TALES FROM EARTH

Holographic girl in a digital world. Wanna see my spaceship?

Nebuchadnezzar

These words beached themselves on the shore of my lips
Drawn long like the final note of a performance
These words befriended the madman inside of me, the same lunatic who writhes at the banquet table of life
Doesn’t use his mouth to speak or eat, Doesn’t understand he’s already free
Pulls his hair out and gnashes his teeth, making believe
Making believe he’s a prisoner of what he sees
It’s easy for you
There isn’t a madman loose up there
Or maybe there is and you are too afraid to name him, for the way you’ll be looked and laughed at

It’s okay
Take my hand
Take your breath
We can - together, each tame our madmen or decide - for ourselves, to evict them altogether
All together

- Nira. C. Me.

Fearing Paris

by Marsha Truman Cooper


Suppose that what you fear

could be trapped

and held in Paris.

Then you would have

the courage to go

everywhere in the world.

All the directions of the compass

open to you,

except the degrees east or west

of true north

that lead to Paris.

Still, you wouldn’t dare

put your toes

smack dab on the city limit line.

You’re not really willing

to stand on a mountainside,

miles away,

and watch the Paris lights

come up at night.

Just to be on the safe side

you decide to stay completely

out of France.

But then the danger

seems too close

even to those boundaries,

and you feel

the timid part of you

covering the whole globe again.

You need the kind of friend

who learns your secret

and says,

“See Paris First.”

Esoteric Terrestrial

Up late nights, missing the micro-phone,
me the ET calling home,
not earth, not this flooded stone,
when I call home I mean the old abode, the slow drone of feedback leaking out of amps stacked on pallet flats,
basements cracked and heavy under the weight of Promised Land giants strumming fruit from their guitars, beating milk &honey from them drums
Up late nights, missing the micro-phone,
me the ET calling home, not this flooded stone, I mean the old abode, the song’s have all gone cold,
my eyes still close and hold words and things I didn’t mean to sing but had to,
because those words hold too,
they ring true for me for them for you
we’re not the only one of anything we’re only One - we’re every thing
Up late nights, missing the micro-phone,
me the ET calling home, not earth, not this flooded stone,
I’m calling home, the old abode

Titan’s Witch

I am a discovery of witches
The warmth of other suns
A pursuit of past longings renewed
Times threads unfurled, a hope once hurled
Into a brewpot of legends, yarns unspun, hero’s story unsung
I am continually chasing that reverie
Walking that tightrope, too young to fear
too old to care
I’d give you my wings if I thought they’d help at all
Once freed,
I’d still find you there, cowering in corners grasping at wisps of her conjured keepsake lie boxes
If I had to lay here
Spinning time and stepping foot once into that man’s heart before freezing in fear of I don’t quite know
I’d scoop my own guts out, splay them on the table and read their runes
Shake the bones and write down the music they’d sing to me in return, their once tempestuous tune
I’d scoop my own soul out
Toss it in the Rhine, cast those pearls to the fish, the swine, the wine, the him that wasn’t mine
If I’d promise to forget the world, and what we’re told
I’d still always hold out hope wherever I’d go
For the atmosphere
For the broken people
For the salve of forgetting
For me
For you
For going back to the part that started it all, and for doing what I should have done
Anything else but this

Cloudwalker

only the King’s dreamers may live on

only the sparrow sings that fateful song

only i see that everyone already knows and everyone already grows in the direction of sunlight

in the direction of the four drops to immortality

time is a thread, that waits for us - as long as it takes the light to start pouring through the wounds

the god-form to emerge, suckling

i laid my head on the hands of this King and pled for my people

feel again

love for the sake of love

for the fate above

this flesh, weighted and heavy - ties me low to the earth

the last time it was you, walking on the sky

Pinky Finger Red Ribbon Reminder

reminding me

she came to the desert to find herself

to quiet her thundering mind

the lines in her palms made storytellers of time

she is a joseph dreamer

she left her shell in zagora

brought back only spirit

and a handful of tumbled letters and sand, stardust

and the light of man

Adam & Eve: Atom & Electron

They dance a snake from 

falling trees

they dance

a tribe

a drum

wanting the ego or the trance

the start or the chance

they dance

a snake from falling trees

they dance

a tribe 

a drum

wanting the ego or the trance

the start or 

a chance

God’s Child Form

I feel my skin, may at any moment dissolve into a million illumined constituent pieces and shockingly burst into bits of spontaneous violet flame
We are dancing the tip of that Fertile Crescent 
We carry with us the particles of every age
What I really came to give you, I can’t
A monk, alone
A bell, untolled
A glass of water, not poured
Even though you came to me by way of your glorious mechanical, electric machine body
Eyes
Ears
Nose
Throat
It’s not enough for me
For this age
For this numbered experience
I search for paper and ink; to drink
You search for food and water; to live
Because of my life; I write
Eating sheets of paper to quiet my insides, thorns my rumbling hunger pains
I entered the temple grounds barefoot and wandered alone for awhile
Buried my heart meat there to die in the cathedral forest floor
To live again, to rot under that loamy rich soil
I tramped down my foot and squished the earth between my toes and then I rose, a totem into the sky 
I have dreamt my palimpsest skin
Myriad stories that lie just beneath a later thin consciousness 
Seven stories retold, unfold again and sold for cosmic serpent tails
For a spider weaving her winter veils
I have lost my head again and from my neck spews stardust and comet trails
Men cast their coins down into my well and hope for their wishes of escaping this life to come true; they tie a rope around my ankle and hang on for the ride
Then the ink dries
And he dies inside of me, waiting to be free
Believing the illusion that your eye actually sees that candle in the dark; and not the truth of chemical and electrical receptors, synapses, iris, cornea and retina all playing a game of puzzle - painting what they have agreed 
Without you
Is a wax column wick lit stick
If we believed the truth, it would prove slightly problematic
We’d all float straight off the face of the earth in ecstatic bliss and there would be no one left to make wishes or hang candlesticks 
The earth would brace herself and forgive the dream
The naked eye
The dismantled bones and empty closets
She’d laugh and say, “What I really wanted to give you, I couldn’t. The view from God’s child-form on this lunatic sphere. Your address was always somewhere else.”
/Nira/

Where I want to be. Right now.

Where I want to be. Right now.

(Source: airows)

ikenbot:

NGC 2237 and 2244

by Velimir Popov

Diffuse Nebula NGC 2237 (Sh2-275, LBN 948-9, The Rosette Nebula) and Open Cluster NGC 2244 in Monoceros in SII-Ha-OIII mapped HST color.

ikenbot:

NGC 2237 and 2244

by Velimir Popov

Diffuse Nebula NGC 2237 (Sh2-275, LBN 948-9, The Rosette Nebula) and Open Cluster NGC 2244 in Monoceros in SII-Ha-OIII mapped HST color.