Posts tagged “New Poetry

TAKE A DEEP BREATH by Igor Goldkind and Frederic Iriarte


The Cure for Pandemania is Here! 

An Album of Original Spoken Contemporary Poetry and Music

– Making Sense Where Nothing Else Does –

Original poetry by Igor Goldkind
Music by Frederic Iriarte and Igor Boyko

Launching September 5th at The 2020 International Beat Poetry Festival (Normally in Boston, now virtually everywhere!) https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCilhqGXf2CAARg7N7EjwNQg

The Festival Will be streaming 3 original music videos from the album for the first time.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH is available for download  exclusively on Bandcamp 

9 Tracks, 40 Minutes, $18.00   $15 EU

Original Words, Music, Video and Antidotes for Living With Uncertainty


Internationally renown fine artist and producer Frederic Iriarte and American Poet Igor Goldkind have collaborated on 9 original tracks of musical interpretations based on Igor Goldkind’s forthcoming collection of poetry also entitled TAKE A DEEP BREATH
The album of 9 tracks is being launched as a complete work at this year’s International Beat Poetry Festival and will be released for download at midnight  this coming Saturday, September 5th.

This unique multimedia work was written and produced during the pandemic in Stockholm, San Diego and Moscow.  It is intended as an artistic attempt to help us live with uncertainty and survive catastrophe living.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH is most important piece of Spoken Word Art to come along at just the right time: right when we all needed it the most!” 
–  Henry Rollins

TAKE A DEEP BREATH and step out of your comfort zone.
Just don’t look down.

2020 has been a year of both social, economic and psychological upheaval.   Humans have been required to adapt to drastically changing circumstances without forewarning and without certainty as to the outcomes. 

We are being challenged as a species to adapt. 
Adaptation is our genus but it is also painful  and exhausting. 
TAKE A DEEP BREATH is a guidebook:  a pause for a moment of reflection.   Take a break from panic and get a clear view of where we are as individuals, as a people and as a species.

Covid-19 has literally attacked our humanity however in doing so has done us the service of reminding us of our shared humanity, our common mutual vulnerability.  These are hard lessons to learn and uncomfortable changes to be made for us to survive.   TAKE A DEEP BREATH is a pause in the gloom  and a chance to regain our strength and resilience to  all carry on.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH is a step backwards in time when poetry and music were used  and appreciated as tools for contemplation, meditation and reflection on the most crucial factor in our lives.  Now that we are being confronted and overwhelmed with multiple catastrophes,  is the time to return to using  poetry for what it is designed for: 

Reflection, Meditation, Contemplation
Self-Healing and Recovery

We will survive.


On Poverty and Consciousness


A new acquaintance asked me why I endured relative poverty and uncertainty in California when I could easily take a tech copywriting or PR job and be living comfortably.

I answered, for which I’m sure someone reading this might wonder the same.

The answer is not simple and all has to do with my commitment to art and to the art of writing. It’s somewhat like a religious or spiritual calling; certainly as requisite of sacrifice and discipline as a monastery. (Read James Joyce’s Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, if you need further elucidation on the subject). To become a great artist, which is what I believe I am becoming at this late stage of my life (or will at least die trying to be), takes total focus and constant dedication.

Not just to creation but to observation. Many of my best friends are not just poets and artists but scientists and mathematicians because they are processing their own observations through their own disciplines. When we talk and share words they read me and hear me, they comprehend how we’re all pursuing the same thing: the truth about life and the lives we are living.

Science and Art are really just two different vantage points in the same universe. During our Rennaisance there was no such separation between science, engineering and art. Just look at Da Vincis’s sketches if you don’t believe me. And this underlines the true failing of the formal education systems. No purely structured system can account for, much less process the unstructured data of experience.

But one truth I have learnt along this way is that we are all connected; both as a species and as sentient beings. Not just to those existing in the moment we all share but for all of us, from the very beginnings of awareness and rational self-consciousness. We are all brothers and sisters of the same mind, the same awareness that is awake and cognicent.

We all share the same biology of the mind.
I imagine that when extraterrestrial sentient life is contacted, it will be the poets and artists most open to the new who will not only best describe and communicate qualitative meanings with them but decipher their language(s) to communicate with them (more of “us”?), before the actual scientists can interpret their data and the military can rationalize the threat.

From the point of commonality; this sentience itself has a common shape or form in all of us throughout time and geography. It is our human nature.

My words try to sketch its outline.

Without needing to name a god, the Buddhists have been attempting to describe this commonality of all sentient beings, for thousands of years. In art and yes, in poetry too.
It’s what poetry is for: to describe the indescribable that is true for all of us, to all of us.

The known shining its single torch down a darkened corridor to the unknown.
The unknown (not the unknowable), has always been our mind’s final frontier.

We weren’t born yesterday. We did not just become aware of consciousness. The history of consciousness is the history of us, of the ‘you’ that is reading and comprehending these words.

You are no different in awareness than the Neanderthal who stumbled out of her cave and looked up at the stars in wonder. Every astronomer I have ever known harbors that exact same wonder. Our tools maybe bigger, faster and deadlier but our minds haven’t changed, just adapted to our tools. They’re physiologically still the same; and only enhanced by the evolution of language, both associative, symbolic and metaphoric.

This is where we alll connect. The commonality of our senses’ perception and their comprehension. This is what is meant by ‘realisation’. When we make the world real. When we realise that the truths we know from our senses connect us to the world as intimately as to each other.

These are the materials I use to create art.

But why not get a day job?
I will have to.
I have learned all I can stomach for now about the tangible reality of poverty. I have made some great and tragic friends outside my walls of privilege and comfort. But when I first detected my dwindling resources, I panicked. I borrowed gas money from friends, slept in beachside campsites for free and spent too many days in chic cafes nursing one cup of coffee and a refill just to write, just to connect with the non poverished. I. applied for every job I was qualified for and hustled my books even harder.

But this did not avert my panic and the fear, until it passed of its own. And you already knnow: nothing is ever as bad or as long as we first imagine it to be. That’s when I understood how many of my needs, weren’t needs at all and that I could live without the comforting requisites of a middle class existence, just fine. In some ways better.

Less consumption = less waste.

There’s what I want and what I can have and if I diminish my wants, I can have have everything I want.

When you don’t have any money, you don’t spend any money and that initself is a good thing.

The last argument that pursuaded me of the virtue of experiencing this lifestyle is that if I really wanted to write for wider audience in a profound and meaningful way, that I might need to understand and empathize with the truth of our human condition across the entire economic spectrum, not just those who can afford to buy books

And the truth is that the vast majority of “us”do not live a middle class lifestyle and that the majority of “us” struggle every day to earn what is called a living and yet seldom ressembles it.

