The shale abounds
above the pounding waves
with perfect snapshots
of a lost, impossible world

Images beyond the skill of sculptors,
ridged, spined and rippled
frozen in rock, of rock -
who could have guessed
how long the armour would protect?

And yet -
trilobites
who ruled the shallows
when dinosaurs were but a glint
in Pachamama's eye,
are dead, gone, passed over
in the battle for existence.

While in the boiling surf below,
the jellyfish
who still blithely ride the tides
insolently call:
"Good luck wi thae shells, boys -
"Bet yis'll be safe wi thaim!"
and disappear
in a bubble of translucent laughter.

Compound eyes
Astonishing spectacles
Clairvoyant views from above
Wings glistening in the light of the sun

Buzzing long bodied mystical stories
Dragon's breath of spiritual eloquence
Releasing the bugs eating away at conscience
Skeletal spine of an egoless monk
whispering harmoniously the simple remedies
of cleansing thought

My snake doctor
Quick witted unmasker
your view 360 degrees
Focusing on the movement
and pesky mosquitos that feast
That leave us scratching our heads

I look on so enviously
at Lady Dragonfly
as she hovers angelically
In an eternal sky

It saddens me that the great one's lives are
always cut too short
but her legend lives on timelessly
Dating way back to Permian    period

drought dry only a fortnight, and no trace
of the swimmers--not a bloated bass or a skeletal carp
only a few lily pads burnt russet by the sun

all else, perverse interlopers from modernity:  
bullet banged beer cans, truck tires,  
and the ubiquitous bottle water plastic
waiting patiently for the next ice age

no sign of one fish that emitted a last gilled gasp here

deep beneath the bed though
progenitors rest, theirs and ours,
antediluvian, Permian, as permanent as the word allows
my footfalls above them today
tomorrow silent where they lay

They call it crude.

The dessicated then carboxilated, carbonified,
****** of dead Permian flesh.

This is the reason the salamanders die.
Corporeal concreted, mummified, fossilized.

This is the reason we dance.
Dirges of West Texas dirt romances.
Lost in the flares,
Caught in the gases blaring making nostrils glare.

Requiescat in pace.

All these women.
Dancing through the caliche,
Giving a reason to taste the air.
Through one breath of speechless.

The loam is never settled where boots tread and weather.
Destroying bedrock through hydrolic fracking to the earths core.

I land my toes in the sand of the Llano.
I ******* Mexicans, greasy, with cheese,
With.



Hot.
Sauce.



Dorthy never went to the fest of Oil.
But there's no place like home.
Her silver slippers or prosthesis feet placed instantaneously upon me.
Would bring me directly into a thorny,
Patch of Mesquite.

I am 14.6 billion years old. I am energy traveling at the speed of light,
I am a single proton with one orbiting electron, perfectly balanced
With quarks and bosons and higgs inside
And pieces of matter yet to be understood by man.
I am every star, every atom of Hydrogen fused to Helium.
I am a massive object of molten rock, cooling and fusing.
I am trilobite knee and dinosaur tooth,
Wooly mammoth hair fiber.
I am Permian Extinction, I am Ice Age, I am all surviving species.
I am most distant brothers of man, I am first language and first songs.
I am Bubonic Plague and Death
And life out of new molecules from old.
I am the Industrial Revolution,
I am Depression and Holocaust and oppression.
I am titanium and assembly line.
I am Perseid meteor shower and Halley ’s Comet.
I am every black hole,
Inside, another whole universe of me.

I am seconds young, and I have much to learn of
The multitudes of the universe, myself.

Blessed are the blind—
Reborn on new Permian shores,
Bone eyed hollow shells.

I drove down to the lake today
Where the water flowed in through the old spillway
Lazy and bored, I figured I'd just sit
Drink a beer or two and daydream a bit

I parked right next to a gnarled oak tree
In solitude where I wanted to be
Eighty eight point five played my favorite songs
I couldn't help myself, so I sang along

Till I had a fancy to explore
I opened up the rusty blue Dodge Ram door
All bundled tight in my wool poncho
I stepped out the truck into two below

Where the Permian red mud
crunched beneath my boots
Onto the flat full of geese and coots
The sky was depressing, dark and grey
Like you'd expect it to be on a funeral day

But I hadn't gone there to sulk or brood
Watching water fill the lake is always good
I walked a fair distance to the northeast side
Skipped a few rocks on the by and by

And just when I was sure that I was all alone
Up comes a hobo with a mangy redbone
I could tell by the look in his careful eye
That he was scared of me as to him was I

