Sometimes In the Sun (excerpt from Bunnies For Christina)

sometimes in the sun of everything I realize the mechanistic and chaos like car parts producting Universe — clicking atoms subatomic particles (electrons slice photon or quark slice gluon), clouds probability reduced into observable reactions, spontaneous and explosions — population cycles (predator-prey models, volume flow water, linear systems and eigenvectors, the psychology of infinite mobs, cures for diseases, all from a Single Solitary Mind) and then crushing, nothing but the intolerable madness and dyson deities, burning carbon on some comet return to the Kuiper belt, injuries and beams dieties; there are no prophets but only madness. God speaks in madnesses and the prophet never shuts up. The nature being riddles and the Cartesian products of riddles / ruddles / vibraphones / dulcimers / dobros and dulcimers pounding riddles and ruddles. Existence itself is game and Go and perhaps not a creation or a created thing but an eternal existence, a steady-state axis which rotates whatever magnetic left (before it left its lover its great opposite), and the alphabet is the arithmetic is the coded language nom GOD or ANTIGOD. Whether discovery or invention — intention is the matter. Similar to super blackholes gluing galaxies end on end is the mouth and swallow of the Lake — not any lake or water, but a specific particular from which the first cells and mitochondria bubble to the boiling surface sulfur the volcanic vents on the flat drifts and tubules filament tubules and microtubules holding the whole damn thing together — water which Life springs forth and Life returns in subsequent cycles / gods also spew forth from the Lake — Sumerian gods, minotaur gods, alchemist gods, creatures and beasts who claim godhead and divine, various kinds of flesh and intelligence, faints of intelligence, flashes intelligence, buzzes lights and carusel — from Lake is both the meaning of evolution which is the gradual eventual of history and time shifts and all source mythology. It is the mythology that interests. There is no separate history and mythology, but rather the combine, the collection and recollection of sources and explanations. From tradition comes gods and from the collection comes gods. God the Father / Earth the Mother — it is necessary for one of the Earth to be Mother for Earth borns Us all. Firm Earth eldest of gods, and born from Earth is the continual Mother who nourishes blood on the bone and Benjamins — a milk grotto — Marie thorn is clepid maudelyn of whom seuene develis wenton out but forward engel y Mother, Trin Madre and drink from her breast my Mother Mary Christopher and Godding Father Looking Over Prayer El Roi. From the individual is dissent yet also combine dissenting into discovery (dorm) / chromatin create shunning Mathematics and physical laws. Mathematics is also mythology, serving the same purpose, after the same source, which is the source of the steady-state universe or beginning-state universe. The collective mythology and collective laws are same description but in different experiences. Experience for as a fixed state or moving stature in various ellipses and focalities the same which histories focals and monoliths various eratons and mathitudes. Moving swim through Lake History and the improvise and notation. The Prophet realizes the paradox and apparent contradictions. Within the being and comparison is the struggle — the same struggle between humanity and divine in Christ. For example, when the Spirit drove him into the desert and the humanity was tested — Lucifer tempting the humanity and struggle between the eating of bread — the bread which sustains life, which is a very human thing — but the divinity has to remain within to sustain the divinity. If one extinguishes the divinity, it also extinguishes (temporal, manifested) Life. Both needed to sustain the Genesising Promisehood, the Promise to serpent and Man, both to crawl on their bellies and eat dust. Cause-and-effect. First-order logic. Cause-and-effect (logik, necessity, the form, human) and mythos se pathos (bacchus, historian, the development, divinity) struggles. The Prophet counteracts the madness and holds the two close to the breast. Acculturate and syncretic the bosom of being. The manifold being the local (curve) and space simultaneously. The fire of knowledge burns to ashes all karma as if Christ was our own flesh and substantiates, the new Love formed — Love which sensations are void but the knowledge retained. A formless and multitude curling up around the miraculous / the Mother and Son below, above, to the west, to the east, to the south, to the north — being Self, I and a mirror a diamond in which the redhaired girl scatters her myself.

Bird Lives / the Kindred Lives

In channel groove and lift canals. Charlie Parker chopped tunes and shot high. Birdland was home, the house CPRK built —

billies bounce

billies bounce cut vinyl 45s and bounced

warming up a riff nows the time nows the time warming up a riff meandering thriving on a riff

new york as a (f)reebopper you know? likes miles

koko

koko and a max roach drumset later jamming Anthony Braxton.

