Just an idea...

I was thinking of hand-making a limited number of books of my poetry, bound in leather to the best of my ability - I would like to take some classes to teach me to do it right. So it's a project a year or two off at least. But I was wondering who would be interested. They would be limited to something like 25 or 50 per book, with three books planned. All hand-bound, hand printed (I am practicing calligraphy at the moment, and plan some kind of ink illustration in a manner not yet determined). The idea is a hand-made illuminated manuscript of old. I don't know whether I'll have the talent to to produce anything worth owning, but my initial idea is some along the lines of $100 per copy, numbered and signed by me, with $25 going to a charitable cause, probably something to benefit endangered animals or fighting child abuse. The person ordering might even be able to choose.

It would obviously be an indulgence on the part of the purchaser, but perhaps not quite so much. After all, these could become valuable commodities if my mainstream work were to succeed commercially. But I get tired of thinking in those terms. I would rather produce something of outstanding quality and charge a premium for my work than to cut corners and pass the savings along. This isn't to say I won't keep offering free pictures and poetry via my blog, and reasonable priced material via more mainstream commercial means (all proceeding as I hope it will). It's just another level for those who want the best and most intimate, and would like to contribute to a good cause along the way. I'm not looking to profit per se from these editions; indeed the time and effort required will probably negate any financial gains I might see. But it's a way to keep the enterprise afloat, to keep a few dozen people happy and amazed, and a way for me to express myself completely unbridled and not go broke in the process. Sound interesting?

Sound off one way or another. Like I said, it's still some time off. I've already started writing and drawing the material, and I hope to add original paintings and photos as well. You can expect something of the strangeness of the 1980s mixed with the German expressionism of the 1920s and just possibly some French existentialism thrown in to keep things light. One thing people may not know about me is that for every poem or photo exhibited on my blog or featured in a PDF "publication," there may be 5 items never to see the light of day, and perhaps 1 or 2 of those are better than the revealed piece. I tend to cherry-pick my best work from any session, copy it into a special file, and not use it. So I've quite a backlog of interesting material. It is up to you, the reader, to decide whether or not it deserves such special status, but I'd hate to grow old and die without doing something with it. Thanks for your consideration and opinion.

Prince Charming.
(Adam Ant)

Don't you ever, don't you ever
Stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome.
Don't you ever, don't you ever
Lower yourself, forgetting all your standards.
Silk or leather or a feather
Respect yourself and all of those around you.
Silk or leather or a feather
Respect yourself and all of those around you.
Prince Charming, Prince Charming
Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.
Prince Charming, Prince Charming
Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.
Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.
Ridicule is nothing to be scared of.

I'll grant creationists one thing. The arising of today's complex life by natural selection in the time given seems highly improbable. This is is just my own gut feeling. I'm not saying it didn't happen, I just think that our current understanding of how DNA first evolved, and the pacing of adaptive radiation, is somehow off the mark. It doesn't "feel" like it could happen that way even in a period as long as 4 billion years. We don't even know how life bucks the trend of entropy. It DOES seem somehow designed. This is why I have more respect for someone who understands all the complex orthodox darwinian explanations and yet adopts an Intelligent Design scenario of some sort, then I do for ignorant idiots who don't know a thing except "Darwin's wrong". Still, it doesn't do to pawn the problem off on an Intelligent Designer, or God. That very concept still breaks the second law of thermodynamics and leaves our current understanding of physics either local or wrong. And it still implies a supernatural realm outside our natural universe. This in turn just moves the question of existence arising from either chaos or nothingness to another shell one step out, and doesn't really explain anything. If WE could create life inside a laboratory, that wouldn't solve the problem of how WE got here, after all. Unless it's turtles (Gods) all the way UP as well as down.

Skull soup.

I filed a claim
With my life insurance company
They came out and did an investigation
And totaled me

An evolutionary line of unbroken successes
Persisted for 4 billion years to produce me
Culminated in this mess you see
I can't even build a good campfire.

(unknown credit)

Seems I’ve leapt from my own cloud nine
This truth serum lied to me
Robbed me of my only gift
I feel dried up inside
Like a vampire
Days float by nondescript and hollow
Weekends are born in ashes, evil dreams linger
Worst of all the desire I nursed in my heart
The jewel I clutched in my hand
I let them crumble, ruined them on purpose
There must have been some look in my eyes
I cannot imagine.

