Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
William Butler Yeats ...Magic and poetry...Happy St Patricks...
magick note book - yeats
georgie & jack yeats
In 1892, he wrote: "If I had not made magic my constant study I could not have written a single word of my Blake book, nor would The Countess Kathleen have ever come to exist. The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write."
I believe in the practice and philosophy of what we have agreed to call
magic, in what I must call the evocation of spirits, though I do not know what they are, in the power of creating magical illusions, in the visions of truth in the
depth of the mind when the eyes are closed; and I belive in three doctrines,
which have, as I think, been handed down from early times, and been the foundation of nearly all magical practices. These doctrine are:
1 - That the borders of our minds are ever shifting, and that many minds can flow into one another, as it were and create or reveal a single mind, a single energy.
2 - That the borders of our memories are shifting, and that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
3 - That this great mind and great memory can be evoked by symbols.
1908
¤ A Crazed Girl ¤
That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'
William Butler Yeats
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Joseph Jengehino...poems and drawing..
a physiology of conversion (collab with Amely Jones)
Gerald slices his thoughts with a citrus knife. Removes the matter.
His fiction is the salt she sucks from open wounds.
Her machinery is too much for him. At night he tears it down.
He likes to watch her mouth sleep.
likes the way it is crooked but still toxic. but silent.
He's afraid of her.
He's afraid of her unobstructed mind and the traps and equations she uses.
He wants to get under her skin
his static can break her. disrupt her.
break the plane of her bones,
break the circuitry of her mind,
give her parachutes to numbness.
Her head is turned, the profile of a bird on a pillowcase.
he touches her throat, a little
Hides his hands
He wants to hold her
in the softest prison,
place a thumb on her eye,
and feel the kaleidoscope's stained and transparent explosions.
The dreams are fueling her mind
maybe he can make her smile when she is like this...
but he won't touch those toxic lips
even with the latex fingers
he envisions her a future huffing oxygen from an apparatus.
sees her body tied to machines
sees the bricks of her mind dissolving
in a place where he can forever watch her mouth sleep
The Broken Neck of the Swan
Joseph Jengehino blog at MYSPACE
Friday, March 5, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
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