Journal Entry: (Undated)
In Defense of Cannibalism
Entheogen: Noun: A neologism and synonym/euphemism for the word hallucinogen.
From the Greek, entheos, meaning “full of god” and genesthai, meaning “to come into being”.
Its literal meaning is said to be “That which creates god within.”
In 28 AD, though it was not called that at the time, a man like any other urged his friends to take of his body and blood and know his father’s love. As they ate his bread and drank his wine, one of them plotted his death, and within the week he had suffocated under the weight of his flesh, arms pinned back like the legs of slow roasted Argentine lamb strung up on a spit.
Trekking further into transubstantiation, one will be reminded of the Mayoruna of the Amazon, who upon the death of a beloved will divide his body amongst themselves and sate their appetites on his recently departed carcass. Our bodies contain our souls, and through their consumption, we are preserved. An orator’s tongue will be cooked like that of the humble bovine. The wise man’s brain will be picked by his successors.
In 1873, Alfred Packer stumbled back into his campsite to find his prospecting partner cooking their friends on the fire. True, the winter had been rough; true, he hadn’t managed to forage any food; but when Bell ran at him, hatchet in hand and hunger in his eyes, the pistol Packer was packing kept him off the menu. Solitary and starving, cut off in the Colorado wilderness, the bodies of men begin looking like those of any other animal. The judge subscribed to a different point of view. As he sentenced Packer to death, wishing he could sentence him to hell, Alfred must have asked, if only to himself, what else was he supposed to do?
And in 1793, when Louis Capet was led to his scaffold, forced to face the Empty pedestal of his Grandfather’s Royal Statue, his words shouted over, his head removed, and his blood spilled, when the peasants rush forward to soak up their king’s holy blood in their filthy handkerchiefs, is this not also a Eucharist of sorts?
Lest we forget the Aztec word for the Psilocybe Cubensis:
Teonanacatl, meaning
“The Flesh of God”
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Poem #2: The Loneliest Cupcake; A Tragedy
When a woman loves a man
And that man loves sweets
Now and again
She’ll make him treats
Sugar and flour
Butter and Bowl
A Bit Of Love
To give it some soul
Chocolate frosting
Moist Yellow cake
A licorice face
Just for cuteness’ sake
From its piping hot womb
At 350 degrees
She made him a cupcake
Whipped up with ease
Placed on its plate
Left to cool on the sill
She went to the lounge
And called his name, “Will!”
A grin on his face
Will came a running
“Martha!” He cried
“You are ever so cunning.”
Moving faster than fast
Lickedy split
Martha blushed bright red
As her cheek met his lip
Open throat like a snake
Downed in one great big gulp
He swallowed the cake
Not quit chewed to a pulp
A moment passed uneventful
Then on horrific cue
Will gave a noise
As he turned a purple hue
Will sputtered and spewed
He croaked in frustration
(Never one much for
Erotic asphyxiation)
He fell to the floor
Looking quite dead
Crashing to the linoleum
By the crown of his head
Martha shrieked and ran
Knelt down by his side
Fearing the truth
She knew down inside
From out of Will’s mouth
There came a strange groan
Proving at once
She wasn’t alone
“Will?” She cried
Feeling quite hopeful
As “it” crawled from his mouth
That seemed quite doubtful
It stood 3 inches tall
Looking a bit worse for wear
It touched at its frosting
As if parting hair
“How could you?” The cake cried
“How could you Mother?
How could you forsake my life
For that of another?”
“This is insane!” Martha screamed,
“I baked you from batter!
You’re my boyfriend’s snack!
That’s all that matters!”
“Forgive me Mother, dear,
If I seem a bit Oedipal,
But your defense here,
Feels a tad ineffectual.
“You baked me
You birthed me
You loved me
And left me
“You gave me life
Then you tried to erase me!
Do you understand
How you’ve driven me crazy?!”
“I’m sorry!” She yelled,
“With all of my heart!”
“It’s almost cute,” The cake growled,
“To see you try and play that part.”
As he drew the knife from the drawer
Her eyes widened in fear
“Well,” said the cake,
“I think I’ve made myself clear.”
