who would have thought the brace / the chain-mail of text - as hard as bark really
hides the dancing - (the beauty of it is inside you see) the imposition of it is not a
closing a trap a shut down to the floor nailed - the secret is this - this grid of syntax is
the gateway to the mind's delight it is what happens beneath the signs and their
constants - the possibilities released like a plague and the wind is without scarring - or
heart sinking regret it is the spirit released / this is where you live when you walk
outside / and madness is
every delight / I know the price is sanity / and yes the logic of it is three dimensional
the journey into the outside the outside turning itself back to - what we have is the
fluidity of water it is not subject / object vertical looking into space - the great
horizontal - I mean who is to say that's it otherwise no one would paint or do numbers
- and it's just not that how it appears is the background to what will be / there are
innocents that are capable of the most horrendous crimes of the heart and spirit / and
they play as if nothing has happened / I love the music of old men and women / down
the autumn boulevard
the streetscape is just a cover for the great motion that is beyond order and disorder / a
point of light / still / eternal (anything else?)
I keep thinking of splints - wooden splints tied to legs as if this is a metaphor for lives
splintered - the terror of being destroyed is quite simple - it can happen before you
loose your mind with grief those sunny days / there is in fact no crime - the actor just
walks off - the stage is dead the audience gone there is nothing left to say and so we
make a mythology to give some significance to everything / and it is rather necessary /
there is the backdrop of stars and their implications just setting / context really for our
peculiar affairs / the killers walk free the dead never leave the miracle is without
choice / and that is the point
to be embraced denied forgotten trashed left on the roadside by a desert cafe it's
footsteps really just mind marks on paper or ground sky or water and nothing to be
found beneath or beyond really this is the great mystic river - you see there just is no
dilemma where did I get that idea from as if you have to try and work it out and live a
life of epistemological misery either that or go completely immoral leaving bits and
pieces of your mind on the broken days / (like an insect collector) mirrors reflect the
intrusions across light and its variations to absence / there is always the poker game
upstairs at Fat Tony's (hey its a point of focus / saved lives / just going up those stairs
each Tuesday since 1954 is reason enough) / there's not much to it I hate to say / apart
from the waves of colour behind your eyes
I remember the caress of tress down the convent road the park just sitting to the side
always a place of peace / and for young lovers to be free (those trees against the sky)
there were years I wandered gentle in their gaze
what has happened to that space and every other time I had the luxury of - is it all still
there layers on layers and always the new one face up and ready for imprint perhaps
the odd detail changed in case an inventory needs to be taken latter / this is to say
there are objective marks to time though some will tell you esse est percipi (it's the
seeing that makes the world you can be cursed with such a lover) the rest is
imagination / but the real question is how to describe anything / like what is to count
as final / or for that matter is there an initial state? It's a carnival and you just go from
one tent to another the wonders increase with each step and the laughter is without
awareness /
so there is a purity of act we cannot grasp / on reflection - it is the directness of being
qua being as they say at the Bottom Bar / (and it becomes a longing to be intensified /
you see the tragedy is you never forget / the forms are eternal / and life / your life - the
introduction to essence
with each person / or really any event - it is as if everything was begun again - and a
new direction taken / like repetition is impossible and the link is difference /
(not drinking can be perilous)
God / it's just a question of art really / something is behind it all and it makes the
things and the wires necessary to hook them up to work / and the workers necessary to
electrify the things and these workers are really just things-plus / the fact is though it's
all got right out of hand / (and I mean big time though no one's really saying just how
bad it is yet) look we know any project can go off the rails / and it's not that it has a
life of its own it's rather that in this case the knowledge got lost and now every thing is
moving without any reason at all (strawberry fields forever) / and this is what some
have always longed for / and others will tremble
look / it's either all in or all out / that's logic (writ large; small is 'either / or') / erotic
dancers have an identical movement but they can only show it / they have no way of
saying it in words (as Wittgenstein demonstrated) the point is it doesn't matter one
way or the other / you are / whatever you want to call it (or) however you wish to
dress it up / or whatever name you adopt or give // if you think / and have some
courage you will always be beyond definition / (hanging out there with the wild ones)
therefore anguish and delight / OK enough said / the stools are up / the lights are
going out the door / the night is waiting /
down the street go dreamers full of madness
(c) greg. t. charlton. 2007.
All rights reserved.
Road songs 2. Killer Press.
