Words

In the name of the world’s first troilists:
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
Edges
Marks
Points
Lines
Seams
Intersections
First words
First chords
first love
first hate
first death
first night of the mind.
Life, a series of edge perceptions,
our sensory apparatus hyperstimulated
by edges, newness, novelty.
Happiness is to see constantly with new eyes,
to be constantly with a new body,
every instant re-born,
re-bearing yourself every instant.

Every man is his own mother
and mother of every other man.
We are all constantly in labor.
You can see it in our faces:
pain, and a hidden, secret cosmic joy.
Happiness is to encounter edges,
to see constantly with new eyes,
to be constantly with a new body,
every instant re-born,
re-bearing yourself every instant.

"Bear down hard!" God yells.
"But it hurts."
"No other way," he says. "And
when you’ve foaled,
you’ll have a minute’s respite
before I love you again.
Before I fuck you again," he says.

For most people, the labor
is long, drawn-out
and not once completed.
Their attention is elsewhere.
And no self is born.
And the pain destroys them inside.

The trick is to relax
while bearing down hard.
Master that,
and out pops a new self every second.
And every self sees old edges as new,
feels old love as new,
rubs against the world, and vice-versa.

Necrophile, page 3      Magellan's Log front page 

Music

I Love to Tell the Story

I love to tell the story of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story, because I know ‘tis true.
It satisfies my longs as nothing else can do.
I love to tell the story; ‘twill be my theme in glory
to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.