The Reset Kingdom

2011-11-22T16:17:00.001-08:00

OR,
THE MONSTER DESTROYED.
AN ADDRESS ORIGINALLY DELIVERED AT POMFRET, CONN.,

theloversINCOMPLETE

2011-11-05T15:44:00.001-07:00

an immovable structure fortress safety of within.
she goes to the city for food and tills her garden
she sees the boys but she hears him.
she waits and vibrates on his frequency.

The pit of the peach.

2011-09-03T17:41:00.000-07:00

ALO: Hopi name meaning "spiritual guide." ALOSAKA: Hopi myth name

2011-08-27T14:03:00.001-07:00

The North Star.

2011-08-26T10:55:00.000-07:00

2011-08-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

From birth comes birth.

2011-08-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

2011-07-23T17:55:00.000-07:00

It is not just trying to get by
I think it's really genocide.

Usually I don't feel that sad
when I hear stars have fallen from the sky.
But, today when I heard that Amy Winehouse died
I felt so sad. (Almost as sad as when Elizabeth Taylor passed away.)

I had really hoped that she would make it through the harsh game
of life
and fame
and addiction
and bad parents
and being used.

And still people I know are dropping like flies,
Even though they aren't really dead
they just aren't alive inside.
And all these people just wandering through the streets
blurry eyed and shuffling.
It is not just trying to get by
I think it's really genocide.

Up the morning.

2011-07-16T17:26:00.001-07:00

We own it.

2011-07-09T20:58:00.001-07:00

And the soothsayers
lead visions
in the bathrooms of their favorite dining halls
foul smelling pouring
defying gravity.

And no man can know the hour
and no man may know the day.

The Cardinal Directions.

2011-06-30T19:55:00.001-07:00

West is the left-hand.

Home Sweet Home.

2011-06-29T17:01:00.000-07:00

Drought and wildfires have lead to the decision by the US Department of Agriculture to declare the entire state of Texas a natural disaster.

We could make them take the oath.

2011-06-27T14:42:00.000-07:00

Someday even the priests and leaders will not be able to understand the sprawling, codified artifacts that morality has become.
The words will not have much weight because we have lost understanding of the basic building blocks; not to lie, cheat and steal.
And, as the structures crumble around us we can't pretend to be that shocked because, if we can't behave responsibly we'll have to be policed.
Isn't that right?
And, the old mans face will shake in angry disbelief because our compass is spinning out of control. and where we will go?
We'll go west.

A Secret Handshake.

2011-06-26T16:43:00.001-07:00

Transmissions.

2011-06-20T17:14:00.001-07:00

'Every man and every woman is a star.'

This is my house.

2011-06-14T00:22:00.001-07:00

'The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate made of a single pearl. The great street of the city was of pure gold, like transparent glass.'

I want to tell you.

2011-06-07T11:13:00.001-07:00

what is in the pipeline
but it's just for me.
until you go blind
and then you can see.

2011-05-27T17:53:00.000-07:00

Belated.

2011-05-10T16:29:00.001-07:00

there will be no mother deities in this pantheon.

First Tarot Spread.

2011-04-23T21:14:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 23, 2011
11:11 PM

1. Who have I been?
The Fool.
2. Who am I?
The Hierophant.
3. Who am I becoming?
The Devil.

A curious mythological concept of the cosmos.

2011-04-22T01:52:00.000-07:00

A young medium one day brought forth with joyful face as having been "revealed" to her by the spirits a construct that resembled other occult "systems" scattered about in works to which this girl would have no access.

Hexed.

2011-04-09T22:42:00.000-07:00

2011-03-23T23:09:00.000-07:00

been feeling so inspired lately.
i've found something i truly believe,
the kingdom comes.

r.i.p. elizabeth taylor, if there is a heaven it just got a lot more glamorous

2011-03-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

reset kingdom lost,
reset kingdom regained.

In the future from the past.

2011-02-04T18:34:00.000-08:00

'The accompanying crosses and anchors indicate that the evocation of the dead was performed in exactly the same manner as that of the Devil, with the sole difference that the dead person's name was substituted for the Devil's.' - Emile Grillot de Givry, ' Illustrated Anthology of Sorcery, Magic and Alchemy'

3511

2011-01-12T23:21:00.000-08:00

In memoriam.

