Tuesday, July 14, 2009

451. Notes of Higher Consciousness (aka Beyond Diary Entry Details) on my Grandfather Ray's Memorial July 12, 2009

The Death of Anonymous Meaning ~ Prose Poem?

She struggled so much to acquire knowingness, familiarity, comfort, even passion for existence within a once perceived foreign terrain, even the land of her birth rite. As soon as she crafted a web of associations, some layered map of values, attachments, meanings, she was soon after strangled, stripped, raped, deprived of this self-carved universe, partially to its entirety. It was as if all the thick-skinned layers of her mind were burned and ripped off, so that her inner thoughts and guts leaked out and oozed into an uncontained puddle of permanent deformity, while existing in a simultaneous fleeting state of psychocardiac arrest. Her surroundings as a whole were some ever-shifting, hauntingly pathological makeupbreakuper that she could barely cope with. This acquisition and subsequent stranding, displacement, death of a now anonymous meaning, which somehow resulted in the LACK OF her own death, transformed all things known to once again foreign, alien, massive entanglements… return to void.

Yet somehow, amidst periods of desolate change, she craves so hard to grasp, keep, tend new bycatch of her near empty mesh, remain undesensitized to these anonymous shiftings of meanings, even diminish meaning to being much less anonymous. She still seeks trust even though it hardly exists. Otherwise, she will become like most of the rest: savage waifs subsisting on fragmented islets of values, so willing to latch on, sunbathe for a while, so eager to swim away, abandon to the next seemingly fresh spot.


Many people live their lives
Through other people’s lives
Because they have no lives
Themselves.
—Jules (short poem, quote)

Endlife Metamorphoses (poem)

It’s easy to love a human being
Especially when he loves you back.
It’s agonizing to love
A decaying water sack.
And it takes a major dose of dreaming
To love a bag of dust
Beside a pine tree
Up in a mountain.

Some metamorphoses of life
Are pathetically metaphorical,
Yet starkingly t
rue.

Nevertheless downright
Mentally incomprehensible.


Death of Anonymous Meaning, Part 1

It was the Death
Of Anonymous Meaning.
Pain universal,
Yet exclusive to me.

T’whole world gone amuck
Throbbing, screaming.
Yet no man on the street
Felt of any other human’s
Mourning.
Yet no man on the street
Knew of any other human’s
Passing.

Hooked on my mourning.
Caught on his passing.
Mourning of all minds
But t’mind was just mine.
But t’mind was sole mine.
Why t’mind was just mine?

All known, foreign
Once again.
Catch-hold, renew
Once again?


Death of Anonymous Meaning, Part 2, Grandfather

Why any other
brown box?
Just not another
Brown box.

Why any other
Bag of dust?
Just not another
Bag of dust.

For, a few months ago—
A breathing water sack,
A caring human being
Even then, before that,
Was my grandfather….

Why any other
Hole in the ground?
Just not another
Hole in the ground.

Why any other
Pine tree around.
Just not another
Pine tree around.

For, those long years ago—
He jumped the sugar pine
And passed torch to his son
Who’s aged growth came aligned
To a new growing….

Why any other
Red cabin?
Just not another
Red cabin.

Why any other
Bald mountain?
Just not another
Bald mountain.

For, a long time ago—
Now near abandoned tomb,
Terrain burned to the brain,
A childhood’s tended home
Of fathers, mothers,

sons, daughters….

Death of Anonymous Meaning, Part 3, Random Boy

Why any other
Two-faced boy?
Just not another
Two-faced boy.

Why any other
Impulse ploy?
Just not another
Impulse ploy.

For, a few months ago—
He crept into void’s tart,
And anonymous meaning
Wrapped cozily barbs
‘Round a squeeze
To near strangle,
Mostly me.

Why any other
Humored house?
Just not another
Humored house.

Why any other
Mooned-oak rouse?
Just not another
Mooned-oak rouse.

For, a few months ago—
With foothold in mind’s heart,
With a flip of a switch
He swiped out his dagger, (ripped apart)
Slashed abandoned (stabbed)
Burning forests,
Mostly me.

2 comments:

Victoria said...

I revised two poems for Barry.

Anyhow, yesterday I worked through my notes and experiences of my grandfather's memorial, and I think it's best to spare you of most of my thoughts, but I considered a couple of snippets worthy of showing, and I think the rest of the material should just marinate for a while.

Endlife Metamorphoses

It’s easy to love
A human being
Especially when he
Loves you back.
It’s agonizing to love
A decaying water sack.
And it takes a major dose
Of dreaming
To love a bag of dust
Beside a pine tree
Up on a mountain.

Some metamorphoses of life
Are pathetically metaphorical,
Yet starkingly true.

Nevertheless downright
Mentally incomprehensible.

Death of Anonymous Meaning

It was the Death
Of Anonymous Meaning.
Pain universal,
Yet exclusive to me.

T’whole world gone amuck
Throbbing, screaming.
Yet no man on the street
Felt of any other man's
Mourning.
Yet no man on the street
Knew of any other man's
Passing.

Hooked on my mourning.
Caught on his passing.
Mourning of all minds
But t’mind was just mine.
But t’mind was sole mine.
Why t’mind, just mine?

All my knowns,
Foreign
Once again.
Can I catch-hold,
Renew
Once again?

Victoria "Stokastika" said...

See Blog 453 for revised poems.