Not sure why I (nor anyone else) didn't notice before:



all i can think about is another book,
another record.

i can't think about my phone bill,
an apartment,
a comfortable bed,
the serious business of being alive.
nutrition is a nuisance,
it pours kerosene on the
brittle hypochondriac
whose body is a weather vane
and can only translate
a universe's suffering
(whereever it may be)

television is pure horror.
leisure is stained with sin.
clickety click...the industrious companies twitter
(who is a company?
they are named, they conjure images, but
you can't shake it's hand,
or ask it to hold you.)

all this clicking that the world now knows.

computer for president.
come back awe...let's light it on fire.

my bank account is a sieve.
my heart is a brothel
my arms are Mrs. Dempsters
they want to be saints,
but lie down with the devil
simply to exercise love,
see how far it will go.

how far. how deep can you love...
love the despicable?
love the open question that - like the mouth of a starving child -
will never
ever
close?
-s

hey glorious young. hope you've been busy making mad beauty. i'm counting on you.
nothing is litter, it's all gold. I love you,....

ss

Awesome stuff....rings awfully familiar on a couple of counts.

Thanks for posting Neal....btw, where do you get this from? Sarah has a blog site?

Do post the link....

...jim

Click on "Pen" on the main page of SarahSlean.com

[quote:d42a9ceb9e]Click on "Pen" on the main page of SarahSlean.com[/quote:d42a9ceb9e]

Duh! ops:

thanks,
jim

np

It is the glacier
who redecorates like a wrecking ball,
but
over millions
and millions
of years.

slow
certain
annihilation
of the suffocating land underneath

It is the glacier
who performs the deepest coldest peel,
big enough to tear off a history
like the lid of a sardine can,
cruel enough to begin again at Nothing -
the only truth.

it is the glacier
who gives a fresh linen cloth
to a table stained with feasts,
who begets blankness across over-lived lands,
leaving a trail of afterbirth that can
press bone into rock
and freeze the dinosaur, mid-step

It is the glacier,
master of hygiene,
who will wipe up a drunken era's dripping mouth
and shave its beard with a heavy, sharp knife,
then melt
from immensity
to water
in the blink of an eon.
over wide miles of the once-heated-up
/dried-out
/ran-too-fast,
it is the glacier,
who wins with silence,
- zamboni perfection,
who utterly
and tenderly
destroys.



so you see. i am obsessed with beginning. i must constantly begin. must return to my ignorance to become more wise. return to my childhood to retrieve wonder. return to Nothingness to discover all. Music lives there. Pictures live there. Hope, Faith in Goodness, Freedom from Judgement and Pettiness, - they all have apartments in Nothingness....the place where you're new. a miracle, daily. i continue to read about the time before time and i fall down, enthralled....space that has been swallowed by incredibly dense matter....

a science magazine in an airport is a present from heaven.
good night my stars, soldier on...

xoxoxo
ss

I love that post! I was just reading it the other day. I'm guessing she got the mag from the Halifax airport, because it seems as though that's where she was at the time, but i'm not sure. I love it though...I love incorporating science into poetry, but that's the geek in me.

hehe awesome. I totally have to give her the textbook from my Great Books course lol.

Saturday, December 11, 2004
good, sweet lily
not-yet-lover.
how you hang in perfection.

a knight
a white flower
an unlying lip
upon lip.

at an hour past grace
i am thinking on the plot
of our delicious fiction,
a future,
ridiculous...
our maybe,
divine.

you're a vessel i fill
greedily,
the wild tale i tell myself
before you are human.

be not yet human,
be my

almost-lover
so i may dare you to gather me,
to drink to the sadness
that begins
with desire,

to scream down the face of this
eyeless, nameless beginningless lover

the wolf at a carcass,
the lava descending
the lily heavy with heat



sweet readers. i am out of sorts. what is this thing called home we all die for? i feel it in me, like a freight train. it is time.
i'll miss you, out there, on the road. all you do is clap your hands and i've re-found my coordinates on Earth. but that has passed. i cling to the juice you gave my battery.

