flow crush red

too often we want the clouds to roll back, while divination pours from the mouth of God like a reserevoir, sprinkling our filthy little world with insight. and too often we find our bones weakened by the weight of living on a planet, that at times, seems to fill with such sadness, and then such joy. the combination causing a strain on our joints. when in reality, i think what we want most, is to know that the steel gray of our insides can flow crush red with love and wonder. what we want most is to blush, to feel blood run through every tunnel in our bodies until they swell and burst into every spill-way. but, its more likely that instead of a "we", you'll just find me. standing in an empty, trash-strewn parking lot on a sunday afternoon. hot tears burning my cool cheeks, leaking from swollen eyes as i offer up dynamite to the sky...why? because i can't always understand why, and...sometimes thats just ok.

posted by drew carlascio

cold solstice thread

somehow i know that while my dreaming mind sleeps; while the flesh closes in around my eyes, and i leave earth, my undiscovered future is threaded into my present by means of which there are no words. it whispers into my sleepy ears, "fear not, for this season will soon end and you will be led into a far better one." and after the cold solstice has washed over me, upon my return to earth, when the flesh rolls back from around my cobwebbed eyes, then will i pull at these threads with a strength you cannot possibly imagine. i will awake and in the blackness and in the quiet i will struggle to uncover the brilliance of each thread until the dawn spreads over my bed and i must face the day. though, the more i uncover the mastery of each thread, the more i realize that there is no real promise that they will wrap themselves around me and carry me from season to season. i cannot guarantee that they will lead me through the most grey of winters and through summer days when the sun rises high and blackens the very land we dream upon. i cannot assure you that when i return to earth and the cobwebbs are cleared, that i will be able to move forward without any obstacles. though for all its worth, it is my deepest hope that you will someday find me tangled in these threads, as i am carried off into the morning with a smile on my face, and all they call "sane" left far behind.


posted by drew carlascio

the city of light

though death has seen its own defeat
on planks of wood and innocent blood
it's still a cracked well where our trust fell
we await the day when our eyes will see

doubting faces reminiscent of me
and mended wounds that stand before the king

you're making everything new

soon wars will cease and we'll dance on streets
of water and gold, clear as crystal
the leaves of trees will heal cities
and the throne of old will guide the road

then our tears will cease to salt the earth
and the named will sing as we stand before the king

so break these cisterns and give us springs of life

posted by jon havens

monoxide moon

please oh please
show me the monoxide moon,
hanging low in its monoxide room.
get out your torches
and your brooms,
like a planetoid pumpkin
in the october gloom.
an epoch year for a horrid treat;
the beastly sphere
showering its beastly sleet.
upon our town crimson gold,
myopic mind
beautifully bold.
so hurry hurry harvest soon,
oil the cogs and listen to the boom,
of our filthy wretched monoxide moon.

posted by drew carlascio

an inspiration worth noting

the bus was crowded with nameless faces seeking some god-forsaken hope. as i boarded and passed each self-obsession, i wondered if the stars aligned to show my fate with theirs? can life be re-kindled after death? it seems as if hope only goes where it is wanted and on this trip, the only stop seemed to be at despair.

as i took my seat in the back, my eyes became fixed upon a man of kindly features. what was he doing here? every person aboard was marked with some stain that seperated nobody. except him. he was different. while his face was marked by signs of struggle and weary, there was a presence about him that showed but a faint glimmer of something translucent. where was his stop?

slowly, i made my way behind him and sat on the only other open seat on our round trip.

"just along for the ride?" i asked.

he turned slowly. his eyes has a distinctness in them that i had not seen in weeks.

