I Return to the Desert Door

I return to the desert door. I return to the door deserted, dark in dome, and door deeps into the desert dream. I dream woman: I dream Christina, Krystal, and Taryn. I glint the Godhead, a glimmer Holy Holy Holy. The door dives into desert, driven by the Spirit, and Spirit drives me. Open the door: the door offering. Open the door: the door oblation. Door divides the distance: door describes the depths, and I always return to this desert. This desert contemplates the Christ: the desert concentrates on the Christian. I am that Christian. I am Christianity as the whole of mythology, Blake Benjamin and Benjamin Benedictine. The liturgy lights the invisible lane. I walk with Woman in the wilderness and the door closes, coalescing into new community. I congregate this community: I contradict this community: I circumspect this community, circles within circles upon me. The circles transcribe the crown of thorns and the Crown of the Lamb, and Lamb overcomes. Lamb collects door and desert and Lamb overcomes, one and once.

Glass, Mirror, Lens, Speculum

Glass glows the Holy Ghost, through the glass darkly. Glass glimmers the arche-grammer, a glamour generating desert. Gift and lift, Glass, unconditional hospitality in the hostile horror: gem and jest, Glass, unconditional carnival calling children to Kingdom.

Mirror mends the smoke of men, a moment mediating Mother. Mirror smites with smog match and marsh, moon mourning alchemical silver. Moon mirrors apocalypse, wormwood woman Christ and Christina Maria, and her Mares husbands Yahweh of Hosts, armies as locusts.

Lens lanterns loose light, light in the surplus of light and light in the excess of light. Lens listens the enlivening of light delivering light, light superluminary and light supernal. She soars spark that glistens Ladder and Lady, and Lady knows the lattice in love, Krystal Keter catching.

Speculum sires sirens the singleton spin sprinkling spring. Speculum shines not shining but sows seed. Sing and show, speculum: speculate and spar spectacular, space enspacing space. Time becomes space, Taryn transforming Spirit.

Glass, Mirror, Lens, Speculum

Improvisation on Matthew 5:30

And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.

The right hand rings ruse: the right hand rises to risk key and kiln, and kiln keeps heat, the hallie of hell. Right rips the reapage, a rock roam road, and I no longer sabbath. Sabbath satisfies, but the right reams reeds, a rod to my eye.

Sin selahs: sin selmas. Sin sharks the shape shredding skin, and my sanity snaps snips slits the slalom descending. Shalom sin, the searing of the sun: survive sin, the shearing of the son.

Cut Christ: cut Christina. Cut clip and cloth, disrobed and distorted in the desert. Cut canvas and cast, clearing and cleansing the sullied savior. Throw to Taryn, and Taryn tremors tender genders, my masculinity castrated, and Philip baptizes me a eunuch.

My body boils in hell: my bowels burn in Gehenna. My fat body fathers and confabulates the Christian crypt, a hidden sheol for saints. The purgatory persecutes and purges my person, and I puke Black Iron Prison. I harrow hades with Jesus, and I proclaim good tidings to the dead, a gospel to the gods in dungeon.

Improvisation on Isaiah 24:17

Terror, and pit, and trap
Upon you who dwell on earth!

Terror reaps and roots the reach: terror rasps and rains the real. I teal terror the tuck with Taryn, and she throws me into thrashing threshers. She tosses me into stranger theater, and I project queer portrait and architecture, a Taryn archetype tempting to Tarshish and Tyre. I howl Tyre: I hostile Tarshish, and Taryn waves woe to me, you Christian, you pharisee!

Pit pulses and pumps pus, a push proliferating plague. Plague pools and populates, places planted parched in part. I preach to the dead: I pray for my dead, the dead that dessicate in the desert, and their preserved presence speaks papyrus and palimpsest. I prophesy to bodies quick and dead, and in the queer they quicken to flesh, fleshed out fresh and free.