In the grip of three
Lie leads untaken
She shows me cellophane eyes
I want to believe
But my fear is too strong
It's not enough to be five-sqare
And a-okay
I was born a monster

Tell me tomorrow
Why we are made this way
Strapped down and starved
Arranging pleasures around us
Within easy reach
My hands are shaking
Too much to mold anything
Except disasters.

Miniver Cheevy.
(edward arlington robinson)

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would send him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing:
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

Max Ernst

There are some really good people in this world
And then there are the rest, the huge majority
I wish I could kill everyone who is hurtful
I would be ok with going down as the last monster
If only I could make the planet better for the rest
Of the people and the animals that remained
In service of good, my conscience would be unstained.

You have me in your back pocket
And you know it
So why do I go through it
Give you so much
Give up my own time
Divide my chances

We rocket through the stars like
Limousines on fire
You once held me in your arms
I could have stayed with you
Till the stubborn
Weight of your beliefs got tired.

UP MOOD
Where have you been
I've been crawling in sheets
wrapped on my body like sweaty skin
I've let my thoughts spiral out like a galaxy
and in like a whirlpool of human blood
I took a hundred pills to make sure you stayed
the hell away from me for good

UP MOOD
You're here oh God you're here
you've driven the fear away
breathing is easier now, moving is easier now
I can get things done in a timely way
and it doesn't destroy my whole day
in fact I springboard from one thing to the next
and all the light and motion and sex

UP MOOD
Are like slow fireworks that tear the air
with supple silence
and clear the way for me to go on
by making the nightmares gone
removing the lethargy that shackled my soul
don't leave me again, though it's all in the plan
just comfort me for as long as you can!

Stina Nordenstam

We, the daily sufferers of depression
watch the splendors of this world behind glass
and know what can be had
and know what we can never have
our worlds are forever separate
unless we can bridge that gap
and then we're miles behind
in preparation, and must adapt
when our senses are blind

We, who are depressed
we see the veins of gold ore running through the hills
we see the shards of crystal jutting from the rock
we the the elk and bison and sheep and cattle
we see fields of wheat and sun pouring down on wildflowers
but there's nothing for us to eat
no meat to fill our carnal needs
no treats of the mind to fill our hours
no warmth from the sky to keep us from going mad

We, who are depressed live imprisoned
with visitations occasionally
from a man calling himself normality
seems like a jerk to me
gives us a sneer and a pat on the back
and a hearty 'good luck' slap
and all we can do is sit back and cry
there's no fighting back against
something that is part of you
something that grew old as you did
and learned to survive
and even if you want to kill this vine
which saps your strength and dulls your mind
change is slow, slower than the light from
distant dark stars
it seems it's on its way one day
other times the time flows backwards
and it seems a million miles away
and I look at my plastic bag and my rubber bands
and just sometimes,
I think there must be no other way.

I.
Her skin is fair and plain
freckles and moles, a sturdy frame
her curves are pleasing and her smile's like rain
in some arid, eastern abyssal plain.

Her hair is flaxon, of the kind
cascades one day, pulled back and tied
the next, and each does mesmerize
me in its time.

Her words can be thorny but fair in a way
a less feeling person could never say
and in her artist's eye nature is at play
all sunshine and berries to pick along the way.

II.
Her skin is darker, near olive as mine
she's thin and youthful and her brown hair shines
round a face so sweet I could never design
a happier thing given endless time.

She's sassy and sweet, her tantrums short
she forgives more easily but keeps in her heart
a record of all the hurt fate's ever brought
her way unsought.

Her words to me are childlike but knowing
unlike the other she's still timid and growing
she's seen the bad side and in her eyes it shows
and yet she walks with a purpose unslowing.