I put out my hand to introduce myself
Saying 'What's with the weather? It's cold as hell!'
He, 'That's a contradiction. It's about to snow'
Me, 'Yes, no, maybe and I just don't know'

He told me then that his name was Sam
He was down on his luck, but not on the flim flam
Trusting him I reached to scratch the red dog's ears
Something telling me there was nothing to fear

And Sam and I walked in unison
He did most of the talkin'-- me the listenin'
He pointed to a place in a far off nook
Where his tent was hid away in a secret crook

Sam said, 'It isn't much, but I call it home'
'I've gotta can o' beans and some stale corn pone'
So we sat on the ground and I lit a match
The wood smoke smell from the campfire patch

Making me think it was more of God's plan
That led me here to this homeless man
And together we ate with some plastic spoons
Chatting back and forth till way past noon

When my watch chime signaled it was time to go
To walk back to the spillway where the water flowed
Where Sam was my brother for one crazy day
Though I doubt that I'll ever see him again

Written by Sara Fielder © Feb 2012

nerwo bol:
pier watroby:
nie roby:
traby...
kurva pieklo
zazlenllo!
zas.. za was kurva GAZ!


jebena
przekrzydlo...
jablio
jablo blow *******
and eyes to heaven
poinsed:
as much as christ
is the little big tragedy
of the ******
then let me stage a 2nd crucifixion:
in space:
on the launch...

my two psychiatrists are:
your birthday is on the 17th September:
my work colleague
Chris
sorted me out
while i was rummaging through
my paper driving license...
i have a paper driving license...
i can send you all the proofs:
the English want me out!
they want me out of here!
they want me out of England:
they're kicking me out
with the Syrian Jihadi Brides
they want to task the American
immigration authority
concerning a Mischter Bond:
Baker Street and Liverpool Street
are my two favorite stations
the District and the Metropolitan Line
my two favorite colour:
claret and green...
i needed to weave the New Millwall into this:
claret and pine green...

first ached the liver
like Prometheus the historian
talking about pre-dinosaur times:
like finding something in
a monkey:
the death spiral that even cats fear
cats have nightmares:
if they see a man
being...
courtesan to the insects:
the birds then try to inquire
of the man
who is benevolent to insects:
and in insects the Crown of Creation...
the Kippahketer...

        if christ is X and you are X and that makes
the woman: christ **...
then help me, please, help me understand
the X of the christ to the Y of the man that
tries to relate to him:
in his little miseries and injustices:
hardly bitter:
consoling you:
then spending 7h listening to you sleep:
then i hallucinate your daughter's voice
through you breathing back
and she's playing with the radio
and fine tuning you snoring to a radio station...

of the Scots in London, Millwall:
of the Danes in London, New Millwall:
Scottish dockers unloading
ships then as couriers of the King James
Bible...
said unto the Anglo-Saxons:
a Saxony of all blue: azure: a Reconquista
of the Ancients and Rome
a litany of secrets...

       to reconquer the dead
and wake them from their slumber:
until there will be a friction with christ
because a second wake
would last more than 3 days and
this time there would be no resurrection
no harangue of hell:
what a? harangue of heaven: the heave?!
the air? and the light?

as maria the great grandmother one
who should have been a nun
that one: the first time i bit off some tooth...
and burned a burgundy rose
to the dark shade of bishopry... darkest blood
purple...
alone in the kitchen where she would
sit petulent and in deep prayer
constantly praying:
when my grandmother her daughter
called me: Ancimonek... Ancimonek...

new colours: to compete with the Hammers...
optics:
claret and pine green...
forget the Douglas
and the McCurryMurry...
    gay pride of intellect my oi! oi! oi!
oi!
Aussie Aussie Aussie! hoi hoi'n'hoi! hoi!
oar! my slavish friends!
roar! oar! roar! oar! arbeit macht frei!
arbeit macht frei! oar! wind! sails! sails! sails!
oar!

i'll make this a great tragedy:
i will craft me a mummy chamber
and the anti-cross!
i will craft me a shipwreck
in which rats she
chew...
and crawl with worms throughout
eternity if:
i am to sanctify Golgotha...
the anti Eden...
the Serpent so plastered the night before
that he was probably hangover
when he was crucified
that's why Judas betrayed him
because Jesus lost his Virginity at the Last Supper
with Judas' girlfriend...
so the Roman Soldier kindly asked
while... all guts and hanging:
soaking the sponge
with wine...
so... mate... how was it? having ***
for the first time?
well! ** ** **! my ******* ***... ** ** **...
Jordan Peterson
and New Christianity:
by my gnostic ambition for conservatism
and pagan enforced:
by the Northern Crusades:
bless this father this house and Joseph too...
why doesn't... anyone...
think... about... Joseph...
i'm anti-Catholic then!
i want the equivalent Shrine as the Catholic
Church as is to Mary
the same PROTEST UNIFIED with
the dignifying: not worshipping:
DIGNIFYING JOSEPH!

