Red wine and a cold night
Ever thankful for friendship and crazy possibilities
And despite the confines of body and peculiarities of heart
While half-asleep, half-crazy,
I do declare that
Life, this ever-increasingly discombobulated shadow-play of simulacra
Is, indeed, good,
And you know darn well to whom these words are sent,
These holy syllables caught within the vibrant web of perception,
Uplifting toward the sacred and the raw-unspoilt alike,
Within inherant permission to deviate from the standards of the mundane, amen.
Just had an absolutely marvelous party, replete with strangers, a solstice ritual, and newly invented warm beverages. Tonight was my first attempt at fondue, with a Double Gloustershire and organic Bleu. I think it went over well; the stranger to friend ratio was about 1:4, fairly nice for a convocation of this size. The cats were well behaved and so was I, a statistical miracle. The groovy part was that "warm and cozy" was the theme, so I got away with staying in my pajamas the whole evening. The ratio to hot toddie to cold beverages consumed was about .5:2. The ratio of sexual innuendo to messianic parable was approximately 3:1.
Two very fine beers in my low-tolerance system, a stormy night, and nostalgia by the bucket load finds this article very appropriate for posting: Concise Timetable of Beer History.
Noah's provisions included beer on the Ark.
4300 BC, Babylonian clay tablets detail recipes for beer.
Beer was a vital part of civilization and the Babylonian, Assyrian, Egyptian, Hebrew, Chinese, and Inca cultures.
Babylonians produced beer in large quantities with around 20 varieties.
Beer at this time was so valued that it was sometimes used to pay workers as part of their daily wages.
Grasping at straws and drawing hexagrams
Under rearranging constellations and shifting skies
There's a wind that's blowing us all in a tizzy
And my kite dances the Apocrypha in the gale.
Where are you, O Gilded One,
Who they say is writ in the leaves of trees,
That brings ease to my voice
And steadiness to my feet?
Are you indeed secreted in the dark of passing shadows,
Are you the graffiti under the bridge
Or the troll holding the spraypaint and an inkling of the truth?
Don't you see,
There's a destiny missing it's fulcrum,
A soul sans the shape it belongs in.
And the whole thing is reduced to poetry in your absence?
There is a somewhere and a somewho
Which began as fledglings,
Now on the nest's edge,
The verge of realization,
And maybe... maybe...
This mere ink and this mere paper
And those mere glancing eyes
Are the tickets indeed to improbable crossroads
Where Choice lane and Challenge street meet
And I'll wait for you on the corner
A dandelion in one hand and a thank you in the other,
And where we'll wander is the Sage's provenance,
But I'm willing to trespass through the crazed neighbor's yard
And on to the witching wood
If only you would come down the way to hold me, fearless,
Chancing the wilds of the winds
With this lonely, mad and gentle fool,
And my pockets stuffed with dreams.
Follow the movements of collective history
In the meteoric trails of collective future
It's the path of our dancesteps.
Where they lead, who can say?
Yet it I feel freedom as the primordial fire beckons
And we ascend the flames.
Dance on, sprites and visions,
Carry with your sanctified sway
A message to those waiting
For a taste of the quenching fire
Whose code and kindling is the promise of love.
Animatronic fantasy-lands,
Light fantastic fills the glands,
We crawl from the mud
To bathe ourselves in diamonds.
To dance cheek to cheek with robots,
We'd give a million tears
To taste the tip of the tongue of luxury
To live for an hour in the extravagant illusion that we are... civilized.
This is good here,
Wherever here is, a safe haven,
From the cold, icy designs of mass artlessness, the graying of beauty.
This is sanctuary;
A tribal fire-pit where songs are still sung and
The actors daub themselves in rainbow
To portray, again, the dream of our people.
This Saturday night is no different than
Two thousand years gone;
We worship Holy Mystery in the light of fire,
Bathe in it's all consuming ardor,
And cast to ashes the slim hopes we've gathered
In the meager yet precious harvest from the plains of our finite human time.
I cling to nothing in this substantiation of nothingness, eternity,
But stand vigilant to watch for the next dancer
To enter the chambers of infinity.