If

2011-01-06T10:57:00.001-08:00

if there ain't gonna be no nigger jim
in huck finn,
then why are we even writing again?

Shake a leg.

2010-12-16T17:33:00.000-08:00

Whirling Dervishes, Semazenler, Dervisler

2010-12-11T23:23:00.000-08:00

When I was a boy.

2010-11-22T13:08:00.000-08:00

My grandfather told me that his earliest memory was seeing a girl walk out of church and be killed by a lightening bolt.

Adamant leave.

2010-10-14T12:03:00.000-07:00

'You lie like the Devil."

Give me 2,000 years,

2010-10-06T14:14:00.001-07:00

and they will worship me too.

All along the watchtower.

2010-09-30T10:37:00.000-07:00

'i'd be right happy to talk about my soul.
i'll tell you about my life of sin while i do my chores.
now fella's, there was this one time i could not abide all the lust in my heart.'

your black socks thought they would save another,
i said 'no,'
and my will was done.

posted by lee deville at 12:45 PM

Good ole boys 33: The salt mines.

2010-07-25T12:54:00.000-07:00

The king survey's his land out a window as dirty as a tear-filled eye. He takes a step back in time, to his childhood when the land was still beautiful and verdant, the womb from which humanity truly arose. He can see the garden grow tired and dry, used up by hands and mouths until it collapsed revealing a more tasteful treasure. They became the richest kingdom in the world, their salt mines belching forth wealth as the hands and mouths tore at it, making the hole deeper and deeper until the reached the pit of the earth, a place that the sanctimonious might called hell. The chasm then opened its mouth and out came the translucent cloud bringing death.
As his people wailed in torment outside the spiked gates of his royal home he was safe because of those fallen that had came before him. With wealth came treachery. He had meticulously planned for every disaster in his palace of many rooms, each named after a betrayed leader requiring never-ending construction so that the rooms might hold all the abandoned souls. He walked to the door of his office, clouds of dust exploding with each step of his carefully shined loafers. "Goddamnit" spilled out of the mouth that used to great dignitaries. He was now the one that had to shine his shoes because all his maids had died long before.
"Eaves, come here" he yells down an echoing corridor the words tangle like a primitive death prayer with the drum beat of Eaves hammer. They are the only two people still alive in this gilded mausoleum. The rough man follows the softer hands up the stairs and into a dusty room. The princess levitates on her bed, a curvy body indicating her wealth, the makeup on her still cheeks finally beginning to crack like a fresco. She had been miraculously preserved by some merciful force, so that the king could come sit with his darling girl even in death. Her closed eyes still brought him the same joy he had experienced back when they sparkled like the crown jewels.
They both looked at the body with reverence the craftsman's rubber-band mouth with scarred lips chewing on his thoughts until they broke free, "Sir, is it time for my pick-me-up?"
The king looked at his graying servant with defeated eyes and said to him, "No, Eaves there is no more pick-me-up. We will have to cease construction immediately." The king tried to continue with pride through the words as scalding tears began to roll down the other man's face. "You may leave, if you like, and try to find your way out there but, without finishing what we have built I will surely die." His head bows as he says, "Eaves, I dismiss you, you may go."
"Oh my king," he bawled, "I have done everything I could do with my hands to serve you and now, I leave you with a broken heart. May we meet again on the other side."
As the king watches the old man stumble through the desert outside he begins to flip the switches on his oxygen mask containment suit opening his nose to the invasion of the stagnant air that erupted from the pit. He dropped to the ground in a spasm as the violent winds outside blew the master craftsman off his feet. They both died in silence.
It was not long after that the boys struggled into the stagnant foyer. The living ghosts joyfully partook of the canned meats in the pantry of the once great home and stuffed some extra's in their tattered bags before going along on their way. They did not unlock any of the upper rooms, the smell of death was too strong.

Kingdom come.