I have met so many, so many poor people living on the streets in one of the wealthiest cities in the wealthiest state in the union, in the wealthiest nation in the world.
None of us can afford to rest within our illusion of justice and freedom until poverty is no longer the default state of the human condition in America. Remember, poverty is a prison from which escape is difficult. But if we truly want to say that we live in the land of the free, then we must free our citizens from the prison of poverty.

They are “us” as well. Not charitable”us”, not pitiful “us”, not lazy, drug taking, alcoholic “us”.

Just us.

I have talked in depth with enough of the so-called “homeless”. to recognize them for who they really are: The Poor. You know, those people Jesus was always talking about and Charles Dickens and Emile Zola wrote about? The idea that those without homes choose to live that way is a bigoted urban myth that need to be quashed.

Yes, may of the poor have real problems with alcohol, drugs and severe mental illness. But so does every other group and class of people I have ever known. The rich and the middle class aren’t exempt from alcohol, drugs and craziness; in fact they can afford more!

How then are we less connected as human beings?
Or is “humaness” only measured by level of income?

When I moved back to California to look after my mother, I was immediately struck by the avalanche of poverty that had engulfed my home town. As is every other foreign visitor to California, by the way. No tour of Balboa Park or visit to Sea World can eradicate the open poverty that everyone can see on the streets of San Diego. Which now more closely ressemble the streets of Port-au-Prince, Haiti or the extreme poverty that can be found in some places in Mexico, than any American city.

The first thing that went was the last vestage of regional or even national pride.
It is a crime against humanity for so rich a city as San Diego to maintain the level of homeless poverty that is evident to anyone who visits us. It is “our” fault. Because we are also connected to the impoverished and the socially weak.

You know, what Jesus was saying.

If I am to write the truth for those who want to read or hear the truth, then I ought to know what is lying outside the walls my middle class habits and worldview. What is it really like, not just for the impoverished but for the vast majority of Californians who also now live beyond the walls of middle class sensibilities, paycheck by paycheck?

Haunted by the memories of its long gone comforts.

What does it mean to be a human being living in America right now, in 2020. Aren’t we all supposed to have jertpacks by now?

What is the Truth of our American selves?

As Tony Morriosn said “The whole point of freedom is to free others”.

To my friends who have offered their support, I thank each one of you.
I will never forget your kindness and your humaness.


Yes I have a new book coming out in the fast approaching Spring.
It’s entitled TAKE A DEEP BREATH, A Book of Remedies and will feature much of the writing and accounts of experiences of truth that I have had living in California these last 5 years.

I hope that you will take a look.


Poetry Therapy


Everyone wants to be free.
ven from the things that once gave us comfort.
We are like children who swap our blankets
For softer ground.

So why do you wait  to be free
When the keys to your cage 
Are hanging right outside your front door?
Reach through the bars with your hand
Stretch your fingers far and bend your will around the bars.

Your mind is your best friend, your best teacher, your best doctor,
Whether you believe it or not.
In spite of everything you’ve done to yourself,
Your mind really does care about you and often thinks of you, quite fondly.

Just let your mind mend itself
Heal yourself with a few choice words.
Your own words.
When you say:

The truth is not a cold tombstone
The truth is not a judgement
The truth is a flowering realisation inside your own living mind.
Pulling you outwards, & forwards, enraptured by Time.

When my breath and
My will are as one,
The universe swallows me
Whole.


Notes from a Facebook Exile


Once again the ghostly powers of Facebook have judged me and found me wanting.

Or wanting of the veneer of non threatening, amiable posts. Nothing that would offend a Humming Bird of nerve endings. A Calvinist shaking in their boots. I’m not a Facebook post, you don’t have to like me!

My grave offence was to post a photograph of the great American poet Allen Ginsberg standing naked on a Moroccan beach. The original naked poet; metaphor and literal combined into one. His words, not his images were deemed obscene way back in the last century. There was a public trial and unlike Socrates, Ginsberg (and City Lights, the publisher) were both found not guilty of obscenity. Howl was deemed a work of art and protected under the first amendment. Why doesn’t Facebook abide by the first amendment instead of hiding like a coward behind their Emerald City curtain of Community Standards?

And why don’t Americans know their own history?

I had the opportunity to meet and talk with Allen Ginsberg during my Freshman year, when he had come to do a reading and lead a group meditation paying his dreadful table accordion. Was I 17 or 18? I was studying Heidegger and Charles Olsen, the Action Poet; Kandinsky’s New York roommate right round 1959 thereabouts, when the photo of Ginsberg on the Beach was taken. But I knew all of his work, inside and out. I was never gay but Ginsberg made me want to be!

I had stopped Allen in an outdoor corridor lined by lawn between two campus buildings. I was armed with my copy of the first edition City Lights Kaddish epic that I had found by blissful chance in the long gone used intelligentia bookstore at the corner of College and El Cajon Blvd, in San Diego, over a lifetime ago.

Allen looked at my book and gladly signed it. “I haven’t seen a first edition of these in years!” I told Allen about the used book store in San Diego where I had gone through all of his poetry and Kerouac and Cassidy’s First Third and Dylan’s Tarantula, Alan Watts, D.T. Suzuki’s 3 volume Essays on Zen, all bought and consumed at this temple to beatitude at the cross roads of the world. I didn’t tell him how in high school we used to climb to the top of Cowell Mountain and howl the words to Howl at the valley unfolding beneath us. We didn’t know what hungry junkies were quite yet, but it sounded good and it was real. As real as the suburbs of San Diego can ever be.

In the past present, Allen handed me my book, more of a pamphlet, back and looked me up and down and smiled. It was a genuine smile and not the least bit lecherous considering what he said next.
“Would you like to come up to my room, it’s just over graduate housing? I can show you some poem books you haven’t seen. I knew what he meant but I was so stunned dumb by the proposition (Allen Ginsberg!). I stuttered something still trying to make up my mind before I spoke. But alas, fear of the unknown vanquished my curiousity or perhaps it was my vanity to be loved by a star that was defeated.

Nonetheless I must of said something because we went on our merry ways, my thanking him a little too profusely and the back of his bald head bobbing down the corridor.

So when I posted the photo a young Allen standing nude on a Morrocan beach, I kind of felt like I had earned the right to share his image, naked and vulnerable for the sake of a poetry reading which it was more than certain that someone would recite a Ginsberg-eque poem.

The Philistines may have conquered the machines but not me as of yet.

