Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

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

the sunday times 12.17.17

never meant to stay

 

patters broken from hold

 

everything at one

 

a part

of a way

 

the rest

will pass

 

the rivers behind you

have been crossed

for a reason

 

and now

you are somewhere else

 

but always

here.

*

only ever

 

crack of smile

touch of madness

 

equal parts nothing

and everything

 

all love

turns heavy

on the heart

 

days and memories align

to balance pain and sorrow

 

all things in right places

needful or useless

 

life is full of holes

 

it is our purpose to fill them

as we see fit.

*

corners

 

ahead of myself

while the darkness waits

 

mourning roads to redemption

one step ahead of the sun

 

every angle shining

 

every breath anew

 

from now on.

*

one on one

 

secret tallies

chalked and erased

 

voices unspoken

indifferently strummed

 

nothing to miss

but the past that remains

 

tethered to tradition

and formal apology

 

while nothing resembles

what it once was

 

trapped inside an antiquated promise

and its obligation to be kept

 

for the sake of everything else

that was lost.

***

“let’s pretend death is the

wiping away and cleansing

of a more simple stain.”

  • jeremy szuder

***This concludes the collection “the truth and other lies we tell ourselves”.

“Sunday Times” will resume 1.7.18 with the first selections from a new and as yet untitled collection.

Wishing you all a peaceful holiday season and new year filled with love and light.

Thank you for your continued support.

 

elc

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the sunday times 12.10.17

being and longing

 

when the darkness hits

nothing bleeds like love

 

deep rivers cutting stone

 

the heart embraces

both the memories

and the mistakes

 

none without the other

 

standing alone

in the lighted void

 

seeing everything

for the nothing

it is

 

and smiling.

*

the nemesis of fragility

 

in the soft glow

of dreaming flames

inwardly rising above

 

awash in shifting currents

 

the myriad distractions

of faith and belief

 

fall away

without

a word.

*

an insufficient eternity

 

cast and reeled

 

clocked out and punched in

 

burning down

in the daylight

of our demise

 

everything broken

or holy

 

drawn to a close

secretly behind the night

 

embraced in the slow darkness of departure

 

we find that only a few

are kind enough

 

to let us die in peace.

*

break it down

 

some things

are never meant

to stay

 

ways and wills be damned

 

grand schemes

of plausible extinction

abound

 

no truth too ugly to disguise

 

fighting from the outside in

seems counterproductive

to simply being

from the inside

out

 

the struggle is unreal

 

everything we will ever need is present

 

without so much

as an angry word

toward another living soul.

***

“This terrifying world is not devoid of charms,

of the mornings that make waking up worthwhile.”

  • Wislawa Szymborska

the sunday times 12.3.17

depth charged

 

beauty in banishment

sunlight betrays

our places of hiding

 

only harder

must we seek

our darkness

 

not always within

the time allowed

 

glimpses of pockets behind the clocks

stolen away from the natural order

 

to accept the unaccepted

as honored and invited guests.

*

pretty tied up

 

eased out

in black pools

permeation surrounds

 

for reasons needed to determine

 

long together

until starved

and withered

 

still the beating hearts entwined

in some amicable wreckage

 

with less than desirable dynamics intact

 

breakage needed

in one way or another

 

so as to free both from the other

while still able to stand together

 

each as one.

*

jammed

 

lost in dark chambers

beyond the broken past

 

trying to bring a light

to every equation

 

in hopes of the future

coming back around someday

 

until then

there is the presence of knowing

all is well

 

even when it seems

quite the opposite.

*

avenues and alleyways

 

beneath the stones

of here and now

 

weighted with circumstance

 

forever lifting

and pushing forward

 

unglumly lotted

and longing

 

but lucky enough to know

 

we are better

for every step

we take.

*

phantom pains and leaving trains

 

nothing rhymes with reason

and that can only be a lie

 

none need convincing

 

we all know

what we know

and how

 

the why

is war and

difference

 

the chasms

dark of thought

swallow the hallowed void

 

and hell has graciously accepted

our invitation.