2010-05-20T21:32:00.000-07:00

i have been seeing the news every day,
and the weather that changes and tornadoes that swoop out of nowhere
and pull the righteous right out of the bible belt
in an akimbo rapture.
they never thought they would have feared it all so much
but that old story book never said god wasn't scary.
i have been having delusions of grandeur,
i have been seeing the world through the eyes of a prophet.

and whenever i look into the darkness
that has been told ever since duality was created when
the pouted lips of eve but into that first tart apple,
or at least since the story got around enough that the faithful
were born.
and whenever i look into that darkness all i can see
is the light shining through.
it has to be the searchlights of a new kingdom.

and, mostly the newscasters just freak out about the weather
waving their hands, their cheap sports coats stirring up
imaginary circles
in a lewd ritual
so they can get their 15 minutes.
and more often than not the clouds always just lift up and move on.
they can offer us no bridge to the future,
the tornadoes never dipped down to take away our old house.

Good ole boys 2.

2010-05-08T23:23:00.000-07:00

So the two boys began to walk across the expanse that filled their eyes and their lungs and even rudely tried to crawl itself into their very pores which left them itching ruthlessly as they dug their mark into the sand. They didn't talk much and when they did speak it was mostly the small one that would do the talking while the other boy, with his deep eyes behind the shield of glasses, just listened and sometimes added a deep vibrato to the end of the thoughts.
The boys came to the top of the hill they had been trudging up and were illuminated by sparkling tones that danced across their broad shoulders. There stood a living corpse, a man that was almost florescent from his sallowness his lips hung miraculously off his face with a dejected lull. As they got closer to him he began to animate, seemingly sucking some energy off the nondescript tent next to him. "Hey there, gentlemen. I imagine you're feeling pretty tired, I can see you've been walking pretty far," he drawled at them his gaze redirecting them to their steps stretched behind their backs like a shadow carved into the ground. The taller boy did not turn around to look. "I got something in this tent, something that could give you all your juice back, you'll be buzzing again in no time." His speech took a wild swing as he began to speak more frantically. "This is something that no man is likely to see, something that you must search for but you will never find." He stopped and started again with a sputter, "I'll show you boys, if you're really sure that you can handle it." The shorter boy jumped forward, like a marionette. "Are you certain, no refunds!" The shorter boy jumped forward, like a marionette. "Alright, I'll give you a little peak."
The whole earth seemed to move with the tent flap and every neck within ten miles craned to see inside. A dark void washed over them, as massive bodies arched over their heads. Each body looked unique except for the fix they had on their faces, a relaxation that shouldn't be attempted by mere mortals. The ground mumbled with a percussive hum.
"Now, don't look too hard, we've gotta get to some business first." The world was immediately rearranged and they were back in the heat of things just them with the animated dead man. "You like what you saw, huh? Well, for just a little price, I'll let you in. You could change your whole life, be part of the act?"
The smaller boy looked away as a breeze reminded him of the world around him. "Well, mister, I don't know. We really ought to be going." He struggled to turn away from the comforts of the tent. "We can't waste too much time here," he growled.
"Boy, you can never waste your time here. Cause here's here's the true secret..." his mouth twisted on the words seducing them with its movements, "at least by embracing the nothing, you are running from something.
So you see,
you are still moving.
and nothing can stop you."
He leaned in conspiratorially, "But, it'll cost ya. For you two nice boys I'll let you both in for just the price of one. Just five little dimes. I know, I know, it's the Holy of Holies but, boys, I've got to feed my belly."
The smaller boy lead the way in, the other boy followed. They were held by an embracing hollowness. They didn't notice when the tent was packed up and moved on nor did they feel the hum being slowly sucked out of them. The smaller boy eventually was jarred awake and stumbled outside. The other boy was already waiting for him. He pulled his bag upon his shoulders and they began to walk again into a brighter sunset the younger boy saying, "That huckster back there never had me, I just thought you might enjoy the show."
"Hum."

Good ole boys 1.

2010-05-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

I have been working just to get high. Everyday the salty blessings of exertion baptize me as I do the work of a true man, something I have never considered myself to be. I have a bed and some food, but by the time I get to that fading shack in the woods where we stay, I never really need it.
We all fight over the best scraps to blast us into godhead until we are left hiding beneath the windows, waiting for the morning to come barging in.
I lay under a pealing, open pane, that used to rest cooling pies, curled into a ball trying to remember the warmth of my momma before she became so frigid. My muscles ache waiting for the next punishment, my belly knotting up like play-doh.
There is another boy here, he seems about my age. I think he's educated somehow. He don't say much but when he does it's real good. When he sits next to me in public the women look at us and ask outta their darker eye if we might be twins. I hope he isn't like me.

