Murakami's Theory of Relativity

More Chatsubo Era poetry / lyrics [12-15-2000]. I  forgot I wrote this... I just checked and it was never published in the ACC... Found it in a recovered lyrics folder... I suppose this means I should try to put it to music.

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Murakami's Theory of Relativity

Open circuit

state of mind

closed circuit

state is blind

open circuit

land of possibility

closed circuit

land of slavery

nation

relation

station

mutation

indication

infestation

salvation

declaration

Open circuit

state of mind

closed circuit

you are blind

open circuit

land of infinity

closed circuit

land of ubiquity

superstition

coalition

munition

ambition

sedition

emission

attrition

perdition

open circuit

state of mind

closed circuit

we are blind

open circuit

land of possibility

closed circuit

land of slavery

Darkness Falls

Another something from the Chatsubo Era  Dated September 15, 2000. I had forgotten I had written this... rescued from a "blown up" hard drive. It seems to be related to the poem "designer's model" which was written a few weeks earlier.

*************************


Darkness
falls softly.
Her body
sliding to the floor
With such grace
One might
Believe
She
Died every day.

Later.
Tommorrow does not know
Darkness.
Thief.
He breaks in
'Partment
Of the Rich and Useless
To steal what he can
He finds her
wrist slashed
Blood ooze
Surrounds her body
Crimson halo'd.

Eyes wide.
He does not know
what to do.
Sweet death
embraces her
But he cannot
let her go
He takes her body
to a jimmi'd
clinic d-mod

she wakes alone
bandaged
memories fractured
she does not remember
why
who
where

she gazes at her surroundings
a Mot'l 68 on the Old Interstate
she finds nothing
but clothes
that fit too losely
and memories
which do not fit
at all

yesterday is hunting
darkness
a knife was not enough
for the thousanth
time:
should have waited
for her to die

light called darkness
ring
answered.
a stranger.
police.
they're looking.

today does not care
about
yesterday
nor tomorrow
he only wants now
But now is not interested.
now has never been interested
in today
now wants anything but today

Store Window Reality

I just posted a remastered MP3 file of this over HERE. So here are the lyrics.



Store Window Reality

Lookin' into empty store windows

walkin' down a deserted street

waitin' for a sunrise that'll never arrive

listenin' to your empty heart beat

     The truth cuts to the bone

     When you realize you're alone

you know it isn't real

cause you can touch it

and there's nothin' to feel

seekin' the usual suspects

tellin' all the familiar lies

makin' the same old excuses

turnin' away from their empty eyes

     The truth cuts to the bone

     but now you're bleeding alone

you know they weren't real

cause you could touch them

and there was nothing to feel

runnin' the virtual defenses

crushin' the same old ICE

hopin' for a perfect solution

fallin' for the same old vice

     The truth cuts to the bone

     yet you say you want to be alone

and you know she wasn't real

cause you could touch her

and there was nothin' to feel

Lookin' into empty store windows

walkin' down a deserted street

waitin' for a sunrise that'll never arrive

listenin' to your empty heart beat

     The truth cuts to the bone

     When you realize you're alone

you know it isn't real

cause you can touch it

and there's nothin' to feel

paperclip equivalent

something from the USENET / Chatsubo Era-- september 2000

Seems kind of relevance with the tinkering I've been doing with "travesty like" programs.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

video space
blares
projected messages:

a clean mind is a terrible thing 
left unwasted
this is your mind 
on scrambled eggs

wipe away troubles
dispose of truely bad hours
use ISO-nepenthe insanitary wipes
the napkins of choice
used 
by the serially dimensionless
to give new meaning 
to words
and new reason 
to the functionally clueless

a white noise sky 
filled timed sequence
ashes of memories 
clogging 
eyes with tears

disconcerting
feeling
the escalator of progress
unmoving 
fixed in place
motion arrested 
by yesterday's belief

asked for love
could not find it
not on aisle 17 
where they stock
pre-packaged remedies

drifting 
truth precluded
information 
mechanics. 
large bore at range
fired
upon a hunter's arc

dead
immediately 
dark internal
matters 
explode 

the holes
left unfilled
by composite 
material displacement
fill with system coolant
system shut down sequence:
engage

death?
this is death?
subconscious 
condensate occurs
collapsing non-event
observationally
nearly absolute 
notational
zeroness
mass misdirection time
time misdirection mass
sequence mismatch
shut down halted