Allen Ginsberg 1959
The Eye Has It

I Am A Paper Bag


 

 

I am a paper bag, I am.
I am only as good as what I can carry.

I am a paper bag, I am.images-1
I’m not the smart one,
I’m not the successful one.
I’m not the tall one who always won and
Then died.
I am a paper bag.
I’m only as good as what I can carry.

I am a paper bag,
I’m not plastic or burlap, not I.
I am paper: rough, brown and thin
I’m not waterproof, you know.
And I can’t hold any liquids or gases within.
I only have the energy for stuff that really matters.
I’m a paper bag.
I’m only as good as what I can carry.

I am a paper bag.images-2
Wrinkled and used and too often abused
Thrown on the floor.
Buried deep inside your drawers.
I am a paper bag.
I cannot ask you for anything more
I’m only as good as what I can carry.

©IgorGoldkind 2018


Insomniac Awareness


Recent rewrite. When I first wrote and posted it, no one seemed to know what I meant by it. But now it’s becoming a favoured read aloud piece:

 

Insomniac Awareness

We who are hiding in our second bedrooms,Image may contain: plant
Licking the silver from the backs of our screens,
Are living in a different time zone
Of Insomniac Awareness.

Sometimes two, sometimes three, sometimes four or more
Lives are lived and lost each night.
In our rooms, by ourselves
Sitting precariously on the edge of our beds.

This is our legacy
The lasting perpetuity of our sensory species:
The glow that contests the light that once shone from our eyes,
Right up to the surface of our understanding.

What is not yet known.
Or what was known and long since forgotten.
Dances across the screen you stare into.
Tripping over your coded memories; in Real Time.

Who are you reading this?No automatic alt text available.Do you know
What perturbs your sleep-walk into the night?
Or are you merely waiting for the screen to pull you through?

Into your own quiet world,
Where things that count never change.
And no one is dreaming you but your mother,
Who has left you now for another child.

©Igor Goldkind 2017


IS SHE AVAILABLE? Get My Book and FIND OUT.


NOTHING has prepared you for This.  Nothing ever will.

Because whatever is happening Now has never happened before.

This is  a web-nurtured collaboration with 27 artists, sculptors and musicians from the world of Comics, Fantasy, Fine Art and Jazz, including Bill Sienkiewicz, David Lloyd, Liam Sharp, Glenn Fabry, Shaky Kane, Lars Henkel and the cutting edge sculptural typography of the highly acclaimed book designer Rian Hughes.

IS SHE AVAILABLE?  Cover

by Bill Sienkiewicz and Rian Hughes ©2014

This illuminated book is a contemporary Dante’s Divine Comedy; a journey through the confessional landscape of a masculine identity. It uses poetry to construct a narrative that explores themes of death and loss, sex and love, and the modern American and Jewish identity design: by the UK’s eminent graphic designer, typographer, illustrator Rian Hughes.

The music is composed and produced by iconoclast, ex-Israeli, Middle-Eastern jazz virtuoso Gilad Atzmon, along with five other jazz artists.

Written by San Diego native Igor Goldkind, this illuminated book will revolutionize the way you view poetry by meshing comics, art, music and animation in a truly unique way. It uses poetry to construct a narrative that explores themes of death and loss, sex and love, and the modern American and Jewish identity. The book is available for download on the iTunes Store and Google Play, as well as in a 166 page,  fully illustrated in colour hardbound edition available  ORDER HERE.10689672_732000606836698_9129833884739632966_n-1Advance Review pdf of IS SHE AVAILABLE_Page_29

The eBook edition pushes the edge of what is possible with present EPUB3 technology. It is not an App, it is a true book that marries pop art, comics, avant-garde, jazz, spoken word poetry, video and animations, and type design in a manner that we have not seen before IS SHE AVAILABLE? has the feel of an artefact from the near future – a seminal work of a new genre-fusing poetry, graphic art, music, and animation.

Sample interior pages:

Advance Review pdf of IS SHE AVAILABLE_Page_08

What We Do

IS SHE AVAILABLE? RRP is $34.95, SHIPPING INCLUDED
Educational Discount for Students and Teachers: $29.95

Both deluxe hardcover edition PLUS  animated and musically scored eBook App edition of Is She Available? bundle:  $39.95

Go to http://Paypal.com/issheavailable/ and place your order directly through PayPal with all Pay Pal assurances and protection.

Shipping included in orders within the US and its territories.

If you are in Britain and/or Europe, please contact my European wholesaler Fanfare Productions who will take your order and dispatch to your address the same day:  stephen@fanfareuk.demon.co.uk

Reviews ?  Sure We Got Reviews.  Why You Wanna See Them?  Be my guest.

“Igor’s “Illuminated Book” is like a new genre.  It is a wonderful ekphrastic expression; a fusion of the arts.” — Poet Mel Takahara

“His collection Is She Available? has the feel of an artefact from the near future – a seminal work of a new genre-fusing poetry, graphic art, music, and animation.”             —(San Diego’s) City Beat

“Is SHE Available?” is an experiment, and reading it feels more like an act of discovery… nonetheless there’s a thrill to scrolling through its pages. It’s an ambitious step toward what digital media can (and will) be.”—The Chicago Tribune

You Tube samples:  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRnmT_aE0acoowdNBvFtK_VW2OkNN2wWp

SoundCloud samples : https://soundcloud.com/igor-goldkind/sets/is-she-available-spoken-word

The  166 full colour, fully illustrated hard cover deluxe  edition is available in discerning and eclectic independent bookstores everywhere.  Including Fahrenheit 451 in Carlsbad, Soulscape Bookstore in Encinitas, the Upstart Crow in San Diego, Verbatim Books  and Mysterious Galaxy also in San Diego, City Lights and the Cooperfields chain in Marin County and Sonoma County, amongst a growing number of independent book stores.

Order direct from PayPal and shipping is included!

https://www.paypal.me/issheavailable

PAYPAL

Https://paypal.me/issheavailable

images-4

 


The Diamond Rain



imagesCaught in the Diamond Rain
Caught unawares in a diamond downpour.
When did Karma get so immediate and so personal ?
So judgment-like and familial?

When did I last escape from my room
And begin to orbit outside of time?
That vantage point that surrounds me,
Is not just this moment,
download-1But every moment you or I have ever lived.

A handful of jewels lie scattered at my feet.
Each crystal catching and tricking the light into
Reflecting each and every possible face of existence that there is,
All at once.

Each stone weighs down heavily on my stomach.
Forced downward by the sheer gravity of events.
When did I last step outside of myself again?th

I am no longer there.
Or rather I am here, just not in this world.
Instead, I’m living in a different world
built on longing, solitude, and reflection.

