The fiona, spun sangria, and the warehouse party house

The bar as I sat with a glass of whiskey in my hand was a pale oak sheen, and there were bottles lined up, and tins of tincture powders like a drugstore. I was not ready for what happened. I had already been at a feast, and outdoor garden picnic, an indoor corridor twice met, a crowded bar where I met an old friend, and Michel was there in all contexts mostly speaking cryptic close words, in a huge warehouse while I was wrapped in red silk. He said the number nine, and merged into the couch, with green hair. The warehouse and the party, the quiet scenes in the corridors, and now this; Fiona.

The first thing I noticed was the thing she wore on her hand. I heard her speak and glanced only twenty degrees to my left. She had an orange webbing with blue pale jewels woven into the sunset macrame. It instantly imbued her with an energy. “I didn’t want to sit here without saying anything she said.” and this was a caveat and a ruse, because as I turned toward her, she began.

The device she had in her other hand was a spinning liquid dispenser made of bronze with two holes releasing amber and chartreuse liquid. SHe was spinning it’s ellipse-shape and  alcohol was somewhat falling into the tumbler in front of her. I had to back away slightly because it was falling on the floor. THis did not stop her! I glanced behind me and an entire chorus of men in suits were singing a song in gaelic.”FIOONA, CE!!!” THis is how I knew her name was FIona. THey clearly were singing for her in the sort of swelling chant  which erupted accompanied by unknown drums. This fueled her motion. I grasped my whiskey.Joe was there. He started to help the spinning liquid machine Fiona wielded. Others held a huge tub with rinds and fruit suspended in the liquid sangria. I realized the liquor fest had begun. Fiona was the spirit, the song, the drink. It was invoked. This had promise, but then I awakened.

Earlier I entered the bar upstairs in the lightness. As I was walking through the dim corridor to arrive, Michel met me. He put his arms around me in a hug. It was familiar, and instantly too much to be embraced alone by anyone but Joe. He came with me into the bar, like a shadow to my right. I felt odd to be with him going into this wild packed room. A woman began telling me a story and Michel slipped off. I could not listen to the rest of the story because Beth, my childhood friend was there. This time with her little sister Laura, all grown up, and her husband and new baby which he carried. Beth showed me a program from some event she had gone to. While we weren’t in Germany as far as I could tell, one of the programs was called, “Looking toward the Panzer’s” It cost 2,800 for the trip. I scanned the document which was a receipt as well, with my careful intensity reserved for Scorpio’s private curiosities. I saw that they had indeed paid the $2,800 for the Panzer trip. I embarrassed myself by telling her I noticed that they had paid for it and since I knew she had gone to Germany after high school, I let her tell me…”Actually, we’re going tomorrow!”  I couldn’t believe it. I have been studying Huertgenwald’s famous  1944 campaign. As I slip off to find Joe, there is no sign of him. I return to the dark corridor with it’s slate grey berber carpet and sloping inset lights like an aquarium, He is standing in his leather jacket and dark jeans in a wide stance at the bottom of a ramp. I wrap my arms around him. “I’ve been looking for you, ” He said, “I’ve been looking for YOU.” I say.

“What have you been up to ?” I ask. We go outside to where there is a circle of burned grass. He sort of trails of as if this is explanatory in and of itself.

Earlier in the warehouse he’d sat next to me after Michel dissipated and I had felt the soft closeness as I turned up toward Joe’s face and smiled just for him. The couch seemed hung 20 feet above the floor and we watched a woman come in with big placards of wood with a white veneer and tarot -like images. Her task was to paint something on them and bring them back to the vendor she’d worked things out with. It turned out to be Eliza Urtiaga. SHe did a wide plie and did not screech as she often does, nor giggle, which was a relief. Old wooden tracks seemed to be taking someone away in punishment animatronically with a puppet jaw. This room was mostly empty. I wondered if I ought to be making more contacts with the people in the village.

