Can someone be broken to the point that they can't let anyone in? Like I am literary so tried of trying to be happy days on end. faking being alright and smiling to people I don't even know. it's not that I don't want to be happy it's that I physically can't. When something good happens to me I don't get happy or feel from it anymore. I feel like I'm that type of person thats only is okay when bad things happen and that's all I know. id rather be lonely then be  happy with someone. I'd rather hurt then feel good. That's such a bad thing. I wish I never met you. I really think all this is because of you. I never really loved anyone like I loved you. And I let you in more then I ever let anyone in. I told you more things then I told my own family. At one point you were the only person I wanted to talk to. I don't understand why you have such a hook on me it's drives me crazy sometimes. Sometimes? All the time. Sometimes I wanna call you and just talk to you like we would at 3 am just because. Just because I wanted to hear your voice. I don't know why you didn't want me anymore. I guess I was old news to you? I still think about you all the time. It's so funny how only one boy could change someone forever. It's not my fault that I'm so ******* because of the way you treated me. The way you made me fall over and over and over again the way your eyes made my whole day. I don't think i told you how much I loved your eyes. Or that your smile could make me feel all werid inside. I don't think told you that I loved sleeping with you that you twitched a little when you slept and it was adorable. I don't think i told you that I liked how you held my hand all night when we were sleeping. How you told me my bed is to
Small for two people and I had to sleep really close to you. That all I could hear was your heartbeat all night. How all we would play was yellowcard as we were kissing. I think you knew that was are band cause everytime you came over that's all you would play. You would play it on shuffle all day. I still can't listen to them without crying. I never told you that diving up to see you was the most nervous and best car drive I ever had. And even though we only had that hour together and it was amazing. I never told you that you are the most hardest relationship I had to pretend that I can be fine without. I never told you that you are perfect in every way and I'm sorry that I wasn't. That you needed more then me that you needed attention that your dad is not the best dad and he's why you are the way you are now. I'm sorry that you told me to promise you that I would never cut again and I did and you were disappointed in me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you are all I write about. You know that I never mean to but when I think about writing your all I think about. I'm sorry that I didn't see you as much as I wanted too. A hour and a half away is such a long walk and if I could
Of walked to you, you know I would of. Glad that you got that car cause when you came over was the best days ever. They still are. I think I'll miss you forever and I'm sorry about that. I dont think
I'll ever love like I loved you. I still love you. You never forget your frist love and you were my frist. I didnt just love you I was in love with you. I wanted so much with you and I know you did too at one point. I know me and you had hard times but you knew that I tried so hard to help you change. You need to change and you knew it and you even told me that you need help. You know I'm crazy for you right? Being with you for a year and 4 months changed me so much. I'm not the same person I was. And I don't understand why. I'm very unhappy. I'm rumbling on at 2:46am in the morning about you again. I really should go to
Sleep. I need you. You never really feel complete without the person who used To be the reason why you woke up in the morning to see that text message. I remember that one time I got really drunk and you told my friend to watch me cause you didn't want me to get hurt cause you cared so much about me. Why did that go? We weren't even dating then. We weren't even dating when you when in my bed at 3am telling me you loved me. It's 2:51 am and I think I should go to sleep. We haven't talked for 3 months and this is the longest we haven't talked. You once told me that you couldn't go a day without talking to me. What happen to that? I remember the frist time I saw you cry. You cried in my bed because you were upset with the way things where going on in your life. How are you? Are you happy? Is your life the way you wanted it to be? You said move on where do I go? Whenever I tired to move on there you were. You always knew I would always choose you. It's funny cause you said you didn't care what I do and when I found someone you came right back and told me to stay with you. That you
Needed me. I needed you. How can you tell
Me that I was all you ever wanted and never wanted anyone esle but not talk to me for 3 months? I'm scared to talk to you so I'm not going to. Are you scared to talk to me? Please don't. Cause I honestly can't have you back even though I do. I remember when you asked me to marry you that one time on Skype. I didn't think
You were being serious. I remember one new years we talked about having kids and what we would named them when we had them. I said I liked Zachary cause I loved your name and you wanted your uncles name and I was okay with that. I remember everything every conversation we had together. I remember are frist ever conversation. The one that started all of this beautiful relationship. It's 3:01am and I should go to sleep. I still talk to her. I still
Am friends with her. The girl you cheated on me with. You competely stop talking to her right after I found out. I feel like I'm making no sense and this isn't even a poem. I just been so sad today and I
Don't know why. When I was sad I would talk to you and you would make me happy again. I don't know why no one esle can. I remember the time I
Had a scare that time in August. I wouldnt of mind. Having a little you. I was okay with it. I'm sorry. I think I'll always say that I'm sorry when
It comes to you cause your all I ever wanted and I'm sorry I couldn't of made you stay. I tired my
Hardest. I remember the time when we broke up for good. I went in to work a hour later and I
Couldnt help crying and I couldn't stop. I had to sit in the office for a while cause it was so bad. Embarrassing. Really embarrassing actually. It's 3:08 am and I have a headache so I think
I'm going to go to bed.

When I was 12

I cut for the frist time I used this little
sharp thing that came in this manicure set
I don't know why I did it but I can remember
my hand hanging over the bathroom sink little drips of blood falling from me I staired in to space I can still feel that dead feeling
Latter that year I cut in front of my friend I did not think she was looking, she **** my hand and " oh my god, dude did you just make that happen?" I should be I shamed I would be now, but then I think I may have been proud, it got worst I cut everyday
mostly my hands. One day my older brother
asked what happen to my hands I said his cat had scratch me
a really bad lie cuz rocko would never hurt a fly,
and he new cuz he told my mom right there and then
Ma, I think she's cuting herself, I was so panic that I don't even remember what she said, but I did not stop
mouths later I think it was in Jan of 2001
I was at my sisters house and I must have had a scrach or scar showing
I reamber what she said, my hand are shaking tyeping it,
"Why are you cutting you're self little *******!, you know that bring the devil he likes that!, little did I know those would be that last words she ever said to me cuz she died in feb that same year
and know it's crazy but part of me will allways blame me and my cutting,
and i still think of her when I cut, I don't have to tell you that did not stop me,

whene I was 13

I don't think I cut much wich is do odd cuz it was the worst time in my life, insted I dressed like a ****, got drunk, talk back to my famliy and messed aroung with grown up guys,  and started writeing poetry
but I never cut.

Whene I was 14

god that was I really bad bad time I'm pretty shore I was crazy
I was convosed about my sexuality and gender,
i shaved my head started dressing as crazy as possibal maybe get ppl to look at me, maybe to scare them away I don't know.
but I cut, I cut I LOT! I can remember locking myself in the basement with my KORN and SLIPKNOT CDs turned up so load no one can hear my cry, I craved an anarcy symble in my lag, and fell asleep on the liveing room couch, my mom saw it and freaked out, she asked me if I was crazy?, gay?, if it hurt?, all I did was turn over and go back to sleep.

