Morning with Keri, paul celan inspired

Night dissolves into
the imagined ichors of morning
on a sunny southern day
fraught with sleet and snow.  

Lying there too long
though filling with awareness
of time and eye side
wanting me to wake.

needing like see for shore
jumping seething wriggling
a wide awake I don't
even remember remembering

Empty belly demands
Not wanted when finally met
bounding shouting chaos
when the hour is young

I am no messanger

I find myself at a loss.  The world I arrive at today is not to my tastes and the one I would want is to no one Else's.  I see us moving to this guiltless society of self interest.  Hungry and greedy we accept ideas that render us a machine of selfish genes, so we are no longer culpable. We slowly turn anyone who stands up and says no into a bigot or fool.  Even if they do its slander or lies and all our laws protect us from someone who would speak out with justice.  Our laws and justice sit in opposition we have come so far.  This would drives around childish wants that look only to the outside.  There is no inner no silent no North.  There is no stoic. Be strong and useful, generous and committed.  Intractable in loyalty when it is earned and met out evil with a just hand.  No longer stand but push back and when they tell how you have been wrong say we are not that anymore.  Don't let your words be the wind through straw and burlap, shout them out loud.

I wanted to write a cheese metal song ala 80's thrash

 I have been listening to The Darkness and was inspired.  I wanted to just do something goofy like they do so i took the Hicks Road idea and worked it into this.  It's a goofy metal song sort of thrash meets weird al covering thrash.  Hope you find it fun!




Diving on a school night
Away form the city lights
One lane bridge to the farm
They want to do you harm

Moonlight on milk white skin
troubles about to begin
broken chain watching eyes
No one hears your cries

Hicks road running red
bone white Satan's word
Dark rites raise the dead
horror soon be heard

ride ever faster
got to get away
Pale haunting laughter
They want you to stay

ride ever faster
got to get away
Pale haunting laughter
They want you to stay

Now your running blind
Not one of our kind
Were going to find you
Nothing you can do

Hicks road running red
bone white Satan's word
Dark rites raise the dead
horror soon be heard

ride ever faster
got to get away
Pale haunting laughter
They want you to stay

De Profundis: An alarmed letter

My Fellow Gentlemen

The host is not bound to confines, as I had hoped.  I had the presumption the creatures would remain at bay, held to the park as if some darkly consecrated patch of land.  This foolish believe remained a hobgoblin of the mind until the night last.  Fear my fellows the horde is unbound.

Mayhaps these events will jar your pen from silence.  I am unversed as to those called "The Elder Ones" though I fear some strange dwellers of the greensward hold them in sway.  My God what is a simple man to make of this. Heaven on high opens and wheels above to strip the mind with any mantle of the sane.  What protection and firth can be sought.

Then there is this name Crowley, I fear this name too.  Assuredly it will be found on the roosters of the eastern temple and under a dark number. 

Yours very Truly
J.L. Reichl

Commuity leaf pile

I am considering taking mounds and mounds of leaves to a park this fall.  Like really tons and inviting others to do the same.  We all meet at some park on a sunny autumn afternoon and and just dump leaves into a pile.  But not just a pile like a mound a shrine for the fallen leaves.  Something like thirteen feet tall and forty foot in diameter.  Really even bigger like an Iroquois long house of leaves. 

From there people could just run through it.  I am figuring it would be fun for my kid but it probably would attract those horrible hipster people.  Ugh that could be worse than lacing the leaf pile with dog crap.I will have to think of some way to be very authentic, that is the bane of  those people.

Through comments could you give me a little sign if you would be up for something like this.  It would be in San Jose somewhere in the South if it happens.  But I would really need leaves like 300 cubic yards or so.  How would November 17th at noon strike you.  Maybe at Carra Belle park.

poem for a silent car ride

See the sand swirl
across the barbwire
And the almond trees
fanning like a swarm

you give me isolation
words are never born
Just road and quiet
lies between two forms

Cast the moon skyward
hung low and stillborn
Cold creeps in windows
Sun gleaming dies to mourn

Please break this silence
words drown as they form
bridge your precipice
Satin your words warm

Growing on me

Have you ever seen something right down to its soul and thought I don't need that?  That is the renunciation people are talking about.  It doesn't happen when you think I don't need stuff but some people will try to tell you that is the way.  It's when you look at something and understand it and yourself.  You look at the thing and feel no I don't want to be the sort person who is of it.  I don't want a telescope as I am not an astronomer or I don't want drum I am not a musician.  This is parity of knowledge.  Knowledge of self and knowledge or the item.  Let me ask how you are going to understand self and outside connections without feeling those connections to begin with.  Then go beyond and figure out what you want to be, I bet you should get the tools of that job or hobby.  Materialism is not bad if you understand yourself and what you mean to do with these things. 