Eventually, the boss man falls into a funk and the work stops. There isn't any money to be made here in this ghost town, and no more fun to be had.
I go up to the boy, the one that is regrettably like me, and start to talk, "I don't reckon you have much reason to stay here, so I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"
He looks up, slow to the register, so I continue, "I was thinking that we might go West, look for some new work. Two boys like us that already know we can work together, we have all the chance in the world. You scratch my back you know I'll scratch yours." He still doesn't say anything even regarding the innuendo of it all. A haunted look creeps into my eyes behind my implied bravado, "At any cost, we have to keep moving."
He finally smiles at me, his pencil thin lips parting his face, and says slowly, "That's the golden rule."
We look at the compass that has risen in the sky and start walking.

They came here to die.

2010-04-27T22:53:00.000-07:00

The sun sets long in the land where everyone comes to die, a place of long faces, long hearts, long stories and long balls. The lines at the drug stores wrap around the corner and everyone there knows your name, and how long you've got cause it's etched as deep into your soul as the hunger of coke in a whore's eyes. No one has to walk, they just roll around on wheels more similar to the makings of an angel than they know.
I came here just for a visit but the roots grew up my legs. Now that I am unable to lift my feet I sit in the row of shotguns peering out a dirty window into the main drag. All of us searching for new blood as the dirt slowly reclaims us.
We gotta roll around and see what we can find to envelope like a protazoa, the cycle turned all the way around, and boy you weren't paying attention.
When the young come here, you know, just to get away, they think they are gonna come for just a second but as they step into town their insides start rearranging and they turn gray and rocky like the moon. They know that before long, if they don't get the operation their going to die, so they start currying favors in the eyes of the tough bunch. Maybe if they close their eyes too they can tough it out.
But the days turn to months, and they stop eating, and they start shitting blood, and they stop feeling. But, at least they are moving forward.
As long as there's trajectory you haven't really lost anything, right?
That's what the old folks say, and you wanna act like you're something different but, in the end we all turn out the same, a kernel or dirt that blow's around aimlessly in the wind and then parks its ass on the same Earth it started out on, and the cycle recycles.
As long as there is a trajectory you haven't really lost anything.

Nothing wrong.

2010-04-20T20:22:00.001-07:00

Dark haired princess from the continent that’s the darkest. She has coal in her eyes and she can see nothing unless she has planned it years upon years in advance. She loves to burn the bodies of others, ruin the life of the pedestrians.
She’s on a boat. She’s beebopping in the rhythm of a Nordic explorer. She’s with her man, who may not be the man but he’s a man with all the equivalent parts. He’s the traveler that's forever moving in you. He is always changing, with the aid of a steel horse; he is constantly cheating death.
He was supposed to die 14 years ago, so he was told by the head mystic of the princess’ reign. He kept going because if he never stopped moving, then death couldn’t sneak up on him. He’d had several battles with the outdated specter already; each time he had slashed mortality with a gaudy knife he kept in his fake third leg.
The water was making a crumbling sound, like intestines after a big shot of coke.
“Straight to the heart,” the mover and shaker said to the princess, wooing her with words stolen from the universal script. “We’re going to need another pop top.”
She pulled a small vial out of her hair and her color paled slightly in the presence of the substance, pure distillation from the mystic. It was her soul in commercial form. He snatches it from her and puts in a pipe that he begins burning and they both detach their noses to get more fumes. He takes her all in one breath.
It was the most enhanced of the intoxicants, besides when he’d got all he needed out of her, he wouldn’t need her, death would take her, and leave him be. He had many more rugs to cut.
“Health concerns nothing wrong with doing this stuff, as long as you’re still moving.”

