highwyrd the starscape
cyberdelic subspace in
sixteen bits/bytes of
highwyrd the starscape
highwyrd the starscape
cyberdelic subspace in
sixteen bits/bytes of
whispers the bird. Black-feather, red-wing,
could there be wisdom in the song you sing?
Nestled in deep desire, you kindle an intuitive
fire: craving for the shade of conifers, the longing
woodfires of apple and oak, sweet cinders
blistering coals; my sunset poetry, your sunrise song,
this is the gallivanting of the isolated mind —
a handwritten recluse, my space is in shambles;
a typewritten excuse, cyberspace breathes down my neck.
“Solitude,” cries the bird, “is our only solace!”
What a sad wretch you must be.
The town, the community, my family, the state.
I perch upon the crooked porch and watch them all
admire my hollow disguises — “Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves.”
The bird speaks these quicksilver words to me:
“We twist, flutter, and turn, ‘behaving as the wind behaves’,” —
knowing that alone with pen or lettered keys no voices will disturb me.
The squawks of crows, the mumbling of flames, the smell of steeping tea,
the buzz of electric light, the stirring wisp of dust, the taste of bitter wine
upon the lonely quiet of my mind, under the flickering shadows of dreams and trees,
in the afternoon light, up all night, asleep all morning —
all impressions and expressions of solace sought, solace found,
far from the penetrating presence of others. It is not sour or sullen here, no;
I can admire the woods behaving as the wind behaves,
the profundity of space and time, the place of my soul.
The chirps of the blackbird outside my window, alone
you black-feather, red-wing, I hear solace sing.
t. hrafn noyes
Typing through the second twiligyht
I am the tomcat screeching
Reaching for pills and a pack of cigarettes
The darkness above and around me is retreating
Into the narrow holes and hollow corners.
There is dust upon my bones. . .
I wait in desperate longing for coffee afternoons
colored in the shades of early autumn;
this summer is a dream until the spring-time of my Youth
I live to Dream and Dream to live,
between daydreams and HALF-hearted action.
Lo, the Earth begins a series of swirling contractions:
broken-down, pussyfooting, ear-marking. . .
Life has come of age Retrograde:
The poetic piecemeal of heartbeat lemonade
a bittersweet kiss on flesh imagined,
dream of my dreams, you are my amphetamine —
my blood is tainted with nicotine,
my nose is no longer clean.
Brother of my darkest machinations,
it is only my imagination that I have left.
O’ Juliet, hear me now: I am the sweetheart you long for,
the object of your greatest fascination!
Check my pulse: the Rhythm continues on
the Truth will dawn upon you and in crazed bewilderment
you will know: How sweet this darling dream of dreams,
how tragic, life, little more than a phantasmagoria
of pleasure, pain and fantastic colors,
of erotic fancy, esoteric mechanical reverie. . .
and in this maniacal moment between conception and suicide
twilight dissolves into sunlight
your hair glistens crimson so
and suddenly as if without forethought
you erupt in prayer to Dionysus:
Touch me, kill Me, worm your way inside me
Wine Master, ecstasy, presence rapture,
elation, incarnation, the Drunken King leave me
fertile, feral, as man and woman fated to be . . .
as man and woman are fated to be. . .
July 4th 2012, 3:14 AM
— t. hrafn noyes
One day I suddenly stopped writing poetry and I began thinking too much. It was then I began to feel as if my soul was dying. The next three months were characterized by bouts of severe depression with short bursts of manic energy. For the most part, I sat around, stagnant, fighting thoughts with thoughts. Depression swelled into a maelstrom of unpredictable emotional outbreaks.
One evening I sat down with my typewriter, at four in the morning, and punched out the first brilliant poem of the season. My typewriter then chanced to break and I became hyperactive on a blogging website called Tumblr.
Recently, I began again thinking in song, verse, and arcane implication. The following is my story. Will I think myself to death?
Wisps of prophecy
collected in silver smoke;
seething spells of Wodh.
My readings in old Germanic and Norse lore have revealed to me a peculiar concept of time. It diverges greatly from the Greek/Roman system that the Western world thinks in today. How so? There is no future.
Instead of thinking in Past, Present, Future (as personified by the Fates), Germanic thought breaks down time into Past, Present, and Future-Present, with the Present being the most critical moment of all. The future is predictable yet unknown because it doesn’t exist yet and never truly will. Rather, it will be a different moment of presence — thus “future-present.”
The predictability of the future-present ties directly into Fate or Wyrd, a force woven and embodied by the Norns. It’s easy to divine the future-present: whatever you’re doing now will directly affect and lead to whatever is about to come. The action-reaction principle is key to understanding what is about to manifest and become the present reality. For example, if you are spinning a web of lies and continue to do so, that web will eventually grow to an unsustainable size and collapse in the future-present. Your “future” will contain the misery of that fallout. Guaranteed or your money back.
Now don’t take this as a way to explain away life and don’t forget the existence of chaos. Out of chaos all things originally came and we ride the waves of this chaos as our everyday life — the rippling force of creation keeps all things fresh and in a state of constant flux. Do consider the practicality of the future moment, however. Your fate and the outcome of many of your actions and choices are predictable. Your actions now will tell you what will happen in the next present, the present to be, the future-present. If you dislike what you see, remember that boldness is what the Germanic heroes are known for — like them you can decide not to defy your future but to change it before it manifests by changing your actions, now.
