the dual natures of the nymph

pt.1 paper cuts deep

I can’t think

I lay out three knives
one copper, one aluminum, one steel
and serrate the tendons
white worms of sinew sheer and give way

let’s not be dainty

these are not euphemisms
parables and short lessons
to inspire and guide your life

we’re talking about a girl
no more than 12
they carve out her genitals
- the clitoris and labia
with no anesthetic

the remaining flesh they sew together
with six stitches from wild thorn
and a short thread
tied off at both ends

her legs are lashed and bound
till muscle rots and flesh fuses to bone
and they cut a small opening
a corridor for urine and menstrual blood

the unclean forever unclean

her body is not her own
and the wound is reopened
only for the pleasure of men

perhaps we all die alone

pt.2 the destruction of the personality

I listen

all ears
all eyes and nerve endings
straining for your breath

it is the silence
the lift and thrust of distant mountains
black cows going to water across yellow grass
a campfire of refried beans
blackened fish
a can of roasted coffee beans

I sleep with a black dog
and a man who craves
as much sex as he can get

he is young
slim and slightly-built

desired

the dog is cool and silent
its breath controlled
as if chosen for this moment
this intake, this exhalation

at night beside you
I make kissing fish-lips on my pillow
and that provides a certain measure of release

later the dancing begins
around us
and a softly moaned
pentameter
lets me sleep

pt.3 to suffer, when it seems near

You’ve come to me before
come and gone
come and gone

unaware of the consequence
the longing
the cut slow and deeper with each passing
a confirmation that pain is real and can be felt
a confirmation that there is still blood to be let

every action carries reaction
equal, opposite
electric and violent
the sandpaper rub of your crossing
generates a static charge

we become stale bread
immune to the lure of heroic madness
immune to soft blanket folds
and warlike erotic feats

The hidden bite
The swollen bite
The point, the line of points
The coral and the jewel

The line of jewels
The broken cloud
The biting of the boar

all the places that can be kissed
can also be bitten:
your shoulder, breast
you upper lip, interior mouth
and eyes

as you stand to leave
and dress yourself without a word
I hang this charm around your neck
like a weight
for good luck

like holding my breath as I pass
under the water
from this world to the next

like filling my pockets
with the stones beside the stream
and following her in

like the moment before I think
- the moment I only feel
as something scrapes my knee
and my breath escapes
and the lightning touches gently down

perhaps my drowning is a consequence
of certain previous miscalculations

or perhaps I’ve been dying all along

pt.4 the less and more arcane

we calibrate these instruments
the sigils circle, a wafer of wood
stamped with images
and strung on black cord

clockwise: the boar
the black dog
the running man and drowning
the black hill cut in cross-section
the barrow mound
white grubs massed and boiling in darkness

I hear your heartbeat slow
I hear the soft wind
bearing spirits of the dead

the passing clouds are cased in ice
and we chip slowly at their edges

we are all gods
and we will all die at our own hands

early lesbian teachings translated from the greek

pt.1 things to do in attic demes

he had
for as long back as he could think
spent his life alone
in a darkened cell
about two meters long
one meter wide
and half more as high
with no straw to shit/sleep on
and no horse
carved out of wood
for a toy.

kasper hauser got stabbed.
turned to stone in the old city.

that happens:
grow up in a box
you don’t develop many street skills.

you can quote me on that.

pt.2 this convent oath

a picture of Jesus
hangs above my bed
stonehard and wet with dew
I can’t move
no tea
no coffee
no dancing boys
no magazines

no rest for the wicked
serpent child
squirms
between my legs

gravity shifts
from time to time
and magnetic north
can’t sit still
but this son-of-a-god
bitch
is fixed for good

and jesus could use a shave.

pt.3 fluid dynamics

the poet
sappho
jumps from the cliff-edge
and floats gently
towards terminal velocities of granite
below her relative acceleration point

M is the mass of the attracting object
math-hat-R is the unit vector
from the center mass of attracting object to
the center mass accelerated