Two mirrors face each other
One rag wipes the dust and the sweat from both our dirty faces,
Go on, reach out with your finger tips to
Caress every surface of this jewel
We call living.

Can you see over there, that distant surface we exist on?
That reflects the face of every other face.
On all the falling jewels that surround us.
THIS is what it is to be caught in the Diamond Rain.

 

 

images-1


Diamond Rain


 

 

images.jpg

 

Caught unawares in a diamond rain shaking with cold

How did fate suddenly get so quick and immediate?

When  did I step off into myself,

And begin to orbit time?

The vantage point that surrounds us

Is not just this moment,

But every moment you and I have ever or will ever live.


A  handful of gems lie scattered like dust at my feet.

Each crystal reflecting every other facet of being.

Each stone weighs down heavy on my stomach.

Forced downward by the sheer gravity of events.

When I step out of myself,

I am no longer there.

Or rather I am here,

Just not in this world

In another that is merely reflection.

2 mirrors facing each other

A rag collects the dust between dirty faces.

This masquerade of illusions; bodies blocking light.

Will yield in the end to a more acute awareness
That is, once the eclipse we call our self has finally moved away,

THERE IS NO ESCAPE!


 

There is No Escape

images-10

None of us gets paroled
From the prison cells we lock ourselves into.

So that we all can fit together inside
These jigsaw lives that we lead

Which  of course, eventually all blow apart.
We are merely the fragments waiting to be reassembled.

Every moment of thought is but a small drop in time.
Each piece fits the next piece.

Although we may try to avoid,
The murmurs of our own thoughts.

It is our hearts that yawn and awaken slowlyhearttbd
From their long winter night’s sleep.

You and I are mere mortals,
Who dreamt of a life without end.

We are the ones who make up immortality.
For the sake of seeking sweet comforts and sad joys.

This is the story we tell ourselves,

Whilst slumping back to our cells.neuron




IS SHE AVAILABLE? AN HONEST REVIEW

Patrick Arnold

Chris Browning:

“i follow igor goldkind on facebook. i am not a friend of his, but a friend of mine kept reposting things he’d written and said and i found his way of expressing himself too good to ignore. as is the case with this book. i’ll level with you. i don’t really understand poetry – it’s too opaque and often too personal for me to really understand and i often feel i am missing huge amounts of the impact of even the small amount of poetry i do understand. if i read it aloud i appreciate it more, but even then. but when i saw a goldkind book of poetry was on offer and remembering how much his writing had affected me in the past i thought i would take the risk

i’m glad i did. again, i don’t fully understand or appreciate all of it but goldkind is a beautiful writer. he enjoys the ways a sentence hangs together both on the page and, if you follow me, in the mouth as you read the words. but what makes the book special is the third way he makes the words work – through graphic design. you see the OTHER reason i followed goldkind is because even though his words my friend linked me too resonated, i also liked the fact he’d been involved in all sorts of british comics over the years, especially 2000AD which is a comic i have very, very fond feelings towards….

by Bill Sienkiewicz and Rian Hughes   ©2014

by Bill Sienkiewicz and Rian Hughes ©2014

and it’s on this level that even this man who struggles with poetry found himself adoring the book. because it’s a beautiful thing to hold. a beautiful thing to look at. and in the same way that if i don’t like all the poems,

if there’s a bit of artwork that someone has contributed to the volume that doesn’t work for me there’s often something coming along very soon that does absolutely work. there’s some lovely art here by people i do know of – rian hughes, glenn fabry, david lloyd, shaky kane, bill sienkiewicz – and many i didn’t – i was very taken by the work of dix, lars henkel and jeff christenson particularly. even if i didn’t like a poem or piece of art, something special and wonderful and surprising would be along very soon

and speaking as someone who is very deeply in love with books as a printed medium and could never imagine reading or appreciating an e-book, the fact that the electronic edition has apparently so much more to it – music! moving images! – very much pleases me. this is a book by someone who not only has a glorious way with words but has a very unique vision for what he wants to do. and that’s why i’ll be cherishing this volume… “

Patrick Arnold

THE HEART’S FLESH AWAKENING


Confetti






There’s an emptiness at the heart of any space:
The air that escapes a room; an unanswered echo,
a vacant womb.
There’s an emptiness in my heart
That reminds me that
All of my ideas are empty.
Floating leaves from a fumbled folder.
Coloured streams falling from the sky.

This emptiness reminds me
How slight my desires really are 
How gently they fall from the sky 
A confetti of mercy and discarded emotions,
They are in the end
Compared to nothing, 
Merely the litter from an emptied mind.


Crime Against Our Own Humanity


People have been asking me why I chose the risk of first publishing a book of poetry before publishing my collection of short stories THE VILLAGE OF LIGHT and my first novel, THE PLAGUE.   Why launch a writing career on the back of such a neglected  and unpopular form of literature?

My first answer has been that as a keen admirer of the actor William Shatner, I wanted to emulate his career; first as a starship captain (in my mind), and second, as a genius of the Art of Spoken Word.

But the non comedice9f8b2ee6b99179e492b099e5d15cdc9 reason is worth explaining here: throughout every major epoch of human achievement and civilization,

Poetry has maintained a major position in the spectrum of human arts; true across society, cultures, oceans and centuries.

Until now.

This dawning century of technological, scientific and artistic achievement; this era we currently reside in, is the exception to the human rule.

We have exchanged our ability to appreciate Poetry for other more comfortable and lascivious sensations. We have unlearned the sensibility to immerse ourselves in the healing waters of an art that we, as a species have grown like a medicinal herb in the human garden, to salve the pains in our souls and our minds .

By turning our backs on those warm healing waters we have damaged ourselves. We are all in dire need of rehabilitation.

And that is exactly what Poetry mystically, delivers.

Poetry sets you free, for free!

If you know how to notice and pay attention to the subtler colors in the spectrum of your mind’s cognition.
Which is a Poetic thing to say in that it is both metaphoric and literal at the same time.

Poems allow the mind to synthesize (reconcile), apparent opposites and to understand the deeper resonances of our human experience, in the simplest of terms, arranging words like pebbles on a dry river bank and in the broadest, to enter the harmonic rhapsody of our humanity and its sense of rhythm in this universe.

That rhythm is the breath, which is true to us all who are living. Poetry is the sound of our breathing in this world. If you want to know who a people strange to you are, read their Poetry; the words they have chosen to express themes, that persist for us all: Birth, Death, Love and the swirl of illusions inbetween.Teimur_Amiry_Candle_Enlightenment

Poetry is a drastic intervention meant to make you better. Not just feel better, but actually see, understand and *be* better than you are, which may feel strange at first.