--------------
His baked fingers sticky
With sugar and blood
He sat in the machine’s belly
As tears started to flood.
His parentage ended
His dark legacy done
He sighed from fatigue
And turned the oven on.
THE END
And that man loves sweets
Now and again
She’ll make him treats
Sugar and flour
Butter and Bowl
A Bit Of Love
To give it some soul
Chocolate frosting
Moist Yellow cake
A licorice face
Just for cuteness’ sake
From its piping hot womb
At 350 degrees
She made him a cupcake
Whipped up with ease
Placed on its plate
Left to cool on the sill
She went to the lounge
And called his name, “Will!”
A grin on his face
Will came a running
“Martha!” He cried
“You are ever so cunning.”
Moving faster than fast
Lickedy split
Martha blushed bright red
As her cheek met his lip
Open throat like a snake
Downed in one great big gulp
He swallowed the cake
Not quit chewed to a pulp
A moment passed uneventful
Then on horrific cue
Will gave a noise
As he turned a purple hue
Will sputtered and spewed
He croaked in frustration
(Never one much for
Erotic asphyxiation)
He fell to the floor
Looking quite dead
Crashing to the linoleum
By the crown of his head
Martha shrieked and ran
Knelt down by his side
Fearing the truth
She knew down inside
From out of Will’s mouth
There came a strange groan
Proving at once
She wasn’t alone
“Will?” She cried
Feeling quite hopeful
As “it” crawled from his mouth
That seemed quite doubtful
It stood 3 inches tall
Looking a bit worse for wear
It touched at its frosting
As if parting hair
“How could you?” The cake cried
“How could you Mother?
How could you forsake my life
For that of another?”
“This is insane!” Martha screamed,
“I baked you from batter!
You’re my boyfriend’s snack!
That’s all that matters!”
“Forgive me Mother, dear,
If I seem a bit Oedipal,
But your defense here,
Feels a tad ineffectual.
“You baked me
You birthed me
You loved me
And left me
“You gave me life
Then you tried to erase me!
Do you understand
How you’ve driven me crazy?!”
“I’m sorry!” She yelled,
“With all of my heart!”
“It’s almost cute,” The cake growled,
“To see you try and play that part.”
As he drew the knife from the drawer
Her eyes widened in fear
“Well,” said the cake,
“I think I’ve made myself clear.”
--------------
His baked fingers sticky
With sugar and blood
He sat in the machine’s belly
As tears started to flood.
His parentage ended
His dark legacy done
He sighed from fatigue
And turned the oven on.
THE END
Play #1: Stand
[JEREMY stands at center stage on one leg and hops in place with a backpack on his back. A moment passes. Our second character DRAKE walks out. DRAKE is at first oblivious to the sight next to him. He stops and looks at JEREMY like he’s crazy.]
DRAKE:
Jeremy what the hell are you doing?
JEREMY:
Well Drake I’m, hopping I thought that was pretty obvious.
DRAKE:
And you just woke up in the mood to try something new?
JEREMY:
No actually.
[JEREMY Struggles to get bag off shoulder, switches foot he’s hopping on. Pulls book from bag and tosses it to DRAKE]
DRAKE:
“The Guiness Book Of World Records”? I haven’t seen one of these in years.
JEREMY:
I’m trying to break the world record for most consecutive hours spent hopping on one foot.
DRAKE: (Flipping through book)
A record currently held by Jack Rivers of Shaboigen, Wisconsin.
JEREMY: (Reverently)
The hopping king himself
DRAKE: (Gesturing to Book)
And why, may I ask, have you taken it upon yourself to join this bunch of inbred lunatics in eternal glory?
JEREMY:
I was doing my history homework last night, when I got really depressed.
DRAKE:
American History has that effect.
JEREMY:
But it made me realize that everything, I mean everything, is impermanent.
DRAKE: (Smirking)
And so you decided to build a legacy for future generations by hopping?
JEREMY:
More or less
DRAKE:
Why not cure cancer or land on mars? Why hopping?
JEREMY:
I think you’re missing the beauty of the Guiness Book Of World Records. Ordinarily immortality is reserved for the best and brightest, the over achieving type. Here utterly talentless freaks can go down in history for performing useless tasks over and over again.