If I remember you at all
It will be as a sideshow to a greater thing
Which played out handsomely one spring
And then did fall

And underneath that ruin that year
My one true love was lost forever
And you emerged, unhurt and clever
And lost my ear

I search for her with eyes so tired
While you are scraping the meat off bones
And boiling supper for a family you loathe
As I try to rekindle desire

Here Today.
(mark burgess)

Don't know what happened
But somebody lost their mind tonight
Not sure what happened
But I don't think I got home tonight
And there's blood on my shirt

The clap of thunder
And I see my life go flashing by
The smell of sulphur
And I weep as I embrace the sky
I heard somebody scream

My chest is burning
I think someone set my soul alight
Don't know what happened
But I don't think I got home tonight
I wonder why
I wonder why

Ahhhh, there's madness here today
Ahhhh, I think I'll go away

Where is my wife?
Where is my wife?
I'm draining away
I'm draining away
Here today.

An open letter.

I got caught up in making a mess
Out of every situation my wife tried to redress
I was out of control, but splendidly dressed
But it wasn't really like this at all
I was sick all the while, just so deeply depressed
It felt like a gunshot wound ached in my chest
And dandy or not, I did nothing to impress
I was drowning in my own sloth, baiting The Fall

I am so sorry to everyone I let down
I wanted to live the perfect life
To make an attempt at a meaningful life
I lost it all in a day
I have no sympathy for those who have none for others
But the rest of us can pull together and help each other
All of us are sisters and brothers
In a very real way.

I'm sorry to the people I hurt as I lost my way.

Být příjemný psát až k mne. Nemusím až k dostat dopis od tebe. JÁ nebude trápení tebe.

by veronica jones

Golem.

Let's not mince words
I've said something you've not heard
You went into your rehearsal again
It's gotten old
And far too thin
To go on like this
When so many good people would take me in
Why should I stay in the cold again
At your foul whim?

I've paid the fool's price twice it seems
Once in years that now are dreams
The promise of a family seemed
To be in reach, and who could beseech you
More than I for some growth inside?
Then twice was when you ran to hide
As I turned loose the man who rides
Both steeds and monsters, lives and dies
By steel and pride

So this is how it's shaped to be
You bide your time till you are free
Of the burden of having to be
A mother of a child
Who might want to see me and have a go
At a closeness we had not too long ago
But you washed your hands then, and so
It's counseling forever,
And on it goes.

Slough.
by John Betjemen

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

Autumn Falls.

What is worse, to live in fear
Or to utterly not care?
I have to live with anxiety and depression
Terror and tears
And frozen expressions
I'm not getting better, I'm getting worse
I'm not feeling any stronger when I'm alone
I have nowhere I feel at home
No one I can talk to when I need to most
Two or three people in the world with whom I'm close
I'm afraid of my own shadow and yet
Don't really care what happens to my body
The fire has gone out of everything, I'm cold
The last days of summer are a memory
And winter is upon me.

Shrink.

I want a lady, maybe
A shrink
With long long legs
A charcoal skirt
Glasses

Glasses, on the bridge
Of her nose
And she needn't be
A model or someone's
Jerking-off rose

I want a lady, trying
To help people honestly
And her power suit is powerless
Her energy ebbs limited
And now she will listen

To what I have to say
About love
And ledgerdemain
Makes her blush and all the same
She underlines my name

I want this lady, maybe
A shrink
With long legs and hair pinned
Begging to be free
To walk with me, to learn, to see

I love the beaches, it's true
Choice of dimensions: two
But I also love the forest
And the mountain and the living
Room with all the piles of laundry

Her glasses will come off some day
I'm waiting for my moment
Her charcoal skirt will follow sure
As Gideon blew his trumpet
His homemade ode to Jericho, his strumpet

And what I have to say
About love and life
Is neither trivial nor trickery nor right
But it will undermine her life
And I will help her recover

All beings should discover
A greater truth than reason
And all minds should encounter
Eternity in their season
And all full souls should bend

Their knees at the false holy alter
Of their own design
And cast away their shrink or podcast
Perched upon the vines
Which run through their lives divine

They are not divinity
I say there's no such thing
The people crave infinity
But they are foolish beings
The truth is just insanity

The burden-bearing of kings
And philosphers, yea
For they too know
Truth is bent like clay however
You decide for it to go

And I am on my firepit now
Adjusting the logs just so
And dreaming of my long legged girl
With glasses perched on nose
My mind toggling her clothes

So what brings you here, my love?
A tale so old and new
You've heard me speak a thousand times
But I don't think you knew
That deep inside the universe,

The words I said were true.