Kalstradamus Predictions for 2009

The water basin is ready. I have blown smoke over its surface---A New Year's
events flash over the stillness.......



Predictions for 2009



2. Russia and the Ukraine will almost come to violence over the port at Sebastopol.
Ukrainian Government will attempt to close port to Russian Navy.

3. Rahm Emmanuel will be indicted in the Blagojevich scandal.

4. Vice President Dick Cheney will die of a Cardiac Arrest in March.

5. Former President Clinton wil be a burden to Secretary of State Hillary Clinton
because of the donors to his library.

6. Caroline Kennedy will not be the next Senator from the state of New York.

7. China will enter into a period of unrest because of a severe downturn in its economy.

10. The Dow Jones will hit 10,000 in May. Obama will have a great first year as President.

11. Britney Spears will have a wonderful year. Selling records and stabilizing her life.

12. Rick Warren will be involved in an embarassing scandal over finances around June 13.

13. Fidel Castro will die. Cubans will mourn. Obama will lift Embargo of Cuba.

14. Terrorism in India and Pakistan will escalate.

15. Mexican drug wars will cross the border and become an increasing security
concern in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California. The National Guard
will be called to border in the El Paso area.

16. Kim Jung Il will die. North Korea will not change.

17. The "Global Economy" will worsen. A by-product--famine in Africa and SE Asia.

18. Los Angeles will be hit by a Terrorist Attack in February.

19. OJ Simpson will be given less jail time on appeal.

20. Shelvers will be amused to hear that Nagual4A is really a registered Republican.

The Best of 2008

1. Best Musical CDs:

1. "Songs in A&E"---- Spiritualized
2. "New Amerykah Part One(4th World War)"----Erykah Badu
3. "Lose Big"-----Eef Barzelay
4. "The Seldom Seen Kid"----Elbow


2. Best Movie:

---Dutch Girl Missing Toilet---


3. Best Slogan:

"For fucking 401k's sake!"


4. Best Cable News Theme Music for Massacre:

"Terror in Mumbai!"


5. Best Attempt at Losing With Grace:

Hillary Clinton

6. Best New Verb:

Bail-Out

7. Best Outting of Charlatan:

Alan Greenspan


8. Best Trend:

Union Busting under the auspices of blocking Auto Industry Bail-Out
by Southern Republican Senators.

9. Best Scandal:

Swindling money on Wall Street. Bail outs and Mr Madoff.

10. Best Reason Not to Worry:

I am still here and my eyes are wide open.

Pisan Insult

Life is greedy.
Death inclines.

A smile's
bright warmth 
sweetens
the way.

Nature's strophe a cruel twist,

A pain, thinness of breath,
in taking everything gives.

We build towers 
and prop vaults.

The props and towers
only make the insult
more callous.

Recessional

They spoke low
lacking wind
to carry
new vows


Their
Limbs dangle
in a bal de pendu
style.



Yet
Hope comes
filling our chests
with promise


Janus readies
the hinges
to open
a new day


Hope lies heavy
on dreamless eyes

As clouds take
gold from today's skies.

Dancing with Leah

Swells rise west of this cradle.
Trains moan the whole night through.

I remember you, Leah, 
at Homecoming dance.
Though too young,
barely ten, fortune
favored me with
an older brother.

I asked for your hand.
You smiled sweet as fragrance
and took mine.
Nestled in your bosom
                                               (crush of cloth and tit-flesh
                                                I was too young to threaten)
I swayed overcome by fullness.

Huc Parum Descende, Iulia(Ad Iulia)

A torrent of Angel tears drained day's sins
down gutters.
In robe and sandals I walked sweet as redemption
midst revelers.
Bare grails were promised my beatific kiss,
silken and cool as the winged Arcadian God's 
bliss.

Ladies! the Judas-like kisses you laughingly gave
were the ass I rode in mock triumph---

Your apostasy stabs like nails.
My heavenly crown floats in the punch bowl.

A camera my Cross as the night closed...

And Julia! Dear Julia!
What of my promise?
Will Angel tears
cleanse my fall?
                            (Knowing ass made
                               a mess of it all.)

Bend

Where the shore turns,
where waters shift

Trees trap golden spray
of spring days
on coat of leaves

Tender gestures lose themselves
in shrouds of shade and 
river's sigh

Take my hand, Eunoë, 
and set a sunflower in 
your heaven of dark hair

where the shore turns,
where waters shift.