De Profundis: Professor Cornelius R. Woest letter and a responce

My Fellow Gentlemen

This message comes with a reassurance of my senses, for that my deepest thanks to you Professor Woest.  Presently my mind wheels with the possibility of the truth in all this and shudder.  My tale is not madness but a keen series of observations of the extra physical properties of this world around us.  A world which now flaunts its eldritch ichor much like a cheap harlot in the wanton districts of the city.

Emboldened though, I begin a tale of truth that will seem a tale of wild fiction.  For even without the kind Professors missive I again prowled the darker wolds and copse that bespeckled the park.   Last eve I strolled out of my residence with the sunset but did not return until well after the middling hour of the evening.  Herein I recount what transpired.

Far I wandered last eve hoping to find some sheltered blind that one could well observe the vastness of the southern park.  My sojourn not in vain I found a depressed crag at the apex of a rise that was discrete.  From my vantage I could well apprehend much of the green way and expanse.  I tucked with my hide hold shortly after darkness set in and waited. 

The weather fair and many of the grassy denizens served as company, it was not unpleasant.  The nocturnal bowing of insects a gentle hum to while away the hours.   My revery was soon interrupted by lights.  Somewhere far off figures prowled unknowing of their exact presence I would guess them somewhere in the local of the copse of trees I have described previously.   From this location words of incantation arose and with time the green fire.  I can say little of the composition but this emerald flame clutched at the very soul of me. It lined and illuminated creatures that should not be; a horde or host of them.  And they marched in the direction of Yeats abode.

Needless to mention my fear I waited some time until safety permitted a withdraw.  In these dark hours of the night I again saw or rather heard these figures.  From them a single word or rather name.  Crowley.

Here I am again mystified my friends, perhaps one of you will have words for me.

Your restored servant
J.L. Reichl

Dear Sirs,

My deepest apologies accompany my sincerest greetings, as my travels had taken me afar from the civilized world of writ and epistle. My current research into matters of the phantasmagorical, took me deep within the darkness of an angry jungle, and it was there I took company with the Congolese natives, a people whose roots are well remembered, and connected, intertwined within stories of "the Great Old Ones." It was as if the stories themselves unleashed something darker than any shadow. My spirit whirling in madness as I saw something that was...the truth of it all...something pure, and untouched by man's internal workings of lust and greed. Albeit wrapped in horror, it was a truth nonetheless. It was in the heart of darkness I was witness to something of a universe when compared to a grain of sand. Yes, it was just that!!! An absolute truth, a universe overwhelming every part of my existence.

I know you must think me mad, and until I read Mr. Reichl's account, I could only agree. Yet, here I stand, my back crawling with shivers like a million tiny bugs consuming my fleshy case.  You see, I did see that same green hue, and amongst the ashes of what was once a great fire....My God, what did we unleash? What is this horror? What now possesses the Earth that was once sleeping in the annals of time?

I beg of you, Mr. Reichl, or any fellow included in this correspondence, please tell more of this green hue, and the flaming wreckage?

Sincerely,

Prof. Cornelius R. Woest

De Profundis: A return to the epistle form after a southern expedition

My Fellow Gentlemen

My southern expedition completed I return to you.  Our travels to the New Orleans and the Frontier a resounding success.  Alas I was disheartened when not greeted with even a single post.  My expectations were quite high from such esteemed gentlemen as yourselves.

Concerning the maters at hand, I again strolled the lane past Yeats home.  I was astonished to find the stonework marred and brazened by the carbon of a great fire.  Some of the masonry haunted by a faint green hue and lingering sulfurous odor.  Scratch and hew marks seemed to indicate a pitched battle at the location, though I am not given to investigations of the physical.

I believe this story deepens beyond me sirs.  I shall strive beyond boldly but I fear it is larger than just myself.

Wishes for a happier tomorrow
J.L. Reichl

First Full Moon of Autumn

Draw closer to me.
I know I've nothing,
you want, to give.
Tonight is something

I'm better with you
than I am without.
Laughing dreaming
you won't know about.

but were just strangers
nothing in the way.
No silly love!
Still want you to stay.

Help me end the day.
The moon is so bright!
With fall coming
I feel old tonight.

Too old for forever;
not much still remains
harvest's coming
cleaving bones and grain.

lets be together
only for tonight.
Been yours forever
just now see the light.