R is the distance “R”
between two objects
and G is the gravitational constant of the universe

violet-haired and pure
she falls like
rock lyrics
like the love of women
and the religious bond
the sacred free-fall
the skydive into
the belly of the she-earth
through menstrual bloodwater
instant mashed potatoes

but the terminal velocity of the object
changes due to the properties of the fluid
and Marcel Duchamp used semen decades ago

in hetero revisionist astrophysics
when gravitation is an attribute of curved spacetime instead
the fully developed follicle releases the secondary oocyte
only after due consideration
of the ethical impulses
towards collision and

love is an isolated event
in which two or more moving bodies
exert forces on each other
for a relatively short time
which ends
predictably
with livingroom orange shag
cock up the ass

I’m just saying:
if you actually collected the dew
from the top of a mountain
it would taste like shit.

and anyway:
sappho eats carpet.
so phaon can fuck himself.

pt.4 men and gods

Ulster throws his severed hand
and they knight the bastard
employee of the month
and King for a year

great for fisting
but you can’t yank the yak
with a stump

pt.5 the serpent child

this grotesque diction of the groin
gyrates like pelvic half-truth
drunk and stumbling
farther down colfax
fuck you
where’s the motherfucking scoop?

because that is who we are:
we enunciate the lower psyche
we embody hidden psychosis
(the size if your dick)
we are universal
we are unusual
we transvest pink panties
we are vertebrate creature
and good in bed
we will kill instead of cure

our existence is arousal
- the notion of the belly
of the earth
and of her
mother dripping and blood and

coat hangers and

genitals and

so on

so much then for these distinctions
so much for:
anonymous masculinity
see also:
men who have sex with men

‘cause boys
will be boys
will be boys
will be boys
until they’re not

‘cause they’ve got
- ho’s in different areas
- different area codes
- keeping it on the down low

‘cause the amount of HIV
in Genital Fluids
is linked to Trans.
Fucking.
Mission to Mars.

pt.6 collecting samples in small vials
I wouldn’t say he’s gay
but he sure knows how to ram it in me.

The Metamorphosis of Lazy Khelone and Other Mortals

pt.1 if I should fall

I saw the great white
rising tail and jaw on either side
- and the captains leg in two -
grabbed hold the fore-mast
and lashed myself there
before losing time and waking mid-bob
half turned under and spitting for air
myself the sole survivor
and bent on revenge

you can still see the scars
below my brow and crooked nose
where the gulls had their fill
at my expense

I can’t see straight out my left eye
and the other in black and red

my hand is bent
but still holds cards
and drinks enough for two

on sundays I wear priestly robes
and sit in a small box
where the latticework tell stories
of lust and ancient sin

come closer, child

I think of you and touch myself
stroke my chin
rope beads up my ass
and pray for rain

pt.2 put it on ice

Don’t give me that
jesus shit rights
no room at the
crazy eight
or quartering of gods.

Your attic loon
may command three fates
and the movement of the mountains
but I turn your ass to turtle
dove soup
snap your flute neck
throw you from the cliffs
and tell your sister it was the rain.

amend that.

pt.3 wrath

There is force that attracts a body
toward the center of the earth
with degrees of intensity
measured by acceleration

She touched my lowered face
and hummed a childish tune

I smell the wet salt trails
down your cheeks
as dew falls
into dirt and nothing mud

When our time runs out
you’ll die in my arms
sweet child

again.

pt.4 bribes

Let me list for you
my accomplishments
in no particular order
each and every
as deserving as the last
and none the worse
for their transformations:

most to birds
some to bees
others: short-billed fowl

a lazy tortoise
twin half-bear giants
ravens, crows and marsh

several cattle
and two or three well carved statues
on the town hall lawn

little boys pissing
and shit like that.

The Festival of the Dew Carriers

pt.1 a thin man all bone

I had a little puppy
His name was Tiny Tim
I threw him in a bucket
To see if he could swim.

