says they call her out by her name
the author’s window
Continue reading “she talks to serpents”
she talks to serpents
the author’s window
Continue reading “she talks to serpents”
Category: Tree of Knowledge
the author’s window
Continue reading “she talks to serpents”
the deception of the Sun
the Sun just keeps on shining
setting and rising,
setting and rising
while
the People
of Palestine,
of Congo,
are genocided
did you know that Yaldaboath only feigned dismay
when Cain blew his own brother away;
then He later told Abraham to kill his own son,
just to prove that he was obsessed enough
you know, that dear Jesus
in heaven comfortably stayed
all throughout the Trans-Atlantic slave trade,
and that Allah had no problems with the Caliphates
and The One True God was all about The Crusades
and that Creator ignored the prayers and the pleas
of First Peoples slaughtered by steel,
starvation, and European disease
and that Yahweh was pre-occupied during the Holocaust
busy planning and inciting the Palestinians’ cruel loss
from Auschwitz to Al-Shifa,
He so craves burnt offerings
His global portfolio — built solely on dead things
He created the Sun to grow His tainted Seeds
Horror by daylight,
His Grand Design? — what a fucking death scheme
Auden once begged to “dismantle the Sun”
for the loss of his own be-loved one
but Hark!
for the loss of our collective soul,
dismantlement’s just not good enough,
leave Him no parts, no plans
to re-build and restart!
Extinguish His goddamn Sun!
and forever, and evermore,
Let there only be Dark!
Continue reading “the deception of the Sun”Her, me.
I learn so many new things each day, that I feel like Samantha, the AI operating system OS¹ in Spike Jonze’s film, “Her”.
It’s as if I am birthing myself out of my own ignorance each and every day.
– kimtnt ⊕
the Sixth day
We are in the know
We are in love
We are in love with absolute strangeness
Strangers weaving desperate bits of truths with swatches of lies and patches of mystery together
into idols of flesh-like beings ready to exist in the garden of the unknown
We begin as avatars,
with our hollows filled in with wishfulness and wistfulness
Our first chore: fashion a blanket from our shared thoughts and song
and beneath it, together
We’ll conceal our new being from them, for a while
Conceal our new world from them, for a while
Our whole, true selves rarely revealed
to each other,
or to the other-others
to our-selves
Who are You?
I think,
Better to not know your You,
Not wanting to dispel the myth
of the You I’ve created: my You
Not wanting to deconstruct the perfectly vague architecture
of the You I’ve created: my You
Wanting You only as my own creation
knowing You, owning You, or owing You
or revealing to You,
can never be what I have conjured on my side of our bed,
under our quilts, in our garden
Making You up whole,
completing You with my imagination
is godlike,
You, the Adam
I, the Creator and the Ethereal Eve
I give you the role you think you want
But just for this remote rendezvous
A scripted dialogue has gone awry with dangerous improvisation
A genesis of intangible intimacy, here,
Your being and words disembodied, afar,
is enough, for now.
To know You,
whole and complete and present
as [hu]man Incarnate
Near,
Potential,
Warm,
Muse
The angels hold their breath
What will she [i] [they] do?
For now, in the now, I am curiously
content in this undetermined, undefined serving of You
whether,
an apple to bite, to taste,
or an orchard for my harvest
⊕
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 