Twenty-Three


Bare it now, bare all things, in the trouble that life brings, come on down, come on down, at twenty-three let spirit drown. Not in pain, or numbing fame, in glossy pictures from cultural stain. Turn around, turn around, reflections they are a game. Ghost they dance, on full display, in the mountains, in the night of the desolate desert where I knew not to play. Be it now, be a queen, for nothing ever love’s you like the word’s, the syllables and sounds that come from a king. Understand it at once, do not wait, for life is to short, and that which has no name, cannot contain, for you Kaitlyn it will not wait, at twenty-three without sound it cannot be explained. Love it now, that seed, I’m in you, better than faith, easier to say. For what swam forth found its way, in love oh how it came, and it became you, while feelings sang, biology made my love you.

Be the firebird, be the rain, make a choice, at twenty-three, choose an unreturnable way, I know right now that sounds insane. Be the warrior, that G_D loves to blame, for nothing at all but that, will last forever. Say hello, sweet hello, an echo in the value of accurate love forever. Raise the goddess, fly the change, human instance, born where those without soul, can never play. Wear it now, be it yourself, while the love of a burning G_D changes your shadow forever.

Past away, I’m past away, at fifty-six I’m aged forever. At twenty-three, your bound, with nothing seen and it does not matter. Drowning now encased in Daemons, now without notice a risen frailty, a man that G_D loves, your father is not so clever. It binds you now, without fear, everything has changed, and all that is me, is you, in endeavor, my familiar encased in love in you forever. When I am gone, I’m never gone, for my footstep is in your heart, and with it my love is you, forever. My love is you forever!

For my daughter Kaitlyn who turns Twenty-three upon this day, my seed, of my love for her, nothing will ever change. Love exists! – 08-12-2017 – Dad (דָּנִיֵּאל)

The Child you used to Know (Dragons)


“When the prison doors are open, the real dragon will fly out.” Ho Chi Minh

“The child you used to know is a dragon.” דָּנִיֵּאל

The questions I ask myself are many, perhaps you’d like some too, share if you will this seat right next to me looking down upon this tumultuous view. Perched above the world. Here upon rocks our butts growing colder, looking out on a human sea. Dare ask yourself with me, or unto yourself mutter, what is it we should be? Challenge your mind in triangulation, use a debate that’s not won easily. Twist yourself backwards in confabulation, stare straight ahead in obligation, but really it matters not to me. Go on and rest your head, backwards upon the cold slab that’s red, a granite unlike most, my wife tells me it’s garnet the stone of a ghost. Can you feel it sing, vibrating right through your seams, a choir of electromagnetic that screams?

Beware the ground so far below, think not of yourself, but how you should know, if you’re really free, sitting so high in eternity. Are you a beggar or a holy host, a victim of logic, or a trainer of ghost? For just between you and me, I’d rather an adventure, than to grow old grace free. For now, that you’re here beside me, I’ll tell you in short words what’s behind, what’s we. That slab of cold garnet’s that turning warm, upon it is keys of the future that’s born. Behind you and I is a dragon unloosed, crafted in heaven and hell so new. Turning inside and outside too, shaking your soul, to enter you. Call up the fears of all you see below, they cannot save your old life from the child you used to know.

The sun stands still so near in the sky, just like it did when the five kings died. Nothing worth ventured brings only still death, I can’t hold you up now, there’s no room on this ledge. The fire of the garnet has melted the sheath, of that, heavy garment that held such defeat. Everything calls out your new born name, that from above, is dragons wings. Somewhere somebody’s playing Black Sabbath in jest, probably those losers headed up here next. Doesn’t matter to us were too young to know. We’re turning inside and outside too, letting the dragon be born anew, and were laughing as we go, for nothing can save us from the child we used to know. That beautiful child we used to know!

The blood of a dragon it crests on your face, developing a map, charting toward Avalon, a far better place, that seat on that ledge, seems lost to you now, for your mapping heaven, the child that is you, knows not how, but now!

Dedicated to my Susan, (I Love you) who has unloosed the dragon in me. – 08.09.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Carlotta


“Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor. I cast you to the ground; I put you before kings, that they may see you”. – Ezekiel 28:17

Letters moving within letters, sounds within sounds, flesh unto flesh, and then, and then…

A ripping of the temple curtain, that which blankets the sky. The giving of flesh, the naming of the daughter of man, breathing into her “Carlotta”, for she wishes to be free, and her expulsion from that high altar called grace, to the coven of Whitby, where she will always remain!

Stories come to her like the night birds do, falling, their angel red lips open, screaming, descending from the highest womb of beauty. Falling their mouths forming pictures, and passions and finally impotent, silent as the earth draws them into her bend, termed the pale. She moves away from the water, the North Sea has forced the channels flow, and the best that she can do, is ignore the dark angels who hit the sandy shore, and oft to the cold dark sea they go. Her eyes strike a silver pale, unlike her father’s, gold, an affront his tenor voice says, somewhere so oft below. The moors outside of Whitby, surround her now. In by the flowing Esk she goes, so near to the manor where the light of the hearth does glow. Black curls they fall around her, and tangle in a bow, they move as in progression to touch her breast below. The softness holds a heat no man will ever know. Inside of her in a small place, she goes to rest, for even there, her father, can’t hear the shadow words she chants behest.