Only bad poetry is comfortable. Trying to be the best that you are, to overcome ones self, may take more than one lifetime to achieve. But so many Poems offer roadmaps of the soul. Guidebooks from which you can detect what is universal about humanity, about the human subjective experience, and your place in this present.

So that is why I chose to launch my writing career, with my current publisher (Chameleon), with a book of Poetry:

You can order a signed and dedicated copy of my book IS SHE AVAILABLE? directly from PayPal Here

IS SHE AVAILABLE? Hardcover edition

IS SHE AVAILABLE? Hardcover edition

I chose to publish Poetry first specifically because it is the form of literature that has proven to be least popular at the moment, as this marketing study details.

I’ve always stood up for the underdog, be it in life or publishing. I stood up for Comics when they were largely looked down upon as adolescent drivel. I just never thought to myself in all my years on this earth, that I would need to stand up for Poetry, because it had now succumbed to more dominant dogs.

This is a great shame to me, as a reader of great Poets from virtually every culture and time period. I mean with Poetry it really is where all of humanity meets, outside of time and space. The very center of our collective space, where language is. Each one of us is both here and there: at the edge of meaning. The words of the poem are are written by and read by the singular mind that spans all of us to that edge of comprehension.RumiCallig-250x431 Poetry is the very understanding that we seek, in our selves and in others.

It is passive crime against our own humanity to let this art subside, due to laziness, neglect and superficiality.

So do your soul a favour and read a poem. Not just mine, any poem will do. Any Poem will set you free, for free; or at least at the modest cost of your attention.

In My (always) Humble Opinion, ofcourse.

Igor Goldkind

Author, Igor Goldkind


Breathing Time


I am not a connection.

I am a conjugation of every verb you have ever uttered,
Before the action you took, just now.

Hidden and mistaken
Slipping between your shadows,
Your ideas,

And a Reality that long ago,
Left you way behind:

The moment you thought you were in.

I am not your connection,
I am your conjugation, So
Stop spitting out your words

And start breathing in time.

46fc84fcf9e45dafffb0ea2b92376a36

IS SHE AVAILABLE? Hardcover edition

IS SHE AVAILABLE? Hardcover edition


INSOMNIAC AWARENESS by Igor Goldkind


We who are hiding in our second bedrooms,

Licking the silver from the backs of our screen,

Are living in a differently timed zone

Of insomniac awareness.

Sometimes 2, sometimes 3, sometimes 4 or more

Lives are lived and lost each night.

In our rooms, by ourselves

Sitting too close to the edge of our beds.

 

This is our legacy 

The lasting  perpetuity of our sensory species:

The glow that contests the light that once shone from our eyes,

Right up to the razor’s edge of our understanding of

What is not yet known.

The un-utterable.

What can barely be thought , much less said and

Yet still dances these words so merrily across this page.

In the ballet of silence that surrounds them.

 

Who are you reading this?

What perturbs your eternal sleep-walk into the night?

Are there questions you are pondering?

Or are you merely waiting for the screen to pull through for you?

Into your own quiet, private world,

Where  things that count never change.

And no one is dreaming you, but your mother

Who has left you now for another child.

© Alex Grey: Insomniac Awareness by Igor Goldkind

Pillow Thought

Who has left you now for another child.


THE OFFICIAL PRESS RELEASE: IS SHE AVAILABLE? AVAILABLE NOW ON iTUNES.


Date: March 31, 2015 at 21:38:22 PDT

Subject: To my friends: THIS is What We Have Done – Is SHE Available?

From: Amy Sterling Casil , Chameleon Publishers

I can honestly say, this is like no other book we have ever seen before; we think perhaps – like no other you may have seen as well.uc

31 March 2015

For Immediate Release

IS SHE AVAILABLE? PUSHES BOOKS AND PUBLISHING FORWARD THROUGH POETRY, ART, AND MUSIC

Southern-California based publisher Chameleon Publishing releases its first major publication: Is SHE Available? by Igor Goldkind April 1 via the iBooks store.

What We DoIs SHE Available? pushes the edge of what is possible with present EPUB3 technology and how books are created and made. It is not an App, it is a true book that marries pop art, comics, avant-garde, jazz, spoken word poetry, video and animations, and type design. Its creative journey was more than a year in the making, growing from the collaborative work of artists, musicians, editors, and designers on two continents.

The poet, Igor Goldkind, is a San Diego native who lived in France and the UK for two decades while promoting the work of today’s most notable comic and graphic novel authors and artists. As a teen, he was one of the co-founders of San Diego’s legendary Comic-Con.

According to Bleeding Cool, “It was Goldkind who popularized the phrase ‘graphic novel’ with the media and found that gave them permission to cover the previously-considered childish medium of comic books . . . . Now, Goldkind’s vision of what graphic novels could be, is returning.”

Is SHE Available? was produced using an international collaborative model, but the book is one man’s voice and one man’s story.  Goldkind’s words and voice inspired the art of over 26 internationally-known artists, including cover art and interior illustrations by Eisner-winner Bill Sienkiewicz (Elektra Assassin, Daredevil and more), additional interior Advance Review pdf of IS SHE AVAILABLE_Page_76illustrations from other graphic novel illustrators and award-winners including Glenn Fabry (Hellblazer, Preacher), David Lloyd (V for Vendetta and many others), Liam Sharp (Judge Dredd/2000 AD/Madefire), fine artists and illustrators Lars Henkel, Mario Cavalli, Mario Torero, Wendy Farrow, and many more.

Music and spoken word were recorded in New York with UK Jazz Album of the Year winner, author and ex-Israeli Gilad Atzmon. A US-based jazz and spoken word tour is scheduled for July 2015.

The type design and hardcover book are created by the eminent London-based designer Rian Hughes (2000 AD, Vertigo, Dan Dare), who includes an afterward about the collaborative design process. E-book production, incorporating Madefire animations, audio and additional animation, were provided by Chameleon Publishing in Southern California.

Due to the inclusion of video, audio and animations, and fine type design, it is playable only on Apple devices, and available only through the iBooks store. The hardcover (without music, spoken word or animationAdvance Review pdf of IS SHE AVAILABLE_Page_20s) will be published July 15, 2015.

Other “enhanced e-books” have been produced with budgets of $100,000 or more, and few have sold well. The “wisdom” is: poetry doesn’t sell. Enhanced e-books don’t sell. Most jazz doesn’t sell, either. Comic and graphic novel artists struggle to show their fine art to the public. And what publisher would take on a completely unknown poet whose claim to fame was selling fancy comic books to grown-ups and co-founding a big comic/media/scantily-clad women-fest like Comic-Con?Advance Review pdf of IS SHE AVAILABLE_Page_39

Twenty percent of North Americans regularly buy and read books. Nearly a hundred percent can read. Chameleon’s mission is to make books for everyone, not just a selected few.