Passion of the Bail Out

A solitary person cannot help, or save, an age; he can only give
expression to the fact that it is going under.

--------------------Soren Kierkegaard, Journals.




1. The bail out is a foregone conclusion. The posturing of various
members of the United States Congress is amusing. Wall Street
is the Main Street of Political Fundraising. (Writing this before
the Senate vote is taken.)

2. The Age of the Creditor has not ended. But a Via Dolorosa awaits
every debtor. Look forward to bankruptcy law reforms.

3. It is amazing how ubiquitous and, at the same time, how invisible
this crisis is......A Stock correction here--a rebound---we are
cushioned by the abstract nature of credit. Nobody will lose a meal
over the present crisis. A home?

4. Debtors will walk with bare feet. It is very Christian to let the liquidity
of the Federal Reserve wash clean their sins(debts). By letting
the living Gods of Finance get buoyed the debtor is saved. How Golgotha!

5. The Bail Out is necessary because it limits an abstraction from becoming
real. If we keep running in place collapse will never occur. Nothing can rest--
Not even economy.

6. No morals preached, though it is the Elephant in the room. Why not mention
that people living above their means and being encouraged by government funded
mortgage firms and backed by investment firms is a triangle of abstracted
success gone wild? Like infinitesimal calculus--the details irrupt the abstraction.
Playing House now has losers-before it was never a game--just pretense.

7. America is still childish in its strength. A smack on the hand is needed. Let's not
turn away and allow the child to sulk in the shadows of neglect.

8. In the Market we trust. The Delphic Oracle of our future--401k's.

9. Be long term. In the fullness of time all things are possible.

10. All bail outs redeem from the top down. Laugh if you must. I am.

Fireflies

I look out windows all the time.
                  ---- Andrei Bely, Kotik Letaev

I

West of the high ground,
in valleys of Elysian
youth,

Chasing fireflies as
night smothered
Sun.

Next to my bed
they
lit up a jar.

They brightened
darkness I feared.

They died shining
as dreams endeared.

II

West of prince's port wind shudders cries.
Here fireflies die in jarred eyes.

The Last Post (To M.T. 1892-1941)

From the Sparrow Hills
a cry breaks from
the city below.

Marina, now silent, sways gently
from rope crushing her throat.

She scratched song in timeless stone.

Like a solicitous mother she hushed, 
in honeyed tones, breath's exacting law.

Soporific Sweetheart

Your cool skin and dark eyes
are soft rain and clouded skies.

Your heart beats in time with the rain.

Your sigh tames what shakes the pane.

Velvet eyed lullaby on dreary days,
sifting gold from clouded grays.

You slight rainy-day blight
with dew's kiss and spoils
of night.

December

The powdery hush
of pharmaceuticalm falls.
It's cold.
Wind fastens 
mouths and
eyes shut.
Fear's parole
swathes all in
semblance and
surrender.

It is December.
Night veils flaws kindly
and skirts laws deftly.
Thieves take solace in short days.
Trees molt leaves 'neath faint rays.
Death casts bold dyes
on snow buried fields.

December.
Every breath stings.
The birds will not sing.

Penrod59: Humanist Without Limits

The child runs deep in everything.

------- Ferdydurke, Witold Gombrowicz



I. Like Crumbs of a Madeleine in a Tea-Cup


My vocation allows me to experience all types of people
from all parts of the world. This is a wonderful thing. I am
supplied with a never-ending variety of human types.

Today I helped a Mother and her daughter. It stood out
because the daughter was mentally retarded. Rarely do
parents of the mentally disabled bring their afflicted children
to Auto Shops. Knowing they could be in for a long wait, etc...

The lady needed a tire and as I gave the reasons she told her
daughter, quite sternly, to "stay inside and eat her potato chips
slowly" as she, the mother, went outside to smoke a cigarette.
Pity welled up in me for the poor retarded girl. She was so kind
and cruelly abandoned in a room full of people who felt uncomfortable
just looking at her. This event reminded me of the brave comment
Penrod59 made the night before. A comment he was unjustly
condemned for by a mob of moral cretins. As crumbs of a
Madeleine in a tea-cup reminded the mature Proust of his
youth, I was, also, reminded of the injustice past.