She could have fallen by order, the last but not the first, the sons of men in frenzy, they scrambled on the earth. The place and time of entry, the past before the flood, that place where great leviathans crafted within and out the sons. It matters not, this she knows, for when she fell so fast below, picked she Whitby with its time that never ends, eternal life, she thinks and smiles. She turns and takes her feet to fly, matters not, her human size, other things are new inside, she turns and grins at her father lost in the sky. The stars look back so cold, some still falling, their judgement within.

The moors they reek of bastards, hidden from a grace, in lower bogs and pastures, the earth becomes their place. It could be she’s home with them, but something is calling her, calling within, a musky smell, and bathing in gin, an innocence lost, but she’s already sinned, she laughs, and runs towards Lucy’s garden so fast. The damp marsh air, tangles her hair, her collar has come undone. And how should she present herself to Mina and the circle itself. Her gifts undiscovered, but for light she has seen, discovered the secrets behind the veil. Was she not a princess the first born above, created when Adam made Lilith his love, or at least her father has told her so, that he mentioned before he told her no.

The fires are glowing from windows arched above, and Resa’s at the gate, her fingers moving making stitches in the air. I watched you fall, she smiles, you’ll be with us for such a while. “When Lucifer fell he took a third of the angels with him”, she says, “but none such as you, none such as you”. And with the sweetest touch, that feeling of magic, before the sun comes up, she smiles like an old friend or a lover that’s new, and says come inside, theirs such a mystery and so much mischief for us to do. – 08.04.2017 – דָּנִאֵל

By the Hours


Authors Note: I have only asked this before, once. If you start the unbelievable music below by Philip Glass, before you read, that which is sewn together by mystery and the sirens gasp. If that you start before you read “by the hours” then you too, will know, you will know!

“Every extraordinary occurrence unsettles the heads of hundreds of thousands of men for a few moments or hours or days.” – Mark Twain

By the hours when the flesh dies to knowledge, hands so carefully placed to feel, transferring faith on cold stones of remembering only good thoughts, while some are still sealed. In the dark here a boy on stone so cold, I see them move. Oh, they transfuse. In the dark, keepers are sleeping, staying quietly, air up above, angels of “El” meet phantoms of love. By the hours, when equity meets love, thought is, thinking thought is! And it meets conditions, hallelujah, alleluia, and all is thought, by the hours, as Samael moves in notes, by stanzas look around, behind you with such a spirit, does that feeling move, is it without a sound. Oh, you will see even while the day comes, the next day, with tides, decreed by G_D she moves. And the times by numbers, for you who can see, beyond me, the picture is all beyond me, for I am everything, I am nothing, by the hours, oh spirit that dwells so ingrained in all that is you, that which is strange, not by man, your eternal light unto me.

By the hours, great seconds, by the clocks man made, under nourished man, oh knowledge, you cannot fathom, where great giants do lay. A quiet space, beyond the sun’s rays, when air is suspended, upon the grave. Oh, perpetual feeling, all that, that is against nothing, the final escape. Into thy places, the dare that goes alone, and I without known beauty, into your secrets there my so long forsaken grave, that great kingdom, next to your seraphim, by the hours in their mystery I find my home. Such is this place, I have never known. A wonder still I must know.

By the hours in language, unspoken, but yet still alone, where phantoms, bestow wisdom, they give unto others, now unto me it’s finally shown. And this in life is mystery, as in death it is by angels bemoaned, that earth in her time is a beauty, as in your breath, all wonder bestowed, and by the hours there are favors, that each second this gift is grown. For G_D does not judge that which is compassion, that given, that by the hours which you do own! In life do not let it go, for in death, by the hours, you will not ever go! You will not ever go! – 07.23.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Fisher King (Gratitude)


Be still, so still, the spirit says to me, the Fisher King need not speak, but oh how you will weep, in lessons learned you will weep.

The Fisher King, the last in line, set upon the pale. A gloom it comes, a devils wound, this way it fly’s as well. the angels how they failed. Fish on, fish on, your heart may it break, let nothing conceal your pain. Instead be thankful for this tender day. For one who test you, your mettle known, has given you the field to play. Then play it well. Play it well.

The Fisher King, he’s covered in ashes, buried in places, that no dream can ever come to be believed. This distance it’s covered not in words, a broken place. Spirit and ghost, it be. Here beneath a crooked tree. And all this brings us to the place, a weeping shadowed well. Where a broken pride, turns to the torn sepia sky, that my friend which holds your key in spite. And it screams till the daemons cannot keep their peace, yells to the yellow sun. Falling like Gabriel fell, crying to the holy mystery. My G_D, my G_D, how dust thou find me. In a place where no one sees. The flames licking my destiny, destroying this lame effigy. My Adonai, the malice once planned, in my secret places, dusted clean, burning with the things I need. Burning with the things I need.