DRAKE: (While Reading)
And holding 109 angry bees in your mouth apparently. That has to make an interesting police report.
JEREMY:
Don’t forget unhooking 42 bras in a minute.
DRAKE:
Well persistence is a virtue I guess.
[There is a pause as DRAKE looks at the book and then back at JEREMY. He sighs and starts hopping in the same manner as JEREMY]
DRAKE:
So how long do we have to do this for?
JEREMY:
What do you mean we?
DRAKE:
You seemed pretty set on it, and I figured “What the hell?” might as well join in.
JEREMY:
Drake you’re totally missing the point! This is a solo journey, a quest for individual greatness, a just-me-opportunity to reach the Valhalla of our day and age.
DRAKE:
Well fine, you’re going to have to beat me then!
[DRAKE begins hopping faster]
JEREMY:
Calm yourself, your just going to tire out like that. It’s all about keeping yourself calm and conserving your energy.
[DRAKE Slows down to JEREMY’s pace]
JEREMY:
And then making sure you keep yourself alert!
[JEREMY hops towards DRAKE]
DRAKE:
What the hell are you doing?!
JEREMY:
Nipping this Freudian attempt at usurping me in the bud you traitor!
DRAKE: (Hopping in the opposite direction)
Are you crazy? You’re resorting to violence with me, your best friend since birth, over a hopping contest.
JEREMY:
See when you say it, it sounds like a bad thing.
[As DRAKE’s Panic Grows. Their tempo of back and forth increases dramatically]
DRAKE:
It is a bad thing! I mean hell, we never fight! I just make sarcastic yet loving quips and you retort with outlandish humor. We’re yin and yang man! We’re pretty much Batman and Robin!
JEREMY:
If that wasn’t a long string of homoerotic innuendo then I don’t know what is.
DRAKE:
Oh come on not this again.
JEREMY:
Seriously Drake, the man lives in a dark cave with a boy half his age, he dresses the kid in neon spandex, slides up and down poles and they call each other “Good Chum”. It’s practically the freaking Cirque Du Soleil.
[DRAKE stops hopping]
DRAKE:
Why do all your arguments somehow deteriorate into debates about the sex habits of superheroes?
JEREMY:
That’s it!
[JEREMY finally catches up to DRAKE. They bump into each other and both fall over. The two pick themselves up and don’t look at each other]
DRAKE:
Well that was ultimately pointless.
JEREMY:
You’re telling me! Now we have to start all over again.
[JEREMY starts hopping again]
DRAKE:
I lied about the persistence thing, it’s also a virtue to learn when to quit.
JEREMY:
Oh come on, don’t get like that.
DRAKE:
Get like what?
JEREMY:
Every time I try to have a conversation with you, I back you in to the proverbial corner with my razor wit and then you come in with you’re preaching.
DRAKE:
First off, you hopped into me in a violent manner. That has never been done before. Ever. Kangaroos haven’t even done that. Second, I do not preach, I make commentary with zeal.
JEREMY:
Just calling the kettle black.
DRAKE:
Calling the kettle black? Who says that? Actually who tries to hop his way into the Guiness Book of World Records?
JEREMY:
Just you, me and David Menan of Red Bank New Jersey. He holds the record for longest distance tap danced, 32 miles.
[DRAKE chuckles]
DRAKE:
Just like everything else in life tap dancing is merely a primitive, degenerate form of hopping.
JEREMY:
What?
DRAKE:
Oh come on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed! We all spend lives trying to balance so many responsibilities and other such shit that we wind up hopping on one foot for the majority of our time on earth.
JEREMY:
That is the biggest load I have ever heard in my life.
DRAKE:
Just stop and think about it and tell me I’m wrong. Take right now for example. You’re entire concept here is that you’re going to be remembered forever by breaking someone else’s world record.
JEREMY:
I think I’ve made that painfully clear.
DRAKE: (Touching His Shoulder and shifting)
Ironic word choice .
JEREMY:
Sorry, You were saying
DRAKE:
The point is that it’s a cycle. It’s only a matter of time before someone breaks your record too and tramples over your legacy.