Is SHE Available? Yes.

by Bill Sienkiewicz and Rian Hughes   ©2014

by Bill Sienkiewicz and Rian Hughes ©2014

Published April 1, 2015, in honor of National Poetry Month.

 

-END-

For more information and to obtain a copy of Is SHE Available? eBook for review (EPUB3 only on iOS devices – iPad, iPhone and Apple computers) or an advance reading copy of the hardcover edition contact the publisher:

Amy Sterling Casil

Chameleon Publishing Inc


YES, I AM AVAILABLE . . . . . . for a price . . . .


OK, you can buy it now.

My book that is, the one I have been going on and on about on these pages for the past 9 months.

It took awhile, a little longer than I planned on.

Igor Goldkind

Author/Poet/Producer   Igor Goldkind

But it’s here now: SHE IS NOW AVAILABLE!

My apologies to everyone I have kept waiting, but I think you’ll find that the end result was well worth it.

You really haven’t seen anything like this before.

Somewhat in recompense, my publisher is offering a SPECIAL INTERNET OFFER to my FB and blog followers:

As of tomorrow, you’ll be invited to pre-order the 164, fully illustrated Hard Cover Edition designed by Rian Hughes featuring an original cover by Bill Sienkiewicz for the regular price of $24.99 and

Get the eBook Download RIGHT NOW FOR FREE.

This offer starts tomorrow for a limited time only. The hardcover edition ships this month and will be available in May. This is your chance to get a copy before your friends can steal theirs from the library, for a LIMITED TIME ONLY.

This is a book of Poetry and a book handcrafted by love, tears and the visions of 27 artists, musicians and animators.

IS SHE AVAILABLE? Hardcover edition

IS SHE AVAILABLE? Hardcover edition

Poems are a way to talk to a side of ourselves we cannot talk to and a way to take pictures of things that we cannot take pictures of. But like a picture, it also holds moments in time. It works in the space between words, where connections are made, meaning is formed and the poem is ultimately owned by the reader.

And still, for so many of us, you only notice poetry when you need it.

Read poetry.

Because while all the poetry in the world might not be worth as much as one good doctor, if there is a reason we are alive, if there is a reason we’re here, it can be found in poetry. It is the barest bones of the human experience and it captures the soul in flight.

Kind Regards, and please may I ask that you share my words with your Friends.

http://is-she-available.com

BUY IT NOW! Even the Truth is For Sale

BUY IT NOW!
Even the Truth is For Sale


THE FOOL’S LAUNCH PAD


The book is finally ready.the-foolI’ve seen it, played it, read it, listened to it so many times it’s near driven me mad.

The act of creation is an explosion, a maelstrom of emotional energies seeking form, vying with their own legacy of fragile structures, to Break Through to Something New.

That is the goal.

But the monotony of honing the perfection; wherein the hot metals cool and adhere to the cast,  is the labour that seems unending compared to that first ejaculate of inspiration.

So we toil as we complain.

But there never really ever was any turning back

And now there’s no looking back, because the book is uploaded and now for sale on in iTunes, the Books Online Directory and the publisher’s own site: Is She Available?

If you’re reading this, you can get a special discount offer on the website; a kind of 2-4-1 deal.  The kind of incentive that is supposed to get you to read my stuff.

The official release is Wednesday,  APRIL FOOL’S DAY, which I consider entirely appropriate.  A day like any other day, displaced by a change in calendar; a recalibration of our instruments that measure time makes fools of us all when we forget what the calendar really measures:theFoolDetail

our own steep descent  in running out of time.

So like you, I am a Fool

I took the  opportunity to be published and turned it into something more; something different, something that I felt should have been tried by now.  But it hadn’t been.

So I did.

Try.

Doing something new.

Whilst the  machinations of publishing both print and online, grind into gear, releasing steam and a rumbling thunder, I prepare for my flight from the north to the south.

I will be in the air when this book lifts off from its pad.

I hope it flies.

I hope it flies high enough to break this orbit.tarot___the_fool_by_marmot_art

With your help, it very well may.

Thanks, Igor


p=m√


This moment is dead.Momentum
But your life is momentum.
It’s the only life you know:
Everywhere you look
Is exactly where you’ll go.

(Paying attention like a fine,
Sniffing out the muddied footprints of the divine.)

This ticket that you’re riding,
Fare-less and Free,
Is merely the impetus of your Desire
Conserved, unaffectedly
By any other force or swayconservation_of_momentum_7
Upon your singular trajectory through time.

For Tatiana Iosifovna Doubro  who is ejected from planes and recites Pushkin by heart as she is flies through space.

df13


DEATH PROTECTS US ALL


Edward Gorey

Illustration by Edward Gorey ©

Death protects us from burning in the Sun
Light that surrounds our momentum,
Or from drowning, faces upturned in the rain.
Decades like minutes whip us by.

But Death will protect us from the sting in the wind,
She’ll huddle us close in the folds of her midnight dress.
And when it’s time to go; 12 bells the toll,
She’ll insure that all her children are aligned and tenderly accounted for.


Bubbles


Life goes on without you
and within you:
shiney-wet-pebbles-bubblesRound pink pebbles
Polished by the constant flow of
Bubbles that burst like dreams
Just above the stream.
All I am is the movement in between:
The pebbles and the burst-bubble dreams.

bubbles-119-1


The Crashing Wave


dive! dive! dive!112-9851-I-G28

deeper than your heart can beat.
deeper than your soul can breath.

dive dive dive. 

down deep beneath the swell;

deep beneath your feeble gasp.
dive before your heart is crushed
in the curled fist of the crashing wave.

www.popphoto.com_1284054483685


I FOLDED MY MOTHER UP


Folded Paper by Simon Schubert © 2014

I folded my mother up

Into a creased peace of paper 

I folded memories into intentions,

Flattening the dementia of unstructured emotions,

Into a neat, file-able document.

We  arc this abyss;  tightening ropes  over time.

Folded Paper by Simon Schubert © 2014

We are not our worst intentions,

but we are the acts that follow.

Like clobbering footsteps tripping

over broken pavements of Being.

Folded Paper by Simon Schubert © 2014

Folded Paper by Simon Schubert © 2014

We are not the  sum of our categories 

Nor the crimes that we have witnessed.