*

piecemeal oblivion

 

set turning

 

dust

down the drain

of memory

 

lost

to the lie

of time

 

the stones of the sun

long for winter

 

the end is never

what we think it is

 

the beginning

is already over

 

and the in between

is but a blink

of the whirling

eye.

***

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of

the moment. There is no why.”

  • Kurt Vonnegut Jr

 

 

 

 

the sunday times 11.26.17

low

 

the beginning and the end

filled with heartworks and

apprehension

 

the night holds on

and i to the night

 

staking pains

against the pleasures

 

hammer to the nail

heart to the fire

 

black holes burning

where love used to be

 

counting hours

and empty spaces

one by one

 

until everything is alone

at last.

*

broken free

 

waiting on the fall

as another seasonless

los angeles winter approaches

 

sometimes it’s hard to believe

i believe in love, but i do

 

just less so that it might

swing my way again

 

the first time around

it drowned in my sorrows

and secrets kept

 

felled upon my sword

of self-infliction

 

now there are new days

and much better ways to go

 

there is clarity and presence

that was absent in previous incarnations

 

there is patience

that may wain

but never leaves

 

so

i

wait.

*

chaos and kindness

 

bright in glory

down in flames

 

forever burning

either way

 

for better light

or greater good

 

be done with all the thinking

all the guessing

 

all the gods and monsters

 

our higher purpose

is beyond all this

 

for all the world needs is you

doing whatever it is you love

 

the constants are bombarding

from first light to last breath

 

this is our only chance

 

there are no easy ways out

but there are softer ways thru

 

and here’s hoping

they not remain less travelled

for long.

*

gutted

 

softly fallen

upon beauty’s blade

 

low in the hollow

of time after time

 

dreams only bring

more of the same

 

the deep vacancy

of nowhere’s return

 

cold as a fossil

somewhere behind

the heart.

***

“We are made

of all those

who have built

and broken us.”

  • Atticus

 

the sunday times 11.19.17

ride

 

nowhere goes away

eventual return is unavoidable

 

dead ends turn back around

to greet the dying day with new life

 

nothing ever gone

but what we deny

 

square one

after square

one after square

one

 

hooked on a place of feeling

that may never have existed

 

but seems as real

as this breaking heart

all the same.

*

all out

 

drawn to the valley of lost things

reminded of certain necessities

due to recent developments

 

holding presence as dear

as perfect tension

 

in light of future days

reflecting back

 

upon these moments at hand.

*

for the last time

 

down from falling

beneath the curtain rise

 

red billows

and blue ruins

 

starting from one

and ending the same

 

the heart wonders aloud

why fate is an empty grave

far too eager for its own good.

*

full on

 

where will we go

alone and on our way

 

held and broken

in infinite places

 

yet always

the same scar

to heal

 

deep in boundlessness

racing like fire thru the brush

 

free to burn forever

if we so choose.

*

this poem does not exist

 

there is no song

surrounding this shadow

 

there is no key to true love

there is no greater madness than knowing this

 

no torture more rewarding than the search

no silence deeper than the beating heart

 

there is no loneliness

that cannot be lived

to its fullest

 

there is no pain

more beautiful

than love

 

and no beauty

more painful

 

there is no hope

that hope alone

will ever restore

 

everything is divine

everything is evil

 

there is only

all of this

 

and

there

is not.

***

“Beauty has no other origin than the singular wound,

different in every case, hidden or visible,

which each man bears within himself,

which he preserves, and into which he withdraws

when he would quit the world for a temporary but authentic

solitude.”

  • Jean Genet

 

 

the sunday times 11.12.17

then again

 

lines long drawn

pulled back into focus

 

connection momentarily restored

as pain remembers love’s glory

 

before she disappears

once more.