You've been my forever
never got it right.
You've been my forever
I never got it right.

Thoughts on a stay at Disneyland and its hotels

So after a family trip to Disneyland I am left broken and exhausted.  Seriously Disneyland attacked my wallet and it was super effective. Their Pacific Cove Hotel was sort of a dump cleaned up to be a quasi Disney hotel and the food sucked.  The Grand California was nice and the dinner we got their was really good, crap if it wasn't nearly the same price as the cafe at the Pacific Cove.  Really after going I think Disneyland needs to be somewhere else.  The drive sucks, the weather was right crap and barring California adventure they don't have much room.

What I would sort of like to see would be a second park in California.  This is actually not a new idea Walt himself had an idea for a ski park.  My thought is for a second park somewhere in the King City to San Luis Obispo area.  The idea is a park with better weather near a major city.  The drive would be easy for the San Francisco greater bay area. Land would be cheap in that area which is key to this.  So now you have something with room to grow if a large enough plot of land is purchased, still with draw from a college town and surrounding area.

What I would do with the park is originally set it up with a western theme, in almost a dude ranch style.  Frontier land and the Country Jamboree BBQ sections of Disneyland proper could be replicated here.  Really they could be expanded as well, perhaps recreating the country bears experience and much of the original Disneyland frontier land.  Or better still recreating the full Frontier Village theme park from San Jose. The benefit for Disneyland is they could rework those areas of the park to feature new rides without the full destruction of long time rides.  This second park could eventually become a sort of museum park for past Disneyland rides.  Barring Disney it could be park that recreates other small family parks that have closed, becoming a collector of past park rides.

I suggest this for Disneyland because it is slowly becoming something you can't change.  That sounds funny considering how often they change their rides and attractions.  If you really look at the park critically you are going to see their is a large portion they can not change.  They can not change the entrance or the main street area as those are part of every ones vision of the park, as is the sleeping beauty castle.  Pirates has changed but that ride isn't going anywhere and its the same for the Haunted Mansion.  The rivers and island are integral to fantasmic so they will not be changing.  Some rides like Dumbo and the tea cups are so classic to the park no one would let them be changed.  Even that terrible small world has a life time pass.  Facing the reality of Disneyland the better the imagineers do with a ride the more chance it has of becoming a classic that becomes a permanent fixture of the park.  Eventually the park will become immutable.

The park will need more space at some point.  That means taking over California Adventure which is sort of the same as Disneyland or moving.  California Adventure seems sort of like Disneyland in its infancy, the rides sort of suck but the ideas are there.  I am sure they will get better but then you have the same problem that is occurring in Disneyland, good rides stay and eventually you have a space problem again.  I really think a second Californian park with several times the spaces of the existing Californian properties is an idea worth thinking about.  It would also allow for a greater number of suites and micro hotels that live within the park itself.  Imagine a themed haunted hotel that shares the building space as the Haunted Mansion.  Perhaps quests could even be required or encouraged to wear period attire.  I wouldn't be down with that but I know some folks would be all over it.  I am thinking of a five to ten person bed and breakfast sized place don't get me wrong.

So there you go Disney or anyone else grand idea for free courtesy of your friendly neighborhood crescent star.

De Profundis: Following Mr. Rast's epistle

My Fellow Gentlemen   

Following Mr. Rast's epistle I have inquired into W.B. Yeats and have concluded details of interest.  Sir holds a residence but a short jaunt from my own.  It is in fact well within a leisurely stroll from the southern park that borders my estate.

Taking advantage of my nightly sojourns I availed myself with the opportunity to present a calling card to Mr Yeats' manservant.  As of this hour my request has gone unanswered, but I still hold to hope.  In truth I am in no small way alleviated at this wanting of response.   My studies did yield a connection between this order of the golden dawn and Yeats Himself.  I am unsure to of what I propose.

I have hope you my fellows will be apt to provide a piece to this tale before... I set myself into the jaws of this beast.

My continued thanks
J.L. Reichl

Everything is A-Ok

This is the land of the never was
some Salton sea that was dreamed
In the autumn that everything burned. 

Coral Castles to be my tomb
or hold me fast believe in their womb. 
where I scheme a kingdom and a queen

but in fact no ones been. 
Here is the hollow land
of men gathered together like sticks.

Perhaps strong in many,broken with bricks. 
I only just watch and wait.
Longing and burdened with hate.

Yours is dream you made real
Gossamer and delicate concrete steel
Actual fashioned hard work and wish

How does a dreamer ever compete?