But we are the balance 

That keeps us falling forwards without stumbling,

Over our own shoelace sense of time.


A TETHERED CLOUD

IS-SHE-AVAILABLE.COM

I cannot escape my devices.

They are the chains that link me but hold me,

in place.

A tethered cloud that can no longer drift afield,

off field

IS-SHE-AVAILABLE.COM

image by Bill Sienkiewicz 2014 ©

Towards the horizon, unbound,

Unnoticed.

Without the cord that ties me to the ground.

the radar is much too low to keep below,

these days.


FOLLOW ME AND I WILL FOLLOW YOU IF YOU FOLLOW ME I CAN FOLLOW YOU


Yes, Available.https://twitter.com/ISSHEAVAILABLERaven and Woman Branch pencil


THE BORDER IS YOUR MIND

Yes, I am Available Now!

Yes, Available. 1267915_10152977966392755_3846847922395520293_oMicrosoft Word - New Poem-THE BORDER IS YOUR MIND.docx


DAEDALUS AFRAID TO FLY; Illustration by Mal Earl


David, you bastard, you’ve left me

Understanding here alone,

With only these words falling out of my hands

When it is yours I want to hear again.

Words of your mastery, not mine.

So what was all the swearing about then, David?

What were all those Northern fumes really burning from?

I told you the songs of Yorkshire would never play in LA,

or London for that matter:

Two cities equidistant from your Yorkshire mother.

 

Tell me David, why didn’t you just sell out?

You could have bought yourself a much better pint of beer

With all that money for old knotted ropes and

Still have coughed up the phlegm to laugh at us all.

Is death some kind of joke?

Illustration by Mal Earl

Illustration by Mal Earl

Did you finally track down the film rights to Malcolm, David

And cash them in?

Are you really, secretly living in Barbados,

Making beautiful women miserable?

To think of all this wasted sorrow and

Empty glasses of beer.

 

You did say that you always wanted to visit other places.

But Daedalus, you were afraid to fly.

If you had been born upside down in America

You would have been a southern writer living in some Northern town.

Spilling your southern drawl over a rum and coke in a New York City bar.

Sitting elbow to arm with Williams, O’Neill, Baldwin and them all.

 

Your America was always an America of the mind.

So why fear the flight?

Your America David, was where Charlie Parker was forever sharp shooting pool with Humphrey Bogart in some room behind a neon-splattered bar

Where Chet Baker never jumped or fell but flew, man!

He just flew away.

Like you.

 

So you’re off then, David?

Back up the bumpy road,

Turning the corner round the Little Egyptian cottage

Navigating the reeds of Isis, Long past the close of time.

 

A brown duffle coat ship, bobbing on an unpaved surface,

Weaving a few thoughts into your

Captain’s cap.

Can you tell me David :

Were you X-Centric, or

Merely Eggs Essential?

 

How about this time I tell you, David:

The spark was always there.

But not like Daedalus, like Prometheus.

The living punishment of Truth,

Chained to your bar stool,

That eternal pint of Carlsberg lager gnawing at your liver.

Like Prometheus,

David

The spark is always there.

 

For the late David Halliwell, Poet, Dramatist, author of Malcolm’s Struggle Against the Eunuchs.

The only man I knew who could drink Samuel Beckett and Harold Pinter under the same table.

I can only miss you when you’re gone.


THE DARK CLOUD by Igor Goldkind; illustration by Bill Sienkiewicz; music by Gilad Atzmon; Motion by Madefire.com


Deviant Art

Motion Book

ORDER YOUR COPY SHORTY @ WEBSITE:  IS SHE AVAILABLE?     $24.95
IS SHE AVAILABLE? Cover.logo copy 2


PLATO’S RETREAT by Igor Goldkind; Illustration by Rian Hughes


Plato’s RetreatPLATO'S RETREAT IGOR'S BOOK FLAT

I want to be just like Socrates,


Grow a long beard and

Do what I please.


And be asking you allot of questions….

For a living.

I want to be just like Socrates

And not know for sure
 If I’m really real

or merely an altar In Plato’s temple.

I want to be just like Socrates,


And stand in the forum all day.


In the blazing sun that surrounds us,

Under the azure Athenian skies.

And philosophize,

To anyone who bothers to listen….

For a living.

I want to be just like Socrates

Corrupting my own youth in a hemlock cocktail

Every Friday night,
 2, 4 1 before 7 ….

For a living.

I want to be just like Socrates,

On a Saturday night
…

Asking, “hey you, at the bar”:

What is justice?

And where can I score some tonight?

After hours
..

Long after the widening sliver

Of your mind’s eternal dawn.


THE WHEELS OF HATE by I. Goldkind (illustration by Mario Torero, muralist, teacher, poet)


  • OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

  • The Wheels of Hate
  •  
  • The Wheels of the Bus go round and round, round and round, round and round
  • The Wheels of the Bus go round and round, all day long.
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate go round and round, round and round, round and round
  • The Wheels of Hate go round and round all day long.
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate put niggers in the back of the bus, niggers in back of the bus,
  • Niggers in back of the bus!
  • The Wheels of Hate put the niggers in the back of the bus
  • Until we said: No Fucking More!
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate go round and round, round and round, round and round
  • The Wheels of Hate go round and round all fucking day.
  •  
  • The wheels of the hate touched up the woman, touched up your woman, touched up our women
  • The Wheels of Hate touched up all women until they said: NO MORE, YOU DICKS!
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate exploited the Latino, exploited the Latino, exploited the Latino
  • The Wheels of Hate exploited the Latino until we made the union strong.
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate burnt all the Jews, burnt all the Jews, burnt all the Jews
  • The Wheels of Hate burnt all the Jews and now burn the skins of the schoolchildren of Gaza.
  • Those same Wheels. . .
  •  
  • Ohhh, the Wheels of Hate dug all the Killing Fields, dug the Killing Fields, dug the Killing Fields
  • The Wheels of Hate dug the Killing Fields until there was nobody left to kill.
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate beat the Muslim woman, beat the Muslim woman, beat the Muslim woman
  • The Wheels of Hate beat the Muslim woman because she covered her face.
  •  
  • Yes, the Wheels of Hate took me for a fool, took me for a fool, took me for a fool.
  • The Wheels of Hate took me for a fool until I said:
  • Enough is Enough!
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate make us all hate each other, all hate each other, all hate each other.
  • The Wheels of Hate make us all suspect each other because this way we are easier to rule.
  •  
  • The Wheels of Hate go round and round, round and round, round and round.
  • The Wheels of Hate go round and round until we make them . . .
  •  
  •  STOP!
  • OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

THE BORDER OF YOUR MIND


Sometimes I just see patterns.