Garden party, money in the rice…

&~~

Prologue: As I was cooking breakfast, I recalled the most important thing which was a vision that came to me between sleep and wakening. A man called “the rock” was shown driving…HE HAD THE SECRET. He looked like my great uncle pete, Carl L. Peterson the II in a photo I saw of him in the seventies on a hike(perhaps when he took on the APpalachian)

What he knew was this:  It was a brain. It was an object in the shape of a brain that flashed to me. The thing about it was…it was his. He had his own brain. He got to make solid thoughts in his own brain. He formed them. They were in corruptibly his own because he knew how to put them there and how to keep them there. It is an oubliette of one’s own mind that is required. Go inward and form your own brain theoretically, abstractly, and then actually. 

 

 

Black dogs market teeth escape shoes

I was cleaning out a desk and I had a sneaking suspicion it had old food. I lifted a layer of papers and there was old bologna slices of pepperoni and rancid white shredded cheese. It stank. I cleaned it all away. Yuck!  I came around to the desk and there was a woman offering me her husband’s teeth. She was striding somewhere on the second level so I met someone familiar but not quite sure it was Michel. He seems to fit the essence of the person though. He offered me the teeth explaining how they could file the ridges down. They looked too big for my mouth. I took them, and as I walked away I wondered how I would get from where I was to the appointment in Philadelphia on the 11th. There was somewhere south I had to go too. I thought momentarily of the time I used to drive up and down the eastern seaboard in my $50 dollar car. Then I would drive six hours alone, or thirteen, on a whim.  But now this would be difficult.

I took the teeth.

I was at the table with the scientists when I asked a question that they were egotistically proud they had studied but not concerned with disseminating it, or discussing it. It was a pretty woman who had studied ethnopaleobotany I think. I didn’t get any information from her. I was down in the cement ally ways with the kids and the animals. A gorilla plucked a child who was being hurt up over the gate like a bag of trash. He wanted to speak to a man. I went down further into the ally. Black dogs barked all around me. I tried to reason with them, talking to them. I knew I had to get out of there.

Up in an office there was a travolta president. There was a handsome man in a suit who wanted to see me. There was an elevator you could press worn buttons on. They were pearlized and not lit up. I read CHILE and VIETNAM and I picked Chile not really expecting to be there when I pressed the button. Still everyone walking down the corridor was speaking Spanish. I turned around to go back to the elevator.

My escape from the black dogs I was running to a brown box and turning a right hand key and a latch opened and I drove away.

At the edge of the city Daniel Grafton was there and he gave me a long hug. It was sunrise.”Welcome to Baltimore,” I said. I parked in the middle of the road. But then I moved the car flush against a building and was unpacking. A hand reached through the gap between the building and the car for my bag. I couldn’t go back, I was cut off from the road, from the moment just before. Victoria Burkhardt was there. I asked if I could keep her black shoes. Sexy, Slinky Style she said or some other Es alteration. They were four inch heels with gold circles going up the side. I would never wear something like that.

A hand was rubbing mine softly…it was Joseph waking me up.

Small puppies in milk

The little puppies in milk, like small dumplings. Some in the teeth of some larger being. I was in a yellow glowing room. The table was wooden. The bowls of milk were warm. Later there was a ceramic artpiece on the wall. I saw that there was a piece that had to be fit onto it. There was writing on it. Old Zach from high school with his zaggy left hand script was there and the dogs now were large and I kept Celeste away from them.

Neon Bar Rock Jump

I went up the black steps that were well lit. People waited for me as  I banged through the safetygates with the key. I opened up the roof, but it was trashed. It was night. I lay down with my head on the edge. There was a blanket. I began to talk to the person next to me.

The night was long and filled with troupes of makeuped women. I strode into a cool neon lit bar. It was long and tables filled with laughter was a scent of energy thick and deep with currents. Any one person strolling in would have had to tear a hole into the vibe in order to break it’s lush cocaine undertow. The frolicking rocked their toothy bodies. A woman with electric blue braces smiled wide as the waxing cheshire moon. Her lips were glistening candy red. I came to attack someone. I came in with violence in the heart. It was only milky arms and smiles braced and eyelashes made of feather and black liner beaded with luminescent paint. Everyone was from pandora.