So are you happy yet? If you’re in a suffocating situation, a place of misery, a stagnant state, a world of general melancholy, there is a way out. If you keep on your current path it is likely your future-present will be similar to your present. I decided not to dilly-dally in my writing and finally make a stand, even if it starts with this post. When you take a chance anything is possible.
Stick out your neck, walk that plank, be unafraid of hunger or homelessness. Let the Universe take you in and with every breath, screaming, accept the beautiful gift of life and presence. You can only live now.
I’ve been working through some ideas for my Etsy store lately. Two friends of mine run a shop and sell their art to great success. I’ve had a few nice pieces lying around that I’d love to send to some deserving person. If I can make a few bucks from it to supplement by income (or lack thereof) and get the chance to hone my craft all day, why not? My lazy blogging acts as my writing outlet so I can sustain my relative sanity between projects, so this sounds like a good visual outlet.
Now, to the sweets. I have a few prints that I’m willing to sell (and get re-sized, re-printed, re-edited) based on a customer’s desire. However, I need more than just a few. I’ve got a head full of ideas and it’s driving me insane. So, dear readers, help me get those ideas out. Here’s the plan:
I’m going to open to a “blank page” and put whatever my readers want on it. You get to take the steering wheel of my artistic mind. Choose a form, choose a style. Painting? Collage? Something else? If I’m capable of it, I’ll do it, and the driving force will be my interpretation of your ideas. In the end it’ll still be through a dense, cloudy filter of mine, but I believe that to be the fun of it — ideas melding together and passing through this crazy mind of mine, being spit out on the other end as a masterpiece. We can hope.
In the comment section below post any criteria or ideas you might have. Subjects, objects, backgrounds, foregrounds, colors. Anything. I’ll stir it all into a great big cauldron and the result will be something beautiful. If it happens to be nice enough I might even do something special with it. This is an experiment in art. Help me and we could really get something going.
I hope to hear from my frequent readers and new browsers and skimmers alike!
I’ve been absent for a few days during a move across the state. Now I’m stranded in the disconnected world,the shadowy place off the grid. Connections cut. Digital severance. Oh, all of those words are a bit too harsh; I can walk down the street two minutes and be here at a free 24/7 computer with high-speed web. And I’ve got electricity, mind you. But no longer are the days of opening the laptop screen in eager anticipation for the instantaneous, roaring blast into cyberspace.
Well, it isn’t all that bad. On this topic, I might as well share an exciting idea promoted by a favorite magazine of mine. Digital Detox Week. It’s passed, but it’s a yearly thing. Here’s an explanation from AdBusters:
Did you just have to click on a link? What is it about our technology that is so addictive? As much as we hate to admit it, we are hooked on the digital world. Whether it is texting, gaming, downloading or emailing, so much of our time is spent in the virtual realm.
Luckily, the off button is easy to find. Take a week to cut back on digital stimulation as much as you can. The goal is not to dwell on the pitfalls of our electronic devices but to reflect on ourselves. And who knows, if the magic begins to creep back into your life, the digital detox may never end.
The off button actually isn’t that easy to find on some new, complex smart-phones; I’ve seen people wrangling to turn one off. But point taken, AdBusters. I’m interested in this magic — are you? Perhaps I’ll slowly turn off the rest of my digital, internet/web-loving devices and try it out. The mind I lost years ago to the great pulsing network may just return. For more information, check out the official page of Digital Detox: http://www.adbusters.org/campaigns/digitaldetox
Until next time…
I’m sick! No, it’s not a fever — it’s a tumblr account! By default I can’t be too serious there (hell, should I ever be serious?), but I’m hooked on the postmodern spectacle of it all — the stream of consciousness through images and itty-bitty captions of text. Here is a link to my corner of the madness, a blog I’d like to somehow wire to this one so that they’d operate in unison. But I’ve got no clue if that’s possible. It’s making me hyperactive and breathless, whirling all over the place with my weird fetishes (oh, not sexual ones).
On a second note, there’s a new musical bug in my ear that I just can’t get out. I’m digging a young, experimental, down tempo drum-and-bass artist named Flying Lotus, and I’m doin’ the astral plane over and over again. I just can’t help myself. Sitting in a quiet room, the lights low, with my surround-sound or my studio headphones on becomes sublime, transcendental. Now I’m sounding like a stifled avant-critic. I could use a hundred honeyed words but the only way to understand his music is to listen to it. So here you go, feed that curiosity! I’ll amp up your ears. Tumble around and do the astral plane with that zodiac shit of yours!
I’ll be keeping up with this place and flooding it full of music, poetry, and every type of art I can wrap my soul around. In the meantime, my Last.fm account is a fairly good musical guide to anybody interested in popular (and not-so-popular) folk music and off-the-wall electronica.
This old, rusty blog got a new look. I do hope you’ll enjoy it. My presence will continue to build as the days pass and so will the content! Check back as I continue redesigning this place and integrating my entire creative internet presence in this one place. As per tradition, I apologize to anyone who I have suddenly ignored; I’m back and prepared to read you blogs again.
So, henceforth are the waking dreams of a cyberdelic bohemian.