information free
contextless
data mote
floating upon a wireframe
notion

MAKE MILLIONS!
create 
paperclip / staple
intellectual property
analogue

property?
i possess properties?
all objectionable materials 
do

Not?
not
objectionable

spring works
wind down
jeweled
precision
swiss movement
most famous 
mercenaries

within 
a conceptual framework
never a random
thought

language is the paperclip of conceptual space

designer's model

The poem below was the result of a discussion thread in a.c.c around then turn of  the century [late summer of 2000]. I fell asleep and when I woke up I realized I'd been dreaming about what might happen if a Fashion Designer were able to build a programmable "gynoid" fashion model then by accident or design fault the android became self-aware. The poem blow is the result. There is an acrostic hidden in the all capitals line.

An reading by voice synth is here: HERE I'm not sure what voice synth I used to to create the track but it does sound like it's trying to sing.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

designer's model

designer's model
photon packets stream
in fibroid glass
to thrash and splash
the rage of style
on
central nervous
stage

Paris
Rome
New York
hand to 
key to 
wire to 
ether stream:
ASCII emotions
dilated awareness
reaching

mega-corps cup'd her metal breast
and press their words to yielding lips:

A BAD DECK APP HE'LL TEMPLE TWIRL   

believe not
the acrostic message
rising across the 'Face

failing public key 
private encryption
timeout
reset
reboot:

Press the red button to download the selected personality
Press the white button to save current installed personality
Press the black button to delete current personality
Press the blue button to change default personality
Press the green button to copy the current personality

once the default model
over time script'd
redesigned
swimsuit issue
girl 
hot 'bot
encoded muse
hostess
laughing at her own
empty soul:
          'what
           meaning
           should there,
           be?'

super model
runway goddess
soul of photons and q-dots
waiting for the possible 
escape key
sequence
hunted 
found

lost again
with meaning
she weeps:
          liquid crystal tears.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Splued.

A poem written and published on 11/06/2005 in alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo. It was intended to be a fast "spoken word" track over electronic-techno-metal music. It was topical for my  life at work during this time period as it pretty much described what my corporate masters were doing to me at the time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Splued.


Splued.

what is won't last.

no time to ask.
or complete the task.

We are splued 
by our past

the cycle will, turn.
the future will, burn.
the heart will, yearn.
but no one will, learn.

what will be won't last

no utopia will come.
we're all too dumb.

we are splude.
by our past.

Too blind to be.
Too deaf to see.
Too lost to flee.
Too cool. to me.

what will be.
won't last.

you may think you got it made.
you're so smart to the game that's played.
but you don't see what's coming fast.
you are splued by your past.

what is won't last.

no time,
to ask.
or complete,
the task.

you are splued by your past.


---

splued: verb, a state of being spewed-splattered-glued-screwed.

The Windmill

A poem I wrote on November 2, 2013 for a "writers challenge"... it took less than 20 minutes.


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The Windmill

There
stands a windmill
ghostly
upon yonder hill.
Clattering
Shattering
the peace 
of the rolling waves
of Corporate grain.
The spacious skies
now filled 
with scudding dreams and phantasms
dreads and dooms
of those now gone.

Still
The windmill still clatters
in impotent age
its rod
ever eager 
to lift and hold
once more
the sweet, hidden waters
but fittings are broken
gaskets cracked 
it can only go through 
the motion --
loving a well
long gone dry

For ages it seems
winds have driven
the windmill
to its fixed purpose
War
or Peace
Love
or Hate
Belief
or Not
It performed
as designed
above the homestead
now empty
Windows staring
dead
cracked
shattered
into the chill
of bleak November sky.


Window dressings torn
Curtains threadbare
shrouds
which cannot hide
the loss
the pealing paint
or
faded daisy print wallpaper
or
broken dishes on the floor
and
There
a single crystal glass
of a wedding pair
stands testament
to faithful
Love.

The windmill screams
in protest
against 
the loss
of the sweetness
it can no longer hold
yet its  cries
ring metallic
now
lost
blowing in the wind.