He drank up all the water
He ate a bar of soap
Now he's foaming in a panic
Like a mother-fucking dope!

I called him in the doctor
I called him in the nurse
I called him in the lady with the alligator purse.

I did it with the doctor
I did it with the nurse
I did it with that lady and her alligator purse!

pt.2 the sun in her eyes

over the mountains
and the shadows of buildings
against the sky
you can still see light
where the sun used to be
as clouds turn red then black
like a bruise
like your eye after the mosh pit
like my thumb after the catch-gear

Then the mountains disappear
and there's nothing left to live for
and we all die for the night
just like that.

pt.3 play dead

come closer child
he whispered sweet
as I felt his hand caress my back
his breath was warm
his hands were too
and I kissed the gentle part of his neck
said I loved him
and forever
and all the other words that came

he told me about the sea
and the river styx
and the serpent king
and other tales

I told him about over there
and under the rock
and thursday evening
and things

We walked along the cliff-edge
and flew a kite over the ocean
and held hands against the wind

and he played the traveling doctor
and I played the traveling dead

pt.4 when in rome

things that bounce (a list):

small blue rubber elephants
larger rubber bats
oysters if you eat them wrong
snails if you dare
rice thats spoiled
eggs, once boiled
sisters thrown
lawn, once mown
swings and rings and party hats

rocks on water
socks for jumping
stocks last friday
box today

hello little box
hello to you too, me
let's be friends!

pt.5 crazy eight

sink like a stone
rock like a rollercoaster

pt.6 water at dawn

the light through the curtains
reveals your chest
hairy and wet with dew.

I lick it clean
and you make breakfast
scrambled
with toast
but I've fallen back asleep
like I do
and you carry me to bed
tuck me in good night
and sing a little song
then close the door behind
and take the light out with you

This goes on for weeks at a time
or maybe months
or years

time escapes
when I close my eyes
and see the future in
colors brighter than life:
the endless parades
- in my honor, of course
with horse-drawn carts
and ferrets in trees
and you there beside me
with dew on your breast
so tall as you stand
all naked and bone-sharp
but one elbow round
from falling on ice
how many years
before I was born.

Your forever is too short for me.
I'll never wake up.

pt.7 skipping rope

fuck me once
shame on you
fuck me again and again and again!

potential music assignment #1

Can you write music based on the physics of falling?

Can you write music that contradicts itself and dies three different ways?

athena drops a mountain

pt.1 el gato

As the fever begins to thicken
around my mental orbs
I notice the empty blue
where clouds once floated free
while large boats formed on the horizon

The fog has rolled in
from the deeper recesses of my Amygdala
and Lower Cerebellum where
- once hand-stands now crunches -
I hone my cerebral dexterity

I'm not feeling well
but the gentle lapping of waves
on the stone beach
keeps tempo with the flow of oxygen
as it abandons my heart

I'm offered massaging
and gentle caress
to soothe what's gone ailing
and soften the rest
by the man of this place
the host by my side
an ex-pat and sheep-heard
and traveling guide

Let me list for you my pains
before we press on:
first and fore the frontal cortex
or thereabouts
followed in rough order
by heel and thigh
my lower half spine
and upper right calf
my thumb bone and thenar
and the balls of my toes

my focus is pulled
with every small throbbing
and no one remains to mind my surroundings
nor objects nor actions
nor the meanings they bear
nor the mountain that's forming
beneath where I sit
nor the glorious wreck
of knit, twist and purl
with widening gauge and wandering gate
that spills from my needles
in quickening knots

I don't remember what you were saying
but your hands were finding deep secrets of mine
long crevices formed between muscle and skin
by the long-form erosion of eternal progression