suite yard bird changing blues charring blues ALICE beat bop Alice version one one volume one one crossed a test pressing test critical decline / in the improvisation times, it was the drink that won. Stumbling late into a jazz club, dark, after so many suicide attempts and Camarillo pancakes, down on luck, said to my goodboy dizzy, why don’t you save me diz? and walks out in a stumble. Later, with the TV on and bright, sometimes a Life just gives out on you and you fall over and someone has to find you in the hotel room, Stanhope sans hope, anonymous, and the improvisation is over applaud my friends the comedy is finished / the coroner looks over you — well a failed liver it looks like, too much too soon, even at estimate fifty something (the Bird was only 35, only 35, and nothing appeared 35 — everything over, past expiration date, old old old) but in bricksways and alltrains hours later BIRD LIVES spray painted new york city, bold and brilliant — Charles the First — before hearing heaving after hearing, Sinfonia as if Lucy snuck in some bird tunes some Woodstock tunes along with some unnamable something some miner fortyniner something and author bed dying window mons a Monday which lost his last tape) even after things die, they live on somehow, on and on, resurrected an (everlasting) bread — the bread which we eat, a eucharist — BIRD LIVES / KINDRED LIVES — in subways, conjunctions, whirligigs, bombmaker’s dynamite, baking soda, World War II murals, paint colours, Corpus Christi Carols, Honeysuckle Rose and I Got Rhythm, chess pieces clear and frosted, the Passion, Spiritual Anarchy, the trashers and wheat gleaners (Marilyn and Mercury in faster cycles and phrase/phase — solar system variables quicker logic — navigation — navigation through form [experience / trial] — and independent as a collective being construction and nonconstruction -existing not as Us but not existing on no other plane but Us] — through form as the group — associative — I associate — city-city state-state secret-secret Christina-Benjamin [commutative]) in Henry’s basement and some encyclopedia, his encyclopedia, the secret (non)murderer, committed to such acts as watercolour and large script tracing / magazine cutouts filling in and creating — this, essence of the story (enclosure origining flame closed multiply field and ring — Elly Ben multiplies Christina a functional group any carboxyl or amino attached R and closed multiply Henry is BenChrist or multiply R is ChrisBen chains Kindred helixes Kindred tertiary or quaternary all ouroborus wrapped around [characteristic field] and say dual space and multilinear M Ben dimension N Chris dimension [all linear functionals chemical or integral under the operator HERE or GOD CEILING] and always rank KINDRED a bird a vulture feasting like pregnant women feeding the strange teeth and a key a condor key belly up plastic and Kinder always Kindercross hilt Kris functioning a punching weapon) — essence of the ritual. I am the ritual and sacrifice, and amongst many, the Himalayas an Ogre. The seven notes of Bruno Maderna. Gongs, tam-tams, tabla, all sorts of time keepers satiated across stage or stages. The ensemble is many but one. Partitioned by one. No barriers in the partitions. A daily Mass, multiple times and services. Same blessing. Dressed contra confederate soldiers in reality or unreality on revolving r/moons. The earth becomes its own moon, its own abbey. At jennie richie, lost in the wilderness of the dark as many dark come dark pegasus and dark I am. Dark attrition push fence towards gulf Lousiana — many birds in flight height gunpowder] For thousands of dollars, for outside most of life, attached to children and innocence like missing diary pages — come to send a fire (on earths) and whatt will I if it already be Kindlred — the adrogeny between. Posthumously, ornithology and art brute are the same ladder ascending and descending sons of men tired haloes. They are saints. In the renouncing \is the source — renouncing the source — the flood seasons of soul. A single mantra. Surrender fully self unto OUTSIDE / histories singularities moon, war, different endings or study birds and chord changes Coltrane changes all thirds and melodies containing the same pitch center. Of time that we rope darkest vere sald woe / gerim tree knowledge and when ate feorhhus our, grapegleanings summer and at the nudity of the fruit and thus realizing (finite) their godship, conceived eternal progeny (the most sunning flower We). At Fresno State, there was a man who went forth everyday — Asiatic, homeless, wearing many shirts and a jacket, torn denim, yellow cap, and circled the campus looking into garbage bins for aluminium cans and when he found one, he placed it into his own carbage bag — carrying him with refuse, collection, the histories of hundreds, all oblivious, everyone oblivious that this was in fact the Messenger, hidden choral and coral, all living organisms combined into humanity, a single human — unnoticed — but the most powerful even in exile (and I think of that Homeless — Albert Ayler who committed his body to the water or Henry Grimes a Reconcinder — fearing (my) Futures and car sleeping outside Christina’s studio apartment).