When I was 15

everyone just knew I was crazy, I cut be with the head to toe black
dog colers and books on the cruch of Satan no one really nodest, but I knew, it was takeing over my life, I had so meny cut on my arms that
ther was not a part of my skin that was not scabed red or swollen
but I did not stop.

When I was 16

I lot of things about me chanched at 16
but it was hard to say what they where
i remember one day I staired in the mirror so long
I could not stand mr face and more I was enraged
I was allwas sad, but now it was anger I did not want to see
any part of me or my life any more a hated it all so much
I tryed to blind me self, with narr hair remover, I put in to my eyes
it was the worst pain I ever felth, and when everything started to look gray I was scard and for the frist time sents my sisters death
I prayed to god not elfs or the vampire ruler
but god, and it stop the bruning the grayness stoped
and from that the I never said I did not believe in god, you can call me crazy, but I think I should'ev been blind.
but I never stoped cutting,
just mouths layer in the summer I can remember
being dressed like a latex dominatress, I craved the word nothing in my hand that word ment a lot to me it was my seventh name
I never thoght anyone nodest but when I came home one day
2 of my 3 brothers and my mom where waiting like an intervention
they asked me why?, what does it mean?, my father asked if I " really worship the devil?" I just said I do it cuz I'm crazy and never said anouther word,  but I did not stop cutting.

When I was 17

my life was sleep cutting and poetry and nothing more,
I lived in razor blades and notbooks, I can remember one day I had 2 cuts on my arm my uper arm, but I must have forgot cuz I did not
where a swater to the dinner table, my brother the same brother
that nodest when I was 12 got up in a rage and went in to the ketchen with my mom and was yelling at her " did you see the cuts?, did you see thies ******* cuts, he did not think I heard no one did but that mead my cry so hard, I'm and will allways protective of my mom, I hated that she was getting yelled at for something I did, but than she starting blameing everyone but me, I craved a heart in to my hand and she went if in my neice say "did you see her do this?"
now my cuting was everyone pain
but I did not stop

when I was 18

I did not cut as much but whene I did it was bad
I used broken glass it was my favoret, and I cut placeing
that never showed, when I  was dressed,
and I looked normle just like anyone els
nothing dark of freaky about me but if you saw me
naked I was a masacare
and I did not stop.

When I was 19

I had a hole deffrent feeling like nothing I did
was good enough, I'm not like everyone els my
age, I allwas had this thing where when ever u was outside
and someone laughed I thought it was about me
if they looked at me it was cuz I'm ugly
or just a freak, at this time it was worst
cuz I realize not much has chanched in my life.
I got my shoulder once I was one my computer
and my dad asked what happend I said I got cut when I was
moving things in my room all he said oh I thought
you where doing something weird, talk about being the last to know.

When I was 20

I only cut twice that year, And my mom seemed to think about it more that me but in a defforent way "what are you gunna do with those scars?"
shed allways say, still does no mans gonna wanna marry someone with
unexplainable scars on her body, I allways found that shallow
and cold but I did not completly stop cuting.

When I was 21

I had an inter deffrent soul or at lest a new mask
in lost wight, trund blond, for the longest time replaced
poetry with make up, try to perfect most ppl thought I was
even me, I was bublelie that girl who laughed really loud
with butterflys in my bedroom and boys on my cell phone
mirrors and make up, it kinda the new obession cuz I can feel it taken over, and no one knows it  they will never guess it
but I did not stop cuting

now i'm 22 years olds

sometimes I feel so fake I wanna scream,
I don't reconize me anymore, but I never like me anyway
I can't understand how I can want those feeling back?
I mead so long, how can I just stop?
Cuting is part of me, as much as I want it gone
then why did cry so much, more then the blood
why do I feel so worthless saying
I did not stop cutting...

I need to make a diffrents
being the same dosen't change a thing
If I can just change one life with the things I say
when thing in life get hard you just have learn to pray
make the best of everday
if you believe the Father well help you thought
but frist we must all step up and be ready for change

When I lay in my bed
With this blanket
I think about the frist time
When we were  under it
Your touch your smell
Sometimes I just lay on it to remember what it was like to be with you again
Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting your smell and I miss it
Sometimes I just touch those bracelets you gave me just so I have a piece of you in my hands
Sometimes I think how much you hurt me
And sometimes I wonder if you are okay
Cause I honestly feel like you aren't
And maybe that your hurting inside
And sometimes I think you want someone to save you but you don't know how to ask
I would of saved you
I would of took your heart and fixed every crack and brokenness you felt from your childhood
And maybe you would of been the great guy I honestly think you can be
Sometimes I think
God, its been almost 3 months without you
And I'm still here wondering
If you are
Okay.

I see you standing their doing nothing just relaxin
you as the frist pretty little young women says that you
have to go somewhere and you will be right back
I tell you to be right back at 7:00 and mean while
I wait for you to return back to me. Then here come
along another one of you pretty little girl she tells me
that she will be right back she is just going to the bathroom and will be
Right back but she doesn't return so i wait on her and i wait on you then
the littlest of you girls says to me that i'll be right back i am just going to be in
my room jumping on my bed and i don't hear any jumping so i go upstairs to the
your little sisters room and i knock on her door three times and she doesn't open the door
so i check to see if your little sisters door is unlocked but it isn't so i knock on the door once again
but no answer so i run and knock down the door and the door falls i stand there and see that the bed is a mess so I then keep walking farther on and i come to your little sister's bathroom door and their no answer then i open the door and its unlocked so there as i am standing i see one pretty little liars window open.
I walk into the living room out the front door outside to get in my car and go to the store and there while i am at the door i see you three standing there and I say you three are busted you have lied to my face  wait until your mother hears about this you three then get down and beg on your knees please don't tell our mother. i say its to late you three have lied to me i had trust and faith in you and you three gave it all away so i am still going to tell your mother what happend today. And never again will i come to your house ever again to watch you three  Pretty little liars again.

Oh, those was the days.
When as a little boy.
You wipe off the little girl's kiss.
What was she thinking of?

The only one we wanted to kiss us.
Was our mom.

Oh, those was the days.
When a little girl tried to hold our hands.
Where she get that message from.

The only one we was trying to impress was our mom.

But then you grow up.

Oh, those was the days.
When your heart frist begins to notice them.
Now it's about who will accept your invitation for a date.
Let alone the prom.

What was you thinking of?
Least when you was young.
But you also knew mom wasn't in a rush to be a grand mom.
You simply was way to young.

But then you grew up.
And recognized the change of a girl to a woman.
Everything works in stages.

Especially when you grow up.

The kiss you refused as a little boy.
Now you find many refusing you when you grown.
Especially when you grow up.