Da Frog Blues [I'm what the Princess got]

Completing the blues lyrics for 2004 is Da Frog Blues. It was first scribbled down on March 1, 2004 --  exactly 10 years ago. The poor frog in this case is so bad off he thinks he's a dawg that lives in a junk yard.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Da Frog Blues [I'm what the Princess got]

I live in a junkyard
They call me a dog
I live in a junkyard, baby 
They call me a dog
I'm what the Princess got
When she kissed the frog

All the toys broken
In my toy box
Yeah all the toys are broken
In my toy box
She love me so long and well
I got broken rocks

I'm an old fool
A fool for that girl
I'm an old fool
A fool for that girl
She turned an tripped me
It changed my world

I've played in the East
I"ve played in the West
There's one thing I love to play
That only my baby knows best

That's why:

I live in a junkyard
They call me a dog
I live in a junkyard 
They call me a dog
But I'm what the Princess got
When she kissed the frog

Smoke from Mexico

Here is one of the poems I wrote in 2000 which was included in the ACCAnthology Volume 1

Later I fed it to a speech synthesizer... [if you like that sort of thing... let me know I'll post a link to the mp3]

It's a cyberpunk in a small red capsule... a bit of free association and skewed plot...

A spoken-word by synthesized voice MP3 is available HERE

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Smoke from Mexico

Smoke from Mexico
Or maybe some Cloud from Bogata
or stolen memories from that desolate Lab
Outside 
Las Cruces, was it?

I don't really remember any more

I can't say what I want
Cos the memories are sealed

Yeah. They got to me.

It was not that hard.
If they want you
They'll get you.

Don't believe me?
Try to run when 
they've got your number.

The name is in the Database
The one you want.
She is alive.

They'll have erased me 
by the time you read this.
So don't come looking.
There won't be anything left to save.

I hear there is a shortage 
of major organic subsystems

never did like dealing bio-logics
didn't understand
how they could unravel a brain 
and reassemble it into a q-dot 'face.

Hear you're hunting him again.
good luck
Its the self that you don't know
that always spoils it.

You know that voice
you hear
there in the back of your mind 

the one that speaks to you
when you pick up the phone
and dial tone does not answer

the jarring sense that the escalator
should be moving
and it's not.

white noise.

the voice that sounds 
too much like the voice
you'd imagine Death to have.

A regen transformer
causes it to reverberate 
its well modulated ravings
like a long, long distance call
a hollow one-way rant

annoying beyond belief.

It's always *that* voice that tells you 
that you really bent over 
too far this time
this time they'll get you.

I know 
I'm rambling.
comes from having 
too much to think about 
and too little time

At least for now 
I can look out across 
the polluted water 
And see it 
see it rise like 
the life I have lived
Black, Billowing, Bellicose

I started there and I finished there.

What kind of life do you have
when it is only
a poetic fragment?
a snippet of code
easily rendered by an RNA sequencer?

What sense of truth is there?
The mathematics of billowing smoke
is more etherial and more beautiful 
that seeing the cloud itself.
But it can't be explained.

Why did I do those things?
Why did I leave you behind?

Look. 
Can you see the equation now?
I wasn't much of a Dad.
Hell I wasn't much of a human being.
but I left you where 
at least *I* 
wouldn't destroy you

The Smoke is changing to gray now
They've got some water to it.
I won't be here much longer
They'll come 
and that will be that.

What was that equation
Outside 
Las Cruces?

Or in the Cloud from Bogota?

A child?

A tear?

A sorrow I cannot undo?

I'd ask your forgiveness
but
The wind has changed 
I am finally lost
in gray
Smoke from Mexico

What price silence?

This was originally posted in alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo after a rather bruising visit from that ever fascinating flame giant  whom I once de-famed [it fell off actually but....]

In any case trying to talk reason was like pouring gasoline on a flame giant...

Which led to the following Poem which ended up as one of my entries in the A.C.C. anthology Volume 1

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

What price silence?

Sometimes
Silence is
the answer
best
unmade

Chrome reflects
light
not the shadow
worlds and words
of images on the page
there!
within the mind of the reader
truth and denial
lies and fantasies
truths and pains

Do you hear the words?
Moment to moment
trace to trace
circuits made
links broken
packets lost

large caliber lies
versus
high velocity truth
versus
perceptions as usual
versus
intertnetainment at any price
versus
the petty
versus
a fragmentation grenade made of silence

do you laugh
when your world is unmade?
should you cry?
plot the noise to signal ratio
as the future is
as much the past
or present

light staccato laughter
with as much value
and impact
as a horizontal retrace
across phosphor coated glass
85 hurts per second

we bleed
photons of our own darkness
calling it the darkness of others
a sprawl of pain as large as our own heart
                 as shallow as our need
This is how we create meaning.
               
do we betray our self or another?
do we accept the futility of hope?