Hey. The flavour bianacacelles pharamaceutical plexiglass translucent (colouviables) to (play) to pay the obstreperous room tealing scrabble tears / tears scrambling oologists almost as a dining hall and I think sometimes it almost feels like (a) righteous suicide to be here in the same spiderwall space, needing someone and looking someone I know and stop being so damn bored for at least a minute and tired insomnia and try to understand what the hell is going on — what the hell is breaking and splattering sugar skull and pine tar (car traffic car insurance hitchhiking fools the highway the current highways and hurricanes spinning like one confused school of fish, future fine canned tuna / soft power not being anyhere understand I who I supposing CHANGE (nickels dimes double nickels sodomy side of me ) through supposing I change worldsea, always the inverse although suppos(ing) I change Earth clap eyearth yes. Christina has more faith in everything. She tells me, I’m in a crisis of faith – darling your faith is stronger then some cities combined. Let me pray and fast with you — where there is one or two gathered, I’ll be there also — I don’t know whether a good fast is easy or hard — all I know is its not a thinking game but rather a concentration or a clearing out the hedge without gloves. Hungry hungry hippos. Everything that is Christina-Kindred is a kind of superposition never measure never collapse. That is her Faith. It has something of God to it, a kind of miracle process. I don’t know whether it is chance or imagination. Sometimes the girl is fanciful about her faeries, bunnies, and disney characters — and I honestly don’t know the difference between when something real ends and imagination begins. Imagintion is a spring-flung thing burrowing into lumps and shakes electricity all the way down and shivers — a series of shivers and hallucinations — and at some point it becomes indistinguishable: technology indistinguishable from magic or magic indistinguishable from Christina thoughts or Christina faith. /triangularization / Euler (imaginary) / Gestalt if one sad like my sad my Christina sad her psychosis her

wren, the wren, kinged all birds

was (caught) St. Stephen’s day

A kid, a kid my father bought for two pieces of money

a kid a bay

then the cat ate the kid that my father bought

for two pieces of money

a kid a bay

— Christina’s kid or nephew

an Ayden or Levi

SUN STAR numinous child eyes and I laughed when Levi said Behhhh or Ayden’s Aunt Kwisteena) blessing I’m so jealous, she says, I want to have children so badly! I see a lot of affluent children where I work and I get so jealous, although mine would probably be all scruffy and malnourished (O Christina I wish I could Father your babies / I don’t think Thomas would like that, she says) — kilt thy coat, Marie, and come away with me /

Ayden a snow prince

Asia Arts Ark (from Opossums for Asia Rain)

Asia arts Ark of the Covenant and Ark of Noah, and she floods the filaments and film of my raven room radio. I listen to Miles Davis’ Agharta, and Asia drives the guitars and synthesizers. I listen ham ram radio and Asia Agharta ararats hollow earth and I dive earth descent. This writing warps through woman, veil vision vacation. This writing bewares watchman through woman, vice vision vertical. Hello, Asia Rain, and it rains for forty days on the boat Benjamin. The rain wind washes and woes, whipping storms on my token to Tarshish and Tartarus

The Book should be a playground for language

The Book should be the joyous display and expression of the Word

Benjamin, don’t play the butter notes

Strive for the surprise.

Asia Rain rasps ruthlessly for raspberries, the vegan vision. Avoid vivisection. Advance in volcanic volume. She bakes tasty cookies. She cooks good food constantly. What smells so good? Rice and beans. Asia eats rice and beans for lunch. What smells so good? say her coworkers. Rice and beans.

I’m sleep deprived and I’m over here losing my god damn mind over crustaceans, says Asia. She befriends all creatures. She cities civilization for all creation.

I write Asia because I love Asia. I write whom I love. I write God because I love God: I write Asia because I love Asia

Rain runs resin resistance
Rain rams ruse rush
Rain rings red rowing
Rain rises resurrection

I like the Rain, but we drought here. We need more rain. The storms are not enough. The storks are not enough. The seagulls search for storks revving their engines, ingenuity and genius. My genius is not enough but I continue to write. I doubt often. I doubt this Book. I doubt Asia as my friend. I feel the deluge of insecurities infest my skull as if I were a teenager again, and I think of Christina and Taryn repetition. My life’s entirety repeats cycles and circles, never spirals. The irrationality irradiates my innards. I read the Exegesis of Philip K. Dick and I feel as crazy as him. I never thought PKD as crazy but today I think he’s crazy and me with him. Still I love PKD because he experienced the Godhead and anyone who experienced the Godhead binds to insanity.

Excerpt from Opossums for Asia Rain (I Love Asia)

I love Asia very much but I do not say it because she would not understand that love. Or perhaps she understands it and I myself do not understand, except I feel affectionate agape for her as David for Jonathan, or Ruth for Naomi, and then I realize her God will always be my God. She often knows more than me and I suspect she does not dare say so, and she walks and waves with wyvern witches and garden goddesses.

Would you be jealous if I co-wrote the book with someone else? I ask Christina. Nope! I don’t think I’ve felt that emotion in years. I’d be glad if you had consistent support, she says.