Well, you might find a few lucky one.
But you want your true kiss from the one you adore.
Similar to being a boy kissed by mom.

She was your first lady love.
But then you grew up.
And realized the big difference.

But the one thing they do share in common.
Is their love for you.
Especially when you grow up.

Sometimes it's great to be a man.
Even when you was boy little man around the house.

Starlight Star bright the frist star i see to night i
wish i may i wish i might i wish you could give me
this very missed wish i wish for so many things that i
can't even explain.....Could you please explain to me
these things that i have wished for...

Wait a second what in the world are you talkin about  sayin that you wish
for this stuff this don't even make any sense....Hold up what did you wish for tell me..

ICH RUF ZU DIR. . .
( for Mimi )

1.

brushes her hair in the mirror
she stares Death full in the face
the heart attack catching her off guard

11.

Dusk walks off
into the distance
Night speaks slowly….quietly

111.

Green shadows
lilac shadows
never just
black

1V.

gooseberries…geraniums…sherbet
those things of childhood
she both liked & didn’t

V.

I only half listen to them, smug in their snug, poets scoring points off each other over the odd pint or two or more. . .

“Ahhh now Jaysus...your oyster always gives me the collywobbles. Every time I encounter an oyster I think of Chekov’s corpse and sure the appetite goes off of me!”

“Is that right?”

“That’ right so it is!”

“Sure when poor Chekov became a corpse...he was kept on ice with the oysters and shipped to Moscow. So it’s always Chekov’s auld face I see( ya see )when I come face to face with an oyster. I think of him being extracted from his shell and slipping slowly down Death’s throat.

“Ahhh Jaysus...Jaysus sure isn’t Death a terrible man altogether for the poets and such like. But come here to me when I’m talking to ya...have ya ever heard tell of a fella called.. if memory serves me well. . .Qui ****-Haung-ti?”

“Qui ****-Haung-ti? Eh, let’s see now...ahh...no...now…I don’t believe I have had that pleasure? Who he? For God’s sake!

“ Sure wasn’t yer man only the first supreme ruler of China!”

“He wasn’t..!”

“He was...I declare to God!”

“And sure for 9 months, 9 months now I tell ya, after his death he continued to reign seated upon his throne...surrounded by fish!”

“Well, that’s as posthumous as ya can get! But, why...the fish?”

“To disguise the smell...ya ejit!”

“And that’s why I can’t stand either sight or sound of our scaly friends.  It gives me the creep I tell ya!”

“Fair enough!”

“Will ya have another?”

“Ahhh sure, I will so!”

V1.

bitter gooseberries

V11.

I pray to my granny’s apron full of stars and flowers…only a rag now for shining shoes; to my uncle’s auld hat that that sat for years and years on the brown dresser like a dried up soul.
To my other uncle’s battered boots still caked with mud from summer’s long long ago which now houses a kitten that can’t get out mewing pitifully its plight:

V111.

the gooseberry’s bitterness

Solaris...was it
floating in space
back to Bach...ich ruf zu dir...

1X.

she holds the gooseberry
between finger and thumb
her eyes devouring it

X.

the sun shone through it
a prism of living light

snow is falling
in the room

from which she first
saw snow
falling

she stands outside
falling through time

X1.

she listens to the wheat
the wheat listens to her listening
the wind moves them both

X11.

in the story of her
childhood there are
always gooseberries

X111.

the words dress themselves up
walk around in stories
showing off

X1V.

she prays to the green light
of the gooseberry that is
the God of living things

XV.
the mirror holds her reflection
even when she’s gone
Death hums its little tune

XV1.

“They’re better fed than read...”
as my grandmother said
about anyone other than our selves

XV11.

he thought the good idea...was his
she thought the good idea...was hers

XV111.

he said he will( but he won’t )
she said she won’t( but she will )

X1X.

the mirror can’t find her
anywhere
she’s fallen off the edge of a flat world

*

The title emerges from Bach's BWV 177 - "Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ"

Cantata for the Fourth Sunday after Trinity

Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ,
Ich bitt, erhör mein Klagen,
Verleih mir Gnad zu dieser Frist,
Laß mich doch nicht verzagen;

I call to You, Lord Jesus Christ,
I beg You, hear my cries,
grant me mercy at this time,
do not let me despair;

The soundtrack of SOLARIS features Johann Sebastian Bach's chorale prelude for *****, Ich ruf' zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ, BWV 639, played by Leonid Roizman, and an electronic score by Eduard Artemyev. The prelude is the film's central musical theme.

Tarkovsky initially wanted the film to be devoid of music and asked composer Artemyev to orchestrate ambient sounds as a musical score. The latter proposed subtly introducing orchestral music. In counterpoint to classical music as Earth's theme is fluid electronic music as the theme for the planet Solaris.

The character of Hari has her own subtheme, a cantus firmus based upon J. S. Bach's music featuring Artemyev's composition atop it; it is heard at Hari's death and at story's end.

The memory of the movie...of the two drunks in the pub....of the music...her childhood memories of gooseberries all hail the prelude to her...death.... memories lie shattered and scattered like the hand mirror fallen from her hand...reflecting all and nothing.

A sequence poem that attempts to mimic the strands of the choral movements sustained by a single voice a la Mr. Bach.

Whatever is in the head when Mr. Death comes calling.

The wrong place.
Every things seams wrong.
Until I think of you.
Then I know.........what love is.
My....... Time with you.
Love you to...
No you put the phone down frist!...
No you must...!
Love you to...

Put the ******* Phone DOWN  !  ! ! !!

Pick a corner,
you’ll find me,
praying to God no one notices me.
Under depression while I passionately hug my obsession.
Contemplating if it’s worth the fight to stay sober through the night. No drugs just me to face the ugly truth of my imperfection,
the flithy reality that I’ll never be in control
of this beast that eats
away at the emptiness while I strive to be thin I mirror the skeleton beneath my skin.
Funny how tight I can hold the truth deep within.
Between lies and smiles
I seem to be recovered
while I’m a functioning addicted to my drug of choice
I would be number one in line if it ment rewinding time
just so I could eat the frist meal I skipped.
Asking myself would this end this trip?
Will never know now because I’m neck deep in this quick sand
with a crowd of friends holding my hand
screaming to me as I fade away into the life I gave away.

Before the muses all esaped, their voices used to fill my mind with too many things to ever say. Interupting each other endlessly, yelling and screaming and making a scene, each thinking their thoughts so much more important than anything else the others could posibly ever have to say. A sea of crashing caucaphony breaking in waves upon the rocky shores of a mind siezed by trying to decide who to listen to, to decipher what to take from them, if anything at all, each and every day. But the voices now are but whispers uttered from the shadows of a bedroom on the darkest nights. They had been caged, then they broke free, still contained though now released, then they escaped, and now they're free- having slipped through a crack which never got filled back in after picking up the pieces and putting them to together again.