now i am in a movie... an entirely new world. paths and rooms i've never seen ....a different planet....my heart swells and teeters... i don't know where to throw it. everywhere? i beam it out to you, hard as i can. i turn a corner, any corner, and fall in love, every time.

so much to know....so much so much. can it be we are so lucky to feel such pain....or whatever this is. the days fall past and i try to remember to taste them before i fall down exhausted.

chin up lover.
we're the good guys.

ss

[quote:f0cb722b34] i feel it in me, like a freight train. it is time.[/quote:f0cb722b34]

reminds me of one of her scrawlings in a navy soup newsletter she put out: [b:f0cb722b34]"Rage! Rage! Like a freight train!"[/b:f0cb722b34]

~ng

Wow. How... perfect.
How does she read my mind like this?

[quote:a83706ae89="Jason"] i beam it out to you, hard as i can. i turn a corner, any corner, and fall in love, every time.

so much to know....so much so much. can it be we are so lucky to feel such pain....or whatever this is. the days fall past and i try to remember to taste them before i fall down exhausted.

chin up lover.
we're the good guys.

ss[/quote:a83706ae89]

we're picking the "beam" up loud and clear!

...jim

Wow, that was such an amazing post...sounds a bit like her battery needs more juice...attention passioneers!

Sunday, February 06, 2005
the grandmaster
how peculiar these nights are
teeming with strangers

the loneliness is a living weight
an invisible companion with no stories
or flaws. it is bored
and argues wordlessly for poisons,
the poisons most kind...
to which I reply
go fuck yourself.

for this time,
I sweat it out.
I swear to the saints that I am
indeed
a student.
so I look
and look around again.

then i know that they are not strangers.
they are all wild children,

sometimes plants
starving for light,
sometimes wise men with myrrh-filled pockets and a
sense of the absurd -
the one earthly cure for this intricate coldness
I have named
life-living.

the wise man there is crumpled
over fast chess with lesser minds,
brown hands folded like wings.

what is that smile betraying?
that he has seen me before
in the history books?
that we were once great warriors
crossing deserts under holy
and terrifying stars
as sand bit our faith down
to the raw, pleading stump...

i sit down and watch as they move and smack
move and smack.
the air burns with their thinking.

what is that sound we're making?
the blue of my young eyes
meets the grey of his two watery veterans
like the sound of Queen taking Knight,
a bone back in it's right place
or a lock popping open..
it is our
opposite skins
opposite ages
opposite sexes
tick tocking hello

it is the lifetimes in this loud cafe
passing by
in droplets
heating cooling
and dropping again

and that one
is the door
as loneliness makes an exit.

and that one
is my mind

brand new.



so it was, dreamers. so it was. i met many teachers on the latest European jaunt. Namely one in the form of a little paperback called "Demian". Herman Hesse has done it again...the ending isn't prize-winning but I assure you, (rather happily and comically - and, as you already KNOW,) it doesn't matter. Philosophy... our weak underused sense, and yet the mightiest of them all when fully mined...it's a prodigy child whose bratty siblings hog all the food and affection.

germany was pure fantasy. the cathedral in Cologne is a mouthful of potent awe.
my stroll that evening through the city is tucked away in the treasure chest.
i cried the wine was so good. at night, in my wee hotel strumming my toy guitar..singing to you the new beads and buds... mes petits bijoux....

good night i'll be out soon with my band on a cold february road..
ss

"go fuck yourself"
the poisoins? hymmm i'm not sure to what she really is pointing too.
drinking, depression,..?

i'm glad she had something nice to put in her treasure chest. World Youth Day is going to be there next year, i dont know if i will go.

This toy guitar seems interesting. She mentions it in her Chart interview aswell. I wonder how small it is and if will make the tour . just a toy, but seems rather fun.

Cameron Bay.