Perhaps Asia is a consistent support, and this songs strange but I speak to her more than Christina or Taryn. I miss Christina and Taryn but life becomes busy, and we worship our work and work our worship (I worship Woman and the Book, which writes the Work). Asia’s life too will become busy: she will marry soon and give birth to a boy (I predict it will be a boy) and I worry selfishly that I will talk to her less and our friendship will wane. I think about her moon magic and moonwater and the moon wanes, but everything cycles and circuits through the cloud of Creation, even friendships. I pray I do not lose her as I lost Doc (Benjamin, you cannot lose her, as if she was something you possessed: rather she circulates and streams through you as Holy Spirit, and she enchants and encourages with her earth elements). Benjamin, I prophesy your friendship is sure, even as it migrates through the moon phases and projections, and your friendship processes and professes prophecy. My honesty about my insecurities embarrass me. I want to hide this writing from Asia because I fear she’ll judge me poorly. I will not hide but share with her openly, as an opossum with a outstanding opportunity.

Jesus Said, Know

Jesus said, Know what is in front of your face, and what is hidden from you will disclosed to you.

I know knowing as gnosis near to knowledge

I know knowing as gnosis dare to knowledge

I know knowing as gnosis name to knowledge

I know knowing as gnostic drunk to knowledge

I mimic emic to knowing and knowing

I mimic etic to knowing and knowing

Know the what and what

Know the what and Woman

I know what, the hat hut hot. I know what, the hot hut hat harnessing harvest, a heart rest vine wind in kind, and I kneel knowing. I con knowing. I cook knowing the raw and the cooked. I know front, the fount foraging forest. I know front, the froth furnishing forest

Forest fronts, the field explosion

Forest fronds, the field evisceration

Front forward froward toward Taryn (fires within fires front fist first and I find the face foaming knowledge Face to Face Face by Face Face through Face My Face and Her Face Front by front in halves. I hanger hunger in holy halves, churning Coltrane motives motifs. I truck the long solo modal and dissonant, and I drak my dissonance spiking stirrup and crow. The what embarks the bank wilderness and my what waters hell and hell how holy. Holy Hidden and Hidden Hodgepodge the polysemous orgasm, and I orgone the ozone of organism. She will not be hidden. She will not hide. Hide hide in the hellish heavens, a hostile hospitality hovering hobo and hovel. Hide in heavenly hell, a harsh shaking, and I shake the shell of the bells. I sharp the shark sharping cathedral. Cathedral drawals the draw drumming drone, and cathedral enthralls. The draw discloses and clasps the lash shaking cathedral, a Christina Katherine, and she butterflies Christ. She flays the flank of Christ, disclosed and unclothed to new nakedness and newly naked nudging nude nuking nubile God breathing into the nostrils of Christ

And there was a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which makes a farthing. There at the tan of the throat, luscious leather. There at the tick of the throws, lascivious lantern. The there tins time, a Michael Brecker, and I time tinder and tender, curling cool copper. And I listen to Kamasi Washington, a Son of Sun Ra and Pharaoh Sanders. And there, I attempt at the attack of Taryn, a body ceasing to be a body, and her body embodies the bel beyond, apting the apartment asteroids. I aim at and there, and I savant and savate surreal. The surreal slopes at song:

Widow Whale Woman

Widow Wolf Woman Widow Wolverine

Widow Vine Woman

Widow Hive Woman Widow Wild Woman

I shroud surreal. I short surreal: surreal in vision, a venting velocirapter on the feather, and I fly obscure without obsolescence, the obverse mirror. The mirror murks Jorge Luis Borges: the mirror mementos the author distorted in poles and placards. These authors authorize me: the Bible books my Book in blankets, and I brace the binding. I thread coptic and Christ. I throw the trigger two tigers: Blue Tigers, Borges tigers, Benjamin Tigers, and I birth mouths, a mother to the moon. I mature in music: music mucks matter and material, a carnal Christina. She makes the magic concrete! She manipulates the music in corridors, and its career careens to the lighthouse. In my active imagination, the lighthouse lifts up and loots the locals. The local is universal / the local locusts universe. I mature in music, the chromatic funk of Miles Davis. Music moths me. Music mattes alternate moons, the rabbit and bunny.