*

all from this

 

down from the ether

 

dropped

behind the eyes

of time

 

beyond realm or residence

 

as simple as truth

as heavy as the heart

 

these words

become life

as i know it.

*

nothing waits

 

farthest things

called home

 

once returned

to memory’s fading light

 

spark the dust

from brush to

inferno

 

the matter of moments

off and running

 

to the desolate and final outpost

of solace and redemption.

*

be where you are

 

momentary infinity

 

incremental

from the inside

out

 

alive

in the color and space

of emotion

 

beheld in the eye of the soul

 

our beauty

will become us

 

if only

we’d let it.

*

hammerdown

 

unmastered dynamics

oblivious to the friction

of faulty mechanisms

 

breaks and extrication needed

from certain proceedings

 

if only to keep open

the lines of communication

from a safer distance

 

lest they be inadvertently severed

from too blunt a blow

to the heart of matters.

*

up in the night

 

use and advantage

 

eyes trained

on the inside track

 

a hunter of wandering reflections

as the leaves of life turn

 

it is best

to set the heart for the sun

 

so the darkness will subside

every now and again.

***

“…it is quiet, the windows show nothing but moonlight,

there is a sadness like old rivers, and it is more real

than it has ever been.”

  • Charles Bukowski

the sunday times 11.5.17

good luck time

 

nothing in between the lines

just the days beyond the dawn

 

sometimes nothing comes

and my heart snaps shut

like a rusty trap

 

bled dry

beating

vacant

 

anything

is nowhere

to be found

 

as i peer thru the dusty blinds

at another sunday crawling by

 

comforted by false hope

and daydreams

 

an old friend of mine once said

you stop feeling lost when you stop

worrying about where you are.

 

so

here

i

am.

*

upsides down

 

dark moods turn

more mind than matter

 

assuaged by sameness of sky

and anomalous routine

 

none spoken

to the ease of

coming days

 

still mired

in the looming shadow

of greater odds.

*

deep arc

 

stifled in simulation

finding our way back

ass backwards

 

outward tendencies

to remain inside

 

falsehood enhanced

in the wake of unwanted

certainty

 

retreating from the ruin

imposed upon reality

by our very presence

 

believing to have tapped into

a virtual escape route

of spark and current

 

our moments fall

into linear spaces

eons apart

 

seamed and stitched

into some semblance

of recognizable order

 

so as to be understood

by our puny little minds.

*

shade and shadow

 

lost in the light

of chasms deep yawn

 

surrounded by the echo

of time’s abyss

 

gratuitous in expulsion

from the grave equation

of existence

 

nothing is ever meant to be

as we steal away into dream after dream

 

the last veiled constant

in our crumbling façade.

***

“…and the bloody shadow of the condor

crosses the sundial like a black ship.”

  • Pablo Neruda

 

 

the sunday times 10.29.17

twice the sky

 

turned witness for the soul

released from nowhere’s grasp

 

equations devoid of summation

only here for now

 

free in the deep empty

fearless consequence

abides the righteous path

 

unscaled and unfathomed

the depths of such endeavors imagined

 

the mind hovers

somewhere between

mantra and madness

 

equally entranced

by both.

*

here and after

 

ghostly solemn

places of karmic resonance

time revisits

 

leaving want and able astride

 

as trust is returned

in incremental bundles

 

while love

still is left alone

 

in the last

unvisited

room.

*

even enough

 

away from turning wheels

dark in the rafters of thought

 

from where to where

magic moments recede

 

hard to explain

this easy feeling

of nothingness

 

of everything

 

of windows far beyond my light

 

reaching the dusty corners

once rendered unforgiven.

*

when night comes black

 

born still

deathly amused

 

curled in smoke and ribbons

 

streaming ether

from blue frosted veins

 

cloth and curtain ignite

 

blindingly dissolved

in on final embrace…

 

gone.

