notes from underground immrama feral animals of the soul boning the ghoul the dark memoir forest shenanagans oran addiction otherworlds neolithics the dead alcoholism natural supernatural noir big night music madness and mania infernos lives of the poets on the road this is my box devotions ship of fools
space I spent years in booze’s blackest forest, blundering every night from road to bar to road to bed like some hunter-gatherer of the Abyssal Age, so deep and lost inside the wild of uncorked spirits that blackout was the only … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space All yesterday the South was beset by rain, stormy in places and just drippy in others, dark and chill everywhere. A few days ago worst-ever vortex cold and now a Gulf sheet endlessly squeezes itself out. In the I … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space You sing about loss: I am lament. Comb your blues with my black throat, in meters that have no feet to wind the moody shade. Your songs are suitors: you lured Persephone from her loom, Cerberus bawled for his … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  That is not a corner of heaven I will quest again, he mutters, dotting the last line on parchment. The drum by which he wrote it was steady as always—the heaving sea, the flapping sails, the hours worrying a … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space There is a stillness to places where the dead are buried which tells us breath is a theft which air returns to purity, the meandering water now sea, our nightly round in dreams stopped in its revolving door. Dun … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Alone he roamed the Hyperborean North And wandered along the snowy banks of the Don Or through the barren frozen fields on the sides Of Piphean mountains, in grief for his lost wife And Hades’ empty promise. — Virgil, … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space I spent years in booze’s black forest, blundering every night from road to bar to road to bed like some hunter-gatherer of the Abyssal Age, so deep and lost inside the wild of uncorked spirits that blackout was the only … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The dream fish nudges the rushes of my sleep and breaks a silver bubble in my mind. Spends the rest of the night beholden to a depth so marrying I leave all breath behind. But then the wake fish nudges … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  You’re still on that island, I know, your t-shirt still sweaty from your last bright springtime run, your eyes still blue as the sky which no longer oceanned you. You are that sunny rock because Salem by the time … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  Tonight, thank Heaven, Your hand is close,even heavy on my brow. Has it been that long?Like a mineshaft is History, deep and cold; all our past lives labor somewhere in it, hearingthrough the wall the voices of distant singersfrom … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  Losing everything is least like falling in love yet most akin to it: Different waterfall, same cascade. Remember that flush of that first kiss, the wild tremor of anticipation as you passed through the sacred portal, all of your … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space She came up from the sea of night to teach me her wet druidry. “Here is Womb,” she rasped through a larynx of gale, pointing to the sea inside her scales. “The water of birth and firstness, blue glitters … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space It was coming on Christmas 40 years ago when I found myself alone with Dena in her bedroom, down at the end of a dark hall in her parents’ high-rise over Lake Shore drive: A bitter cold night, wind … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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   When I caught the third wave it was big and breaking fast; leaping out I hardly got ahead of it when water curled round tall and sheer, crashing over me in a tumult of roaring foam. Hit too late the wave hurled past, … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Blue is not an image to indicate the sense of the holy. Blueness itself is the holy, in virtue of its gathering depth which shines forth only as it veils itself. — Martin Heidegger   On mornings like this … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space I was born in ‘57, the burble-foamy crest of the baby boom, a pinnacle of whiteness which has spent my life crashing whitely down with its bright surge, cream tide, latex sheen. Spreading the privilege of white birth like a cloud of … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com