II. Moral People and Moralists


A moral person is one who does the right thing without
fanfare and lets deeds do the talking. He or she lives
life in an exemplary manner so anyone can draw valuable
lessons from the manner of their acts.

A moralist is one who, instead of reflecting on his or her
own deeds, spends all of their time worrying about what others
do and spend a great deal of time talking about it-With great fanfare.
They are the leaders of the witch hunt who act first and think
later. They rile up a gullible mob and ignite the torches of
indignation. Always unconsciously succumbing to their
wounded vanity.

BDRadical was the leader of the torch bearing mob of
Moralists--Various, et al........They were ready to burn the
unjustly accused Penrod59.


III. Humanism Without Limits


It is easy to appease the masses by wishing to please
another human. It is easy playing to the mob and modifying
one's desire for another's pleasure within acceptable boun-
daries.

Penrod's humanism courageously leaps beyond these
boundaries--albeit beyond good and evil---and postulates
that even a mentally retarded young lady of 13 in Sweden--
or any other country for that matter-- deserves pleasure.

Oh! But the torch carrying witch burners recoil in horror!
Ejaculating off scores of e-mails to incite everyone! Without
thought they rush to condemn.

Children are sexual beings. All psychologists and scientists
who study the cognitive development of infants agree childhood
is a time of great sexual experience. Mentally Retarded children
have a limited lifespan. Their age expectancy is between 30-40.
So, logistically, Penrod59 is justified in wanting to sexually
please a mentally retarded girl of 13.

He is also justified because the lack of cognitive development in
retarded children makes them hyper-sexual. Ask anyone who has
taught retarded children or who has worked for the Special Olympics.
It is a fact. Proven by scientific studies too prolific to mention and by
the experience of people in fields caring for the mentally retarded.

Lastly, think a bit about the life of a mentally retarded person.
How many times do they have an opportunity to experience intimacy
with another human? At least Penrod59 admits he'd be willing to give
a mentally retarded girl a pleasurable experience she'd likely, in
the normal course of her life, never receive. I commend Penrod59's
selflessness. His unflinching humanism cares little about the obloquy
of a witch hunting mob of Moralists. Let them fire the torches of their
ignorant indignation. Which, again, is only their wounded vanity in the
face of something so magnanimous it leaves them dumbfounded.

I Shit My Spine Today and the Dragon Has Left Me

I began to feel a massive uncoiling from the base of my neck
to the beginning of my crack. Concerned and with a pinched
look on my face, I wondered what kind of seizure I was enduring.
Suddenly my bowels cramped up and I ran for the stool.
Sweat was pouring from me. Seated I steeled myself for the storm.
It wasn't long before shit poured out of me like life itself.
My back felt empty. My head was so light it ached from lack
of sensation. I called my girlfriend into the bathroom
to dab my forehead with a cold rag. She obeyed.
As her eyes met mine she sighed and said, "The Dragon
has left you. There is no fire in your eyes." I was too spent
and sick to ask any questions. My silence induced her to explain,
"We are all born with a Dragon coiled in our spine. Yours has
gone."
I shit my spine today. The fire has gone. I am now a cold
invertebrate. Where is my Dragon?

Eyes Wake

Tidal erosion
eddies us
to slumber

Kaleidal motion
jetties up
every wonder

Aswim against 
the dark swell
of night's veil.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



I never felt taller. The door opened so easily. Talking on a mobile phone
as the artificial breeze parted my golden locks. Yes, it was me, talking loudly,
laughing and casting an audible shadow over the entire Music Section. A
lady told me I was yelling. How could a giant know? Everything seemed
smaller in scale.
Still as tall, I clicked the phone off and continued my search. Yes, it was me,
the ass unaware of himself.

Ex Nihilo

Hailing doxies down sidewalks,
bookend of city's bad infinity

Love, 
like hidden stars
above boulevards'
sterile fire,
swells

Blood spills dark
from starless
heaven's heart 

Women drink
the petrol and
carbon monoxide
of passing cars

Chemical destinies
poisonous and akin
to death by
asphyxiation,
but inviting as
the music and scents
of faraway banquets.

Rest: The Horizon of the Artistic

The only art is rest. From the largest to the most
infinitesimal part of the Cosmos nothing is still.
It's crushing.

