Various Artists (Houndstooth) In Death’s Dream Kingdom

[Houndstooth; 2018]

Styles: mistah kurtz - he dead
Others: a penny for the old guy

Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death’s other kingdom Remember us — if at all — not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men

[Note: These voices belong not to those blissful dead who wander throughout eternity with no knowledge of god (though, shadows of his presence, their bliss, to the viewer, is no doubt tinged with melancholy), but to those poets who, having brushed aside the veil, speak from the silence of the youthful dead, dreaming death’s kingdom.]

“Now, you must have forgiven me,”
Ahora sé que en verdad me has perdonado

          [1] Cain said

“because to forget is to forgive. I will, too, try to forget.”
porque olvidar es perdonar. Yo trataré también de olvidar.

                    [2] The Island Within

                                        You’re a thief anyone would forgive

                     (Car le Maître est allé puiser des pleurs au [3] Styx
                         Since the Master has gone to draw tears from the Styx
                     Avec ce seul objet dont le Néant s’honore.)
                          With this sole object with which Nothing is honored

     Within the Island

“He entered my room and said: ‘You poor wretch, who understand nothing and know nothing — come with me and I will teach you of things you have no idea of.’ I followed him.

                     Es kommt etwas dazwischen.
                        (But there are snags)

                             du (you)
                             kommst nicht (do not come)

                     Die Kunst, [4] komm wieder mit.
                        (Art, come back again)

                             zu (to)
                             dir (you)

I well know that he doesn’t love me. How could he love me? And yet there is something deep in me, some point of myself, which cannot prevent itself from thinking, with fear and trembling, that perhaps, in spite of everything, he does love me.”

…the trace of blood that flows from your chest when you prick it with a razor; you don’t feel pain but you still feel an urge toward retaliation. [5] Post Sense is…

                        Alien Bodies and Delusion, a Retro(Per)spective

…how every person on the street looks uncomfortably similar to you. Post-Sense is Dolly the Sheep and Viagra. Post-Sense is internet romance. Post-Sense is something you don’t want to admit and cannot name, something that spills forth from your heart uncontrollably.

                   Is it that [6] In Some Brighter Sphere
                   We part from friends we meet with here?
                   Or do we see the Future pass
                   Over the Present’s dusky glass?
                   Or what is that that makes us seem
                   To patch up fragments of a dream,

That fragmentary world is mended here

                   Part of which comes true, and part
                   beats and trembles in the heart?

No, not completeness:
but I needed a way of saying
(this is what they are afraid of)
that could deal with these fragments

              [7] Box in a Box

…no, not completeness

The frame of the painting in front of us is not its true frame; there is another, invisible, frame, the frame implied by the structure of the painting, the frame that enframes our perception of the painting, and these two frames by definition never overlap — there is an invisible gap separating them

                   [8] “across the incandescent Shadows of…”

Futurity no more than duration
Of a wave’s rise, fall, rebound
Against the shingles, in ever repeated mutation
Of emptied returning sound.

Is it like this, In death’s other kingdom Walking alone At the hour when we are [9] Trembling With Tenderness. Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone.

In this last of meeting places, We grope together And avoid speech

                   learning to live without words.
                   E. P. “It looks like dying”—Williams: “I can’t
                   describe to you what has been

                   happening to me”—
                   H. D. “Speak.”
                   The darkness

Their — “a
originated” — their

Love, death, are not for Mind

Let me be no nearer In death’s dream kingdom. Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises: [11] Rat’s Coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves

         No nearer-

Shape [12] Without Form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death’s dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are [13] Sunlight

Time does not bring relief… last year’s bitter loving… so with his memory they Brim

                                on a broken column.

[14] The Dream: a dreadful smothering of the soul, then a lofty idea of death, then an ordinary note pad where the day butts against the night

                               so you sing to the light and fly, as a mystic does, farther than the hoopoe, to the Ends of the question!

The [15] Ghostly materiality and temporality of Metafiction is further reflected in the etymology of the prefix, “meta.” “Meta” denotes “before and after” as well as “within and beyond.” In addition, “meta” also refers to “a change of condition,” designating metafiction as a site of transformation, an extraterritorial zone between multiple forms of being. It is precisely these types of “in-betweenness” that make metafiction a spectral, ghostly form. Ultimately, metafiction is about writing over and inside of what is already there, writing the implicit in-betweens of fictions.

          [16] Tessellate

What was it? A meteorite that fell to Earth? Or a visitation from outer space? Whatever it was, there appeared in our small land a miracle of miracles: the ZONE.

         The [17] Zoo Hypothesis assumes first that a large number of alien cultures exist, and second that these aliens have great reverence for independent, natural evolution and development.

Chernobyl is a theme worthy of Dostoevsky, an attempt to justify mankind. Or maybe the moral is simpler than that: You should come into this world on your tiptoes, and stop at the entrance? Into this miraculous world…

         citations in the Library of Congress Subject Headings
          — Swiss Wit and Humor (German
          — Swissair Flight 111 Crash, 1998
          — Swit (Group of Artists)
          — Switch Back [18] Trail (Carbon County, Pa.)
          — Switchblade Knives

J. Appl. Phys., vol. 98, paper 043106, 2005: A Grbic and G. V. Eleftheriades, “An isotropic three-dimensional negative-refractive-index transmission-lines metamaterial.”

If you ever hear [20] Haunted Dancehall (Nursery Remix) by Sabres of Paradise on daytime Radio 1, turn the TV on,” BBC producer Chris Price wrote in 2011. “Something terrible has just happened.”

Then may you look with [21] Solemn, But Not gloomy reflections upon a Fadingleaf, a fading body, a fading world…

…although everything occurred long before the appearance of the phrase

         And shall I then stand in the sun, as now

from which it is now barely possible to recognize

          I stand in the moon, and call it good,
          The immaculate, the merciful good,

that every action was preordained,

          Detached from us, from Things As They Are?
          Not to be part of the sun? To stand

not only for you, but for the one who in the aftermath

          Remote and call it merciful?

will [22] Accept it as unconditionally worthless.

And that’s life, then: Things As They Are,
So that’s life, then: Things As They Are?

                    As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of [23] Glacier and the death of her world.

However, despite a subsequent increase in anxiety scores six months post program (3.73 to 4.09 [24] Post Six months post, respectively) anxiety scores at six months did not reach pre-cardiac rehabilitation program levels. The trend was similar for depression scores…

For Thine is the Kingdom

                    It was in the metaphor of a journey that I was told of his death, and I did not believe it.
                             En metáfora de viaje me dijeron su muerte; no L.A. creí.

For Thine is the Life

                   I was a boy who knew nothing of dying; I was immortal,
                             Yo era chico, yo no sabía entonces de muerte, yo era inmortal;

For Thine is the

                   and afterwards for days
                             yo lo busqué

This is the way the poem ends

                   I searched the
                             por muchos días

This is the way the poem ends

….but the Library will [25] ENDure: illuminated, sOlitary, inFinite, perfectly motionless, equipped with precious volumes, useless, incorruptible, secret.

                   sunless ROOMS for him
                              por los cuartos sin luz.

Most Read