The Game Master and the Bartender

Lets hope for something a little more complicated in our next weeks gaming run.   I feel there is a precipice coming up for the group it can go forward or dissolve just as easily.  The game is the core that binds us.  Some have friendships beyond but others could just as easily go.  This can be a problem when groups.

You have those that grow out of the hobby.  Often finding a better outlet or a different game that suits them better.  I know my long time DM Brian really was always a WarHammer 40K player, he just didn't know it.  I suspect the same from one of my other players.  My friend Derek and I could get our writing or acting fix elsewhere.  Then there those going with the flow that are not so set on gaming as they are spending time with friends.

This sort of gets me where I was headed.  The gaming friendship is sort of an odd one.  You are often playing with people you may or may not consider friends. This is because the hobby doesn't appeal to everyone and if your best buddies are life long gamers you are lucky.  Often those of us that are more mercenary will leave groups of friend for other gaming groups that offer something more in terms of the roleplaying experience even if the players are people we actively dislike.  I really can't think of situations were I put up with bigger weirdos and freaks than in my roleplaying life, well perhaps my family.

Here again you are dealing with a less than committed relationship you are perhaps more committed to the game world and the story than the relationships with the people at the table.  This often leads to player unconcerned with jumping games. You seldom see the years long game in this setting.

Something I suggest is going beyond the game and building friendships with these people.  Take a night or two out of the game and do something else.  Bowl!  Take a few minutes out of each game and talk about what you each want from the next game.  Be honest and ask the hard questions.  Are you having fun, what would make you have fun since you are not.  What worked in this last session what didn't.  In essence you should be the bartender at the end of the night with an ear for your players.  Say little as you get more out of it when you listen.  Let that form your next game session.  Every one's experience will be better for it.

De Profundis a response from Mr. Antoine Moon Esq.

Hey,

I googled "Tempi Orientalis" and found Crescent Star. Kinda fun
 

Regards,

Anthony Luna
Millennium Realty
DRE#01248731
408-835-3060cel.




My Fellow Gentlemen

True! I have also logged my comments elsewhere, as I wished them saved for prosperity.  Alas my translation was wanting.  Perhaps I should check with a doctor of Latin before running past myself as it where.  The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn was once the favored moniker of the eastern templar knights I believe.

Again my studies are in their infancy, and I write words I myself hardly understand.  I thank you for your research.  Many thanks to you Mr. Moon esp.  This sort of help was wanting.  Perhaps the Reverend Josiah Longman or Dr. Dillon GilChrist would add their voices to this salon discussion?

Again my thanks,
J.L. Reichl

De Profundis A response from Mr. Rast

Sirs,

              I must relate some knowledge inspired by the poem you inscribed.  For some terrible yet unknown reason, I have begun the study of modern poets.  I suppose no American can picture such a thing, but poetry is well alive in England.  The work you mention is attributed to William Butler Yeats.  A minor Irish poet who's work often borders esoterica.  Often graven with odd letter and grotesque designs some works make mentions of an order of the eastern temple.  I suspect masonry!

Your Affectionate reader

Gurdjieff K. Rast

p.s. I love this writing game.






My Fellow Gentlemen

This is indeed illuminating.  Masonry?  The Order Tempi Orientalis?  These names mean little to be but seem sinister.  I shall invested myself in these subjects, I pray others will take up my cause as well.  I fear this goes well beyond the confines of my southern parkway.

I am most grateful to you Mr. Rast for your response.  We are now with a direction when before there was none.  I will thank you now for your further assistance.

Grave times indeed,
J.L. Reichl

Krampus for Christmas Revision 1

A little girl watched the monster next door,
Furry and clawed one hoof one foot pawed.
He backyard barbecued for the neighbor,
Singing to journey, burger and hot dogs.

Now her parents had said monster weren't real,
But here one was next door grilling with zeal.
She had watched it since moving in next door,
Afraid at first, but growing brave daily more.

The monster slept in a little dog house,
Even though he big and mostly stuck out.
He didn't make messes, was nice to the dog
Little girl not scared but It was wrong.

He wasn't Bigfoot or even the yeti,
He looked most like Iron maiden's Eddie.
And none of her friends had monsters next door,
Even the kid who let cats crap on his floor.

The Monster didn't see the girl watching,
He cooked for an army, the dog and him.
still more food he just kept the grill grilling.
until he saw a leaf fall from a limb.

This wouldn't have mattered on another day,
But the fire still blazing he walked away.
Dogs and burgers left alone and burning,
The monster felt a Christmastime yearning.

