◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

(Authors of (obligatory)
Redemption: what is true genius if it ain’t dead yet?
Let you, who kill it, not be present for its resurrection.)

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

i had a nightmare:

i opened the door of my ranch-house in the boonies of
southern pa.
out-into the grasses of the old Congo;
There stood the Lion.
20 feet away
i, frozen in the magnitude of his vision;
spirit, dominated by his
Not even a growl.
i remained
paralyzed—he licked the backs of his paws
and combed a wiry mane...
…a halfa-second was a year if it was a halfa-second now...
somewhere in there
i regained my legs and without knowing
grabbed the doorknob. Twist. Open. Step inside.
turn to close the...doorway is gone, the house has vanished

i was nothing but-a body of fear
melted and cast into mannequin limbs and head.
i could feel the Lion’s entire weight on mine
but i didn’t have my body with me anymore

his breathe stunk of blood that
forced my replicaego into infant curl…
…Finally, the beast roared a canyon
i shivered!
a shiver that shook inside my head
thru the spine to shake
my bones inside the bed.

Thru the constricting red curtain of bloodclot eye
spy the tiny eclipse
of the Black Crow inna massive sheet of african sun;
i must be dead already.
The Lion feels the Crow perched onna cape fig nearby
and his muscles tighten accordingly, his beastly hunger
displaced by boiled-blood anger.

with the beast
where Fear has reached saturation-point;
it is Nothing if it is Everything…
…the Crow lets out a hiss
like spikes of radio-static, interrupted by series
of whooping-caws…
…stomach vibrated by the Lion’s low,
almost internal growl. For the
first time, his tranquilizing orbs
divert from mine
to capture the Black Crow perched on the dying cape fig.
uncertainty taps my shoulder…then…i feel my body;
the weight releases
and as i motion to rise from the grass and dirt, the Congo dissolves and i’m
sitting up on my mattress with broken springs in the humid
summer slumber of southern pa.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

-What security?
under deep-cover;
jungian re-uploads. Them. Resurrected witha blackmarket
medicine a Witch Doctor devolution;
Replicate, regenerate, forever
<01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100>
Bottom feeding grave robbers and tomb vandals are all they are!-

-Better check what ya put down here…liable to shape a ghoul,
and you know this haunt is made-up of enough spooks-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Professors of chaos preach:
O wanderers!
write me the manifesto
walking atop a line of hot coals
-I smell me some burning soles-

(They intend to:
Pour, pure from cold-clear spring-spout
      into muddy-brown-clay, dissolved,
rushing against dried-up bones of gully-walls…
…the Crow just sits above and laughs there,
Don’t ya see it?)

is not about the past,
about what the present
can mold the past
for the future.
-the marble’s trajectory sure to
flip onnit’s axis d’pending on what record you dig-

(One mistake
can a coward make
one accident happen
up-on that a martyr stake’d.
etched in the rut of each separate fate;)

The lion
must roar for his P R I D E
lion wears his hide
as a mascot
Black Crow eats crow egg blues
        black crow spotted me yellow in the bushes
pants down, gun-in-hand
-send your prayers-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Sid Lollan Aug 8

I stood in magnetic fields of vision;
You there, in-a candlestick pose
dripping paraffin-wax skin into scabs of asylum floor;
long-since abandoned—over
200yrs of ghosts in the
walls of busted drywall, exposed-wiring, exposed-brick layered in damp fungus and leeched by dark mucousy mold.
You there, in the yellow beams of Del Valley afternoon soaking thru the red rusted bars on the big window-frames—underneath which, the piles of shattered-glass are splashed by errant rays, transmuted into dilapidated pyramids of peasant white-opal.
I was standing in the doorway
of this cove, dank and green, littered with ripped up pictures
and stained patient records, bits of the ceiling and a few grimy lobotomy-drills; the
madhouse corridors leading to this oasis are lousy
with odor of a bugbrain infestation…I stepp’d inside.
You there, in your most perfect rendering…pale
figure a diamond eclipse in the eye of the old clock;
a clumsy smile, wounded but quixotic lens
confused by your own fiendish eyebrows;

