posted on March 8, 2007 at 10:29 pm

no one who reads this will believe it
ah thats too bad
i write for my muse and her alone
to her are these things are dedicated
lady autumn has come
and white flowers spell my name on green grass
twice a medieval spell has been directed at me
i watch my mirror but no sign of you
everything has significance
how could it be otherwise?
someone must be having such a laugh
its all there out in the open
so blindingly bloody obvious
im still saying where where?
show it to me
i have arranged pebbles in the tetragrammaton
i have burned messages to the dead
i have written my wishes in silver on black paper
at aphrodites altar have i laid sacrifice
and hermes god of magicians no stranger
no stranger i am a stranger myself
i know not this island or the remedy to your suffering
my dreams blur and undulate across watercolour hills
people accost me rudely
i am challenged by the south wind
coming up from antarctica
i feel old suddenly
ha ha says time
you really thought itd go on forever
i have observed unseen constellations in the sky
i have contacted an intelligence within the walls
i have calculated an alternative calendar
and every second tuesday is now given back
there is no reality
i am able to get here so quickly
i am at last a computer poet with asterisks
i am the astral traveller in negative armour
white letters on blackground
i am the most ambiguous man alive
my ambiguity surrounds me like a cushioning fog
here in my verse i am invulnerable
its driving me mad being me
the seasons personally torture me
summer tied me down under a sunlap
and burnt a blue circle behind my eyes
autumn is a grey ghostly bitch
i am held motionless
suspended in embalming mist
winter is an absence
the world shrieks out in agony
frost and heartbreak attend winter
spring is barbarous
the birds strike
the fish bite
the bees sting
the flowers come out in gaudy patches
that make my old head ache
the days of the week are all people to me
a pack of cards contains my next doomed choice
the suicide king and his sad wife
i roll the dice
i smoke the weed
i notice cryptograms in sand and snow
i bump into people presumed missing
i get caught in nets
music is from the middle ages
the dark ages of black magic
oh you lived then
so did i
no no dont drag me back there
i seek the future
bleak as it it maybe
they burnt everything
my house my trees my sisters
my youngest fled into the flaming woods
my little scarlet clad girl
now i turn my back on pasts
i see the clouds have formed a threatening funnel
and the dark maw in the sky
is sucking at my soul
angels are around my bed in the morning
i see them thru my eyelids
i hear them with my hands
but they never say why or where
the autumnal sun is haloed in orange cloud
the sea churns dull green grey
the sky has blanched to the palest only just blue
and sand is forever in the sheets
these are the days then
of gentle dissolution
of fading out
quiet time

46 Responses to “from an occult diary 3”

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