Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Part Won-Fore

"I? I walk alone.
The midnight street spins itself from under my feet.
When my eyes shut, these dreaming houses all snuff out."

I'm sorry little monkey, I can't open the door just yet.
Why not?
Because this isn't my house.
It was in your dream.
That doesn't make it mine.
If you say so.
Are you accusing me of solipsism?
You're the one talking to an invisible monkey on your shoulder.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Part Won-Tree

It’s raining and I’m walking down the streets of Antwerp. I’m wearing a long coat, stuffed with stuff -i like saying stuffed with stuff- my wallet, a bottle of rum, my get-out-of-jail-free card, a picture of Madame Blavatsky, a pack of disposable razors, a Raageshwari album and keys to a house I’ve seen in my dreams. The Phantom Ape is sitting on my shoulder, whispering to me while I cross yet another street.

I ask: “What gives coffee it’s kick?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “Caffeine, of course. Caffeine is trimethylxanthine. It’s an addictive stimulant drug that operates in the brain the same way amphetamines, cocaine and heroin do.”

I ask: “Turn left?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “No, turn right. Trust me.”

I ask: “What’s a metaphysical conceit?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “The metaphysical poets liked to challenge conventional imagery and their tool for doing this was the metaphysical conceit. A conceit is a poetic idea, usually a metaphor. Metaphysical conceits are noteworthy specifically for their lack of conventionality. In general, the metaphysical conceit will use some sort of shocking or unusual comparison as the basis for the metaphor. When it works, a metaphysical conceit has a startling appropriateness that makes us look at something in an entirely new way.”

I ask: “For example?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “Such as Donne's comparison of the union between two lovers to the two legs of a compass in A Valediction Forbidding Mourning. Do you remember?"
I answer him: “If they be two, they are two so as stiff twin compasses are two. Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show to move, but doth if the other do.”

He laughs and I turn right.

I ask: “Shouldn’t I be home?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “Why go to a place you’re not welcome? The street is where you belong, the street will understand.”

I ask: “But where am I going?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “You go to where I tell you to go.”

I ask: “What would have happened if I turned left?”
The Phantom Ape answers: “You never turn left.”

An old lady makes a cross when I pass her by. I’m soaking wet but I refuse to find shelter.

The Phantom Ape says: “We’re close.”

And I startle when I see the house I’ve seen in my dreams.

The Phantom Ape says: “Take out your keys, we’re going in.”

- to be continued-

Friday, August 11, 2006

Part Won-Toe

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake--no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more--methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

- Alexander Pope 'Eloisa to Abalard' (207-248)

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Friday, August 04, 2006

Part Won-Zewo

"Wear some golf shoes, otherwise we'll never get out of this place alive. Impossible to walk in this muck."

Risperdal® is an atypical anti psychotic medication. It is most often used to treat delusional psychosis (including schizophrenia), but risperdal (like other atypical anti psychotics) is also used to treat some forms of bipolar disorder, psychotic depression and Tourette syndrome.
Risperdal also acts as a 5-HT2A antagonist, and can be used to quickly and effectively block the effects of 5-HT2A agonist drugs such as LSD.

So now you know, I’m on a constant trip. I hardly ever take my pills. Why don’t you join me? Come closer, I’ll rip out your intestines and feed them to the crows. Come closer, I’ll just give you a little kiss. Come closer, fall down the rabbit hole with me. I need someone to break my fall. I’ll make up for all the things you lack, I’ll be whatever you want me to be. I’ll look into your eyes and tell you that I love you, that I worship you, that I can’t live without you and then I will light my cigarette and lock you in the basement with the rats. It’s nice down there, you’ll have plenty of company. They will give you lots of kisses too. It’s not by choice, it’s just how it is.

One day, that will be me down there in the basement. It will be me waiting for the crows to come pick at my eyes. I’m the king of Misery, and the people are storming the gates to overthrow me. Recidite plebes, the king’s men are on a mission! Search the farthest corners of the land for the prince with the golden eyes! Bring him before my court, stripped naked of course, so we can behold his glory. We will weep, and our tears will be kept in a sacred jar. The sacred jar will be kept in a chest on the bottom of the ocean, guarded by mermaids. Vicious mermaids. We will dance with the golden-eyed prince, and in a feverish frenzy we will launch the kingdom of Misery into the dark oblivion of empty space. Our only concern will be filling up space. Everything on constant repeat.

How I hate this rehearsal.

I feel like capturing the rats and drink all the blood they stole from me. But I know I’ll never set foot in that basement. The dark frightens me. I’ll just stare into this cup of Moroccan tea for another five minutes, and then everything will get better. A mi manera.