The beast tore into box loaded rafters.
untangling string lights with merry laughter.
This was no ordinary monster you see,
But a Christmas monster the best to be!

Sure he whipped the wicked when it was earned
And boiled with a hatred that always burned
and thought children were delicious to dine
But he kept the Christmas like olden times!

We shall call him Krampus it was his name,
Though early Kampus felt late all the same.
Moving the Calendar forward circling dates,
Krampus counted days and mustn't be late.

it was still summer? it was you'll see!
Still Thanksgiving and Halloween to go,
But Krampus worried about getting a tree.
Who tells a monster he is wrong? ya know?

Others loved fall for candy bought in July
Or pumpkin spice doughnuts, carbs are a lie!
But Krampus checked up on Santa's bad list
Cut switches snapping with a turn of wrist.

One would be left exhausted with worry
If not starting preparations very early!

De Profundis: Letter the fifth

My Fellow Gentlemen

A new chapter to our story is a foot.  Again returning to the location of my previous inquiry, I find the site further molested.  Now a poem has been emblazon upon a tree.  I am unsure of the origin though I suspect an Anglo or Irish source.   The verse diverges from American spelling conventions of the English language.

the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned

The text itself a dreadful incantation, I pray will not hold sway.  My fellows does one have insight into this work?  I still hold to hope for your response, as it is in character for gentry such as yourselves to respond in kind. 

Forgive my tale if it seems too wide eyed and bleary looking inward.  It is but the truth I inscribe.

My kindest salutations
J.L. Reichl

Record review: Nick Drake, Pink Moon

Pink Moon is a record I have really avoided reviewing for some time.  Its a tough nut to crack!  This is going to be a record that just isn't for everyone and only is right for the chosen few at certain times.  The album just bleeds sadness, it's hurt down through the bones.  Really this in a lot of ways is how the indie or alternative gets its start.  It is the prototype for something like Ian Curtis and Joy Division. 

I mean that in that it forges the path of a serious yet sensitive musical expression that rejects the mainstream.  If you take Metal which I am a fan of while not mainstream it is not always serious and very seldom sensitive.  It would take grunge to find any introversion in metal.  Drakes music, especially here, works for that disenfranchised soul who does not embrace machismo as his outward face.

From the start this outsider voice begins, in Pink Moon.  It's a warning that times will change and realign.  The name Pink Moon I am not sure about it is the name used for the April Full Moon in the Farmers Almanac but I am not sure if this is a US or UK term.  It is hard to get a solid feel as lyrically it is a short piece.  When you get into songs like place to be and road you almost get this feeling that Drake feels rejected from the music business as a whole.  Perhaps even life, yes we know what happens to Drake soon after this record.  You feel rejected yourself when listening.

Parasite and Things behind the sun wow seem very heart broken indeed.  They are hard to decipher with their sing song rhyming and imagery that hides obscure but yearning to be cracked.

Harvest Breed is like a short breath before the long fall of From the morning.  Harvest almost asks if you understand are in and then From the Morning offers the cup of Koolaid to join.

De Profundis: The fourth letter

My Fellow Gentlemen

    I was dismayed at the spectral response my previous missive invoked.  Perhaps you were cast into wonder by my tale of phantasmagoria.  I assure all within is true.  I consult with you my fellow scribblers for further insights into these happenings or perhaps a like minded anecdote to assure myself sane.  I will further endeavor if only to chronicle my own descent.

    My investigations into the night time haunting of the greensward located southerly of my estate proved fruitful today.  Impatient I journeyed into the park with the safety of broad daylight.  The denizens of the sporting club paid me little mind, gentry I was beneath their consideration.

    The establishment was neatly manicured and wholly sincere from the strolling paths that allowed access to the golfing pitches.  It was not until I veered from the narrow way of the path that I found what is sought.

    After some work I found myself within a hallow created by life and fell trees.  It was here I first encountered a sinister turn of humor.  The air itself oppressive I did not intend to linger but I could apprehend the location had been used on several occasions.  The ground well worn and glass and wax remains were cast off for the undergrowth.  It was amongst this refuse I spied my first clue though it was in truth little more than a torn fragment of a tome.  The text itself was banal and uninformative but the fragment did hold a title.  The book in question was a translation of the Lesser Key of Solomon by a minor British scholar S.L.M. Mathers. 

    My insight into the maters within the book are stunted at best.  I believe it points toward a theosophical society but even this I am unsure.  The noted professor of eastern mysticism Cornelious R. Woest has been included in my series of missives perhaps he could illuminate us.



My many thanks for your indulgence
J.L. Reichl