So now the words dont come so easily as they did once, back before. Before the weakness became the very thing for which i no longer have the strength to bear the burden of its consequences, despite the pleasure of it's mistakes. The pain of losing makes it hard to see the light of everything you have to gain. And the heighth to which you rose before the crest informs how long the ride back down will take. The steepest peaks have steeper walls, and you fall much faster as you tumble uninpeded by anything, approaching terminal velocity before stopping dead as reach your fate. When you hit, theres a chance for it to give a little bit before it breaks. Sometimes, like on a trampoline, you bounce back, and walk away; Other times the world goes crashing in, colapsing underneath the very weight of all the things you carried down with you, like so many a ball and chain, revealing depths as yet unfathomable before the breach was ever made. Depths from which to reemerge seems impossible from down below; And just getting up is hard enough;  And ever harder after every fall. Harder still To walk away, much more the climb yet to be made.

It seems I never bounce back anymore... And no matter how long the fall may take, when the rock bottom hits you in the face, your mind shuts down, then hits reset and just sits there... and it waits...as long as it needs to assess the damage and make repairs that can be made to the fragile psyche your skull contained, before it shattered from the blow. As the gears come grinding to a halt, and then shudder back to life a gain, theres no telling what might come unstowed, and bang around until it breaks. Once the rhythms fall back into sync and you get yourself underway, then you can start ot realize what action you need to take. The reset button can be hard to find, and sometimes it doesnt work, or it breaks, Leaving a Jumbled mess of memory scattered everywhere there is space. And sorting through it all is treacherous theres no telling what might show its face.

Now my thoughts are interspersed with emptiness, but when they do come they flood the gates; and there never comes a warning of impending chaos on its way.  Like a Thunderclap before a Summer storm, from out of nowhere comes the crack of a lightning striking far to close for comfort no matter how far it is away. Then just as fast the stormclouds break, unleashing a deluge over the landscape. Then swirling the slipstreams they cluster and condense: And rythyms reveal themselves composed of gravity and weight, but the rhythms that i often find even more often slip away. Rarely are they ever permanent, and they always seems to change, mutating as it gets repeated, reguritated over and over again. inevitably the beauty which I thought I recognised at first, starts to seem uninteresting, like a too familiar word which all of sudden seemed awkward to say after saying it too much, and no sooner does it disinterest me than it slowly begins to fade- and as they do, they leave a broken trail of breadcrumbs eluding to the truth they once relayed, echoing from the chasm black in bits and pieces then descending back from whence they came, never to be heard again as they were when frist composed: Their rhythm and their melody the victims of the very thing they had portrayed; no sense of repeating the same thing. Yet never are the bits forever lost; merely to far away to hear or see, but quietly they linger ever on, a wave endlessly perpetuating into the distiance searching for something off which to richochet. and return, unexpected to the point of origin, whereupon its arrival its replayed.

Space in time
'
only space in time will there be you and I walking along things that we would never walk on,
only space and time we find our self holding on to ever part of some thing that we thougth was still there but under it all,
we find our self alone and with nothing at all,
trying to find that space in time where every thing that once was so right for that  monment in time and try not to give it up under it all,
but knowing that it once was there and it will no long be the same as it once was
in space in time some times we have to let it go and the times that we are trying to fix it,
I find it hurts much more the second time around much more then the frist time of not know why you even left,

in space in time some time it much better to not to know why or even to try it again and its some times much better to just leave the passed behind and just to keep moving on with out holding on.

Baby cake 2/1/2017

The first time we talked you filled my mind with wonder my soul with passion.
The first time we met it all became real. The first time we kissed my body only knew one thing
I wanted you.  Every time we talk, I fall in love even more every touch my soul gets lost in love my mind and body become one with you
I love you

Its not the big things that are hard to get over but the simple, seemingly detailed ones,
Like how you would miss ice cream in the winter,
The way coffee never touched your lips unless it was 2/3 milk,
How crossing your leg on my bed would make you look gawky from your sheer height,
The way your fingers tangled around the pen I gave you on your birthday,
And how you smiled,
Adoration lighting up your eyes when you received it,
The time we caught a terrible cold because you convinced me taking a stroll in our pajamas under heavy rain was a good idea,
How you titled yourself the worst cook and all those disastrous moments you proved yourself right,
The deep thoughts you shared that forced me to lose myself in my day dreams,
The day we tasted alcohol for the first time and how we chugged it down even though we despised the taste of it,
The way my thoughts opened up to you in a way they hadn't learned to do with me,
All those silly moments we spent, heads upside down on your bed, faces pink with the rush of blood,
The day I found you huddled up at the corner of your room, your long legs pulled up to your chest,
as you rocked back and forth, your face washed with silent tears,
How we stayed there for hours, huddled together in to a small ball until the screams outside the door died down,
The moment I experienced the very frist and seemingly last shattering of my heart as I saw you wave to me from the back of your moms car,
And the weeks that followed where our conversations died faster than they revived,
Until the day I stopped getting replies,

.... All the seemingly detailed moments you just can't forget.

Tu as juré de filmer un à un tes fantasmes :
Les noirs,
Les fondants,
Les doux,
Les amers,
Toutes les phases d'affaitage du faucon,
Et aujourd'hui tu prépares le matériel
En bonne fauconnière que tu es.
Et que les faucons gerfauts, sacres ou pèlerins
Le veuillent ou non,
Tu leur couvres la tête d'un chaperon
Et tu déploies au tout venant tes perches,
Tes anneaux et tes leurres,
Tes sonnettes et tes noeuds
Et je quitte mes gorges et mes rochers
Et me perche en majesté à ton gantelet de dentelle
Où tu as brodé, enlumineuse d'or,
L'initiale S, comme leurre.
Et chaque fois que je m'avise
De dérober mes sonnettes,
De me libérer de ta filière,
Tu me déchaperonnes
Et tu me gardes au ventre.
Tu me nourris consciencieusement
Pour que j'atteigne mon poids de chasse
Et tu me frist-frastes de tes fantasmes
Pour que je devienne un rapace de haut vol
Et que je fonde vers toi
Et que je fasse bonne gorge
De ton loup à crinière
Au goût de chocolat amer.