I didn’t stay there. Where I went was filled with tiny animals.

The next day you and I walked in a strange town. We found a rock with a historical leap. They told of how the huge gap over the water was usually crossed by a rope swing more than seven times a day. Although it was a long way down into the water, I took the leap with the rope in hand, swinging, even kicking off against the water. I made it to the other side. You followed me. And I saw you come across. &~~

Love and Eros

Performing. The room was the old living room in the old house. 433/6266 West Creek Rd. Newark Valley NY that now sits like a museum of poverty. There in the strange discomfited space, I spoke while you waited in the wings(or where the windows to the backyard are. Gathered around the wood stove all the big armchairs and cacophony of seating made nowhere perfect to stand for visual center. I kept speaking, pacing from one point to another as though I was trying to hold the attention but the light of focus kept shifting. I was the intro, but I kept talking, kept offering caveats, kept going over the lines emphatically. It was going to be about Love and Eros. There were more parts. It was a constant attempt to get at the perfect resonance. I was speaking louder, even using poet voice. I was performing the words.  I felt the feeling of it all being chairs going in opposite directions. No stage was set and I couldn’t get it to coalesce

&~~

Alien Bar

We must use the alien technology. In the real quiet air of the salon you wanted to stay. The people were in place but filling the air with self un-poisoned by some erractic music. They were filled with a self-possession that stills people like jazz mutes the motion and they wore fedoras and stares; the whole thing of it you liked. We sat and had conversations while it rained. Alien food, filets, and pink almost creamed roe. A green cat stared, a tiny neonate on a lap peered over darkened wood. Tea brewed. The woman with silver embellishments and turquoise, darked eyes, went back to sleep in the hotel room for five days of sleep, happy song on her lips to be alone. I held cards in my hand and tried to say we must never say what we saw here. I was corrected. We must share the technology. IN an instant, almost a lump in my throat I saw why. It was a series of wooden rails heading skyward in a factory. There was a whirring and a flapping of tiny wooden flaps. I nailed in nails. It was so simple and yet it had a perfection I cannot name. I watched her leave to go sleep. Her beauty and self-suficiency were inside me like a memory. I stood shaking the blue skirt filled with cranberry paisley, and silver near a mirror above a small wooden table. I went out into the darkness and entered a convenience store somewhere at midnight on a hill where you could feel the earth larger than the buildings;a manna pool around it’s concrete shell. It was one of those places that is respite because it has human build to it in a place of large earth-dark forces, where wisps of heather, and moor grass even appearing as spirits in the halogen lights.  Inside past the smoked bullet proof glass, the proprietess behind her small packs of wares, a larder of tiny pills, and impersonal cartons of condoms, or advil(either really). I turned and the tiny shack opened into the dim almost waxy, paraffin of music venue floors. Wooden equipment ramps, signage indicating the temporal atmosphere of an occasion. I saw pin up magnets and then I talked to the woman with red lips and her name was Susanna Lou or some other staged, two-part name.  She invited me somewhere to perform.

&~~

Costume poems fire and cake

The main dancer deconstructed her costume for us. She had fluffy sea-foam green shoulder wings and a black and gold shimmery black cloth with odd clasping salamanders(like the knight of wands). They were mechanical and alive. Outside in the clearing, blue and gold belly dancers whirled for a moment. The storefronts in the street below seemed smaller and less important than the packed earth and the embankment that I prepared behind. Somehow I had forgotten my book of poems. Someone had a large book that had one of my poems. I also had a thumb flip book of poem like scribbles. I nervously read scraps from this aloud until I was handed the large book. It was written in dream script, clear until observed, then it wavered and was small; hard to read. It was full of onomonopeisms and I read them in a musical lilt. Then there was a fire to the left and downstairs. We left  carefully with not urgency, but I did have a warm cake in a bag which I could feel as we left.

&~~