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real is what?

real is what?

Mortal: Hey.

God: Hey.

Mortal: So.

God: Yeah?

Mortal: I feel like I’m in the wrong. Like I’m doing things wrong.

God: How so?

Mortal: I don’t know. I have problems with real and not real.

God: Oh?

Mortal: Honestly, I blame my metaphysics. I say that we cannot have literal knowledge of “Real”, but we can poetically relate to “Real”. And from there I seem to reason that my relationship to “real” should be some kind of a free-write.

God: Can you explain the reasoning that takes you from a poetic — not literally precise, clear, or accurate; but still adequately precise, clear, and accurate — relationship to Reality to turning life into a free-write?

Mortal: Yes. Well, maybe. Basically, “Real” is more important than “real”; so the foundation of my life should be “Real”, rather than “real”; so the foundation of my life should be a constantly self-critiquing and -correcting poem relating my thinking/feeling/acting to Reality; and so off of that Reality-centered poem, my day-to-day — my “real” — should flow.

God: But what happens in practice?

Mortal: In practice, I walk around talking to myself, and/or pretending talk to you or to people who aren’t there. In practice, I slide around in fiction and don’t seem to make much progress in either Real or real. In practice, I am lonely; probably because my relationships lack enough reality for us to know each other enough to share Reality. So am I doing everything backwards?

God: I don’t know. What do you think?

Mortal: No! Well, I don’t think it is that simple, anyway. What should I do? I mean: You’re God — you should have some good advice for me.

God: Yeah.

Mortal: Well?

God: I think you should relax and try to remember that drive you took through the mountain passes of Arizona twenty-ish years ago.

Mortal: Oh yeah. Where was that? Jerome? Who was I with? What were we doing? Was that when my sister and I were visiting our grandparents? I can’t remember. Just the sun and the pines and driving. Roads winding up and down through the pines and slant-roofs and then a tiny downtown? Why were we there? Did we visit someone? An artist? Or did we just stroll through some artist’s shops? Why were we there? Who were we? What does it remind me of? Winding up and down through the bright sun and dusty pines and (abandoned?) homes and shacks: what does it remind me of? I mean, besides a hundred other such drives in Arizona and Idaho.

Anything?

Anything?

Is there anything I could do? Tell me what you want of me and I’ll do it.

I want you to go to hell.

Yeah, you got that across from before, and I’ve done it. Is there anything else you’d like me to do? Anything you want me to pick up from hell? Never-ending fire for your heating system, or to sell to a power plant? The eternal bellyaching of damned souls to encourage children to say their prayers at night? Complete separation from God — for those evenings when you really don’t want anyone looking over your shoulder?

I want you to get lost.

I been done that! I’m lost without ever knowing you, without ever saying anything any good to you. Are you sure you don’t want me to do something different? Something new? Or do you just want me to stay lost? I can do it, if it is what’s best for me to do. I just thought maybe we could start again, from the beginning. Like those last several years were just a warm up, but now it’s for real.

Huh.

Yeah.

Ch 231: Our Author Falters

Ch 231: Our Author Falters

231.
I don’t know what’s happened to us.
I don’t know what’s become of our story.
If you would tell me what I can do,
I would do that for you whatever you asked.
But here, let us descend into some fiction,
wrought in loneliness,
built of used matchsticks and drips of old candle wax.

Our hero remains Mannkind “Mench” Erlkoenigkin, future Mountain King, and the only human in the Magic Lands. Our tale continues its bellicose way through the tilted plains outside the SWK’s capital city.

How steep is our battlefield? And how does the terrain affect the fighting?

How has Blaise Pirouette reacted to having his army, war, and kingdom commandeered by the evil sorcerer Bellingworth Momrath? Or does Blaise even realize that that’s what’s happened? And is Blaise free to move? Is he even free to feel and think?

And what about Mannkind’s special mission to take out the magic-batteries made of ensnared and strength-drained dragons? And what is happening in this battle? And what is Queen Melanie Nieblungslied up to all the while? And did Rem Hector really die after almost undoing Samuel Mwynglawdder? And what about Mannkind’s loved ones? The beautiful Susan, chosen of his heart; and the beautiful but passed over Esmeralda; and his sister the bossy little Ellen and his father the gentle Giovanni?

And the gods? And the Great God? And religion? And the dragons on their island? And our story’s other hero, the accidental seducer of Purest Love, laid now dead in the Magic Realm and comatose in his wife’s trembling arms?

This story I fear has sprawled beyond your narrator’s shallow reach. To speak nothing of the role that Pure Love is to play in all this.

Please, we beg of you, angels in the skies and gods scattered o’er land and sea.
Please, we beseech thee, Great God and Greater Love:
Can’t someone somehow bend down low,
us enfold, upon us low things now bestow
a touch of divine love
just enough from above
to expand our hearts our minds
and with them this tale, these lines?

Just you

Just you

If it is only you
though the time’s done
and you’re gone too

If it is only you for me
but I’m not welcome —
Nobody you wish to see

What should I do?
I go on dating apps
like I’m supposed to

What I should say?
I’m stuck in perhaps
Perhaps someday ..

Maybe someday you’ll feel
we should make
A new beginning.
Maybe someday we’ll heal
the cut, the break.
And then be winning —
always winning,
having found each other
for real and for good,
having caught hold of the love
that was always there —
in the space
between your heart
and mine.

What should I do?
What is right for me to do?
I want to know you.
I want to tell you that
I’m sorry;
that
I love you,
I need you,
I want you,
I believe in you,
you’re special to me.

