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space   I have always loved bad girls, those wild women whose sugardark ways seemed so beyond my reach, beyond repair, whose delights so seared my imagination as to torch all good commands, those ways in which mother, world and … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  Humankind is co-evolving with its artifacts, and the genes that can’t cope with that new reality will not survive into future millennia. — Michael Schrage, Wired magazine (1995)   The new technology manager sat in my office the other … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space There would be a pause—-archly lush, enveloping the noisy bar’s party mash as if a mouth had sucked it in—-and then one of Spit Night’s anthems would blast forth, igniting the whole boozed-up, sweaty crowd with The Psychedelic Furs … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The Nineteenth Letter To A Dead Shaman Colonel Collins (who published his impressions in 1798) reports that among the Port Jackson ((Australia)) tribes, one becomes a medicine man if one slept on a grave. ‘The spirit of the deceased … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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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 It’s winter in Connecticut, snowing up a gale; Marilyn is home alone this Christmas. Arthur is away, demanding a solitude she knows is iced with the old contempt of her having found her naked self (and probably already with … Continue reading &... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Hear me and you’re witched; sort and I’ll derange; scatter and I’m found. But name me and I’m gone, into wilds you’ll never recognize as such. Nothing’s changed down all these years, though my folk have dried to vellum: … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space I. During that summer in Pennsylvania when I was twenty–a bridge between first love and long winters— I scythed a field behind my father’s house. The field was ringed by oak and beech and maple, puritans all of wild … 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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space He’s a bit of every one of us who failed to come back from the Great War. Observe how he was assembled from the charnel loam of Passchandaele: torso of the Brit picked off barbed wire, hand of Boche … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The apartment in my dream is an old one, the sort of place where despair wrecks eternal. A cold, used-up address, harrowed by too many bad nights and rude coming-to’s. The walls yellow with age and rafters so rotted … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  ac “Shamanic initiation proper includes not only an ecstatic experience but … a course in theoretical and practical instruction too complicated to be within the grasp of a neurotic. Whether they still are or are not subject to real … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Hear me and you’re witched; sort and I’ll derange; scatter and I’m found. But name me and I’m gone, into wilds you’ll never recognize as such. Nothing’s changed down all these years, though my folk have dried to vellum: … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com