-You lure me in with promise
of the power
of being A Savior—O
I can’t cure your disease, instead I shall
share [it] in this suspended-animation
with you.
Your collapsed polarity buried you in canyons of
bloodfire and crescent body been revealed in the
moonlight, this time
it was I
who excavated starving bones from the sands of
misplaced desire, this time.
…but this breeze will only take us so-far, this breeze
we soar—the sun slowly dissolves into the acrylic mix
of blues and yellows and oranges
and just above the horizon, smeared across the sky,
a fusion of pink-magenta;
this breeze,
this breeze can fool you;
this breeze, we soar
on the mother vein of
magenta skies.
-in the now,
and then,
in the now again-
this breeze we’re naked
in the now pretend this ephemeral breeze
we soar, the immortal winds of Elysium;
ribbons of dopamine lash the brain
unify the senses
a flowing vein thru unending membrane, vibrating
…O the heavens we find in spells of eternal grayness!

Sid Lollan Jul 17

She — she sees the stars
in eyes — in eyes that
shield the sun and yearns;
She burns to complete their constellations.

She — she learned the world
through the vacant gaze
of those — of those who’s
love is born out’f manipulations.

She’s ill — ill from the
colors, noise, the emp-
-ty reflections in
the mirror of social masturbations.

She feels — feels the shift,
tectonic plates — the
weight of souls — souls which
drift to shape the soil;
The weight of them bends the Earth’s vibrations.
She shares her fate, with
those souls — souls which shape
the face of Earth —the
fate of which to walk
the plank of their own civilization.

She sees — sees the mess;
How Mother bares the
brunt with body stripp’d,
bruised chest and ruptured
hips from the disease
which wears the crown of her own creation.
She smells — smells the depths
she’s in — it stinks like
old neurosis’ sweat
and spirit mold — taste
cosmic rust on tin
tongue; She’s cold inside her contemplations.

She has visions — vis-
-ages of prophet
flames, let them scorch the
deserted planes of her meditations.
She hears — hears the crash
the Thunder sounds, the
Boom! The children glow in radiation.

She wants to cry — to
cry revolution,
but can barely mu-
-ster up the bones to
demand for some damn-good explanations.

She who knows — knows her
needs but without will's
wit will feed in-to
those who live and breed their condemnation,
is not without creed,
and she knows — She un-
-derstands that to be
freed by the seed of
Nirvana is not —
not to be free of those obligations.

Sid Lollan Jul 17

…ah um
quit the pandering and
spin a pipe’s worth of Mingus or
maybe Baker or Parker
(They know how to Say What You're Livin'
a guide to the soul of the sleep
or talkin' like a train on the brink of de-
railing for 30 miles
       but makes it safely to Wichita as planned.)
3:30AM it’s junkies for some kinda animal fix w/
old hip & old bloody tastebuds up
this late, or early I’m trying to re-
   -lapse here;
mechanism too open a-
live nerve
          for ravenous divinations &
spirited conquest(s)

I pray not to other gods but
move on the winds that blow dust in my eyes
let my language blur in-
the lines; surgically
to let me
bleed it out
        not betray my civility
not let my opinion
        betray my humility
not let my privileges
in certain contexts negate
my perspective
No I don’t pick between sides that’s where you
implied a divide
w/ language bastardized
& sanitized;

Ain’t a justice I could speak that would last a sentence
in any good book of his/or/hers who slime
when wet, gush & erect, cold statues
in busy-international-style-hotel-lobbies
silk’d swollen appendages & curly greasy-
    -haired oven spread
                               for POWER, power brunch boardroom glory
gory foreplay mocking dirtypoor magnolia seed, plucking peony petal
like a Shrink in shadow of a pedigree now
a judge, small & snide in righteous court-dress for play-
...Brothers & Sisters
When did My gov’t,
           Our gov’t become Our parents?
(they) drink my fluid’s bodily
-You, eat the will
of my friend the human pet
Slither your plasmic bones in fetal mix
unclaimed foundlings
        pink genitalias
go you writhe on-top uh i ou-
        -r taxdollars
fossilized uh programmed sickness squirm
in maggotmouthed machinations for
the egg of uh saint in lieu of true hue
Them Birds
          (onna island) of parasites;
crass utensil in aid your digestible