p.s. n.b.:
admire how the atheists
and evolutionists
fail to
admit to the Carboniferous and
        Permian periods...
even the theologians stopped
at serpents:
well if we are the sun that shines
out of god's *******:
why stop at dinosaurs?
why not explore what
dinosaurs feared
and said: **** it god: send at a meteor:
let us become homeless birds
make you creates cities
but get these ******* alien insects
out: make a cow to govern Beelzebub!
ugh ugh! ugh!

let's revise Darwinism with
the Carboniferous and Permian periods...
of ante- meta-history...
meta-history!
that's it!
Hiedegger was the right sort of alchemist
to structure my development of the 20s
with the antithesis of historiology:
beyond philosophy of writing:
the poetry of breathing
the poetry of seeing
the poetry of reading philosophy...
meta-histtory!
these tired humans these feeble snakes
and poor liars
forgot the horror of the reign
of the insects:
out comes only Beelzebub
there is no lizard:
no pet: at this point...
there are no serpents:
there is only the dragon
and arrogance
and pride
that contains
this darkest of hours when i befriended
the Lord of the Flies
who foretold me of 2000 years
of the Reign of the Lord Mosquitos...
who would call him Jesus Christ...
but in a period of gigantic maggot squirrels...
you think that:
the serpent came with the apple...
because...
he was not: ******* traumatized?!
by what came prior!
didn't the lizard come as a tongue
in the form of a serpent:
and said:
are not these birds beautiful?!
can you name them!
where was god?!
in the ******* Carboniferous and Permian periods!
among the insects:
the devil asked:
has not enough time passed O Lord
for you to come down and
witness and pray give justice
to my patience...
send me forth the best of your abstractions
within the confines of the imitations of men:
who you puppeteer
and then summon to jest as the high courts
of Karma... and Manna...
for there are two like Hugin and Muninn...
Karma and Manna...

imagine this hunger like trans-:
oh so trans...
this hunger like me imitating your pregnancy...
how long did that telephone call last?
i was lying in bed doing
the Zhuangzhi: nothing: non-doing
altruism: nothing is a pronoun:
gender and nothing as a pronoun?
nothing destroys gender
and your confusion:
nothing is the order of chaos
that orders inconsequential nothings
a pluralism of nothing
of little nothings to be an even more potent
nerve centre of nothing
as the self-cannibalism-god...
for the mercy of fame and outlandish
gestures
like: not managing mortality
and not trying to die old...

can't people ******* see a rock star philosopher!
seriously?!
no one can see the rock star philosophers:
at a time of the height of the Roman Empire...
and some outlaws stopped pillagining and ****** women
and sat down drank a little... blah blah...
seriously?!
the Genghis Khan of the intellectual realm:
that guy who would make us believe
that he's the origin: the i am therefore
i don't need to think...
**** me! **** me  Edie! you want me to fall for
this *******! seriously?!
rock star philsopher that could make his early
followers behave like the Mongols at the Library of Baghdad:
the Library of Alexandria...
burned: by Christians....

now go back: and reread what i just wrote:
that's not a request:
your heart was pounding through the first
reading:
i always wanted to explore the genre
of literature whereby people need
to re-read:
manual language:
no schematics: all manual language...
nothing fiction: nothing automatic:
not even poetry or philosophy and: over form
and modus operandi:
style... something essentially aromatic...
must be a sub-genre not yet investigated: proper...

the genre of writing something
so profound:
it ganers:
the reader to be implored
to: RE-READ... what they have just read.

because you love them:
the last mask of Jordan Peterson fell
off at the defence of Jesus Christ:
the glorified... hmm... incel?!
but Jesus Christ didn't die a ******...
that's why Judas
and the fruit was the labour of Magdalene.

The Badlands have
lost their battery charge.
There, I realized it's easier
to say "It is what it is"~
harder to do.

The Permian desert doesn't
care for sentimentality,
shriveling drivel in an oily
heatwave mustard gas mirage.

Thirst, cornmeal pancakes
and a left-handed horse to
get us out of an uninviting
cactus conflagration.
Not allot to say about this place.

Sara Fielder © May 2018