Sta.sh
Undertaker
Your Scratch & Snatch Pursuit ~
The Skin-of-the-Teeth
you collect
be the Root of Victim's victim
an unwise slice of dice
a roll of buried bread
a Life
that resembles
unleavened
Progress and Product
lies in salted doughy knots
and here, you think you can rise them.
Kneading the Needy ~
Those who would sign over deeds
and these same widows wander
into processions not their own
Acid activations
upon bare bones, be a solvent
to cracked open flesh that would pour forth
a liquid heat ~
the morrow's marrow
and spew of ill-gotten inks
The blanched fat of fawners
chews nicely
for your teeth choose chicks
who would hatch on command.
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--
direct from the mine
Crispy cooked canaries
Gassed and blackened
in their turn on the stovely stage
They're truly tasty
Unless you let them live too long
and store them in the house
As the heat of summer comes again
that's when you'll know
I see dead people.
A red planted lobber
A two shaded special
Of hither and nother
Buried bread reminds me of some pagans who used to 'sacrifice' a loaf of bread in rituals. An alternative to a life I guess. I remember my uncle Mick always disapproving, being of the kind of pagan who held to the line in the charge of the goddess that says 'nor do i demand sacrifice... for my love is poured out on the earth' (or something similar... I always held more to just trying not to be an arsehole ^_^).
...Yesterday I was at my mum's graduation in Winchester cathedral (at 61 - mamma may be crazy but she sure is clever). She's in the choir who was also singing. We waited with the choir in between ceremonies, having to be quiet. Between a chapel and the crypts. People just sitting reading, playing cards, leaning on sarcophocusses (sarcophaci?? I dunno...). I was drawing with my nieces. My sister was writing on the stone floor. We speculated about 100 year old cobwebs. The head of music came and made jokes - talked into his shoe like a phone etc at my nieces, and let them run loose in the crypt. Churches are a really nice place to be when you don't have religion. Mum was always in a choir and i could sleep through Handel's Messiah from age dot. Thousand year old tombs as comfy as an old slipper...
WOw that was a lot of
-yep.
That's the pagan creed in a nutshell.
or as I like to say...
heathenism only up to the point where it might become disruptive.
Unproductive.
I spent many bipolar years seeking the solace of a church when I had no business there.
Raised to only believe in my two hands, I was a bit out of the loop. Lacking my full benefits of church - if I was one to even get anything out of its many facets.
The tombs would have been my focus as well.
Sitting amongst the dead.
Even took a job doing such a thing.
(post-mortem reconstruction artist)
I felt at total peace,
never having found an atmosphere quite like it anywhere else.
I hope one day you'll be able to see Luray Caverns.
This place has music mallets strung for miles that strike the stalactites and lead to a huge organ that can be played off of them.
At first, I thought it was horrible (sort of rapey)
to use nature in that way. Not sure what I think now,
but it's worth sharing.
Reminded me of a sculpture that I'd like to see one day... called 'Aeolus' - its played by the wind [link]