You Sheep Boy
You, Sheep Boy
You Sheep, Boy
You! Sheep Boy!
You Sheep! Boy felt the transformation
          when you were told. How’d it feel?
I lost my madness when I let myself die
inna only dream If I had a voice
half as clever as Joyce…
If I had a voice, it’d make-a disassociated rant
into a plea for sanity! it be a salt-stained sailor up
against his Nature to caress a braindead angry sea into
a wise & benevolent guide;

Not uh god I know
gave me a compelling answer not uh one
an I wish they had b’
         cause I don’t always feel so well
I could use another crutch…
Not uh one
head talking on my TV
can be-hold the spectrum to apply
just one, single colour, in your carnation’s eye
If it was so simple how come uh monkey can’t do it?
Ain’t uh monkey I know
         that-a keep its spine upright
ain’t gotta taste for its own kind
You’re right
but so is he right she right we will fight
left        right
uptown downtown outtatown
North South East West
babble on O babble on everywhere
ah um do please hit your marks
         & follow the rhythm
of the next body over;
Pass around worn-out clichés uh penny given
you put 2 of them to-
we call that uh valid opinion
where I’m from;
Not uh man I know mean what he say
sometimes not uh thought in
my brain make any of those
not any of my
mean anything not even the noise they produce
not like Mingus’ fingers talkin’ on that bass.

Thank you Mr. Mingus
Sid Lollan Jun 21

apathy, is me—with you,
                               i am
               the oceans, the atmosphere,
the mountains&valleys,
the Earth, Jupiter, Venus, so on,
i am the Milky Way, Andromeda all
                other galaxies known&unknown, all
                the stars&constellations, the asteroids,
                alien planets&blackholes all curled up in  
                 the fabric of the Universe
nothing specific mind you
my dear
   ...with you

Love is philosophy
safe in it’s reach—
apathy is me, with you
strung-out on the antidote
with you,
the sickness is a comforting creature;
       the aquamarine-moon cradles
       madness like a fetal daydream
—with you
love is scientific,
                boring in it’s dissection
       love is petty
in its honesty
apathy, is me—
             with you, i am un
being un
dulating b/t there
& there
nowhere near here;

apathy, is me
                 and you in a vacuum
        i am? with you—cut
apathy, is me, with me and you,
                i am
                body inna fever
                (my) voice dis
                inna tomb;
                send your fever meat thru a tube
                kiss&kiss my blistered
          we’re necro
apathy, is me—with you

Sid Lollan Jun 18

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo.
The oranged-pink hue of the sunshine
                                                      fe­eds me mellow.
Head on the road ’n’ off the rodeo,
        Blakey on the radio — “Please
give me a pretty overdose with that Othello day-glow”
Mansions mate with motorhomes. Methane skies gas burnt-out residents.
Tired thoughts&dry mouth; Think it’s a drought —
                                                             could be a pestilence.
       “Damn, it’s too hot out
                                               for the middle of September!”
I cough&choked on a memory—Remember-
                                                ­            ing youth’s relentless attention
                                                       ­ to nothing in particular but
                                                             ­   it’s boundless pursuit of every-
                                                        th­ing in-between.

I used to look to the Blue and think I’d float away
             that’s when I believed in miracles.
Nowadays, reality has no sympathy just a noose — tighter leash,
                       anchored soles to a mean concrete caprice
                                no abstract release — still
I drive ‘round town & keep away from police.

I go to the market, buy myself some energy —
Dying for a share of life;
Waiting for my man, he’s always late,
                   Waiting, so I can buy it. then smoke it. then hide it.
& it’s almost fall,
        I find peace in the fallen leaves,
                  the stoic desperation in the liberation
        of those sweet Autumn trees.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia smells solitary;
         let it take the wheel&lead the way —
I can see silhouettes through the fog of cigarettes,
         hologram faces.
Drive ‘round town over bridges I forgot to burn
          instead, just let decay.