JEREMY:
But I’ve got the makings of a prodigy, I was hopping for hours and hours before you showed up. Hard work and Determination are the requirements of being a champion.
DRAKE: (Sighs while pinching bridge of nose)
In the form of after school special worthy ethics, you’re struggling to maintain a connection to the world around you. Steroids and trust funds make winners, nothing else. It’s not about feeding yourself back into the world, its about standing up, its about fighting for a cause, earning a place to call your own.
[JEREMY looks at DRAKE for a moment and then stops hopping]
JEREMY:
I think it’s about time I stood on my own two feet again.
DRAKE:
Agreed
JEREMY:
There’s just one thing that bothers me about all this
DRAKE:
What?
JEREMY:
How were you able to come up with that pretentious a metaphor in the last few seconds?
DRAKE:
Pure talent.
JEREMY:
Looks like your ego survived our little adventure
DRAKE:
And thank god for that.
[There is a pause. Awkwardly DRAKE attempts to leave]
JEREMY:
Wait!
DRAKE:
What?
JEREMY:
Why does the futility of your own existence not drive your crazy?
DRAKE:
Who's to say it hasn’t?
JEREMY:
You know what I mean
DRAKE:
A legacy isn’t some great feat, or a monument to your own glory. It’s being able to look back and say “The People I cared about are not thrown into violent fits of projectile vomiting by my memory”.
[JEREMY looks shaken]
JEREMY:
That’s neither uplifting nor sanitary.
DRAKE:
What is these days?
JEREMY:
So all of it, was for nothing?
DRAKE:
What?
JEREMY:
In the end this entire conversation was meaningless.
[DRAKE and JEREMY walk off]
DRAKE:
That’s actually somewhat standard for us.
[END]
DRAKE:
Jeremy what the hell are you doing?
JEREMY:
Well Drake I’m, hopping I thought that was pretty obvious.
DRAKE:
And you just woke up in the mood to try something new?
JEREMY:
No actually.
[JEREMY Struggles to get bag off shoulder, switches foot he’s hopping on. Pulls book from bag and tosses it to DRAKE]
DRAKE:
“The Guiness Book Of World Records”? I haven’t seen one of these in years.
JEREMY:
I’m trying to break the world record for most consecutive hours spent hopping on one foot.
DRAKE: (Flipping through book)
A record currently held by Jack Rivers of Shaboigen, Wisconsin.
JEREMY: (Reverently)
The hopping king himself
DRAKE: (Gesturing to Book)
And why, may I ask, have you taken it upon yourself to join this bunch of inbred lunatics in eternal glory?
JEREMY:
I was doing my history homework last night, when I got really depressed.
DRAKE:
American History has that effect.
JEREMY:
But it made me realize that everything, I mean everything, is impermanent.
DRAKE: (Smirking)
And so you decided to build a legacy for future generations by hopping?
JEREMY:
More or less
DRAKE:
Why not cure cancer or land on mars? Why hopping?
JEREMY:
I think you’re missing the beauty of the Guiness Book Of World Records. Ordinarily immortality is reserved for the best and brightest, the over achieving type. Here utterly talentless freaks can go down in history for performing useless tasks over and over again.
DRAKE: (While Reading)
And holding 109 angry bees in your mouth apparently. That has to make an interesting police report.
JEREMY:
Don’t forget unhooking 42 bras in a minute.
DRAKE:
Well persistence is a virtue I guess.
[There is a pause as DRAKE looks at the book and then back at JEREMY. He sighs and starts hopping in the same manner as JEREMY]
DRAKE:
So how long do we have to do this for?
JEREMY:
What do you mean we?
DRAKE:
You seemed pretty set on it, and I figured “What the hell?” might as well join in.
JEREMY:
Drake you’re totally missing the point! This is a solo journey, a quest for individual greatness, a just-me-opportunity to reach the Valhalla of our day and age.
DRAKE:
Well fine, you’re going to have to beat me then!
[DRAKE begins hopping faster]
JEREMY:
Calm yourself, your just going to tire out like that. It’s all about keeping yourself calm and conserving your energy.