"no" he replied. "i'm not coming back this time. i've grown weary of the city."
"you mean to go further?" i pressed on.
"all the way to the mountains. only there will i find my rest."

rest. does such a thing even exist? and yet, something about him quenched some small desire in me. for the first time in a long time, i finally began to relax.

posted by jon havens

vermont

do you remember, vermont like a drug? and like all good drugs, once it worked its way through our bodies, we could no longer tell who we were or where our legs stopped growing and where the earth began. and like all good drugs, it snowed in our little room, cold and bright and the stars stabbed out twinkling white. and like all good drugs, it pumped and churned its way on through our bodies and with it washed the very trees and hills of vermont. sunlight like a watercourse through every branch and leaf. and the sun rose in our little room and the birds spoke in our little room, and the temperature dropped in our little room, and you smiled wide in our little room, teeth like the snow tucked away in the corners of vermont. and the city lights blazed like people dragging on their cigarettes in vermont. orange and all the colors we love. and when our tongues formed words, but one escaped, vermont.
and like all good drugs, their courses spent, our little room saw no snow and the city lights burned out long ago, but your smile stayed behind, to say thanks to vermont.

posted by drew carlascio

the future of me...

when god maps out the topography of our lives does he use a pencil or a pen? do the mountains look brown and the valleys green? do the passing clouds shadow our experiences enough to cool our busy lives or do they flood our reality with sorrow? it appears as if the plate tectonics of our world tear through our comfortable existences just enough to remind us that we are nothing but dust. but is that all we are? just dust upon the map of certainty? does this dust gather in corners to create dirt clumps that get swept up by the cosmic broom? or does this dust become some replica of something we're meant to be?

as shadows of the divine, do we acquire just to acquire? why have we desecrated the hills where we once gazed upwards at the fireflies resting upon the waters of the universe? and why have we taken his springs and dug our own broken cisterns? why have we polluted his air to advance our dreams? are they our dreams? or are they dreams of a dreamer who wants nothing more than to see this map torn to pieces? as we stand on the brink of insanity, we must ask ourselves, "can this map be repaired?"

posted by jon havens

i have often wondered

i have often wondered what people will think of pictures in the future, when grandchildren ask their grandfathers, "what was it like to take photographs grandpa, and why did you love it so much?" then grandfathers will reply...
my dear child, watch my child, watch the blackness of midnight streak across the film, streak trails of light, and color and noise across my open eyes, until they water and burn with beauty. then time would kneel before my shutter in great wonder and as i captured the world around me, i would gracefully bow back in hopes that time would somehow allow me to continue...because i must find a way to continue through the pollution, through every depreciated street corner, to bring to life what has never had a chance to exist, accept to every dying eye. then the world will rise high like a wave forming at sea, like a crescendo, electing its audience to stand in awe and brilliance. then the undertone of every tree, every house, every breathing soul will cast a glow upon my life, my dreams, my years and my thoughts, however insignificant.
and...then...when the black sky has been captured, stolen from behind its white clouds, then will the world rise high like a wave, like a crescendo, like all that we once held charming.

posted by drew carlascio

a vanishing whisper

as the creeping sadness took root, he could no longer feel pain nor joy. a vague numbness began to settle in his formerly poetic mind. what was once a fight now turned into a full-blown surrender of his will. would anyone care when this disease took over? would but one head turn or one tear fall? no. a weeping dirge will not be sung for him. no one will look twice. those shadows of self-indulgence cared nothing more than the glory of their own stomachs and pockets. he would recieve no help. where there was once a glimmer of hope was now filled with his own twisted idol of despair.

hope was now but a vanishing whisper. there was no future in his path. it was that same path of rocks that led him here. to a place where the line between right and wrong, love and hate, truth and lies became a sea of sorrow. the waves of doubt crashed into one another to form an idea that was as false as water itself.

he looked at his hands as the disease began to eat what had once built dreams. these hands worked hard for years helping to shape the future of lives and families. but those people who had once supported his dream now became blurs of distance. laughter and grief began to fade from his withering mind. this sadness would stay.

as he shrank smaller and smaller into some form of godliness, he no longer saw any beauty. no light screaming off the suns rays. no rain dancing upon the moonlit lakes. there was nothing but darkness. fear took complete control. his despair was finished. he was now a part of the diseased.

posted by jon havens