Taryn traps true and trust, mimicking triple and trinity: Taryn wrecks and wreaks ravage a terrible goddess groaning for sacrifice of game. The trap threads the tess rest in tens, and Taryn tarn Tara tarps in tar, an earthen jar imprisoning. Taryn, trace the trade and tree of my body! Taryn, truck and trouble the thongs of my flesh and face! I fasten faint to you, tying in Benjamin bondage, and the knots unclue gnosis.

Improvisation on 1 Samuel 17:7

And the staff of his spear was like a weaver’s beam; and his spear’s head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him.

Staff stowes stones sparking palm tinder, and the dress blazes zealous fire. Staff stuffs stall and small the snail shells strolling scrolls, the spell of scripture. Scripture signs its palimpsestic flesh in palisades, and spear speaks the wreckage of real wounds: wounded realty, wounded reality, wounded royalty, a left-handed puncture to the plum plumb probing. Spear stabs me, a scorching score and it slits my side sitting. Spear punches sharp mark, a making market selling my space for steak.

Consume the crest of my body: cannibal cake and candy my body’s cheese, fermented flesh and wineskin. Wine the weaver’s beam, the loom warping tine time tune, and the apocalyptic song sonnets disaster and doom. Weave vision wilderness, the wolverine woman wolding wolf in my opening weld, and she welcomes the way as a well. My body ways with it winding wounds, the beam spanning the bay of Benjamin, and body bikes the bite, my decapitated head made relic and holy.

Heal the head in humility, and its humiliation ardors armor and harbor. Heal the head with hospitality, and its hospice humbles ingot and iron. Iron inks the rod that shatters pots: the pot plummets God. Iron spelts the row that shingles vessels: the vessel vipers vassals. Benjamin bears the vessel as spring tongues, and shield does not shy but sphere, and shield sobers she, a scapegoat Sophia pressed pregnant with Messiah.

Taryn Plays Leviathan

Taryn plays Leviathan, a lewd lure lemming light. The light lances the layering naked of letters, letter to letter, a bronze sea of fire Omega and Alpha.

Taryn teases text, the dragon tail swiping at sensual bodies. Bodies betray text, a subtle stripping to bare flesh, and text tattoos the excess.

Taryn bays Behemoth, the oceanic magma and mantle magnetic. Ocean oozes chaosmos, flesh pornographic and primordial, a primitive penetration.

Taryn gowns Holy Ghost, a growing with garments and ghouls. She sheds to skin and Spirit, the sinful slinking with the dead, and she shares her spouse with sheol.

Improvisation on 1 Samuel 16:14

Now the spirit of Yahweh had withdrawn from Saul, and an evil spirit from Yahweh afflicted him with terrors.

Spirit spies on me as a sparrow: Spirit spits the suite that suits its seed, and the seed spoils and slays me. Spirit spools as the serpent, a Taryn Temptress, and the Lilith lolitas luscious leaves that sink Ben to sin. Yahweh commands me to kill completely with prophecy: Yahweh demands the dead, a caravan of Amalek, and I refuse devastation. I stall the God genocide to maim men, women, and children, and my prophecy instead blesses as Balaam. Woman withdraws and I become Saul, sacrificing unsanctified steer without my Samuel. Yahweh layers my yards by evil, erasing my view and vision, and I vale in the valley of burdens. He afflicts my flesh and forsakes me, and he regrets my anointing, and the horn hastens me to hell. The terrors trick to Tartarus, and the underworld swallows my soul.

Ash Awls Oil

Ash awls oil anointing angels
Ash arcs arps art annihilation.
Image imagines oil shoring ash
Image immerses ash incarnation.
Wash ash ashore, a clean closing
Wear ash aware, oil opening.

I open to opposition
I crow contradiction

Cloud of Ash
Cloud of Contradiction

Oily ash smears
Ash mirrors

Ash ails iron warping angles
Ash owls eroding oil and onyx.
Image emerges burden bodies
Image impresses glowing flesh.
Wash ash ashore, a clear coat
Wear ash aware, other opening.