[DRAKE Slows down to JEREMY’s pace]
JEREMY:
And then making sure you keep yourself alert!
[JEREMY hops towards DRAKE]
DRAKE:
What the hell are you doing?!
JEREMY:
Nipping this Freudian attempt at usurping me in the bud you traitor!
DRAKE: (Hopping in the opposite direction)
Are you crazy? You’re resorting to violence with me, your best friend since birth, over a hopping contest.
JEREMY:
See when you say it, it sounds like a bad thing.
[As DRAKE’s Panic Grows. Their tempo of back and forth increases dramatically]
DRAKE:
It is a bad thing! I mean hell, we never fight! I just make sarcastic yet loving quips and you retort with outlandish humor. We’re yin and yang man! We’re pretty much Batman and Robin!
JEREMY:
If that wasn’t a long string of homoerotic innuendo then I don’t know what is.
DRAKE:
Oh come on not this again.
JEREMY:
Seriously Drake, the man lives in a dark cave with a boy half his age, he dresses the kid in neon spandex, slides up and down poles and they call each other “Good Chum”. It’s practically the freaking Cirque Du Soleil.
[DRAKE stops hopping]
DRAKE:
Why do all your arguments somehow deteriorate into debates about the sex habits of superheroes?
JEREMY:
That’s it!
[JEREMY finally catches up to DRAKE. They bump into each other and both fall over. The two pick themselves up and don’t look at each other]
DRAKE:
Well that was ultimately pointless.
JEREMY:
You’re telling me! Now we have to start all over again.
[JEREMY starts hopping again]
DRAKE:
I lied about the persistence thing, it’s also a virtue to learn when to quit.
JEREMY:
Oh come on, don’t get like that.
DRAKE:
Get like what?
JEREMY:
Every time I try to have a conversation with you, I back you in to the proverbial corner with my razor wit and then you come in with you’re preaching.
DRAKE:
First off, you hopped into me in a violent manner. That has never been done before. Ever. Kangaroos haven’t even done that. Second, I do not preach, I make commentary with zeal.
JEREMY:
Just calling the kettle black.
DRAKE:
Calling the kettle black? Who says that? Actually who tries to hop his way into the Guiness Book of World Records?
JEREMY:
Just you, me and David Menan of Red Bank New Jersey. He holds the record for longest distance tap danced, 32 miles.
[DRAKE chuckles]
DRAKE:
Just like everything else in life tap dancing is merely a primitive, degenerate form of hopping.
JEREMY:
What?
DRAKE:
Oh come on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed! We all spend lives trying to balance so many responsibilities and other such shit that we wind up hopping on one foot for the majority of our time on earth.
JEREMY:
That is the biggest load I have ever heard in my life.
DRAKE:
Just stop and think about it and tell me I’m wrong. Take right now for example. You’re entire concept here is that you’re going to be remembered forever by breaking someone else’s world record.
JEREMY:
I think I’ve made that painfully clear.
DRAKE: (Touching His Shoulder and shifting)
Ironic word choice .
JEREMY:
Sorry, You were saying
DRAKE:
The point is that it’s a cycle. It’s only a matter of time before someone breaks your record too and tramples over your legacy.
JEREMY:
But I’ve got the makings of a prodigy, I was hopping for hours and hours before you showed up. Hard work and Determination are the requirements of being a champion.
DRAKE: (Sighs while pinching bridge of nose)
In the form of after school special worthy ethics, you’re struggling to maintain a connection to the world around you. Steroids and trust funds make winners, nothing else. It’s not about feeding yourself back into the world, its about standing up, its about fighting for a cause, earning a place to call your own.
[JEREMY looks at DRAKE for a moment and then stops hopping]
JEREMY:
I think it’s about time I stood on my own two feet again.
DRAKE:
Agreed
JEREMY:
There’s just one thing that bothers me about all this
DRAKE:
What?
JEREMY:
How were you able to come up with that pretentious a metaphor in the last few seconds?
DRAKE:
Pure talent.
JEREMY:
Looks like your ego survived our little adventure
DRAKE:
And thank god for that.
[There is a pause. Awkwardly DRAKE attempts to leave]
JEREMY:
Wait!