Bat's Saloon

2010-04-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

Peter rambled into town his guns trained on everyone; he had finally lost his trust in men but, it had been so much harder than misplacing his trust in god. It had been a long time since he had been in this town; his journeys had taken him to lands as rough as whiskey was on his throat. The sun in all those skies marking his once soft skin. He had a limp since most of his left foot was gone, his breath was a labored sigh as his lungs were long collapsed, his left arm had jaundiced and fallen off. But repeatedly, even though he was only half a man, he had dragged himself back to this place.
He hadn’t let himself die because he told her he would be back. During this return home he had lost his horse and had pulled himself the last miles along the desert floor only pausing to drink from the mirages they only have in the middle of nowhere.
His eyes scanned the faces of the town, familiar but fraudulent, and then they turned to the great scarecrow of a structure cascading desperation waterfalls out of stained glass windows. The sign above the door screamed at him but he could barely hear it with ears desensitized by gunfire, ‘BAT’S SALOON!’
Peter walked through the swinging doors, careening into them so that they groaned on their hinges, his feet padded carpet as cracked as the parched dirt outside. A careful scan of the room revealed nothing but a piano playing by itself, a bartender that was only a blur of bones, an old man sitting at a table looking at a whore and declaring, "blowjobs are only for the mentally deranged," and then asking, “where’s the salt, anyone worth a salt would have some.” Peter moved to light a cigarette and remembered he only liked smoking when he was alone.
He put his six-shooter back in its holster after aiming at everyone so that it would be familiar in a pinch and limped up to the bar where he ordered a bourbon as dry as sandpaper. His failing ears detected a door that slammed by the top of the staircase and he looked up to see Bat, the proprietor, dart from a room her face glowing with indecency. This woman, a whore in her own right, was his true love.
She was radiant under strict curls, cut shorter than the last time he had seen her, her body was drawn and smaller. He knew that even though it was the result of hunger, she liked it. Bat saw Peter and covered her eyes with a pair of sunglasses so she wouldn’t have to look too closely. “Hello stranger,” she said nonchalantly after moving down the stairs and then followed him without a word outside where her stagecoach was waiting in the sunset that had come earlier than usual. The two of them climbed in and their knee’s nestled as they reminisced, she had been busy and he had been dying.
The two shared another glass of smokey whiskey parked on a cliff while comets crisscrossed overhead like ribs over their hearts. He pulled her close as a horseman attempting atrocity took a swan dive into the canyon below with a sickening landing she could hear but he could not. Finally, he found the words he wished to tell her, “Bat, I can’t keep doing this, I’ve lost too much of myself, a foot in the desert, a lung in the mines, my good arm on the water with the pirates and a full heart here with you. I don’t want to love you anymore. I can’t be obliged to keep coming back. I only want to die alone.” Bat, didn’t react, she gave him a new horse upon their return to the saloon. He sighed while he hugged her. As he sped away he heard the gunshots whizzing by his head. He knew one would hit its mark, and he knew it was the only way he could lose the pain he was filled with.

Exorcising Demons.

2010-03-10T21:08:00.001-08:00

I remember when I was a little child and my mom was having "problems"
My grandma got my mother and I all dressed up and took us on to a
tacky conference room in a mid-priced hotel
in one of the grey, nameless suburbs around Dallas.
We dutifully filled a row of scratchy, magenta chairs.
Our little family led by one of her friends from the apocalyptic bible study she taught,
another old lady, with a fiery helmet of hair, and glasses like windshields.
I was on the end, next to a pale man with a sunken face
a little wisp of hair on his head.
He kept bumping into me with his legs
and I would press closer to my pillow-like grandma.
I almost burrowed under her artificial tit when he began to growl,
a low rumbling,
as the preacher walked down between the chairs
searching each face with his beady, eagle eyes.
The corpse-like man next to me shot out of his chair screaming like a banshee
ready to rip out those piercing eyes to escape whatever hole they burned in his soul.
He was stopped by a raised bible and fell in the floor,
confessing in tears that he was a child molester,
possessed by demons.

During that time my mom threw out all of her Alice Cooper albums,
thinking they were somehow a portal to hell,
and opted for the musical stylings of a former touring keyboardist from Santana
who sang, "got a born-again woman" in a slow-minded parody.
But at night she would still see the red eyes in the shadows
when she drank too much.
If I heard her crying
I would try to remind her of the blank check my grandma gave the preacher,
he said it would save us from ever being afflicted.

But, even, when my grandma lay dying
she whispered in my ear that the woman across the hall in the cold hospital
would come into her room at night and snakes would pour from her skull,
she would try to steal her soul.
And, after she was gone my grandpa would scream in the darkness,
as he fell into madness,
alone in their bedroom,
"Help me, help me, the demons are trying to take me!"

There must have been insufficient funds in the family account for salvation.

At night, when I lay in bed unable to sleep these memories that haunt me
and the pain that my broken body feels
must be the demons that are dragging the little boy to hell.