He beckons at the periphery of my eyesight;
Drunken, haggard, at a loss for exactitude
I reach across abyssal lengths to meet his eyes
The sweet, welcoming vision of new year skies.
Our words impossibly gapped by a stretch pf imagination
His shadow a reflection of a future of my heartpounding determination.
I burst my skin in wanting;
I eclipse my own body in the passion of joining another soul
On it's way toward a completion consecrated by sweat.
This mad dash through the museum of compulsion
Exhibits of fulfillment awaiting love,
I run through, wildly, unrestrained,
For I'm unapologetic in my yearning for light
And his shadow that falls across my heart
Is, for now, certainly enough to do.
At 2.0, it's just impossible. Mostly due to the fact that by that point, one would certainly be working on dying instead of opening doors with a skelaton key. [flash] via MeFi
The confluence of days
Leads up to this giving and receiving of time
Confounds and astounds
Surrounds and abounds...
A million angels dance on the head of a pin
As I grip my chair while the world spins.
There is no getting off easy when it comes to age.
Indeed, there is nothing but thankfulness to emerge
Through yet another portal of the finite.
Don't ask me to be sensible,
I just want to watch the dancing
And succumb to the sparks that bounce off lovers.
I cannot deny that blood that moves me
Nor the love that waits embedded within my breathing
Hopeful to embrace, to surrender, to be lost in a kiss.
The utter freeze on the other side of this door will not delay love;
Nor will it cease the flow of wonder,
Dizzying as it may be.
Dang! Tonight's show was as smooth as it could be, minus a few minor backstage glitches, and was so powerful that I began to cry in the last scene (where my character, a developmentally disabled adult, says goodbye to the spirit that possessed him). There are moment of vacuous silence from the audience (we were nearly at capacity tonight--- not bad for a snow day) where I've realized that people's comfort zone is being poked and prodded. This is a good thing. To see a 'different' person on stage stretches most folks' safety net of stimuli. Let alone the retarded person becoming someone else mid-stream. It's a nerve wracking thing for me to do, but it most be done, and frankly whether I'm playing Mickey or the spirit that overtakes him, I get so lost in the role that I forget exactly what's going on, and suddenly there's a flow to go with.
Alright, I'm writing this after consuming several pints of honorary beer. This is not just a stream of consciousness, it's a bloody torrent. The show wraps tomorrow to a much fuller house (we had weather issues). It will be a bittersweet parting, that script and I, but my part will stick with, through all my days.
I'm the boy with the rainbow, he said,
Twirling the sky with a smile mile-wide.
I'm the one you've been looking for, he shouted,
With an eye-glisten my fingers listen for the invitation of his touch.
Fantasy is not far away, I said, as the wine cooled my throat.
For it is as real as I want, closing my eyes to surmise the surprise,
Waiting for me under the arc of his day-glo skies.
I will not hold back from passion, fiction or true diction,
Life is short and I will not resort to quivering and stammering;
I'm a human and I love and I love the idea of love,
And I welcome him, without refrain, to join me in even my passing dreams.
I welcome him in the folds of my darkest hours,
In the steam of cleansing powers.
While away with me, beguile my sensibilities, oh noble shadow,
Whose form is forthcoming and clearer with each passing minute.
Do not ask me to be reasonable,
But demand all else and I will give unquestionable bliss.
These words I give to him are but a drunken, fleeting angel,
Who like a mad star searches out yet more brightness in the din and dark.
My sense is sacrificed in a spray of fantastic realization;
I cannot hold back, beloved, from what is true.
My song no longer can be rectified by what is observable,
I'm painting these wishes with invisible ink,
Longing for more, longing for a wink.
The difference between God and Goddess is inconsequential
We're all mythic flesh
Satyrs, nymphs, titans and muses,
Dancing, ribald, but for a moment upon the gilded Earth
Beholden to starlight, transfixed by the temporal delight of the body.
Yet this everyman moves like a snake under the charmer's enchantment
His sleek ecstatic rhythm entices me to freedom, to desire,
To lose myself in the shimmer of his winding, spellbinding praise.