what a whacky weekend, it's finally over, a shift at the Romford ice rink watching Romford Raiders vs. Peterborough Phantoms, selling tickets, ones by card, others by cash, checking pre-booked ones... and then? the easiest shift... watching the game... i have to be honest: the first time i watched ice hockey live i was bored stiff... but then again i was on top of the stands looking down on the game... from a high place looking down? it's... a really **** sport... BUT... today i had more flexibility... i was next to the rink... i have to admit: to watch ice hockey properly you need to be really close to the ice... and compared to the Oxford United shift?! **** me... im never doing that ****** shift ever again! ten hours out of the house and for what? £35 quid? here i can wear black trainers, i don't need to wear a white shirt or tie... i "work" for 4hours and get paid for 5... plus? i can cycle here and be back before i know it... total time spent out of the house? maybe 4.5hours... plus at the ice rink might get a free hot dog like today and a free drink: plus as it happens in ice hockey, the whole play-stop routine the DJ will play some sample of a song, today i managed to hear a sample (donkey's years old - September Cry For You... i knew it but forgot it, but remembered the lyrics: you'll never see me again ¶but that's not about all of that... i was talking with my coworker about finishing our shift at Wembley yesterday, she finished much later... oh! it took me ages to get home! i only got home at 4am - i sort of blundered and replied: yeah, me too... she's quick to pick up lies - but didn't the trains work? oh no, they did. so how come you only got in at 4am? oh, i don't know (****, one little white lie will not pass her, she was already growing suspicious, i should have just told her the hypothetical truth that i managed to get home at after just 1am... and i would have, i got to Stratford and spotted that the Southend Victoria bound train was via Romford, and not via Shenfield... it was supposed to come in 5 minutes by the time i was standing on the platform, but suddenly it became delayed, a passenger was taken ill... it would take forever for the train to start again... the original plan was to go the brothel, but i figured: i might as well go home early, get some chicken on the way at Romford and catch the last bus home, get in early and write for a while... but then the ill passenger made me return to my original plan). ¶well an hour or two later i had to own up as to why i came in at 4am, so i told her: well, you know... the reason why i came home at 4am is because i had, a slight, ahem "detour"... she looked at me smiled and sort of giggled... oh: that sort of "detour"? yeah... the beautiful thing about this was that i gave no further explanations... maybe she figured it out, maybe she didn't...

I.

well... at it's not me scribbling with squint eyes after having
have to catch four night buses to come home from Wembley
from a shift at 4am... this time i stopped over
at the brothel...
i can't help myself:
i can hit the ultimate high but then follow up with
the lowest of lows...
i even managed to buy a t-shirt... ****'s sake...
what are the chances of a "tour" of "compensation":
paying tribute to a drummer...
with only two dates of tribute... today's currently the 4th...
i don't exactly: love love Foo Fighters...
they can't topple the pyramid of Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
but it's still so much better than
what i heard the previous night.. Garage...
i had to buy that £40 t-shirt... they were running low
on the one i really liked: the yellow one...
i bought the black one... waited...
soon the merchandise shops opened again and the yellow
one was made available once more...
oh man... it's 4am and it's not like i just took 4 night buses
to get home...
i took the tube from Wembley Park to Stratford and then...
plans changed twice... i was originally planning
to visit the brothel... then...
a Southend via Romford bound train was supposed
to come... o.k. forget the brothel...
but then... a passenger became ill on the train
and the train became delayed indefinitely...
**** me... off to the brothel i go...

it was sort of gladdening to have seen
    josh homme...
                 brian johnson... liam gallagher...
roger taylor... rufus taylor...
   brian may... who else was there?
brian mccartney... the pretenders, i.e. chrissie hynde...
i had the best view in the stadium...
at the far end opposite the stage... fifth level Wembley...
in the disabled (accessibility sector)...
easy... boring... 12 hour leg numbing shift...

no... i don't really like the Foo Fighters...
i like Andrea though, our supervisor... this tiny little
creature with spectacles that looked
so quirky lifting her spectacles up
and looking at a page when writing like she might
have looked at bacteria through a microscope...
darling: she called me...
      yes: the the great big world would eat me up
with a yawn and i'd still reply: yawn great big
world... should i meet her ever again:
a woman of my implant idealism... of borrowed books
and failed loves...

i have a t-shirt to prove that i was at this gig...
that's all i have... but i don't think i was there...
i think i was looking for my shadow in Andrea's shadow...

i'm pretty sure someone died...
oh man... going to the brothel this tired is always a bad
idea... more unprotected ***...
but this time Khedra was different...
she kept whispering: **** a blonde little baby into me...
half asleep but nonetheless with a *******
i was thinking: what?!
three aphrodisiacs... the proper cider... exercise and
excess tiredness...
a complete ****-up of the senses....

even now it's coming to 5am and i'm thinking about
that *******'s slapping of a shift at the ice-rink
tomorrow from 4 through to 8...
i never thought that ice-hockey could be just a boring
sport to watch...
i.e. where's the puck?! hockey to me is a bit like
monotheists in prayer...
lunatics... at least the pagan Hindus throw spices
and more spices around to cover themselves in excess of
what can be sometimes missing in nature...
but monotheistic reasoning for procrastinating
within the confines of labouring the bend and beating
of prayer to an otherwise deity that demands
the "prayer" of "thought" rather than
the deification through a "prayer of the body"
and use of the tongue...
    monotheism ought to never be about pseudo-paganism
of procrastination with idle words on idle
tongues of idle bodies... the matrimony of lunacy
of bending objects...
monotheism is a sort of telepathy...
a telekinesis...
prayer should be abolished in monotheism...
as well as all the lunatic deifications of monotheism...
esp. in Islam and Judaism...

                monotheism ought to start to equate
thinking with speaking...
by that standard... collapse it furthermore...
the freedom of thought is not the same as the freedom
of speech... in that writing: with writing being
the extension of thinking: the medium of writing
is not an invitation to speak, but rather an invitation to think!
monotheism speaks like the pagans speak...
too much... monotheism has as many mantras
as polytheists have...
the only difference is that the monotheists have
abstracted their deities as cryptic language structures...

in the crypts of the ciphers:
one can find at least one decipher... some sacred word...
either over-used: e.g. blah-lah
or under-used: the acronym yhwh...
of Æ... when Adam was a Siamese twin with Eve...

i'm sort of... half blinking... i have these half closed
eyes: i'm squirming and pretending to blink....
i lay mountains in a single valley
and later called this same mountain range
a witness of the canary's song that could
encompass a folding of a cave to boil a river
to a standstill: from a sea create a river
and from a lake a mirror...
what miser ******* i'm thinking:
thank god i'm simply thinking it rather than speaking
it in arena of rhetoric...

let clouds be puffs of negative-salt clusters...
negative-salt clusters so that they can absorb
"positive-water" into their invisible gobs...
and... like seagulls... carry the food-stuff over
kilometres of agony... from sea toward land...
from rivers to the lakes...
and then back again... from the lakes toward
the seas...

II.

i must have been really tired yesterday, i just abandoned
part I. altogether: i don't want to know what i've written,
i'm not rereading it... i'll have to rewrite some aspects
of it...
                 today i feel livelier and actually awake...

1. i figured out the brothel, finally! it took me some time!
half an hour sessions... no more those 1 hour sessions...
why? i can go more often, ergo i can **** all of them in the brothel,
so much so that i will have to start looking for
a new brothel... one hour sessions don't work anymore:
if i am to please a woman who i never met,
i either will or i won't... and that will be within the confines
of half an hour...