The field of endeavor; the day-to-day rhythm of endless steps towards complacency becomes too much for me.

Screens and chimes and pleasant bleeps lull me into mindless, not mindful sleep.

It’s then that the field breaks down.

into shivering, electrical abstract shapes.

Form with no narrative other than energy.

Images that just to seem to connect remote dis-relations into pattern and recognition.

The patterns, the connections; look for the connections.

Like Borders.  Lines.  Fences. Walls.

The bricks that must be removed one stone at a time.

In Gaza, along the Mexican/American frontier;

Borders seem to define.

Here’s my line:

1303941810-the_border-promo-web_2

THE BORDER IN YOUR MINDdesert.gi

by Igor Goldkind

 

The Border in your Mind,

The dividing line,

Between you and you

and you and me.

The Borderline we hide behind.

 b01_85427302

The crying child on the dusty road without clothes,

Heading toward you,

Reaching out to you;  Is you.

Don’t you see?  

Can’t you see?

What causes all this misery?070312-A-6950H-002:

 

The Border in in your Mind.

That’s the only dividing line between

You and you and

You and me

And me and me.

 

 la-oe-0402-selee-immigration-mexico-20130402-001

 

F8.large


THE GODS by Igor Goldkind


THE GODS

th-1In the trees, in the trees

I can feel them in the trees!

The Gods, that is;

The ones who prepare us for the Passage Out of Time.

 

We are Osiris, you and I,

Scattered fragments of Life’s desire;

Long ago recovered from the deserts shifting sands,

     One hour glass at a time.

 We are nothing but our longing, my friend.

We are merely the sum,

The cost of our own yearning

To be tethered to the Whole.

 

Meanwhile, Isis reassembles her lover,

Carefully locking fragments of memory back into time.

Interlocking the broken puzzle of our lives,

One piece at a time.


GRAVITY’S CONQUEST


This is from my upcoming  collection of poetry, art and music entitled IS SHE AVAILABLE?  (Chameleon; October 31)

Artwork by the incomparable Liam Sharp (an ostrich, a rhino?  a toaster?  a xylophone?  See, you can’t compare him.)

This image, conjured from his reading of the poem below, is  Copyright Liam Sharp 2014.  

The poem GRAVITY’S CONQUEST may be reproduced widely without restriction,  as long as it is intact, attributed and appears in a place likely to  incite civil and/or psychological unrest.  Please write it on lavatory walls and biology school books.

Don’t fall too far from your self.

Who else is going to bend over to pick you up?

Gravity's conquest low-res copy

 

GRAVITY’S CONQUEST

 

You know, you’ve already seen the inside of your guts
Looking for a way out.
You know, you’ve already seen what you’ve seen:
You know what you know.
You know the truth like an elder brother.

 

You know, it’s usually right ‘there’,
The last place you looked.
The last place you wanted to forget:
Your bare feet,
Pasted against the concrete;
Gravity’s Conquest.

 

Nailed through the heels.
Poised,
Gracefully
On the precarious cusp
Between this death and that life.


WIN! THE REVOLUTION IN ONLY 2 DIGITS


Last Minute Re-Versioning.  I think it works better now.  Soon we will be launching the animated version of the illustration for the piece by the intensely wonderful and visually lyrical Jeff Christenten.  Thanks to Evan@Madefire.  As well as an original composition for the entire multimedia piece from the  intense genius of Gilad Atzmon.  Please stay tuned.  Please enjoy.  Please comment good or bad.  What’s the difference dantes-hell1?

 

 

THE REVOLUTION IN ONLY 2 DIGITS

 

Home again.

 

Thomas, you were wrong to doubt it:

You Can Go Home Again and

Bask in the healing sun of Osiris

 

This isn’t home

This is recovery.

From the fevered scurvy of my own forgetfulness.

th-1

I eat limes for breakfast, lunch and dinner now;

My bowels move regularly now.

And I feel just like Thomas Payne

 

His bursting desire to model the ideal citizen

 

Not our uniforms, but our blood, sinew and muscle.

To present to the Crowning Glory and

To the Revolutionary Congress and

 

To the Revolutionary French Senate

Thomas and his Pain made the American struggle a personal fight:

The universal pull of the upright ape on the chains holding him down.

REVOLUTION in JUST 2 DIGITS

Chains forged by the forgetful hairless ones.

The ones we will overcome.

But we are not revolutionaries!

 

We are the Revolution.

We are what happens next.

The R/Evolution of our Selves: the inner/outer seeing through Alice’s mirror

 

Into mindful awareness

Into homage to our honored masters and their children:

The ever loving human race.

 

We have already won the revolution.

We have already won the revolution.

 

2 Shots were fired from far, far ago:

One from Lovelace’s boudoir,

Another from Giordano’s spinning wheels and the memory of his funeral pyre.

 

And from the bit of the apple Alan choked down,

We have already won the revolution.

 

We just need to take charge.

 

We have already won the revolution.

 

In only 2 digits.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE REVOLUTION IN ONLY 2 DIGITS

 

Home again.

 

Thomas, you were wrong to doubt it:

You Can Go Home Again and

Bask in the healing sun of Osiris

 

This isn’t home

This is recovery.

From the fevered scurvy of my own forgetfulness.

 

I eat limes for breakfast, lunch and dinner now;

My bowels move regularly now.

And I feel just like Thomas Payne

 

His bursting desire to model the ideal citizen

 

Not our uniforms, but our blood, sinew and muscle.

To present to the Crowning Glory and

To the Revolutionary Congress and

 

To the Revolutionary French Senate

Thomas and his Pain made the American struggle a personal fight:

The universal pull of the upright ape on the chains holding him down.

 

Chains forged by the forgetful hairless ones.

The ones we will overcome.

But we are not revolutionaries!

 

We are the Revolution.

We are what happens next.

The R/Evolution of our Selves: the inner/outer seeing through Alice’s mirror

 

Into mindful awareness

Into homage to our honored masters and their children:

The ever loving human race.

 

We have already won the revolution.

We have already won the revolution.

 

2 Shots were fired from far, far ago:

One from Lovelace’s boudoir,

Another from Giordano’s spinning wheels and the memory of his funeral pyre.

 

And from the bit of the apple Alan choked down,

We have already won the revolution.

 

We just need to take charge.

 

We have already won the revolution.

 

In only 2 digits.


What We Do


 

What We Do.


LOVE IS AN IMPERFECT SPHERE


 

LOVE IS AN IMPERFECT SPHERE.

A Dark Shadow Passes Over a Bright Child's Face