Blood-Kin Code vs. Blood Money

SWAMP SANCTUARY

Swamp swells seagulls

Swamp swerves sailors

A sanctum and sanctuary

A Catholic Cathedral

I birth bloody beast and baptism, a tabernacle and temple contemplating Taryn, and the contemplation pines prometheus Flesh of Frankenstein Andy Warhol’s Dracula Empire Angels and Archangels blowing trump and the dead raise resurrection masculine myth mythological music sun and fire Christ Son of Man Human Being and Humanity

For there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed. Nothing annihilates: nothing nullifies. This annihilation repeats doesn’t it? This annihilation repents, doesn’t it? Annihilation cycles repetition and repentance, and annihilation annihilates me. Nullification nullifies me. I disappear. I disappear in desert / the desert disappeared. Nothing and Nothing Nothing in Nothing Nothing near Nothing Nothing naked Nothing. Textures in place of colors / disappear disintegrating the height of the Tower the height of Taryn the height of the Temple the height of the Tabernacle enclosed by nothing and nothing raptures and enraptures. Nothing ignites incense, dead prayers prayers disappear. Nothing imbibes iceberg, dead pier piers disappear. Disappearance dispels and dedicates, dusty to the dead. Disappearance daniels and daredevils, bounty to the dead. Nothing deceived in deception, the despair driving demons, and my daemon is the disappearing desert. I hide nothing and nothing hides me. I hide nothing soused as the Hanged Man and her heart hearths heaths my heart in hart panting.

Hide harrer and horror the creation and oval tradition

Hide harrier and harbor the narration and hermeneutics

Hide interprets Hide elicits

Hide Marbles Hide murmurs

Multitude in ghosts Holy Spirit

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghoul

Zebra in the visage of the Zombie (when Hell is full, the dead shall walk the earth. Zebra in the disguise of the Zombie, an undead Zion Vision. Christina Castlevania and the cross crucifies Death. The cross reveals and veils simultaneously, the body in sheds and shrouds

LUMBER CAMP NYMPHO

Lumber limbo lindsay

Limber ladder lasso

Leather letter lantern

The light lips pits threats to the thread tired to Taryn

The light lens pins at the throat buying bondage to Taryn

Camp keeps the crypt and cemetery, the earthly sheol shaking dead. Camp kneads the knit and crops, the alien patterns flattening wheat. He loved him madly. I loved her madly, my dynamite nymph flaunting farce and fantasy, and the pulp plays. The pornographic projects.

Mysteries multiplies and this mystery marks the mystic, a map of mercury. Mystery miniatures, and I dry disjuncture until the rhythm comes in, the sap of the surreal. The Gospel becomes my holding pattern.

And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, verily I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury. Christ calls and Christ calls me. Christ calls mad Christ crucifies me. Crucified Christ and Christian crucified, Benjamin and Christina. Christ calls the cock and clasp locking loon and lewd, and I climb the lighthouse naked. Christ calls the crew and crime ripping real and reel, ans I ascend the tower of my destruction. I cure with language, says Marina Sabina. The language calls, curing and intensifying Adonai amplification. Disciples gather into desert and desolate places, the dance of prayer. Disciples gather into the suds of the scapegoat, aching alternative Azazel, a zygote yoke. Dust, disciples: dirt, disciples. Dig deep and I am digging. I drain the desert. I dredge the disciples and judge the quick and the dead. Deepen and desert the desert, but desert attaches its detachment to me. Destroy not the desert, but dispense the disciples in its deposits. Verily, I say unto you, verb Veronica Vision: vamp verona vision, the view with velocity and I eviscerate as a vulture. I say the sharp Saturn ricketing Sabbatai Zevi, the Serpent-Messiah and the Snake-Anointed

War Widow

Werewolf Widow

Wanton Widow

The Myriad of Woman

Wick Widow

Wood Widow

Whip Widow

The Mississippi of Woman

I worship nature, the pantheistic God: I worship Woman, the animistic Goddess. I winter the weapons warped by the warp, and water ringers real, the reality of the west.

For Many Of The First

For many of the first will be last and will become a single one. I listen to Miles Davis live at the Isle of Wight Festival. August 29^th, 1970. Call it Anything. Write and call it anything. Witness, and call it anything. I call it Music: I call it Improvisation, an improvised Visage and Vision. Call it anything: loose Bitches Brew. Experiential Pharaoh’s Dance and Spanish Key. Chick Corea and Keith Jarrett on keys. Gospel and good tidings: call it anything. Call it Parousia and Paraclete. Holy Ghost orders the Creation. I let the percussion surround me. I let the horns encompass my body. First, flint flow and forest, and forest filters low-pass and high-pass the percolation of the hike. First, the frame, flam frictioning flam, and I repeat the refrain in paradiddles. First, find, and in the finding, curious fire. Fire engraves the engines, the elation of the gospel sounding horn and lyre, crashing cymbals and resounding cymbals. First the fragrance and my prayer rises as incense and I pray the puncture through the page, and I call it anything. I call it Gospel and Prophecy. The first shall be last at last strumming the symphony, and I aether anarchy. I scratch soundings and sampling and last at last delivers delirium in the desert, a palm for my calm prayer. I deliver to the desolate places, a becoming Benjamin blasphemous and Benjamin Baphomet. To become beacons the blast, the banging baptism: to become burdens the burst, the blossoming Bridal Chamber. I multiply men with my minions, a peak to my partner, and Christ and Christina converge into a single one.