*

infinite echo

 

all along

thru sunfire

and storm

 

we

the last remains of shadows

fallen prey

 

ghosts drunk

on games of fate

 

a dream in some mind’s eye

spiraling towards oblivion

 

convinced control can be ours

while every bone of our cages

proves us wrong.

*

tinker and trawl

 

early depths

mined before the day

begins to burn

 

hounds fed

and trotted ‘round

 

now the morning speaks its mind

of little worship and less regret

 

trusted reasons

sacred and kept

 

a promise beyond words

to care and take hold

by all means of presence

and clarity

 

finally forming habits

that bend toward a greater light.

***

“Life is at the bottom of things

and belief at the top, while the creative impulse,

dwelling in the center, informs all.”

  • Patti Smith

 

 

 

the sunday times 10.22.17

the long game

 

slow turns of phase

 

reference framed

in hindsight broken

 

mirrored not in reflection

but reaction

 

rused by control

and its seeming lack

 

a trick of light

in pointed view

 

until broadened scope

reveals the reversal

 

traveling a new artery of thought

farther and farther away

from the poisoned arrow

of definition.

*

better weight

 

sheer of surface

bare of breadth

 

beneath the fathomage

of exhaustive remains

 

sparks swim the inner spaces

pregnant with idea and illumination

 

the impetus

of everything

to come.

*

drone orchestral

 

celestial coordinates

search the satellites

for signs of life

 

circuit degradation

impedes refraction

 

as conquest divides the elements by tense

 

slight disruption ensues

equal duration resumes

 

infinity continues.

*

broken and entered

 

cracks in the façade

born of our psychic malaise

 

as constant bombardment

continues the atrophy

of imagination

 

coffined in degenerative distraction

as our spiritual hunger starves

in the static abyss.

*

wave after wave

 

endlessly here

spun and looped

 

all at once

everything comes around

 

we only see specs of the whole

pieced and parceled by perception

 

just enough to fill some ruptured void

gone undetected by all but the soul.

*

crawling down the well

 

deep in the last breath of thought

secrets hide in the strangest places

 

etched in the slow drawl of truthless banter

or seared in the silence of parting ways

 

culled in a moment

a mission of degree

 

the same difference

bides our time and nips

at the heels

 

the principles of vantage and vortex

a smooth recurrence of everything again

 

where nothing becomes

what our wishes

hope to be;

 

when every breath

is a new way of dying

 

every step

must be

a new way

to live.

***

“breath deep enough and we are possessed.

breathe again and we will be gone.”

  • Jim Carroll

 

the sunday times 10.15.17

change not an end

 

low slung in the lazy early day

slightly perturbed as always

 

new corners turned

putting practice into purpose

in skewed hours of anomalous routine

 

here in places different

bruised by memory

 

bleeding new blood

into the same old river of madness.

*

what hearts have wrought

 

the difference is familiar

the emptiness is full

 

around in secret

stung like the wind

 

hard fought

with nothing

to show

 

still progress persists

no reason otherwise

 

somewhere

in the simple instinct of nature

lies the purpose of our presence.

*

slow night

 

unsettled

in the heavy light

of gold and darkness

 

elsewhere shines

a truth to be known

 

smeared unholy

with euphoric depravity

 

as memory serves

to enslave the heart

with longing

 

for times

when nothing

mattered.

*

every way out

 

shadows of scars

 

stations left leaving

from dusk to dying day

 

always a woman

always a war

 

love stained

and battle bread

 

into the fire

we fall.

*

beast and flower

 

lightness returned

from wake and wither

here in static

 

sounds and movement alike

the same difference abides

 

the past drifts back

remaining in touch

 

thru line of time and dream

drawn in succession

 

the present drifts forward

coercing coincidence

into future holds

 

parallel crossings destined

to the greater light of obscurity

 

soothed by the unfathomable patterns

of randomness and definition.

***

“The day goes out, the city

lights up, remote and near.

Weightless hour. I breathe

the moment, empty and eternal.”

  • Octavio Paz