Drive ‘round town — let
        the music choose my destination, let
                                       the rhythm lead the way, let
               the groove shake the memories loose.
Sometimes I drive for hours, sometimes
                                                I let my mind wander for days.
Sometimes I roll the world on my tongue,
          sometimes I have nothing to say.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                         color my contempt;
       Dead-wood & dry grass & no money for rent.
Sanity is counted in dollars & cents
& This place always stinks like shit.

I love the beauty of the lake
                            I hate what it reflects.
Hushed earth-tones and
                pastel humanity,
Vanity injected with a tie around the neck.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                 keeps me from sober.
        The sun feeds my head
                                 and the roads are now my owner.
“Damn it’s too cold out
                                 for the middle of October!”

Hushed earth tones
                        and pastel humanity;
Blushed guru trance O how petty I’ve become;
               isolation is intoxicating.
           “No more, no more…”
I’m already dumb,
           shouldn’t I be happy?

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo,
                the faded sky feeds my melancholy;
In spring I plant my harvest in fall I reap the seeds.

Nothing much else to do.

Drive ‘round town & let the countryside woo me.
Lived here for 15 years,
           (turns out)
nobody ever knew me.

Sid Lollan Jun 18

i may dwell in suspension
Sweet as plum;
searching for
emptiness, whole of

Zoom in:

i match the gaze of
the infinite
peeping tom;
like 1000 of those
dreams where i’m
naked in public
all at once
the Big Rush
pink nude
stripp’d on the ledge
of the Lotus;
Faith’s suicide jump—
-Yea! Feel the breeze
swing swing
my body swing
i always blink.

& succumb
to dead momentum
(note:reFill w/ junk-
energy & bulhoon juice)

Cut to:

sapio Homo
sapien sapien
-libido is
god is Zeus
get loose,
l o o s e)

‘You know
the freaks come out
in their moon-masques after 2am lookin’ to
drill some sense
that Void.’

‘Da coup de grace
to yr grace of
The baboon won!’

Ascension was a bust so
i cool with a jazzhead
Sit cross-legg’d & smoke
cigarettes ’til the knife of dawn—

‘Ache like mountains old
as Death.
on yr breathe
that wild dogs
can detect
20 miles west.’

{Cue the music}

-O whiskey
tears & mari-
-juana sin thesis;
beyond the darken’d lip
the space ab-sorbed
by the mouth of
Human ways…


b’fore it stains the carpet!

i’m with Sister Joyce
she gon’ show me
how to keep
my iii open
to oblivion.
Gon’ gimme back
that body
that body, that shell
i housed
She gon’ gimme back
that cure
i can’t get enough of
had a plug
straight to the mainline
-if you can believe it…
the connection right to-the
She told me she got it anni need it

Fade to:

eyes feel
like the windows
on dead asylum walls.
‘Let it Burn!’
I told ‘em,
that temple is
with ill karma’)

Fade Back:

bless me
with the Pleasure
Yr forgiveness—
at the foot
your magic
Heal me;
that Holy
washaway daily hypnosis’—
Yr purple presence
is ancient
mystic limbs
cradle my Babylon
tramp angel Souls do the
pharaoh’s dance—
Bodies swing
in One,
bodhi body
swing in One; now
twirl yr guru poetry
round my Obliteration!

& let’s drown ourselves
in gulps of ecstasy
swallowed in-to paradise
the warm, fuzzy

Cut to:

(Consciousness, interrupts,
Lurches out of unBeing like
a madman a killer
his victim
-fresh, crystalized
ity; clear thru dewdrops
atop blade of grass the sweat
on damp back chill in
sober breeze)

the Now pierces
the swelled blackness of
temporary oblivion
lightwork the stars that freckle the face
of the sky
pin(w)holes the size of the Universe
in the bubble of In
i see myself thru it
looking up…
perched in rural
Planet nowhere
dug in the
of nothingness
in suspension.


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