2. my three favourite aphrodisiacs are:
(a) cider + a little bit of whiskey + a cigarette or two
(b) exercise
(c) tiredness... my god... every time i came back
from a very long shift i would try to relax before
writing by jerking off... each and every time i would
get a ******* like clockwork....
i guess tiredness switches the mind off completely
and you feel more and more uninhibited...
mix that with aphrodisiac (a) and made (c) comparable
to the effects of (b)... hey presto!

a rare moment for me... original thinking while sitting
and listening to my father dictate to me
the invoice i'm just writing
myślnik: i.e. dash or hyphen (-)
od nowego akapitu / wiersza:
            from a new / "poem"
it's not actually a new "poem", it's more a new verse...
i.e. it's lazy speaking because it's not
actually akin to the sign applied in medieval
times to use up as much paper with
an indicator for a new paragraphs
employing the ¶ (the blind P): come to think of it,
i think i'll employ it in the italic section of the intro.
i just added... them... the pilcrow...
it was used to use up as much paper as was available...
these old texts never wasted space...
but a revelation came when writing my father's invoice:
thank god i'm an employee and i do not have
to write any invoices or do any tax self-returns...
of all the people employed i don't know whether anyone
else is in my position...
but the revelation came with...
i remember my English teacher: the Scot didn't teach us
much English... he introduced me to jazz and a love
for Led Zeppelin rather than Black Sabbath...
but i remember his one major lesson:
you, don't, start, a, new, sentence,
with: a, conjunction, namely: and!
you can't stand a sentence with And...
what is the semi-colon for?

after all, what's the semi-colon in Arabic?
either the letter(s) dh (the H is a surd borrowed
from the name of the Hebrews' deity)
                  ذ or Z(ed)               ز    -
aren't these semi-colons?! ; ذ ز
                                                               ­ ?

but i had a split consciousness: the cat that was sleeping
in my bed decided to jump out of the window and
sit on the roof of the kitchen...
while i was typing the invoice...
when i got back into the bedroom he was still
sitting on the roof... i have an invisible leash
on my cat... the moment he saw me perched
on the windowsill: i smoked one cigarette: he noticed me...
he jumped straight back into the room
and is current sleeping on my bed...

a split consciousness? what song to listen to?
the original i started with? September cry for you?
Collie Buddz Sensimillia?
Stephen Marley hey baby / iron bars
or Combichrist sent to destroy?
obviously the foremost...

i had to scribble this note down in between writing
the invoice:

/ aesthetic:
                                                      ­   look up Gothic
    bl.... blah blah. Also...                  a script and ᚱᚢᛖᛋ
                  no!                                       ­                       Σ
b (scribbled out)
"           "          "   ; also

                                          via example of And at beginning
                                             of (a) sentence
                                             is a massive
                                                         ­     no-no! /

some Copernican rotations in place... notably
via the Runic E (ᛖ) and the Greek S (Σ)
and obviously the work that went into crafting
the Roman S and ...
huh? i never heard about this 'un... the sigma-reflection...
what's this?

                           σ² ≡ E

id est: a twofold reflection on one plane
produces the operation of identity;
     any planar molecule has at least one mirror plane.

ugh... coding... something for termites...
    <p><var>a²</var>
                                   and what modern poet dabbles
in STEM methodology? people are still complicated?
or just plain ******* daft... having created so many complications
of their / adding toward their lives outside of themselves?
i think it's the latter...
there's no longer a need to concern oneself for
"being there":

Heidegger was slow on picking up on what
Zhuangzi talked about beyond his grave:
   the... grammatically correct "concern": or rather...
in the eyes of the Chinese rather than the German
concept of "there being" as that of concern...
the Chinese variant was always "being there" with
a sense of non-doing... some thing are unchangeable...
yes, pressed by the continuum of un-change-ability...
you can't alter the sun or the gravity the planets are fed
by it...
  to orbit...
               unlike Egyptian hieroglyphs... Chinese hieroglyphs
are ideograms... they are more than sounds:
they are as simple as sounds of letters...
whether alone or coupled... but they are also IDEAS...
ergo, they are ideograms...
"being there" is one of these...

                           在: zai... roughly, i'm not an expert...
i'm a: LA-IK... but Heidegger preached the wrong sort
of thinking, if Tao is the correct sort of thinking:
this is the contention (from the Chinese prespective)
against the German interpretation of da-sein...
i'm not concerned: that would be very Christian of me...
i'm not a fraud of F.O.M.O. (fear of missing out):
that takes concern... i know i can't change the world:
i can only change myself in order to grow into myself...

ANY AND ALSO are grand examples of when
the semi-colon ought to be used in a sentence,
a semi-colon is a follow-up to a thing already stated...
... yes... i use that puncture marker when
i'm following up one thought with another...
it's not aesthetically pleasing, but then again i am not wasting
any paper or using a type-writer...

but i have (i've) seen too many books in print
where a sentence opens up with such: DISGRACE
(the negation of grace, the prefix dis-, id est)

it figures... i'm too intelligent to **** neuro-typical women...
i need to **** prostitutes...
i'm not even paying myself a compliment...
i walked back from the shift peering into the houses...
ageing couples... one on one armchair
another on another armchair... living the easy:
mortal life... oh **** me...
alone again... the children flew their nest...
just waiting for a spot in the old people's home:
Protestantism is so cruel when it comes to old age...
it's spectacular when you're young!
me? i'm sticking around...
i applied the Japanese method of *******...
sure... no long partner: no need to talk...
at least the Japanese are unabashed about
complications of housing... at least they're open
about the ラブ ホテル (rabu hoteru)...
spares me the need to **** prostitutes: but no!
oh no! no no!
i need to **** prostitutes to avoid my makeshift
boney **** of a hand!
i need to eat, i need to sleep, i need to ****...
i don't care what the WASPS spew from over the "pond":
i stopped listening a long time ago...

hey! Darwinism preached adaptation...
i'm adapting! it's called... have you heard the term?
E-VO(h)-LOO-SH-ON?!
i know it's spelling evolution...
but you hardly hear the T to begin with...
well... if God made Poland his playground
(according to Norman Davis)
i'll just make England MY... mein SPIELPLATZ!
sorry... not England: ING-LEASH!
this is my playground!
                  