DRAKE:
What?
JEREMY:
Why does the futility of your own existence not drive your crazy?
DRAKE:
Who's to say it hasn’t?
JEREMY:
You know what I mean
DRAKE:
A legacy isn’t some great feat, or a monument to your own glory. It’s being able to look back and say “The People I cared about are not thrown into violent fits of projectile vomiting by my memory”.
[JEREMY looks shaken]
JEREMY:
That’s neither uplifting nor sanitary.
DRAKE:
What is these days?
JEREMY:
So all of it, was for nothing?
DRAKE:
What?
JEREMY:
In the end this entire conversation was meaningless.
[DRAKE and JEREMY walk off]
DRAKE:
That’s actually somewhat standard for us.
[END]
Poem #1: A Day At The Mall; Field Notes from a Failed American Dream
Take in America through every orifice and pore.
The sounds we make as we pass echo off to become meaningless, their conjoined cacophony ringing with a voice deep and dark as the ancients.
My thoughts lose meaning as they reach the page.
We are all made of stone, yet somehow thawing. I zoom in and out through a myriad of conversations. Lacking lies. Scattering prose. Tiny little lines.
What separates bone from other tissues really? Some silent agreement inherent in our very cells. We walk in patterns, avoiding the kiosks, understanding what is unspoken. What is alien is unacceptable. The man moves against the crowd. An incautious, unfortunate ankle dies.
Everything flows like syrup. Move it molasses.
Passive, I swallow my beverage.
Pronouns are very important here.
The sounds we make as we pass echo off to become meaningless, their conjoined cacophony ringing with a voice deep and dark as the ancients.
My thoughts lose meaning as they reach the page.
We are all made of stone, yet somehow thawing. I zoom in and out through a myriad of conversations. Lacking lies. Scattering prose. Tiny little lines.
What separates bone from other tissues really? Some silent agreement inherent in our very cells. We walk in patterns, avoiding the kiosks, understanding what is unspoken. What is alien is unacceptable. The man moves against the crowd. An incautious, unfortunate ankle dies.
Everything flows like syrup. Move it molasses.
Passive, I swallow my beverage.
Pronouns are very important here.
Lyric #1: Ahab
There are times in this life
Where all your words leave you,
When you’re down to one leg
And it’s pulled from beneath you,
And your hopes and your dreams
And ship are all swept away.
I look at my life
And I see where it’s leading.
My crew’s all gone,
Most of them bleeding
As a white whale waves goodbye,
Lord, he’s mocking me...
There’re souls in this world
Of all shapes and sizes,
And mine keeps on soaring
As my ship capsizes
And with eagle’s eyes,
I look toward the distant shore.
My whole life long
I’ve been fighting for something,
Against an uncaring God
And the sense that I’m nothing.
With the end in sight
It seems I’ll finally know
I swear from the heart
Of Hell, I will hate you!
And as I hurl my harpoon,
I hope I’ll finally sate you.
As I’m towed on the line,
Through my mind, flow familiar words.
There’s souls in this world
Of all shapes and sizes,
And mine keeps on soaring
As my ship capsizes
And with eagle’s eyes,
I look toward the distant shore.
Where all your words leave you,
When you’re down to one leg
And it’s pulled from beneath you,
And your hopes and your dreams
And ship are all swept away.
I look at my life
And I see where it’s leading.
My crew’s all gone,
Most of them bleeding
As a white whale waves goodbye,
Lord, he’s mocking me...
There’re souls in this world
Of all shapes and sizes,
And mine keeps on soaring
As my ship capsizes
And with eagle’s eyes,
I look toward the distant shore.
My whole life long
I’ve been fighting for something,
Against an uncaring God
And the sense that I’m nothing.
With the end in sight
It seems I’ll finally know
I swear from the heart
Of Hell, I will hate you!
And as I hurl my harpoon,
I hope I’ll finally sate you.
As I’m towed on the line,
Through my mind, flow familiar words.
There’s souls in this world
Of all shapes and sizes,
And mine keeps on soaring
As my ship capsizes
And with eagle’s eyes,
I look toward the distant shore.
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