Allow the moment to stand out, fair, from all becoming.
This is where artifice becomes a celestial date stamp,
taking what moves and capturing it in a manner that
moves the beholder of art's supernatural stillness.

I, too, wish to become a fallen column resting midst
cool sheets of eternity. A stillness ready to move any eye
who gazes upon my Olympian reserve. In rest I become
art. Not a mirror that walks the boulevards of cities, but
the noontide expanse of blue which, above all heads, 
never darkens.

Art is the stillness which moves. It is an eternal human
rebellion against the erosion of becoming.

Dawn of a Post Political World

Omnia mutantur nihil interit.

---- Ovid, Metamorphoses XV



The world will soon be post-political. From the grave of
the polis will rise the spirit of a new world. As dew is gathered
by the Sun into moving forms of mist so shall
our Human Community move and form itself in diverse ways.

In the post-political world nation states will become vestiges
of a barbarism no longer feasible. It is time for Humanity to
transcend the Sacral "Market-Place" and disallow its singular
universality. The root of man's relation to another man should
be an end--not a means.
As religion has lost its verity in this world, so shall politics. The
political is nothing other than Secular Religion. Faith in Human
Institutions to provide solace for hearth, head and heart. It also gives
rise to faction and a pernicious form of superstition known as "Party".
Different political entities become nation states who struggle over
"spheres or areas of geopolitical influence.".
This is an outdated mode of living. Sure, society asks for sacrifices,
but in the name of "ideals"? Even the Mayans haven't been so murderous
as Humanity has been about ideals over the past four centuries. It's time
to accept sacrifice for something concrete. Ideals are born corrupt and
petty. And ever find themselves providing a Procrustean Bed for humans
to writhe upon......
I am speaking to humans who have yet to be born- 200 years
from this time. Please listen and vouchsafe political fideism for
a well rounded life. The Market Place stop being the Holy Temple
of Political Fideism(millions are sacrificed to the Moloch of
"Hunger" daily).
It would certainly be euthanasia to put them both down together.
Incipit a new day-the Dawn of a Post Political World.

The Political is a Religion of Cynicism. It is the sectarian
Jealous, Wrathful, God of every Home.
It has no faith in humanity. Instead we have institutions and
the hegemony of Power and Markets.

Pensées

Push button frontiers are the future mode of
expansion.

Grammar will more and more be dominated by
cyber discourse.

Soon, to Proust's chagrin, places will no longer
have the presence and semantic breadth they
held in the past.

The world will be an affair of vestibules and
displays. A Hyper-Renaissance of the festive
procession. (cf. Venice and Florence 15th and 16th
Century.)

The Pit

Lost children
cry softly
in the hollow
of my chest.

It's cold
and breath does
not take.

Sharp pain
spreads in
clouds
overhead.

On the horizon
a ruddy sun
casts rays of
soft light
to nourish
them.

Ruins

Sunlight scatters
details of
debris from
the wall


In the dew of morning
fragments gleam
like gemstones
for mad foragers

a cry rises

and men and women rush
to the well of voice

bury to the other end
and see the land bathed
in numberless
tears

The heart of
the Middle Kingdom
bleeds
stone

We are
sparing
with care.
But present
with cameras,
narration,
and dead air.

Xanaxadu

Mouth dry
as a cracked
riverbed,

the Sun
is my
Nimbus.

Every stem sings.
Heavenly orisons
bind me in
bright oblivion.

Sap flows
from my fingers,
anointing everything.

So thirsty,
but the world
is content.

Here a stately pleasure dome I decree.

Spent Poets Union

We,

worn out coiners,

pages of tomes
pricked by
needle-eyed
pedants,

are spent.

                                     Out of breath
                                     and on the run
                                     from death's
                                     stifled orison. 

We,

torn out corners,

sing to somber shades
of the clamorous city

Siren cries of home

forged in harmony.

Solace Lost ( A Call at 6 A.M.)

Subdued,
a broken dream
voice answers
against a
crumpled pillow
(don't ask me,
I know).


Can we lay
together?
Is it
enough my breath
filters through
the holes
of your
cordless phone?

Expiring a continent
away,
it seems other
objects draw you
away
from the elliptic
of our love.

My heart beats
green as grass.

Tenuous as a dew drop
on the blade.


Consolation never
comes from
tired sighs
or drawn out
love laden
goodbyes.