                                 well if God can make Poland
his playground for the Turks, the Swedes,
the Russians and the Germans to pretend to tickle
and juggle... i'll make his favorite tongue:
my... playground... i''ll make sure as many people
come to London as are readily available...
let's see, "god"... who's going to start having
a *****-fit... i can watch the natives become minorities...
don't worry... i'll fit in just plain dandy with the other
minorities: they won't even know where the ****
i'm from... they'll think i'm English but when i tell them
that i'm not German they might have a second
thought: why have so many Arab names
popped up as "friends" on my facebook?!

that's the thing about Slavs... English speaking people
associated Orcs with Africans...
well... where's Mordor? East?!
last time i checked... are these people going to be throwing
pronoun-grenades at the Russians as the Russians
starve Europe from a gas supply?!
oh sure sure... the "worship" of "correct" pronoun
usage is already keeping me warm: the warmth of WRATH...
maybe i didn't have children because i thought that:
my natural intelligence wouldn't be passed down
and they would become products of their
environment and peer pressure?!
i think so... i think i refrained from having children
because i thought: mein gott! and what if they might
be swayed by idiots?! guttrauer (good grief)...
imagine!
- but as i was walking back from the shift...
i noticed these old couples... me god, their ageing so quickly...
i sticking put... my parents invested in me...
now i'm going to invest in them...
i'm not moving... i'm not going to rent...
i'm sitting on money! i'm sitting on Smaug's ransom!
i'll keep them youthful for as long as i can...
they will not be sitting in two armchairs alone
before a t.v. with pictures of their children and grand-children
hanging on the wall...
they'll just have to deal with the insolent drinking
alone little me...
i'll entertain them... i'll do the household chores...
i'll cook for them... i'll do the d.i.y.:
they're not going to be packaged like ******* mushrooms
into the dark into an old people's home...
and whatever women that comes into my...
ah... ah ha ha ha... what woman? for a relationship?!
relationship with: what, exactly?!
i already have sway over a woman's body whenever i feel
like it: whenever i feel like...
do women have intellect? i.e. talk about what?
other people... i've heard it before...
you couple with a woman and all she wants to do is
talk about how happy she is when she's with you seeing
other women being single: how "superior" she is...

what conversation? the best conversations i ever had
were with strangers or when i started to write...
when i untangled my thinking into not-thinking...
i wouldn't appreciate a life of simply being lazy
existentially... this is not the right sort of time to be lazy
existentially: why? becoming existentially focused
by the simple demand of external forces that force
you to beg for explanations: just like the 20th century
proved is no beginning or, for that matter:
an encapsulation of: what?
do people really think literacy is omnipresent?!
if it truly was... we wouldn't have people scratching
letters in graffiti mode on brick walls like
those of Lascaux... sure... the caves imploded:
but the skyscrapers exploded...

how times change...
back in the day, even Milan Kundera lamented
the sayings of Neville Chamberlain...
what were those?
how horrible, fantastic, incredible it is that
we should be digging trenches and trying
on gas-masks here because of a quarrel in
a far away country between people of
whom we know nothing
that explains a lot... Czechoslovakia is
just a little bit nearer Ukraine... Ukraine is on the map!
far far way: i'm pretty sure the British became
confused by digging the Suez canal:
India suddenly became West of Ireland...
when it came to navigating ships!

that's the thing about the Slavs... we'd sooner start
a war amongst ourselves than succumb
to some Germanic festering wound of the intellect:
pronouns! blah blah ha!
the Germanic consolidation project for Europe:
hell! bring the entire world to our shores!
that's an Germanic intellectual starvation project!
the Slavs, like Orcs: would sooner fight among
themselves than tempt the idiot cross-eyed
serpent of the Germanic Twilight of Intellect...

today i learned the reason why i was so attracted
to that middle-aged woman from London Stadium
who looked like a frightened doe: in head-lights...
i was coupled with her at the Basildon shift...
isolated... i had to talk to her...
       Chill-y... she's actually Turkish... i would have
never known! i like Turkish and Romanian girls...
hell... if English girls have this post-colonial
black fetish against their fathers...
i'll pick one (fetish) for myself... wait... i have one...
we're good... we're equal...
now? more! more! more!
i need to fry my mind with as much ****-box-*****
as possible!
i'm not stopping: something was woken in
me that should be sleeping a tight monogamous sleep...
that's not, going to happen...
like all the beautiful girls that turn out to
be prostitutes: akin to nature's sake:
everyone would love to live through
seeing a tornado, a daffodil blossom...
******* a beautiful girl...
a man with many arrangements:
i don't want to be selfish...

last night was just, plainly, weird...
i can't remember the last time i was asked so many
questions...
Khedira asked me: so... did you prefer Michaela...
who? the short plump girl with great ****?!
the blow-up *** of pump?
or did you prefer the taller girl?
i'm just asking, as a friend... the former...
something was afoot...

the wind blows in cold into my bedroom...
it's a welcome breeze... it folds itself around
my ankle prior to strangling me around the neck
while kissing my forehead...

the glorious 4 were sitting there...
the one with the glasses was incredibly talkative...
Mona... Mina? does it matter... she was wearing
glasses...
where have you been? i ripped off my
bands... showed her: Wembley... the Taylor Hawkins'
tribute concert... oh... dearest Adriana...
that supervisor... please don't call me darling...
not when we're working... my name is enough...
out of the 4 i chose the predictable non-****** ****..

as you do...

i haven't seen Khedra for a while... the started with her
usual *******: thank **** that she doesn't charge me
for unprotected ***... either oral or vaginal...
i felt sort of relaxed-tired from not having to put
on the rubber... but we Polacks and Turks are
cleanly people: we wash ourselves regularly...
i can't remember the last time i *******
a *****-load into a woman while she whispered
into my ear that she wanted a blonde baby:
eating and burning my blonde mustache and love-bruise
of hair growth (catching up to the length of
my length of beard... some ******* quarrel between
a boy and a girl while i was leaving Wembley,
he breaks the argument... direct her sight toward
me with: i love your beard! my bib?! i.e. t-shirt...
forty quid... i'm later informed he was talking about
my beard and not my t-shirt... what?!
i've just spent 6 hours in an environment
where you have to don ear-plugs...
what?! i can't her you! EAR PLUGS!
you can still hear the music, but you can't sense
the vibrations! bib?! 40 quid... oh! right... oh! beard...
yeah... thanks... it took 3 years to grow)

but i had to **** Khedra firt... i slapped her ***...
she slapped me... i wish she slapped my face...
i deserved it... i was asking permission without asking
permission: oh... Mina looks lively...
the one wth the glasses... she's happy...
how about we have a *******...
that's the second time i've bee asked to have a *******...
i know Khedra could make a ******* magical...
seriously... i watched as she harked up some bad
*******...
next time i told her... before she gulped and swallowed
an "oyster" of my missing *******...
2nd ******* *******... well... **** me...
i'm not exactly readied to disembody myself:
quit certainn limbs: on a whim...
who's paying? of course i'm paying!
i'm not paying for food! i'm paying for the *******!
dating is such a 20th century sort of past-time...

people: get with the times!
the 20th century requires closure:
you're not giving it!
   i told her: next time... next time...
sure... you and Mina can please me...
i hope this second ******* will be much better than the frist...
i'd love to see you two kissing...
before competing for the oyster Olympics
of slapping ****...