Who are you, again?
and what's that sharp tingling
and why is my back all twisted and bent
and where are your fingers
are where are my robes
and who's feet are marching
and when is my grave
and water's for drinking
and mountains to climb
and toothpicks for killings
and poems that don't rhyme
and this is a sad song
and so are your eyes
and where are my nerve ends
and why am I fighting
and where are your eyes
and so on
and so on
and so
on and on

pt.2 one eyed jack and the serpent bone

you rip drip right through me
and the ground is wet with your cum

pt.3 there and back again

In retrospect
I'm not sure why I brought the mountain
when packing my things

It was there and I left in a hurry
a bit of a daze
and some might even say
a panic of sorts

I left without announcement
the next day
or three days after

My exit was calm
my visage collected
a game that I play
with trenchcoat and hat

the fog and the ocean
and the smell of your sweat
that lingered in my room
long after you left
made it hard to count
the minutes as they passed

there was so much to do
without moving
or letting the covers shift
to reveal any inch of my body
as I slowly reassembled
the parts that I could
from the scraps I found scattered
around corners of my psyche
and discarded memories

I left with this mountain
and myself
(all knee and ankle bone)
and a few things I would need for the journey
my toothbrush but not much else

pt.4 notes towards a manifesto

With a knife
or with needles
with spiders and salt
with cozy warm mittened full uzi assault
with a pine cone and sulfer
with glitter and mint
with a glancing right hook
and a wink in my eye
with a night in the bathtub
with my favorite book
with candles
with ice cream
with wandering thoughts
with canvas and yarn
and two-ply wool socks

We'll suffer alone
and one day you'll die
and I'll die too
and that's all I ask

on that day I'll be happy
and celebrate with friends
as we board your final ferry
with pickaxe in hand
and lay waste
even
to mortality

you shit.

p5. exfoliate

This Is Just To Say
I have left the mountain
two fathoms out and one deep

Forgive me
It was heavy

how to hate your virgin sister

pt.1: with a knife

as you're falling
turn back

reach
and grab her hair
like so

pt.2: in silence

Out the back door
the field grass drops slowly away
towards the woods
where we spent
our first night
holding hands
and breathing heavy
several feet away

in the school yard
later
you touched my face
and I could smell your perfume
moving closer

you placed my hand to your breast
and we left it there for a minute
just to see what would happen

pt.3: with pith

fearful people
do stupid things

and

it is better to have loved and lost
than to live with a waco
for the rest of your life

pt.4: apropos of nothing

I have dreams of falling
from buildings
from bridges and catwalks
hospitals and military barracks
and turning gently over myself
till I find a perfect balance

the shape of an object
affects the rate of it's fall

and when I land
you were there first
turned to stone
and I impale myself
like a martyr
on your sword
or javeline
or penchant for older men

I see blood on your gown, sister.
I see blood.

pt.5: vengeance

the lord our gods
is seven and one half
lords
and of many shifts

a thief and cattle driver
blandly cunning
he moves towards the gate

a bringer of dreams
and watcher by night
a wandering god
wonderful deathless and frail

I see veins in his neck like any other
I'll be a guide for this guide
I bring notice to this messenger
I'll bury him imortal
tear his cloths and scatter his ash

the innocent of man
I hear a gentle whisper
as my shepherd nears his sheering
come closer child come close

come closer child
come close

randomness

* hero/villain/hero who elicits pity and fear. i love the ambiguity. i love the idea of playing up the ambiguity. to the extreme. i've been watching The Wire (again...). the ambiguity towards the characters is so confusing and uncomfortable and i love it so so much. like ziggy sobotka for example... to me, he is a great example of pity and fear both, at the same time, he's fucked, but its not his fault, but he has killed a man, but its a Bad Man, but its not his fault, but of course its his fault, but it didn't have to go this way, but it DID go this way, but he seems like an okay dude, but he is a Murderer, but he is Sorry and doesn't belong in prison, but he KILLS PEOPLE. i love that this character makes me so confused. this sort of thing is what i see our hero/villain/hero doing.

