Chains Contain Me ...
Something happened on the day he died.
Spirit rose a meter and stepped aside.
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried ...
The dark has already engulfed my inside.
I take his place for hope of breath.
I've dug a hole,
I'm ready to dance
when the dirt is heaped,
upon my head.
I worship the ground,
and my blood spilled down,
in order to save, my rest in hell.
Let, my mind be crucified.
And with all do respect,
serve it to the dirt
on a silver platter.
Tones change, just as seasons ...
I'll shake and scream repeating my pain.
I'll repeat my pain until I fall
and stick to the stones below.
But Wait, ....
Before my permanent darkness settles
upon my skin,
Just know,
I know,
I die with this secret sin .....
R.R.I.P.M.B.
Something happened on the day he died. Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside. Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried. That place we hide deep down inside the darkest confines of our subconscious mind just may be intertwined with the superconscious or divine. I bet Bowie's soul's agreeing with that line more or less at this time. Let us remind ourselves to rewind the inner-hell to the chapter before that spell was cast, when all characters comprising this curious cosmic cast reveled in the inner-shelf of pure creative fun and formless, absolute Self. May Bowie's soul channel through these words that are wrote on this map aboard our boat afloat on the cosmic ocean of no-sin, just all-knowin' and absolute justice, omniscience and omnibenevolence, eternal return and primordial elegance. Let us keep rowing, and rest/rejoice in peace, Master Bowie.
69 and Climbing
“Something happened on the day he died.
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside.
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried.”
Don’t need a why (near or far)
When heart’s can fly (raise the bar)
No wrong or right (a Blackstar)
Last breath of life (live-well roar)
at sixty-nine (just one more)
Bowie died (a Blackstar)
Earth to Space, many hearts held high.
An iconic hero who bridged many divides.
No one can replace, but in spirit we’ll try...
for a Blackstar,
found in all...
A Blackstar.
-M.E.
201601121712
Blackstar and the last tune of the Piper
Something happened on the day he died. Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside. Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried.
The piper plays his last tune; everyone must put down their spoons, leave their altars and come to the town square, the tinkers, the cats and the burghers. The farthest reaches of the mind trundle forward on this day. What had been a weekly ritual of gathering and music for the village would now be a reckoning. Forced to look inward, every ghost and demon comes forth and dances with angels as the crimson clouds burn creating ash of the rain that slakes the thirst of the tender fruit orchards. Each man, woman, young, and old must face the burning fire within, impenetrable ancient dust, pulsing, sighing, that one thing that impels them forth into this world. Each one doubts their own sanity, the children wonder, wander and bump each other, dreamlike, the dogs roll around and kick up dust, the children scamper after them. After staring at the dirty, gravel strewn earth at their feet, the adult eyes lift, they lift to find the eyes of their kinsmen and folk, they look inside their eyes, eyes as canals weaving through a broken forest, and wonder if the truth there is real, did it come from God, did it come from the life-giving river that flows nearby, lined by hills, craggy and barren in winter? Yellow and orange leaves whip up into a fury of mind, the sun squeals, it pierces the diamond shaped windows of the squat cottages. The piper’s breath burns against the eyes, making folds in the damp and animal strewn blankets of the villagers' hearts, the men bow and the women weep, where are we going?, they cry within their breasts, I only want to live this life given to me by the ghost who walks in heaven, the father who roams the halls of ether above, be he God, be he the unknown, dare I say what I think in my deepest heart, I don’t know if I believe in eternity. Perhaps this is it. One lone man with green eyes looks at the piper whose closed eyes shimmer as the sun catches his golden antennae lashes. The green eyed man weeps, he weeps for the blood on his hands and the blood beating in his breast for he realizes what a gift it truly is, the hearts beat and beat, and he sees a blond haired boy run after a grey-green dog, and disappear into the fields of crackle and pine on the edge of town, and he sees it is himself, and he won’t be coming back.
Quasi-Egyptian Electro Noirpop
Something happened on the day he died.
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside.
Somebody else took his place,
and bravely cried
Something happened on the day he died.
The stars turned black and the people sighed
"Where could he be?" away, away unmired,
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside.
Somebody else took his place,
not allowing his momentum waste
and bravely cried,
with tears, they tried.
Something happened on the day he died.
I spun my records and let fate decide,
who yet lives. In culture he is deified,
though his corpse remains to be mummified.
Somebody else took his place,
he isn't dead, I've seen his face.
Lightning bolted into space,
But he was gone, in any case.
A dying man has a shifting form. He tries to commute his wails through a form people could understand. He grips at the clothes of the healthy, begging for some change even though his wealth is immense. A way to escape but though he stands in the center of the square he means no more then any other poor man. Past recollection hoping to flash and get attention only add to the white noise of a man passing. He must be remembered. He must be because the only way to defeat death is to have a bigger name. The black star is what they will take away not the fact that death appeared on that day. He is only shifting planes. He will stretch out into the future through the echos of his name.