me god... first she ****** me off then she decided:
you did enough work arching over me in the missionary
position... i'll ride you...
women are strange that way...
they speak during *** like men might speak
during sleep...
what i heard...
what didn't i hear? i'm sure as **** knowledgeable
not hearing any lies...
i don't pay for lie... i pay for ****....
after she finished her oral ***
and climbed onto me and told me to look into
the mirror...

i was thrilled with warm-shivers...
it wasn't an ******...
but close enough...
           she was stalling... shivers...
shivers: she was stalling a ******...
******-lost *** is... is what it is...
i was her parterened self re-partnered...
he clicked: a wet ***** a hard-on ****
of an uncircumcised phallus...

upon insertion? you always aim below
the floral patterns of the ****...
of the *****... you aim an inch above the ****
at the root of the ****...
it's a bit like undoing a woman's bra...
inserting your "weapon" into a woman's
"shield"... sword-sheath-sword-sheath...
metaphorical, "metaphorical": of course...

but she did say: you taste all of them!
don't me mind! if i'm readying myself...
you choose another: choose another!
have as many women as you please!
don't feel obliged to choose only me!
well: doesn't love have to be shared?!
i can't be selfish! i can't just love one woman
when so many women are left loveless!
can i? i must love as many woman as are readily
available!
if i find boy exclaiming: i love your beard, mr.
i'm pretty sure the women are tediously shy
about a great number of details about me!

die forderungen von dies nacht ar fertig!
the demands of this night are finished!
ein tag kann gewinnen sie mit
morgen sonnenaufgang

                                              alle­ mit morgig verheiße.

ICH RUF ZU DIR. . .
( for Mimi Khalvati )

1.

brushes her hair in the mirror
she stares Death full in the face
the heart attack catching her off guard

11.

Dusk walks off
into the distance
Night speaks slowly….quietly

111.

Green shadows
lilac shadows
never just
black

1V.

gooseberries…geraniums…sherbet
those things of childhood
she both liked & didn’t

V.

I only half listen to them, smug in their snug, poets scoring points off each other over the odd pint or two or more. . .

“Ahhh now Jaysus...your oyster always gives me the collywobbles. Every time I encounter an oyster I think of Chekov’s corpse and sure the appetite goes off of me!”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right so it is!”

“Sure when poor Chekov became a corpse...he was kept on ice with the oysters and shipped to Moscow. So it’s always Chekov’s auld face I see( ya see )when I come face to face with an oyster. I think of him being extracted from his shell and slipping slowly down Death’s throat.

“Ahhh Jaysus...Jaysus sure isn’t Death a terrible man altogether for the poets and such like. But come here to me when I’m talking to ya...have ya ever heard tell of a fella called.. if memory serves me well. . .Qui ****-Haung-ti?”

“Qui ****-Haung-ti? Eh, let’s see now...ahh...no...now…I don’t believe I have had that pleasure? Who he? For God’s sake!

“ Sure wasn’t yer man only the first supreme ruler of China!”

“He wasn’t..!”

“He was...I declare to God!”

“And sure for 9 months, 9 months now I tell ya, after his death he continued to reign seated upon his throne...surrounded by fish!”

“Well, that’s as posthumous as ya can get! But, why...the fish?”

“To disguise the smell...ya ejit!”

“And that’s why I can’t stand either sight or sound of our scaly friends.  It gives me the creep I tell ya!”

“Fair enough!”

“Will ya have another?”

“Ahhh sure, I will so!”

V1.

bitter gooseberries

V11.

I pray to my granny’s apron full of stars and flowers…only a rag now for shining shoes; to my uncle’s auld hat that that sat for years and years on the brown dresser like a dried up soul.
To my other uncle’s battered boots still caked with mud from summer’s long long ago which now houses a kitten that can’t get out mewing pitifully its plight:

V111.

the gooseberry’s bitterness

Solaris...was it
floating in space
back to Bach...ich ruf zu dir...

1X.

she holds the gooseberry
between finger and thumb
her eyes devouring it

X.

the sun shone through it
a prism of living light

snow is falling
in the room

from which she first
saw snow
falling

she stands outside
falling through time

X1.

she listens to the wheat
the wheat listens to her listening
the wind moves them both

X11.

in the story of her
childhood there are
always gooseberries

X111.

the words dress themselves up
walk around in stories
showing off

X1V.

she prays to the green light
of the gooseberry that is
the God of living things

XV.
the mirror holds her reflection
even when she’s gone
Death hums its little tune

XV1.

“They’re better fed than read...”
as my grandmother said
about anyone other than our selves

XV11.

he thought the good idea...was his
she thought the good idea...was hers

XV111.

he said he will( but he won’t )
she said she won’t( but she will )

X1X.

the mirror can’t find her
anywhere
she’s fallen off the edge of a flat world

*

The title emerges from Bach's BWV 177 - "Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ"

Cantata for the Fourth Sunday after Trinity

Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ,
Ich bitt, erhör mein Klagen,
Verleih mir Gnad zu dieser Frist,
Laß mich doch nicht verzagen;

I call to You, Lord Jesus Christ,
I beg You, hear my cries,
grant me mercy at this time,
do not let me despair;

The soundtrack of SOLARIS features Johann Sebastian Bach's chorale prelude for *****, Ich ruf' zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ, BWV 639, played by Leonid Roizman, and an electronic score by Eduard Artemyev. The prelude is the film's central musical theme.

Tarkovsky initially wanted the film to be devoid of music and asked composer Artemyev to orchestrate ambient sounds as a musical score. The latter proposed subtly introducing orchestral music. In counterpoint to classical music as Earth's theme is fluid electronic music as the theme for the planet Solaris.

The character of Hari has her own subtheme, a cantus firmus based upon J. S. Bach's music featuring Artemyev's composition atop it; it is heard at Hari's death and at story's end.

The memory of the movie...of the two drunks in the pub....of the music...her childhood memories of gooseberries all hail the prelude to her...death.... memories lie shattered and scattered like the hand mirror fallen from her hand...reflecting all and nothing.

A sequence poem that attempts to mimic the strands of the choral movements sustained by a single voice a la Mr. Bach.

Whatever is in the head when Mr. Death comes calling.

Mornings are some-times lovely in our house.
Mornings are some-times Choas in our house as well.
Mornings are stupid on days your quarantined.(My step- Brother)
Mornings are awesome when you have your frist cup of Coffee.
Have you ever had Swiss Rolls with your Coffee?
Have you ever had eggs with your coffee?(my dad)
do you ever panic when you can't find the right outfit(sometimes me)
Have you ever been screamed at because your step-mom can't find the right scarf?

even though you weren't mine at Frist
Even though you only with us for couple of months
You came to love me
You came to trust me
Your smart
Your beautiful
Your cute
Your loveable
I know you never met Bella, Furball but you are with them now watching over us
Even though you are not here
You will always Be in our memories never forgotten kenya