The Fisher King is lost in adventure, a bend in a river, the moving waters, the waters so deep. One moment a question, the next a frustration, all this for a journey, that isn’t complete. This cup for the dying, not for the living, could be its better, the life we don’t reap. And not in a forest glen, or a hallowed Arthurian chapel then, with crosses and swords or bows of kind. But deep in the bedroom of my mind, I see what’s hard to believe, the Fisher King is me, such a simplicity. And then in gratitude I turn, to climb the lost steps back through the wound, to fly into the sky, moving in magic all boundaries removed. Motionless, beautiful, the sun in my eyes, my lips held together, I kiss the face of my sweet Adonai. In gratitude.

In gratitude! – 07.15.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Glam


“I always had the repulsive need to be something more than human”. – David Bowie

Isn’t it time, you stopped looking through the eyes, where you can’t see, tore that mask, that hides your beauty, let your love be glam and free!

Upon a night, such as this one, when the dragon came to me. Opened its own mysteries, and it said its time to see. That the way you identify a problem is the issue you can’t see, for the answers in the glitter of what you want to be. All my life I’ve heard voices, from both inside and outside of me. Each with their own hypnotic trances, order and in tranquility, order, based on my consumption of what they would have me be. But tonight, while there is something, that flies backwards across the moon, I will take a small discretion, and my mask will slip into its eternity.

This old world has maps and orders, closet trans genders in board rooms, good people who die for a little money, that prostitutes them to their doom, behind each mask there is a glory, a rhyme that has a truth or two, and now the devils in the details, but my real face is coming through. I say hello Mr. Bolan, Alice Cooper, eyeliner darker than most, Ziggy Stardust up in heaven, whose moves G_D loves the most. Those who say you’re just hiding are the ones who just are never free. Isn’t it time you loved your beauty, fly the dragon, unmask with me.

Ever since I was a little boy there’s been something wanting to escape me. What a joy it was to discover, it was the death mask that I could not see. For the artist that rest upon you is not a candle, a small flame that most can’t see, it’s a wild fire surging, most times uncontrollably. In glam I write a wild fervor, that comes and takes your soul, isn’t it time you came to truth and let yourself go!

Isn’t it time, you stopped looking through the eyes, where you can’t see, tore that mask, that hides your beauty, let your love be glam and free!

For keeping a promise to Mr. Waite, whom I admire his glam the most! – 07.07.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Sing (The Eternal)


Psalms 101: 1 – A Psalm of David. I will sing of mercy and justice unto thee, O Adonai, will I sing praises.  

And under Jacob’s ladder, and upon the eternal I will sing!

From the emptiness of a voided desert place, you bring those notes that most would think insane, and in my death of these old spirits, that which would bring me pain, I sing!  In Deuteronomy’s darkness, in requiting insanity, I sing, better when I lie naked with these things, still you say, unto me let your eternal soul sing!

You have summoned me from the Colorado, from Burlington to Cortez on shades of gray. I am born upon the plains, and everything around me sings, and so I sing. From the depths of my drunkenness I will sing, everything surrounding me can proclaim, yes it can proclaim! Everywhere around me in the prairie to the mountains fill it with your grace, Hashem, you are eternity, you are my madness, you are my light and in your universal confusion, oh ancient of days I sing. A plus and an equal has always been misplaced, for algebra, would teach us, that a proper equation would bring us the answer to all things. For you have subtracted me into the end of days, but still I will sing. For G_D of everything, you have raised me Damien high, to rise above the angels, the son of the morning star, above all darkness I am crossed in lightning, and by your will, oh Adonai I will sing. Death cannot stop me, I will sing. Bones all around me, still Elisha who sets my feast, says in languages so old, oh Daniel sing.  In El your countenance sings!

You have given me a highway that always follows north, to the snow, to the judgment of the long-forgotten kings. And when you gave me leave by your wavering northern lights lace, you instilled within me a rebellion, that says still sing. For you are my creator, not a ghost on a cross, or a savior filled with blood filled things. You are the wind of Pan upon my Hebrew wings, you are not textbook, you are the G_D of my everything. My everything!

So, you raise me like the phoenix, bless my troubles anyway, and I praise you for the trouble, I bring my magic down to sing. And when you raise me from the brokenness, my teeth gritted in pain, I will sing, for you are my everything. My commandment, you are the is, you are blessed beyond my jagged scars, I am your voice, you are my song my Hashem, I will sing. I will sing!

For G_D of everything, you have raised me Damien high, to rise above the angels, the son of the morning star, above all darkness I am crossed in lightning, and by your will, oh Adonai I will sing.

From the emptiness of a voided desert place, you bring those notes that most would think insane, and in my death of these old spirits, that which would bring me pain, I sing! Deuteronomy’s darkness, in requiting insanity, I sing, better when I lie naked with these things, still you say, unto me let your eternal soul sing!

And under Jacob’s ladder, and upon the eternal I will sing! – 07.02.2017 –  דָּנִיֵּאל