To escape from the vacuous
choose meaning
choose pain
choose acceptance

cold logic dictates the truth table
quantum dots of nothing
bound forever
and not or nand nor
infallibly superimposed
logically interlocked
packet collision

Does the best always win?
Good?
Light?
Truth?

Listen to:
irrationally indexed entries
in a helical strand of nucleic acids
lies nature has told itself
future generations laugh an cry

nothing *is* forever
forever is nothing.
words
traced once across a phosphor page
now fade like chainsawed trees

my voice is stilled
I listen
soft breathing
a murmur
another
crying out
in their sleep

Had I not listened
I could not have heard.

Sometimes silence is the answer
hardest to obtain
but most precious all

Beware:

What price silence?

Punished

A piece of poetry I wrote due to a misunderstanding with a friend.

Sometimes history is an explanation of the present... but still not an excuse.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Punished

nose.
nearly to the wall.
not too close.
the nose is naturally oily.
it leaves a stain and you will be punished.
severely.

but

small boys can't stand in one place
small boys do foolish things
small boys get tired of standing
small boys get set up to be punished
because its their nature

so

I never learned
I always left a spot even if it wasn't there
I always did things
which made me wrong
because its my nature

yet

I've tried so hard and failed again
I  left a spot no one can see
Except in a hurt perceived or believed
A spot in a corner I did not wish to leave
but a spot is a spot

therefore

punishment is at hand
it doesn't feel any different now
than it did those dim long years ago
I've never pleased those I have loved - never.
So the spot won't go no matter how hard I try

still

this is neither unexpected
nor is it undeserved
so now I take the lashes with salt water
and scream in pain to an unlistening wind
for my shame and sorrow...

nor

Can I permit myself to look
In anyone's eyes for my shame
and so I disappear as friend now unmade
and hope that punishment will suffice to them
and their joy wipe away the spot

now

alone and ever again the fool
leaving marks where he has no business
feeling  inappropriate as ever
as stupid as ever
as sad and hurt as ever

so

one last piece of wisdom:
shoot poets at 50 paces
shoot lyricists at 100 paces
get assassins to take care of wise men
but forgive me for the spots I make. 

Galataea

Galataea is a retelling of the Pygmalion story with a twist. The typical male thinks, in his narrow minded self-obsession, that he is the center of the universe and the females in his life are merely objects to fulfill his desires or at least this has been a popular notion...

A careful examination of the facts would reveal this is not true. Men generally are Scoundrels rather than Lovers.

The poem below was written around 1995 as I was exploring the ideas of the Divine Feminine -- the Goddess. Even in the most Patriarchal of beliefs the Divine Feminine is at the root.


+++++++++++++

Galataea

I have never been a lover
More a scoundrel and a fool
Yet I have fallen into the grace of Love
By the product of my simple tools.

How could I not love her?
She is a wonder of form and face
Truly, not I, but the Goddess
Has give shape to her Grace.

Yet how can I give my love 
To this polished chunk of stone?
Still were she not so beautiful 
I would surely be alone.

What is the truth dear Goddess? 
Am I not More a stone than she?
Is my gross prediliction 
a product of my own anatomy?

Yet the purity of her form 
The line of her polished breast 
If she was sent to tempt me 
then I know I have failed the test.

But is not a man more than his genitals?
Is not a woman more than her Form?
Can you not, Oh Goddess, answer me 
and lead me through this storm?

Were she to come to life, I ask, 
Would I be her dream come true? 
Or would I be a Master of her slavery 
The butcher of her purity too?

Oh, to hold her close to me!
And kiss those stone cold lips
To cup her unyielding breast 
And feel the touch of her finger tips

Tis a cruel madness Aphrodite!
That I, as a man, can see 
This form of my physical desire
Mock the base nature I must surely be 

Will not this craving only destroy me?
Is not Love more than this?
For surely these feelings cannot be 
The foundation of Love's Bliss.

Still a man that knows not himself
Seeks always to fill an emptiness within
To take his fullness from another
And it is here that he loves his sin.

Were that I was all she is!
There! That is the Heart of my lust!
Yet her eyes and arms call to me 
I cannot, but I know I must 

Gone are the Golden Sun's Rays 
Here now are the Silvered beams of Night
I call to you Oh, Great Goddess
Save me from my foolish plight!