I want to talk to you in a nice way —
to find a way with you to make things right between us.
This is all I wish to do.

But what do you wish?
What do you feel?
What do you need?
What do you want?
What’s good for you?

Is there anything any good that I could do here and now?

insufficient

insufficient

your vices are insufficient
to heal your wounds and bridge the gap
between your heart and your life

what is sufficient
to heal your heart
and close the space
between your love
and the world’s?

I love you
I’ve always been there for you
I was assigned to you
but it goes beyond duty
I want to help you live for real
but how can I when you run always after death?

you pose a riddle
I answer it thus:
work with me here and now
in no second is it too late
in no moment are you too drunk
in no instance are you too far gone
in no time are you unable
to turn back to life
to stand up straight within yourself
to work with me
on this project

in violence

in violence

in violence
in madness
in confusion
the fly twists and turns

in spider’s web
in venom’s ring
in thoughtless panic
the fly dries inside out
multi-eyes flutter
paper-wings shudder
the fly dies
from the inside out

A poetry

A poetry

Dear God where can I find
a poetry that makes a difference
in me, in others, in us, in the world?
I’m asking you

Dear God how can I write
songs that turn the corner
words that staunch the bleeding
a poetry that helps all through?
I’m asking you

Dear God how can we forward
in this life in this time in this place
with what we are and how are shoulders tighten
as we drink
by ourselves
for no reason
except
we’ve given up
on life
on poetry
on the Beauty of the word
on the magic

Dear God what should I do?
I’m asking you to help me
stop wasting time
wasting sight
wasting Light
wasting might
wasting right
through day and night
going nowhere
spinning wheels
unable to heal
I would
you know
change
if
you know
there was a way

Dear God where are you?
and what is
the way forward?
where are we?
and what counts
for anything?

I’m sure we can agree
that this isn’t working
that this is dumb
that this is a waste
of life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness

So what do we do?
Please
What do we do?
Me and you?
Because it’s like that, isn’t it?
You’re stuck to me and me to you
You’re caught in me and me and you
it’s like that, isn’t it?
So please talk to me
Please tell me
what do we do
how do we go forward?
I want to talk to her in a way that’s good
I don’t know if such a way exists
and I’ve no opportunity anyway
I can’t fix this
and it breaks what little was left
of my heart and song
what do I do?
What’s a poetry that helps?
What’s a way forward for me now
’cause I can’t live like this anymore

a poetry
to spring me from all these cages
in my mind
in my heart
in my past
in my pocketbook
in this world
where wisdom
has much to say
but little audience

poetry
should be wise
but not wise like I wish I was
but wise like fire
wise like Light
wise like energy
wise like laughter
wise like joy
wise like Love
wise like what exceeds me
and everybody
wise like God’s frolic
wise like God’s sorrow
wise like newborn eyes
opening in the first light

for poetry to work
it must go beyond the poet
for words to stand
they must go beyond language
so
I need your help, God
I need you on board
Fix me
Heal me
Turn me inside out
Let me leave the bottle and the excuses
help me leave what I can’t repair
and do what is Good with what I can find

Tell her please that I love her
and that I’m sorry I didn’t just say that
when I had the chance.

Tell her please that she’s a sweet girl
and I’m sorry I didn’t tell her
when we were there in the same place together.

And tell me
what I can do
to forward
in this generation
to foward
in this timeplace
to forward
in Beauty
in fun
in joy

please

please

please
I need to go back
to where it never was
but should’ve always been
I need to go home
to my wife and family
to where I am safe
and right and real
not this broken
wheel
coming undone
as it spins
around
while the wagon
dips to one side
and the ruts yell

John the Baptist

John the Baptist

There’s John in camel bristles,
about his loins a skin.
For breakfast locusts sizzle
while honey drizzles in.
In morning light he stands,
at the Jordan he plans
with his God a day:
they’ll pull them back who’ve gone astray!
Now repent, O human kind
of your greedy, meat-hook mind!
For God in all His glory
will fold His world in heaven at the close of history.

A voice crying in the wilds
is heard by Israel.
Disciples walk for miles
to peel the mortal shell.
Jesus, too, of Nazareth born
comes to learn from John a spell.
Jesus dipped with John;
And both men brimmed with scorn
for all this worldly con.
Now repent, O human kind!
of your greedy, gimme mind!
For our God comes tomorrow
or today he takes our souls, and all that they had borrowed.

While Jesus visits villages
across this desert land,
John still rails in wilderness.
Per both, the end’s at hand.
Flavius Josephus maintains
that at Macherus John was detained
and at Macherus by Herod’s fear was slain.
The Gospels record Herod’s despair,
seeing in Jesus John’s ghost —
not merely rival, friend, and/or heir.
I know little here. The most
I can hope to claim
is they’re not the same —
for John was a voice crying in the wilderness,
eating locusts, wearing camel’s hair
but Jesus went from town to town dressed
and eating like the rest of them there —
preaching the same repentance
at the same end of the world
but tweaking his deliverance
so that age upon age was stirred
into a solemn blinking —
and even at times real thinking.

John died and his disciples mourned him.

Copyright: AMW

humans

humans

Humans are a mixed bag
You can see them at a party
sharing a good time
You can see them in dark or in the party
breaking what was fine
You can see them on the street
and everywhere you go
You can smile and go greet
them striding to and fro

Humans are a mixed bag
You cannot say they’re good
and you cannot say they’re bad
You cannot say anything
except that you’ve seen them
in all kinds of weather
and they generally seem
blown about by winds
that they generally don’t see

What can we say?
You need them as they need you
But be careful around them
and with them
You’re we’re they’re
one too