* also this related to my earlier comment about being thrown. this can be very ambiguous. a Bad Person being thrown is a good thing, but he/she will bleed a lot and break bones, which is unpleasant. unless she is turned to stone first, in which case, she will Destroy whatever she lands on (i hope its not me). but she deserves it, or does she? she will fly (which is beautiful), she will land hard (which is destructive), and she will come to rest (which is peaceful). if she is stone, maybe she will be immortalized there forever. like a monument. but do we want to remember her? do we?

a woman is thrown (x3)

this is the sound of falling words
taken from the beginning

there are reasons to be thrown
from the pier at night
or possibly the cliffs
at the far end of town
or turned to stone
and buried beneath the sea
dragged down
by guilt and heroics

there are reasons
to go fishing
or rape your sister
open your gifts early
and kiss the serpent child
or heed the ravings of a mad virgin
and dive into pavement
from seven stories up
and three wide

there is only the wisdom, she carries a mountain
there is only a mountain and no reason

there is nothing
and nothing has been learned
and nothing under or above
and nothing before
nothing after
only air

and there are reasons to be known
after you are gone

and there are reasons to be thrown
after you fall

to get up and fall again
to get up and fall

and fall again

shoobeee doobeee doo

heya! sorry for my complete disappearance on this project. i've been busy/lazy/whatever but i'm pumped to get back into it. since there is nothing here so far, i thought i would summarize what has been discussed so far over e-mail, with some follow up comments and some new threads for discussion:

Structure (scenes):
1 - Spectacle
2 - Song
3 - Diction
4 - Thought
5 - Character
6 - Plot

i'm still a little unclear about what this means. 6 scenes, each loosely based the concept listed? if this is the case, i like the idea of each scene being a separate musical work, which are then performed together, with little or no pause in between, like a multi-movement classical piece. and what about adding a 7th (mostly because I like 7's). it could be something seemingly "lighter" to contrast the rest of it, like "Dance" or "Comedy" or "Interlude" or a combination like "Comedic Dance Interlude". of course it wouldn't have to actually be light to be funny. twisted humor.

Elements:
- A woman is thrown (x3)
- She is a hero/villain/hero and other options
- Also: turned to stone
- She elicits pity and fear
- There is a snake baby in a box (don't look)
- A god would like to rape (marry?) her sister (as a swan?)
- There may be a chorus, with interludes, a reversal, a scene of suffering, and a recognition that produces love/hate
- Maybe elements of symphonic form?

i am sort of at a loss of how to contribute to this list... maybe i will be inspired with ideas once i have a better grasp of the structure/scenes. or maybe i will content to focus mainly on the musical side of this.

Sources:
"Poetics" by Aristotle - http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/poetics.1.1.html

i admit i didn't read all of this. can you summarize what you are hoping to draw from this?

Aglaulus - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aglaulus,_daughter_of_Cecrops or http://www.mythindex.com/greek-mythology/A/Agraulos.html

musical ideas:

-baroque styling: crisp, almost minimal. counterpoint and fugues. baroque dance forms.

-pushing limits and extremes, ala Boredoms

-modifying instruments

-instrumentalists providing vocals

more discussion points:

-in order to start to write music, it would be helpful to me to have a sense of who will be performing it, which takes us right into logistics. we mentioned Rhymes With Opera to possibly do it in Baltimore, and your group to do it in Denver. so we could either determine what sorts of voicings and instrumentations would work for both groups, or we could write it vaguely and leave the specific instrumentation open for the performers to interpret with whatever personnel and equipment is available. in any case, some sort of basic framework would be helpful. i like the idea of keeping it minimal, with 3-4 vocalists, 3-4 instrumentalists, and some overlap. my initial thoughts on ideal instrumentation would include cello (maybe 2), trumpet, piano, and percussion.

-are you interested in bringing more people into this discussion/blog or keeping it simple with the two of us? i could go either way.

-i'm itching to get moving on some musical ideas, so once a few of these things get more clarification, i will get too and send along ideas!

this is pity and fear

An opera based somehow on Aristotle's elements of tragedy, perhaps, and or the story(s) of Aglaulos maybe. And other things also. We'll see how far we can push it, and how much burbon it will take.