Whatever the pleasures of this human frame, join me;
Let's be moved by the hidden music, and bump
Into strangers around dark and sultry corners...
Let's meet our eyes with casual smiles,
And agree that separation is only as real as the word itself.
Let's commune with the pervasive holy molecules
That speckle eternity, and even this stained floor.
Let's be human, caught up with the shadow kisses and
Folded notes of promise that pass between the pulsations of wishes.
Let's merge our yelling that launches arrow-like toward the dawn,
Let's be clear and brilliant beacons of purpose amid the haze of passion.
Just move with me,
Touch and abscond with me,
Dissolve and evolve with me,
I invite you, your illusive name,
To this collective bonfire of what has been for too long withheld,
And rise to reality, as a sweet offering
To the scribes of starlight, the saints of fate,
To be more than an idea,
But a face I kiss,
With utmost care,
At the pronouncement of morning.
No language can wrap around you,
No whispers cloak your identity;
But fingers, yes, my own worshiping
Maps your slight wisp of a form...
For you may exist at the edge of my delirium
But you live in the heart of my longing,
Swinging with wild abandon in the jungle of obscured fantasy.
Be real, you ideal;
Come close, you veiled ghost...
You and I are only parted by circumstance,
And the Gods and Goddesses that long to know eachother
will no longer be satisfied
With longing alone
But with communing, pure and true,
In the cusp of our joined body.
Mostly written while absorbed in the dancefloor trance at the gay club. Also quite tipsy, but it turned out well. Mildly edited the morning after.
I've got a stone in my pocket
Had it for years
Found it long ago,
It's something solid that tumbles around
When all else crumbles down
So much dust blowing about, y'know.
Thou, the breadth and dearth of the rainbow
You cover all I see, all light filtered through you,
An untouchable, shimmering illusion
Where fingers flail as they attempt to touch.
Passing through, we're all conducting color,
Dancing honorifics to the surging of passion,
Writhing on the dancefloor, lead by drunken, wild hearts
Yearning for touch, breath, secret words
Spoken under shadows.
Shine bright in this brief allowance
Lure wanderers and madmen to your end
Where we will invoke the possible,
Tender hands, made of whole galaxies,
Desiring tender clasping
Within the crazy, inordinate whims of now.
Illusion, phantasm, manifested fantasy,
For this brief prayer
Come to life.
Thy love lives at the edge of a wing,
Pushed into the night in migration toward a warmer sun
At the greening edge of land reverted to the magical;
Manifest in the nape of a neck, the arc of a smile.
You say that everywhere is your home,
And you live at the edge of eyesight,
Yet under the stars you litter the trails in stardust
That you may be pursued.
You know foxtrails and bluejay branches
You hop and skip the maps of trickery
And only appear at your most elusive/
I have touched you,
I say with a breath of confession.
Yet you, elusive one, record not my yearning;
And move along and breathe yet another landscape into being.
We are at the apex of inevitability;
Humanity has conquered the higher mountains,
What remains are the valleys defied of expectation and want...
From primordial churning all began and shall return...
Grasp, therefore, this letter as you would a rope
Pull your bootstrings together,
And venture fearless into the crossroads of destiny.
Crikey! Britain is running low on beer Brewing giant Carlsberg-Tetley was forced to ship in emergency supplies of lager from abroad because of this summer's heatwave, it emerged today.
Tonight, the lightening bugs had their gala parade, their official debut, as if the night was deeply scattered with endless souls, each erupting into light for the sake of passion. Tonight, I laughed more, much more, than I have in ages, falling to the floor in convulsive giddiness. Tonight, I set free some light, and as I reveled in the joy of the unrestrained giggle, little stars fell about the place, landing in the palm of my hand, right there in the heart line.
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are Copyright 2005 by theodore "jay" joslin and joyous jostling studios. Thank you, Wanderer, for
All.
i am
jay joslin:
a spirit-fed mountain hopping lover of everything, an ordained
lefty-veggie-homo, and bon-vivant go-go dancing with all the messenger
mockingbirds of morning.
