Waiting

'
It starts
with a tingling,
my largest organ
first
- electrified,
my skin
burns -
then every neuron
grated
replies
post-scriptum
post-partum.

My feet
dance to
a tango
they thought forgotten.
It's been so long,
Penelope shouts
from inside me,
overtaken
I let her mourn
for all ladies-in-waiting.
We are
one
& the same.
Weaving our
solitary
despondency.
Confined,
yet free
to ride
the waves
of sacrifice -
from the blood
to the tears
shed -
we flow
overflow
& fill the space
unconquered
around us.
Every virgin territory
meaningless
when all
living interstice
must be filled
with expectation,
inseminated
with the desire
to overgrow.

Overreaching,
my heart
pumps
pure hybris -
anything
but waiting
waiting
waiting
- no mantra
can save it
from bursting at the seams.

I stand -
a mellow puppet
yearning for the strings.
'

The Teachings of Don Juan I

a
From Carlos Castaneda's Journey to Ixtlan

"You must renew your personal history by telling your parents, your relatives, and your friends everything you do. On the other hand, if you have no personal history, no explanations are needed; nobody is angry or disillusioned with your acts. And above all, no one pins you down with their thoughts."

"How can one drop one's personal history?" I asked in an argumentative mood.

"One must first have the desire to drop it," he said. "And then one must proceed harmoniously to chop it off, little by little."

"Little by little you must create a fog around yourself; you must erase everything around you until nothing can be taken for granted, until nothing is any longer for sure, or real. Your problem now is that you're too real. Your endeavors are too real; your moods are too real. Don't take things so for granted. You must begin to erase yourself."

"What's wrong is that once they know you, you are an affair taken for granted and from that moment on you won't be able to break the tie of their thoughts. I personally like the ultimate freedom of being unknown. No one knows me with steadfast certainty."

"When nothing is for sure we remain alert, perennially on our toes," he said. "It is more exciting not to know which bush the rabbit is hiding behind, than to behave as though we know everything."


"There is no need to see your death either. It is sufficient that you feel its presence around you. One of us here has to learn again that death is the hunter, and that it is always to one's left. One of us here has to ask death's advice and drop the cursed pettiness that belongs to men that live their lives as if death will never tap them."

"To assume the responsibility of one's decisions means that one is ready to die for them. It doesn't matter what the decision is," he said. "Nothing could be more or less serious than anything else. Don't you see? In a world where death is the hunter there are no small or big decisions. There are only decisions that we make in the face of our inevitable death."
a

Mise en abime II

a
Escape
to a world of possibilities,
where nobody else's
chimeras
can follow.

Let them chase
with avid
worldly eyes
- watch them
draw near -
they come
only to drool
on the glass.

Then
with an elegant swipe
pull the blinds
& dive
unabashed
into the attic
where the madwoman
awaits.

Take your time -
you have until
the next old moon
to put on
the cocoon
of cobwebs
& the carnation
of new blood.

Tick tock
All dressed up now
ready to emerge
on the shore
of Nostalgia
or Neverland -
little does it matter
- you don't mind
retracing your
fickle steps,
crushing your old trails,
or leaving new ones -
always behind,
always for you to follow.

But you must
keep rehearsing
your tango steps,
remember?
So many partners
lined up for
the milonga tonight
- most of them dead -
such excellent dancers!
Gluing your body
to theirs
brings new thrills
every time.

Only the copper sand
crawling
between your toes,
embracing your ankles
makes you skip & hop -
it ingrains a new
blood mandala
on your calf,
on your thigh -
time to stop!

On your next dive
you'll avoid
the rapturous treachery,
you tell yourself
sobbing
& wishing
you had gone
waltzing
tonight
instead.

Live your life
on a dreaming spree
and you'll be free.
a

Mise en abime

Escape to a world
of possibilities
only to start
the exquisite chase
& massacre
of all 'would-be's
or 'what if's
- we're each and all such
accomplished
assassins.

Lost on the trail of time
treading on the broken wings
of hopes & dreams
can be so intoxicating
and liberating!

With each ogrish
step and smile
extinguish!
eliminate!
the prude illusions.
Skip
from skull
to skull -
bury all choices
deep in the mud
of existence.

Be always ready
to lend a helping hand
in butchering
the neighbour's
overweight ideals
- oh, the smell of fresh blood
dripping from the carcasses
of misconceptions.

Live on a killing spree
and you'll be free.
a

Theremin

a
The tide of my blood rises
as the Heat peaks
in cricket hysteria.

My body wrapped in herbs
picks up the thudding pulse
of the Earth Womb
& becomes the magnetic pole
of iron-red ants.
My skin tingles under
their bewildered march
- but I lay open to their
hosts & hoards & armies,
learning from their
erratic hesitation
a new Morse code.

-

always reaching out

-

The sound of His Voice
- almost unbearably vibrant here -
sends me into waves of shock.
Like a theremin,
I let my body
sing His praise
- the instrument resting
once more
between the hands of its maker.
a

They've killed me - again

a
Almost a year of silence.

My friends know why - nobody else cares...

Peru. China. India.

What can I be, but self-referential & silent?

Always coming back to the town with no cheer
Always giving Balkanians another chance to kill me faster & more efficiently

I'm nothing but game.
a