Excerpt from Opossums for Asia Rain (Asia Rain Is My Friend)

Asia Rain is my friend. Charlotte says, You have been my friend: that in itself is a tremendous thing. Asia is my friend, and that is a tremendous thing. I age: I smolder older and making friends magnifies in difficulty. I’m thankful I made friends with Asia, and she friends true (it is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer). Asia also writes and is a good writer like Charlotte and she befriends all creatures, even a spider like Charlotte.

I try to write about Asia in my normal style: Asia Rain rasps ruthlessly, revoking and renouncing rapture, yet her relationship raptures itself and ruptures the Book… It doesn’t feel right. Absurdist is my favorite writing style, says Asia. She likes the writing style on Tigers for Taryn. I can’t revisit or retread Tigers for Taryn, but I can reinvent. Opossums for Asia Rain. I think that’s what this book is called. Opossums because oats and oaks. Opossums because ads and arks. Opossums roll rollicking roadkill and play dead. Opossums eat and bless the dead.

I don’t know why Asia Rain except she’s my friend and she writes and I want her to write this book with me. I want her to write because she hopes hops hoops healing through writing and her writing nurses my writing. I need a nurse sometimes, a wounded healer, and a woman always heals. I do not think she is part of KRYSXTRYN or even Elaine Elohim: she’s spiritually distinct, and even though all my relationships reek of spirituality, she reads a rare remnant and refrain, something refreshing. Nevertheless, I also know God through her, just as I know God through the whole of humanity, and someday the entirety of Earth then creation. God gematria and Adonai arithmetic art abundance, the air of Asia.

I Enter Into The Desert

I enter into the desert, material and magisterial, matter and mystical. I open the desert into the desert a double desert and a desert in doublets, mirrors in mirrors, the infinite desert. I enjoy the infinity which itself gods God, the infinite regress PKD encountered in 1980. Infinity terrifies me, telescoping as my own body but Taryn’s body anchors me in arches and flying buttresses. Taryn’s body ties my body a beautiful bondage in desert and by desert. Desert knots bodies: Desert knits bodies into communion and community, carnal and colloquial, a vision vernacular. Desert dies and dissipates, a dust disintegration. Desert defies death and dies I die daily, and I dabble in the death: I dive in the death, a dirge determined to crucifixion. Desert deepens tomb of the dead, the graves of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I joint Jacob time out of joint time out of mind, and I growl Bob Dylan into the dark it’s not dark yet but it’s getting there. I grunt Tom Waits why wasn’t God watching for Christina Marie. Bum that dubstep moonhoock and moonchild, a god groove and god gamut, the sable of the continuum, and I continue music in the desert. I continue chant in the monastery. I dance. I dance the god pocket, the drunk dilla beat Benjamin. The bodies dream psychic and inferno: the carnal casts cases paranormal and supernatural. Swatch serpent miracles: snap shakes and drink poison invulnerable. My sign sups prophecy: my wonders whip suffering. Death with three female allegories. In the dream all colors bode well except blue.

Excerpt from Untitled 15th Book (I Always Begin With Wilderness)

I always begin with wilderness. I begin in the desert. The desert clasps the binding of the Book: the Black Book, the Red Book, the New Book – Benjamin’s Book, and not Benjamin’s, for no word or Word belongs to me, but I write as a witness to Woman: I write as a testimony to KRYSXTRYN: I write in unity with the Godhead. I begin with the desert wilderness, the paradoxical coast surrounded by dormant volcanoes: my sisters. The desert contains the monastery: I go into the wilderness as an anchorite and cenobite. I enter the desert an oblate and prophet. I sometimes perform the work of God. I inconsistently pray Opus Dei. The Liturgy of the Hours devastates me. The Monastic Diurnal churns my belly, and I am a fool for my stomach. Drink a little wine for the sake of your stomach, and I transform into a timid Timothy. I transform into a Tarantula Taryn, a tuning fork tempered to the vibrations of my flesh. Transformation overwhelms me: it overpowers and the descent depletes and deletes. Yet I work: I work and nurse the desert in maze and labyrinth. I work the motion and movement, broken spheres and circles. In the top arc, I prophesy in the bottom trough, I nurse. I must work through the desert and drought; I work through the stasis and stagnation. I visit the Gospel and the words of Christ to inspire me.

