Soul Meets Blog

this is when
he came to me:
under the new
moon,

when the lack
of transmuted sunlight
opens a rift, a
time-skip

when I desired being
winged and fed;
when he desired at last
to be touched and

unified,
to linger down
without his white crow
wings,

hungry gull diving from eternity to be known
in the way no angel knows

To Nokomis, Grandmother Moon,
who lights dark pathways of other sides,
who wombed, birth, and nurtured the seeds,
who gives us the darkness that we know light,
I offer tobacco, fire, and breath.

Their long-lobed and mottled wings
beat as quickly in day as at night.
They hover around a buzzing blue coil
in its safety cage, apporaching the cylinder
as though it houses one of his mother's hydrangeas.
The moths do not see
the remains that the boy sees, fragments of
shy Noctuids, plumed Geometrids,
a Monarch on the ground.

I highly recommend the Tarot Sisters. No gypsy fortune tellers or froofy new age hacks, these two. They really understand using Tarot as a tool for spiritual growth and self-improvement.

This classified ad is running in my newspaper, The Mass Media, for the next four issues as my gift to Joyful and Kelly. Happy holidays to you both.

Lead actors Bernard White and Mam Smith in "Wings of Desire." Photo Courtesy of American Repertory Theatre.

The stage adaptation is co-authored by A.R.T.'s artistic director Gideon Lester in association with Dirkje Houtman of the Netherlands' Toneelgroep Amsterdam. The play opens with the sound of softly falling sand and a brief flash of light that exposes the main character, played enthusiastically by Bernard White, before he is again swallowed by a darkness which foreshadows the story's climax.

Photo courtesy The Boston Secession

Started in 1996 as a "laboratory for modernizing professional vocal performance" by artistic director and conductor Jane Ring Frank, the Boston Secession was named for artist Gustav Klimt's co-operative, the Vienna Secession, which "created a sensation by displaying paintings at eye level for the first time." Frank hoped to bring something similar to vocal music that would draw people in.

Sky's epidermis
keeps frigid vacuum from Earth.
The atmosphere burns.

Curious space rocks
want underneath the sky's skin.
Fists of fiery light.

The sky punishes
the intruders, attacking
with incandescence.

Below, we humans
pause in the swarm of our life;
watch the blazing trails

The sky contains us,
showering us with spaceborn
rock becoming gas.

This song appears on Live's CD, "V", and also on their "Awake: The Best Of Live."

Overcome - by Live

even now the world is bleedin' but feelin' just fine all numb
in our castle where we're always free to choose never free enough
to find i wish somethin' would break cuz we're runnin' out of time

and i am overcome i am overcome holy water in my lungs i am overcome

Here's some fun photography with fire, moonlight, a flashlight, and long digital exposure. Photos courtesy of P-OZ.

Audience: respect
that haiku need to settle.
Be silent! Then clap.

*
Wearing kimono
does not make you Japanese.
It takes some kensho.

Here are some of the U.S. statistics for the Year 1906. What a difference a century makes!

A review of Sandra Cisneros' House on Mango Street.

Sure, we all know of pulp novels (some of us even write them), but true working-class literature is still all too rare. To be a working-class writer writing about working-class characters seems anathema to the publishing industry. Some suggest that this is due to the fact that editors and publishers are not likely to be working-class themselves, and so have little appreciation of characters whose lives hold little monetary value except their labor and earn wages without ever reaping the financial profits from that labor.

Another reason may be that Americans hold a vision of middle or upper class life as our stereotypical "American Dream." Who dreams of working at McDonald's? Some do, no doubt, but no one's holding their dreams up to the light.

"We Couldn't Get Much Higher" to the tune of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire."

Having just come from the pharmacy, where I filled my fourth prescription, I opened my inbox to find this message from a friend. Hope you enjoy it.

I have recently revised my opinion on psychopharmaceuticals. Americans are overprescribed and spoiled, no doubt. A little pain isn't an inherently bad thing.

He looks as though he needs them,
but the old man doesn't pick the pennies
up from the sidewalk; he turns them
so that Abraham Lincoln faces the sky.
He pitches copper into the air
the way his friends throw birdseed;
he likes to be someone's else luck.
And now on every fallen cent
I see the face of the threadbare penny man.

It's amazing how creative advertisers can be regarding ways to get users to click on online ads. This particular ad allowed me to create my own holiday greeting. If they only put that much energy into their regular product offerings and/or customer service, there might be no need to Save the Internet.

Happy holidays to all... my previous post regarding DoubleClick ads aside, I do have a real holiday card for you all. Here it is: