Chants

What do I know of them

I had to look the word up:

                                         “a short, simple melody, especially one characterized by single

notes to which an indefinite number of syllables are intoned, used in singing psalms, 

canticles, etc., in church services”

as I said

What do I know of them

I am delightfully benign of purple religions meditations prayers and chants

and if I interruptured one

Id beg to differ with anyones exception

                                                                      

I dont take exception if someone accidentally steps on my toes
one time
thats the least Im owed
 

I deliberately  --  few know how Deliberate  --  try not to go out of my way to shut anyone 

down

they have as much right to air and space as I do

and as I choose  respectfully  not to encroach on another

                                                                                                   Im due in like

I get that thats not the case for those who are otherwise inclined  or of their ilk

however  they are incentivized by Redemption and a piece of Heavenmade pie 

I love stonefruit pies

grown up and taken out of the Earth

Homemade

I love kisses in warm kitchens and when I back away from the embrace

Im dusted with flour on my arms chest and face

warm fruit pies black coffee cold whole milk

Im nearly a kid again

Heaven  right here right now  and aint nothing gonna make me forgo living

at the expense of my Living

Ill give it

chants done right

do sound pretty

and mysterious

but Life itself is plenty mysterious to me

if I ever get my head around the Whole of Life

maybe

Id be interested

but then

at the Whole of Lifes End

Im dead

and dead

I dont think Ill have the time

Might make some wonder who it was who really missed the bus

1449,  Sunday,  31  8. 14

listening to John Faheys Death Chants, Breakdowns and Military Waltzs

I jumped in with spirit

and a tight fist around a neck of a bottle of whisky

I went directly to the window

and stared down that bright eye that wouldnt blink

I was told it was what finally chased Honeyboy Edwards off this rock

I caught its hard attention from the bathroom window through naked walnut branches

I didnt faint

I redoubled its glare

then ducked from view

I beat it up the hallway crossed the living room and went out through the wide-open front door banging the screendoor nearly off its hinges with my shoulder

I scrabbled over the oiled drive and went headlong down the shale hill thatched with brush 

and tall grass

at its bottom I leapt a shallow culvert turned up the dirt road and ran on to try and flank it

liquor or drugs can empower you to do ridiculous things

and done theyre either ridiculous or fucking remarkable  beyond reproach

but you aint to know until youre done

still on the run I looked back over my shoulder at the bungalow on the hill and saw the siding 

on the wall which held the bathroom window was lit bright

its paint softening

some running

and some boiling

from the intense gaze I summoned

magnified  I believe  by my audacity not to avert my head or lower my eyes

an insult it didnt take lightly

I got in behind the bright eye

I looked over the top of it and took in the world like I had never seen it before

everything unwrapped

undone to its bones

and I knew Id never see it again or remember it as I was seeing it now

the bright eye was so imbued it didnt conceive I was capable of treachery

low things  it thought  know their place and stay put

their fear to move without being ordered to move were the pigiron shackles rusting at their 

scarred ankles and feet

I greased my throat with a last gobble of whisky

the bright eye flinched at the bottles bottom broken on a rock behind it

I saw it throw a shaft of frightened klieg light into the cloudless sky before I severed its throat

and in my dim red mind

I thought how that brilliant beam of horror was going to shine on and on

like every word ever broadcast

or run off our tongues

going on and on on some dispossessed frequency

and like this fearsome light  to be seen again somewhere

they would be heard again too

                                                                  encouraged

I flung my head back and shrieked into the black ink night with an ungodly rage

for somewhere

someday

a listener

would shit their pants in fright

wondering why they hadnt last checked over their vulnerable shoulder

                                                          0134,  Sunday,  4  11. 12                   

as the grrl promised  Jenna  she promised

the French Roast wasnt her favorite so if he wanted to return the cup after he tried it shed be happy to replace it with another brew

--   Though  admittedly  itd be a less dark roast

--   No thank you Jenna  I need a belt in the mouth right about now  Something unappealing 

is the order of the day  As long as it doesnt taste like a mouthful of dogshit 

you and I will be fine

he loved then  the enfeebled expression she hung on her goodnatured freckled face

a shingle advertising 

What am I supposed to say to that

Ah  he took pity on her

her manager stood over her right shoulder by the tall cisterns of brewed coffee

--   I dont think corporate has instructed an appropriate reply for that one kiddo  I am 

confident it wont taste like dogshit  It cant  You have pound bags of it stacked all around 

the shop

he smiled

she burst out laughing  and covering her mouth with her hand

she shouldnt have  her laughing face complimented her bright countenance perfectly

it wasnt his favorite either

but he was trying to rid himself of Beloved  which nearly lingered inside his mouth and 

scorched the length of his optic nerves

a gawdawful teethrotting sweetness he never acquired a taste for

earlier   he randomly grabbed three collections of poetry off a used bookstores shelves   

and more randomly he opened the hardbound books deep into their texts

the lines he read

reading what his eyes fell on

each contained  and relished  Beloved

he  simply  could not tolerate Beloved

he could not tolerate its affectation or realistically squeeze himself to assume the psychological psychic aptitude necessary of how a mouth or mind might harbor it

Beloved

long ago he let that dribble dry to a saccharine white stain spoiling in the dirt  uncovered 

untrammeled like a dog and less a cat

it registered in his eyes

and forewarned his tongue neatly and effortlessly vaulted over it

a blank to be packed by whomever wished to cobble its parcels together

let someone else struggle with it in their mouth

let their tongue dig it out like odd deposits of poor peanut butter

and him  humoured

by the visual gymnastics of it worked behind their alert pensive faces

Yes  Not pleasant

Funny the things in our lives that generate particular kneejerk reactions

the Awws

retches

faintings

he had a workout partner

a really big beefy guy

who went ass-over-teakettle

fell

and broke his nose on a stack of dumbbells

a stitch in his hand he thought had sufficiently healed broke and bled after his lift

he casually wiped it on his tshirt

and at the sight of blood the big ape dropped

Whodathought

certainly not him

his nose didnt heal well

he didnt get it fixed

he fashioned a beautifully creative lie around it

and since they were the only two who really knew the truth of the matter

the lie became the truth

                                                      and hed take that bloody truth to his grave

What the hell

when our lives are manipulated by stories we have to inhabit   
who are we not to allow ourselves the generosity of an occasional welldeveloped muscular fiction

Beloved  .  .  .  fiction

1410,  Friday,  29  8. 14