Autumn Collage, Serge Gurkski [ebook reader TXT] 📗

/> like holyfied fungus
mush rooms the house of my brain.

Befallen is the bread of
sanity you feed my corpse with
and smudged the chalked walls
of the ship of the church
the never-landing

[Schmerz]

And there was light on
The 3rd day: embalmed by
hopeless dark.

Lit a match to make her burn
as
playful wind demons
braid the black strands of her hair.

With her cigarette lit she
leans over closely

She
is wet kissing
against
the gloomy-clouded background
of my now.

She is like victory in a game
of painful chess
in the endlessness
of her absence.

[She'ol]

Once – as done in the mind by Huxley-
you’ve crossed the loftily-veiled
threshold
of perception

there is this
shady grin of welcome,
hiddenly vitriolic
and
sweet.

Ripped off a heart,
lessened and minus
the symbiotic pathos
you venture into
the ancient forlornness
of the cave-like place:
created by diabolos, (Greek: the whirler)
upsidedownist,
your fundamentals
torn apart.

And your eyes being screamed at
by the impossibly meaningless sufferance
of what there is to be:

Like that one woman, faceless, kneeling
awaiting beheading
on the brown green of the ground
of the soccer stadium in Kabul
and it was done
inshallah
will be done again
authorized by
faith
bebopping
the warmhearted
logic
of us,
the cool.

[Böschungsbrand _ Burn O’ The Brae (Scots for talus)]

Burns of whom I loaned the moudiwort,
Scots bro, chasing phrases in the highs
O’ Gaelge and gluing them together
in the lows of booze,
Burns, also, said
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That’s blinkin’ in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But, by my sooth, she’ll wait a wee!
[Willie Brew’d A Peck O’Maut]

No more burning bushes to my brain!
And her moonship’s guidance always preferred
over an unknown god’s petty
ill-phrased Hebrew mutterings.
As, as you ask me, for the drinks,
in the plain light of the day I recommend
a quick drowning in the uisge barrel,
to readjust just your shattered lines of thought
and readjust your attitudes towards us dudes, too.

‘nuff-s

[Maybe Milton]

Or from a voice beneath of
“where the shadow both ways falls”

and:
“nor slept the winds
Within thir stony caves, but rush’d abroad
From the four hinges of the world, and fell
On the vext Wilderness, whose tallest Pines,
Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest Oaks
Bow’d thir Stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts,
Or torn up sheer …”
[Paradise Regain’d, book 1 and 4 respectively]
I take my breathing and last solace.

[An Urge]

If you like me
Wake up to
Your Life

Is the Crown
Of A Tree
We hide under

To Puke at
Too

And if Both
Of US
Are Nothin’ but
Ill-developed Machinery,

After Killing the Engineer

Would – If you find the time –
You Consider The Option

Of Offering your
Swollenness
To my Probing

To coite our Brains Out
For a NEW Beginning
Again!

[Rock and Roll]

And every time you make the scene you find the joint is jammed
(C. Berry, Oh Carol)

Feels like something in the morning
as the dark’s cummin’ up again, the fucker.
Think that Keith would agree that Carol
is Chuck’s major contribution to R and R and not Johnny B. Good ,
see above quote

Back to marginal(ized) lives:

So I awake in a clinic bed, the linen all tossed
around my formidable body.
I decide to leave the annoyingly green mattress
for a little pee walk and then walk along the
corridors of lesser enlightenment
to meet.

people

They’re smoking!
2 hot women suff’rin’
leanin’ ova their chairs
ovulating pain screams and
cries for help
and the strong boys
are all but willing to help ’ em out.

Disneedify them!

Amid those pleasant company I
Took my seat to smoke and
join the chatting.

A guy looking so much alike James Dean
my hurtin brain’s getting into trouble again,
directs the sweetness of his voice to me:

“Weren’t you restrained just a sec ago?”

I’m chuckling, not at him, he’s scared.
But Im not gay so I let my reddened eyes
wander over further…

There is a junk bride, married to the smack.
We fight with words a little, I’m not
attracted. And then there is

a blonde longlegged cat
on tabs,
who needs my lighter
once or twice

and I could imagine to fall
in love but
not this time.
She will again not make it
this time but
prefer to run away again
just like always.

In my dreaming
i’m ridden into sweat by the H orse
and fucked oh so good.

But waking up to Darjeeling tea
plus cream, I am forced to
face the monsters of reality.