And the chief seats in the synagogues, and the uppermost rooms at feasts. Chief chases haste in haze, my harrowing of Hell, and my chief Christs. My Christ chiefs and I handcuff myself to him, a slave and bondservant. I king kenosis to his kenosis and empty emptiness, a God to a human and a human to a God. The chief channels chief cornerstone, a centering keystone to my centering prayer. I pray chief and choice transformation: I pray Queen and Krystal transfiguration, a shaking of the pumpkin and gourds. I work: I work writing, a mountain meditation, and I work scripture, a lectio divina and visio divina, the Divine from the Burden of the Valley of Vision. I sit in the seat of Burden and I work wilderness. I work with woman and by woman, a magnification that lowers the seat of the naughty, and eucharist erases my ego. I feast on his flesh in the uppermost rooms and prophesy the gospel in the synagogues. Imbibe on his blood in the uppermost chamber, which becomes the Bridal Chamber and signature, and P reach and advocate good tidings in the churches.

Jesus said, the person old in days will not hesitate to ask a little child seven days old about the place of life, and that person will live. I age: I old. I order the chaos in my head on my bed. Ghost riders in the sky rears Riders of the Storm. I hitchhike into this world we’re thrown: I hitchhike David’s horn, a house hawned into the house of my skull. I do not hesitate into the hound of the dream, gold outgassing ivory celluloid synchronizing my soul. I dream the Christ Child and I imagine the PKD Sophia, and she signs gnosis in the synagogues. She turns as a tiger and tiger trasks tasks attacks the toast to Taryn, and Taryn stands Naked Messiah and Nude anointed. I bathe in blonde; I haste in blue and blue barths Jesus, the multitude of birds. I age: I old. I onyx Ancient of Ancients the ox plow pulling yoke Yahweh and yoked Yahweh, Divine mined mine Jesus jousts me in the gemming seizure, drowning breaks from my youth up. The Christ child chars at the end of every seven, a Sabbath.

Excerpt from Untitled 15th Book (David Therefore Himself Calleth)

David therefore himself calleth him Lord; and whence is he then his son? And the common people heard him gladly. David divides: David derives: David devours. David divides David and David deceives David: David dirges David to destruction, haunting harp and lamenting lyre. David devours David, manipulating in murder, and I adulterer after Adonai. I murder masses for El Shaddai, and Yahweh tempts me to take count and census, and I placate the populace with plague. David dusts my dry bones straining at the spine of the Book, and I dream David. I dream David and I dream as David, and I birth as Benjamin-Bathsheba, my seed to Death, and Death drinks me drowsy, a spider web and Spider Woman. My web worms me solid steel, struck stranded island incarnation. Therefore I think Taryn and tank Taryn Tahoe, a transference and counter-transference and she tries and tricks me metempsychosis / true transmigration. Therefore Taryn threads turntablism, a scratching and reverse transformer. Therefore myself marry Taryn and tongue true Taryn, a throttling tackle. I call her Lord. I call KRYSXTRYN Lord, and the Godhead lances a lantern to my lips, and I praise El Elyon. The Lord laughs / Sarah laughs. Sarah laughs the Lord the seed of Isaac, Rebekah comforts me. I meditate in the fields, and Christina comforts me. I meditate in the fields, and Christina comforts me, and I am her Son. The Son straps day-star and soaps bright morning star, and each star strikes stirrup. My Son forsakes my Son, and my Son souls sarabande.

And he said unto him in his doctrine, Beware of the scribes, which love to go in long clothing and love salutations in the marketplaces. I scribe the scripture: I scratch and incise the scripture with my own markings, a mark of Cain and a mark of Babylon. I betray the scripture with my own doctrine, and yet in my betrayal I meditate and love the body of Christ. I contemplate and make love to the body Christ, body both before and after crucifixion and before and after the Garden. I love and betray his body as a brutal lover and jealous Husband, a Ha-Satan accusing my beloved of infidelities. You who are faithful to all humanity, why so faithless to me? You who die and give up your body for all living, why deny your flesh to me? Am I not your prophet and disciple? Am I not your secret Beloved and Apostle? Your Flesh has become my scripture, and you free me to betray you, to pervert and distort the scriptures for 30 pieces of silver. I unfurl the Flesh as fermented wine, a scroll dividing heavens, and I witness ascension and assumption, the apotheosis aching alloy with the Godhead. I scribe sonship and sunship with your Mother, a Queen of Heaven, and she clutches my queer body like a great pearl or lost coin. Your Mother is my Mother and I am your Husband. I wife you as a Woman, and you lead to Bridal Chamber and Baptism. You dress me in wedding garments, long clothing and glamorous clothing glory God, and I dream my dress drawing you naked. I dream the desert and you are Solomon coming with your pavilion, and Christ describes my body dark how lovely! I go out in the darkness, even the Outer Darkness, in search for you, my Beloved, even if the Nightwatch abuses me. I seek in the marketplace and merchants, and they belittle me for my affairs and affair, yet still I yearn for the Yahweh in you.

