated

 

the blurred edges of boundlessness

seem to come into focus

 

and while some circles

will forever remain broken

 

to goal is not closure

but finding acceptance and peace

within our somewhat cracked existence

 

so we can finally let go

and move on.

*

before the past

 

futile advance

evidence be damned

 

the looking glass looks away

and nothing is remembered

 

poetry is reality

under extreme duress

 

the heart is a searchlight

in the abyss of the human condition

 

we are all instruments

of each other’s peace

 

so play life

like the symphony

it is meant to be.

***

“No one to follow

And nothing to teach

Except that the goal

Falls short of the reach.”

  • Leonard Cohen

the sunday times 12.1.19

all go where they go

 

time to time

inside the mind

 

calm to chaos

emotions set in motion

 

deep in the ache of longing

yet fueled by a joyous fire

 

balancing breakdowns

with better days

 

everything has its place

 

and it is always

here.

*

new darkness

 

jagged in recurrence

the natural forces within

 

none too immune

but better now harnessed

 

shining black sheen

as bright as beauty

and just as soothing

 

an act of balance

and acceptance

 

continuously challenged

 

by this seemingly unbalanced

and unaccepting world.

*

a little more

 

cut paths from thin air

reaction chains slowly breaking

 

provoking persistence

from depths of despair

 

it all comes around

until it no longer remains

 

transmissions received

upon impermanent waves

 

grains of thought slipping thru the ether

poking holes in our personal theories

 

perspective betrayed

by a few steps removed

 

feel from the inside

the bones on muscle

 

the muscle on skin

the skin on air

 

the light is within all of us

and all of us the light.

*

the echo of bone

 

canyons deep

like the hollows

of the heart

 

centuries of symphony

in seconds of storm

 

every truth revealed

on an infinite loop

 

and nobody listening

but the darkness.

***

“Why should it be so hard to give up

seeking something you know you can’t possess?”

  • Lew Welch