A General Topic Anyone Could Participate In

The Pleiades (1885) by Elihu Vedder

This is a language game
with serious yet imaginary consequences.

The world chases its own tail
around an equator with a tilted, wobbly spin.

There are times when I feel that
I am not from here.

I have nothing to do with this place.
I have crash-landed from a more stable planet.

I am stranded among violent natives—
Though I came in peace! I come bearing gifts!

Sometimes I want nothing but to hear the sound of
a faraway voice murmuring nothing in particular.

It is a Friday afternoon and there is unfinished work
in the Pleiades with my name on it.

I should be lighter than I am.
I would escape gravity with a casual smile.

But this is only a human zoo
And I’m merely human in symbol or sign

And these words that I offer to 444 light years
Must come to rest in the shell of your ears.




I am
the desired outcome
The sotto voce

I come
The desired body
The corpo divino

You are
With it
Inside jocular jugular
The corpus mysticum

We space
And time
Space-time divine
The rhyme of reason

444 and .2
Zoosphere, adieu
The zoo is 46 and 2
A Tool, a symbol et l’accent aigu

(edit . . . undo)


A Full Moon
Clouds drift through the Moonshine
My Breath is Released into Moon-Shine Clouds
Of Darkness…



A Memory Palace in a Southern Style

Born in 1931. Birmingham Alabama
Paul Jones my father’s name
And my mother’s name was Capitola.

When I was seven
I went to school.
1+1=2 2x2 =4

What was your favoirite subject?

Anything else?
Skip rope

A best friend?
Little blonde girl

Favorite teacher?
Black haired lady

How many rooms
in your house?

Two rooms.
And a mouse.
( I made that up)

My sister’s name was Charlotte
I was two years older.
Daddy went to the war for’
Five or six years. Paul Jr was
born. I quess we were a
happy family…

Daddy had to go and get a job.
A salesman. Cars. He liked to gamble.
Mama was a secretary. She worked
for the railroad.

Anything else you recall?
On the weekends they got drunk.

We are in a hurricade.
We just lost power,
Do you understand, Mama?
The computer doesn’t work.
Where’s the fuckin’ flashlight?
Do you understand, Mama?
Do you?

She said she did.
I asked her to sign her name.
I studied her signature
in the glow of the flashlight.
She was breathing erratic.
Her face looks weird as
if I was tripping on acid.
We hadn’t slept in two days.

What would happen, Mama,
If you a were more patient
With us?

I don’t know…

After we change her
oxygen tank I I told my brother
she was
going to be okay.

He asked why the sky was so orange
In the middle of the night?

It’s a hurricane I remind him.

Her last words to me were
" Get out, asshole."

And the rain came to wet me once
And the winds to make me tremble
Blow winds and crack your cheeks

She did me wrong
No more that.
That way madness lies.
Let me shun that.
No more of that


Meanwhile: here comes the Metaverse.

The dead walk.
The goggles droop under the weight of
bad infinity.

The wasteland behind the logo grows.


Why do I feel my eye-rolling :roll_eyes: somehow validated?


Let me lay my cards on the table. I think Facebook is dead. There, I said it. It’s dead because we killed it. You and I. (Social media murderers!) We killed it…before it killed us. Before we killed ourselves. Before our slow spiritual suicide could be accomplished. The biggest, most valuable social media company in the world is dead. It’s a rotting corpse, colder than cold. Yet much life grows on the dead…

—MVM, “After Facebook,” 2016


Queering the Imaginal

We are high up in the mountains
serene and clear blue sky
practicing screams.

I imagine putting myself
in a state from which
I can scream effectively.

The best scream gets high
esteem from the group.
I remember my mother
putting lipstick on my brother’s lips
eye shadow, make up, rouge,
a scarf curved around his tiny head.
Staring blankly into a mirror
looking like a little tart,
he was happy she was happy.
My mother said she really wanted a girl
but she had four boys

In the lucid dream
there is a sly Asian woman
with bright yellow hair
in a dark blue suit.
I love the colors.

I’ve seen this movie before.
Again, a wavy alphabet moves across
her creamy moon face.
I invite her to stay with me
in my L shaped room
even though I suspect
she is a hired assasin.
I’m gay I say.
Don’t worry she says
I’m not really a woman.
We cannot return
like boxers
to the corners of the ring.
i stood firm but
softly felt
the loosening of
the bowels.

Knock out blow.
Held by gravity
I hear the ref count.
Don’t get up.
They keep telling me to let go.

But letting go
is a solo game
played by lazy people.

A dead civilization and yet
I am aware that if we
all of this
else could

i try to
stay mindful of
our narrow options
as I taste the blood
in my mouth

All males are females
in relationship to God
A soul seeks
a formal cause
like the sea shapes an island.
This is why she came


All Saint’s “Eve”

Death Planet

Into the Imaginal I Go this Night!!!

All this in This Life Keeps Rolling On!!!

Death - Oh! - Death Help Me to Feel-See in Your Darkness
I’ve been in your Presence-Absence in Oh! so Many Ways,
The Loss of my Youth,when I Began to Feel & Think For Myself,
My First Sexual Experience
Leaving Home to Go Into/On the Great Yellow-Brick Path of Time:
The Leaving of Brother,Mother,Father & Oh! so Many Friends in-with-out “of” Death
And In Just Not Being With/In Those {Relationships}.
Life - Oh! - Life {Secretly} You are Joined in “HOLY UNION”


Trick or Treat


In honor of Día de Los Muertos and first day of grey November in the northern hemisphere, here is a little darkness to go with the artificial colors of Halloween Candy, by one of the great early-modern Latin American poets:



DICHOSO el árbol, que es apenas sensitivo,
y más la piedra dura porque ésa ya no siente,
pues no hay dolor más grande que el dolor de ser vivo
ni mayor pesadumbre que la vida consciente.

Ser, y no saber nada, y ser sin rumbo cierto,
y el temor de haber sido y un futuro terror…
¡Y el espanto seguro de estar mañana muerto,
y sufrir por la vida y por la sombra y por

lo que no conocemos y apenas sospechamos,
y la carne que tienta con sus frescos racimos,
y la tumba que aguarda con sus fúnebres ramos
y no saber adónde vamos,
ni de dónde venimos!..


How lucky the tree is to be barely sentient,
and more so the hard rock, which doesn’t feel at all,
for there’s no pain greater than the pain of being alive,
nor a heavier burden than the conscious life.

To be, and to know nothing, and to be without definite bearing,
and the fear of having been, and a future terror…
And the inevitable horror of being dead tomorrow,
and to suffer from life and from shadow and from

what we don’t know, and hardly suspect,
and the flesh that tempts with its fresh fruit-bunches
and the tomb that awaits with it funeral bouquets,
and to know not where we’re going,
nor whence we came!

—Rubén Darío (b. 1867, Nicaragua)
translated by MVM


Creative - Magical Spark of Fire in the Womb-Belly…


Here is something from a person who Transformed Humankind a hundred years ago ,
with his New Way of Seeing and Being in the World :



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