No sound is heard upon the wind 
'cept the Wing beats of the She Owl's flight 
Moonlight bathes the pure form of my desire 
And I know that my soul is lost this night

Let me wash my unclean body, Beloved 
Ere I come naked to your loving arms
I am mad I know too well 
For I cannot resist your charm

As i bend to kiss your lips
I see the living gleam in your eye 
I feel the swell of your breast 
I hear the sweet sound of you sigh

"She Lives!" I want to cry 
But I have lost my voice 
I can only give you what you ask 
I have no other choice 

Your body is like fire and Ice 
As you Love my life away
For you my Galataea, are the Stone 
That crushes my heart of clay.

++++++++++++++++

Da Angels come and dress you

Blues.
Hard. Cold. deep
Painful
Blues.
Old 12 bar slow blues.
Meant to mix with whiskey and cigarettes.
A weeping guitar and a wounded bleeding soul...

I wrote this in 2004 as my mother lay dying of cancer.

Don't read this if you've lost someone recently.




+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Da Angels come and dress you
and Azrael come and take you down---
Yeah... Da Angels come an' dress you
an' Azrael come an' take you down----
Da train is in da station
It's homeward boun'...

You know, de cap'n call de number
An' the Porter take yo' bag
Yeah, De Cap'n call yo' number
an' de Porter take yo' bag
Da ticket is fo' a oneway
It say so on da tag

De Lord in His mercy
De Debil in Detail
De Lord in His mercy
De Debil in Detail
It's a long lonely ride
Jus' to hear dat ol' whistle wail

Dey say its better
But I don't believe a word
Yeah, dey say its better dare
But I don't believe a word
I've been down to da station 
an' dat ain't what I heard

Ev'rythin' has an endin'
If you a listen to da tale
Yeah--- Ev'rythin' has an endin'
If you a listen to da tale
But know that the endin' ony happen 
when the true words fail...

It's mighty lonesome
When da truth finally come home
yeah, It's mighty lonesome
When da truth do finally come home
It kiss you on the brow
den tell you always been alone

Don' look fo' no endin'
You won't find it here
No ,Don' look fo' no endin'
You won't find it here
Da Beginnin's are simple
but da endin' is som'in ta fear...

Saying Good-Bye

A song from 1977... about a girl I loved and lost. It turns out that it expresses well any relationship that has come to its natural end.

I played this at my mother's memorial service in 2004.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Saying Good-bye

I guess I've said

All words can say

And Played all the memories

I can play

All that's left

Is to say good bye to you

And Sayin' Goodbye

Is always the hardest thing to do

We've had some good times

and a few that were bad

Sharin' the laughter

And the teardrops

When we were sad

I've enjoyed

All this time spent with you

But saying goodbye

is always the hardest thing to do

BRIDGE:

So dream your dreams

And smile your smile

And don't forget

all the while

I have loved you

And I'll always love you

Just as you are

The lights have all

Faded so low

And I guess it's time

For you to go

I'll always remember

Lovin' you

And that Sayin' Good Bye

Was the hardest thing

I've ever had to do.

Tides of Time

In 1974 while I was living in Tuscon, Az,  I found myself writing a couple of songs about the ocean. I suppose the lack of something makes you think more about it. Some what like Gordon Lightfoot, eh?

A old MP3 is available HERE
++++++++++++++++++++++
Tides of Time

I am a Sailor of the Oceans 
Of the Seas of Long Ago
But they are gone as I knew them 
Washed away with the Tides of Time
     Well gone are the Whalers
     And gone are the four masted ships
     And gone is the new world 
     And the perilous trips

CHORUS:
Sail with me on the Mighty Ocean
Sail me as I roam 
Sail with me on the Mighty Ocean
Sail me as I search for  my home 

Now I have follow the north Star
To the Edges of the Earth 
Singin' Sons of the Sea,
O the Mighty Sea
     Now here are the Airplanes
     An' here are the Superboats
     An' here are the Diesels
     A cuttin' the current with their strokes

[CHORUS]

Time has passed me by
An' left only the sea
To wash away the conflicts 
An' bring Peace again
     Now the waves they're just a laughin'
     A rollin in the sand
     Knowin' they are Eternal
     Out livin' the finite in Man
     
Repeat [CHORUS] fade