I attempt to hide by painting
But just end up reviving
Reality multicolored.

In my muscular body I’m such a whiner:
Just touch me and I fall,
But the pretty female psychologist
keeps telling me to
strut my non-existing muscular emotions
and hide the bulging traumata.

[Meeow]
Her body had stiffened since she lied dead
My guess was: 3 hours.
I was relieved and the morphine forbade me to cry.
Her light pink tongue was hanging out
Her pupils huge and black and full of
The knowledge of death, the final question answered:
Que sera?
Her body was so light:
No more than 2 handfuls
Of dead leaves crumpled
Between my fingers.

I loved her for her trusting me.
I miss my little black and white.
Good bye forever, Sheila!
Fare so well

Memories mess with me
Drown what is dead, what has died
Bury the gone
Leave me cleaned
Of pain.

[I’m putting it simple now]

All of us, all of us wear
Pork pie hats.
Let me chase away the
Clown in my eye first.
We can, we need to talk
Now.

The dark-as-can-be trumpet’s the third solo
and such sweet torture
to my heart’s ear …

while incessantly the beloved ugly man
keeps telling stories by fingering
his giant wooden bass
in love.

[Oh Charles!]

I have been aware and a worry when
News of his death in NYC hit us…

And Charles, now that you’re dead too, let me
Invade the spider web of Blues you span
To make Lester sleep more safe and
Also to comfort and console his
Brothers and mothers and sisters

You my Mingus have never been that
Delicately sweet again on the bear-like bass

Now I stand here open-mouthed:
A trouble en face that trouble spelled World
Spelled life, life spilt like I spill the booze
Of my, the honey of my doubts
Carved into the skin of that
Ancient tree of poetry

[Thank you Brian]

I leaned back on the Modigliani-shaped chair
in the coffee shop before I tried out
another explanation:
“Imagine, I said,” there is no God but instead
a kind of breeze, or a wave
and that the surf’s up
and that I feel it when it’s there
and that I jump now …
risking everything…”

So he got that.
Wave vs “God”

[Fairies]

We don’t drink Celan’s dark milk of dawn
After getting up, no. We feast on life
So utterly strange to us
It feels like party, and kinky
And kinky of course is always good for us
So we feast into the day.
Into today: I raise the cup
of milk coffee to my throbbing lips.

All of this is so smoothly to take
I almost feel like I entered wonderland
And now that I am not even chained anymore
My mind gets a rest.

There is medication to take and supervision
There is a drowse to spare me worse
There is black lightning hurting my head
While I talk to the blonde girl
And I think I’m drooling.
She must not see, but her eyes
are not on me as she talks to me
and I break down.

Lisa’s shadow is all over my cushion
And the smell of the sweat of her armpits
And her hand caresses my hair. I dream

Her hand is holding mine while she is counting.
She feeds me pills. I wished I could lick the back of her hand
I want to close my eyes but I just have to save the
View of her skin and hair and lips so close.
To remember when memory hurtfully fails me.

And Lisa , the nurse, is a whisper in the corner of my sleepy eye.

I panic when I cannot open my eyes.
Tender voices inform me:
They fed me too much Lorazepam.
I grunt and blackness.

I
fall

On the sixth day I can move and read and eat and talk again
And watch. And sleep.

The cop said, there is no way we let you die here.

I wished they had

[Exit all]

Docs – I learn – have been on strike,
Exit docs;
And now for the band.
Band in my head I mean …
Exits band.
Lisa: I mount her, lick the wetness
From her open lips and thrust
…
And Lisa: exits

Exit laughter, madmen, making mad noise,
Head shaking, handing out cig paper
Money and joking.

Exit new friends, doubts, pain,
Exit heart burn, and headaches and
Inappropriate erections.

Exit what I did not tell you and
Exit Life

And all this drama is because of
losing you
and losing myself in you.


Barbara


I. Remembering Barbara Lost


He got lucky earlier tonight
when serendipity met chutzpa in a
bad friend’s apartment, he left with
pockets stuffed with grass.

Everyone hunted him down for handfuls.
He had a private party with sensuous Barbara,
who healed him with gymnastic expertise
in a glass-walled hotel suite at a startling height.

He sadly watched her do her fix
nude and desirably voluptuous,
obscenely present in her flesh,
obscenely absent in her mind.
After a pee and a cigarette,
she relaxed and opened up to him, opaque.

Hungry and horny again,
he later tried to seduce her mind.
They were floating together in overlapping