Excerpt from Tigers for Taryn (I Am Meeting T)

I am meeting T. for coffee what the hell am I doing. The rain fursfrontyard ponds and the cats stay inside. No more visions the rain steadies rain the whole world is haunted. I am odd off (Ben goes pbbbbbb and I am off. Shifts steady rain going and going soon I will meet T. Things are going to be weird and awkward, I say, but I am awkward anyways so probably no one will notice. Don’t worry about it, says T. and she never worries about anything. I worried and I didn’t worry and now I worry my body is shifting a chaotic transformation and I watch NOVA on PBS they’re talking about fractals and the Mandelbrot set the tree is fractal to the forest bodies fractal to other bodies the universe is replicating itself (universe the universe the universe. Meg’s boyfriend reads Jack Kerouac and J.D. Salinger. Last night we went to his work party, says Meg, and I looked great and everyone was like, this is your girlfriend? What dress did you wear? I ask. It looked like this, Meg says. Very sexy, I say. Meg’s becoming old and boring aren’t we all those fucking nurses and teachers aren’t we all yes a bore yes yes. I think of Corrina and if shecould see me now, she would say I am not a hermit. Soon I will leave and meet T and I’m nervous why the hell am I nervous first he was in a bottle and now he is in the mud. Hell is nervous the universe transformed into a gut with screws. Coffee with T. goes well and we talk for little over an hour. I’m not looking forward to Geriatrics, says T. My patient at Lindsay Gardens wouldn’t let me touch her. Was she the one hiding her oatmeal? I say. Yeah, says T., and when they asked her about it, she lied. She always wanted to the lights off and I couldn’t see, says T. T. hates math. Everybody hates math except for me, I say. I had to take summer school for not passing math, says T. After awhile, I just stopped going. How did you pass? I say. Oh I don’t know, says T., but I did. Ha rain T.’s swimming pool is overflowing the rain ups and the road shisses and shes. When I was a kid, T. says, I decided to leave and my parents reported me missing and they went searching for me. Why did you leave? I ask. Just felt like leaving, says T. I leave. The car curses the rain. I don’t knowwhat I’m doing anymore. Just experience, says T. I don’t know what I’m doing yes I’ll be a nurse and I feel like drinking and C.C. doesn’t want me to drink too much only for special occasions I should say everyday is a special occasion and I’ll leave to get a drink or the rain feels fine I’ll stay here for awhile and leave. I need to get the fuck out of here. Let’s go on a road trip, I say to Meg. Meg will not go on a road trip with me. She’d kill me or get sick of me and abandon me on the highway get the fuck out and so I’m out God my head hurts and I’m not a good Christian I think I’m going to hell I stop caring my body leaves me. T will drag me like Christina dragged me everyone is the same person. My god my own body by everyone else dragged the dead body of an animal especially one slaughtered and dressed for food (T. drags like Christina drags.
I realized just now that I would be devastated if he left me, says Meg. It means you like him, I say. You’re mellowing out and becoming vulnerable. I more than like him, says Meg. Yes, but I wasn’t sure if Ishould say so, I say. We said it to each other actually, says Meg. He said it first. What? I say. That he loves me and is in love with me, says Meg. Meg is fucked. My Christmas present from Christina comes in the mail. She gets me Unjust Malaise by Julius Eastman and the Peanuts Guide to Life. I already have the Peanuts Guide to Life but this one is from Christina! I brag about Christina to C.C. She endured my madness when I was a terrible asshole and suicidal and she still loved me, I say. I listen to Gay Guerilla by Julius Eastman God it’s beautiful a Mighty Fortress is Our God my God it’s beautiful are you here and I almost cry I don’t know why (God I don’t know what I’m doing. Ben one two three four. Ben one two three four. Don’t worry about it, T. would say ben one two three four. Me and my best friend went to preschool together, says T, and one day, we had the idea of breaking out so at recess, me and my friend got little shovels and started digging a hole underneath the fence. So we got the hole dug and went through it under the fence and the teacher had tochase us because we were running, says T. Did you get in trouble? Of course, says T., but it was worth it. I never took school seriously when I was little and was always interested in going outside and playing. Since Christmas break started, T. has been outside playing the rain does not deter her. I didn’t see my friends much during school, she says. That’s what happens when you become a good student, I say. I am not a good student and I fear madness returning. They said Master you are the son of our God and Jesus said to them, how do you know me? Truly I say to you no generation of people among you will know me (Danielle leaves me a voice mail saying hey it’s me Danielle I’m just calling because I have some free time. I’ll try again later but if I don’t get a hold of you, Merry Christmas. I miss Elle her voice was lovely and almost familiar strange through a mirror isn’t that what PKD said about a scanner darkly I didn’t recognize the number I should have answered. A Mighty Fortress is Our God a bulwark never failing God I need to leave but God never takes up the body.