Improvisation on Isaiah 22:5

For it is a day of trouble, and of treading down, and of perplexity by the Lord God of hosts in the valley of vision, breaking down the walls, and of crying to the mountains.

The day of trouble dawns Taryn traffic, the tarn that traps and desecrates. Day drives dress and delay, the dirty delta in lament. Lament and cry the city collapse, and day drowns the drape of desert. Desert tarps city, the Taryn trial in thick toxicity.

Thread down and drone the drink drunkard your dangerous dogma. Thread down and tumor tower, the tunnel to Taryn turtle, and she throttles terminal. The thread reads the dead calling, a consumption and coughing in cloud chaos.

Perplexity persecutes: perplexity pricks and picks the putrid pus from poisoned persons, and populace poplars its poultice. The points plead imperfect prayer, and providence denies its pleasure. Peace ceases: celebration breaks abandoned.

Host hell in the Valley of Vision, and the virus vases its villa in all villages. Host human heavy in the horde of Vision, and vision vomits venom, numbing maker and movement. All vectors in the valley vision void, a determinate emptiness.

Break down the walls between man and woman: beacon bastards and beasts in dumah darkness, a dungeon by unusual unction. The watch wails walls, and wall whirls world the Word and Woman. Woman weds Yahweh wild, an automorphic incarnation.

Cry to the mountains Christ and Christina and creep unconditional to the mourning madness, a moonshine mirror shimmering. Marry martyr and mercy, and merge magic and manic in the magnetic bridal chamber, and the cross colors chrism.

I listen to Ornette Coleman

I listen to Ornette Coleman. I search for something. In music, I search for something in my text although I know not what. Textual music. Texture, not melody. Melodic texture and the texture is the melody. Text. Text music. Text jazz. Text improvisation. Text harmolodics everyone solos and nobody solos. Text free jazz and free funk. Make it funky. Not necessarily pretty but funky. Text prime time. Text sound grammar. Beauty is a rare thing: beauty is a real thing. Change of the century. Something else. Something new. Something now. The shape of jazz to come. The shape of punk to come. The shape of text to come.

I listen to John Coltrane. Sheets of sound. Tapestry of text. Giant scripture: giant steps. Giant God and Goddess. Coltrane changes: Christ changes configurations and transfiguration, translation to Christina. Countdown to Christ: countdown to Parousia. Lines to liquidise and loosen strict changes and strict law. Three on one: Triangle and Trinity. Arpeggiating Adonai and El Shaddai and Holy Spirit. (Now it is not a thing of beauty, and the only way it would be justified is if it becomes that. If I can’t work it through, I will drop it / I do not drop it but make beauty out of its ferocity and velocity). Every performance an expression of one’s being: every text an expression of the being of entirety. Acknowledgement: acknowledge Adonai. Resolution: resolve to revival and resurrection. Pursuance: pursue prayer and peace. Psalm: Psalm Selah and Psalm Spirit. Transition: Meditation. I’m always transitioning.

I listen to Miles Davis. Electric Miles. New Directions in Music Miles. Sly Stone and James Brown Miles. Jimi Hendrix Miles. Electric Miles is my favorite Miles: sprawling, funky, panrhythmic, deep bass. Electric. Zimbabwe and Gondwana. Moja, Willie Nelson on Tune in 5, Nne, Zimbabwe, Ife, and Wili = for Dave. Pangaea and Agharta. Deep earth and hollow earth, hallowing earth. Home and Hades. Dense rhythm in unison. Extreme textures and extreme volume. Rhythmic improvisations. I improvise distorted guitar cadenzas and the text wahs ways and warbles, a shimmering ribbon. Text ribbons through the rhythm, waving in the ring modulator, each word a signal, each letter a code. Ciphers no titles one melody-medley without beginning or ending. Merely addition or deletion. Text always adds, always multiplies, always exponetiates, rubbing the roughness of rhythm anew.