Goblins

Desperate Times Prose Series: Volume XII

GOBLINS

Goblins grow in the shadows
I pretend the shadows will protect me,
I implore the shadows to protect me,
But the darkness of the afternoon sun doesn't fool.
Cold impetuous night has come
The demons have arrived.

Guest Poet: Kristyn Brown

Desperate Times Guest Artist Series Volume II: Kristyn Brown
Today on Desperate Times, we feature one the soon to be most well known philosophers on the planet, Miss Kristyn Brown. Currently studying in Belgium to get her Masters degree in Philosophy, she has been gracious enough to share some of her current work with us.


1. How not to cry:

Think only of what you’ve got

Not what is missing

Feel the way you are

Sitting in a coffee shop

Don’t think the word alone

That would be thinking what you’ve not got



Don’t want to talk

Or be satisfied with talking to yourself

You are a great conversationalist anyway

Lucky you, you are now having a great conversation

At least



Think about the sun or the clouds

Or the stool or the hanging photos of Brooklyn Bridge

Or the flashing game machine in the corner

Or the Bruce Springsteen’s voice, the fuzzy speaker in the corner

The racked yellow and blue patio chairs



Think of all the things around you

Make sure they stay in sight

Make sure it is a stool you are sitting on;

How is that game played; When did he write this song;

Who was on the bridge that day; What is he doing right now; Is he warm;

Is he tuffling under the sheets; Is the sailboat wind chime catching the sun

No, no! too far!



Don’t let the stool disappear!



Write a poem

Nothing is ending

You’re just waiting



03/20/09



2. Dear God: Response Requested



Dear God,

[10:00:08 AM] Kristyn Brown says: Please excuse the following blasphemy (I will assume you have because I am not yet aware of any smiting).



I was in Paradise today.

I was supposed to be in Paradise today.

It seemed to be very much like this is what Paradise was to be, or once was.



But was I?

Surely, you would know.



All the bounties, all the riches, radiant flowers with the lofting smells of heaven

Sun- the gavitational, succumbing,

Closing my eyes simply to turn to it

What was that feeling today... of closed eyes, only a thin beating shield between that sun and my mind?

I tried to think it today, but I could not find the words.



Anyway, back to this Paradise thing.

It seemed like,

for all the ancient reasons, for all the scraped paintings and pictures handed down by pallets and brushes;

For all descriptions of release and redemption, for all the forgottenness, the unhistorical, the never has there been of the grinding of everyday axewheels;

The, Oh, how I love the God, the Sun, the Paradise which is all I know!

That, in Paradise, I was.



But something today, even while it was happening something seemed strangely unParadisely; seemed missing.

Not a note from the bird’s harmonious oaths and odes ricocheting off of one another;

Not the perfect hovering of the shallowest pool water upon its depths;

Not a tile missing from the lusciously captured sahara sand smoothed over into perfect squares beneath my feet;

Not any dimming of the Sun because the clouds swept graciously around it like ladies of the court around their queen, careful not to cross the boundary from picturesque to annoyance.



And now the Sun has set and my thoughts, my heart, my feelings recount the day.

This paradise today seems missing something, missing a lime like the Sangria standing vigilant beside me.

And now that the people have gone inside, hiding from the soft chill that runs along behind the Sun, a pigeon sweeps down and rests beside the pool, wetting his beak.

Now, these misbegotten doves, dirty as they are, bathe in the golden fountains and gilded pools.



Was it Paradise I saw today?

Or is this Paradise now?

Surely, you would know.



Love,

Kristyn



[10:30:29 AM] Kristyn Brown says: ps. Sorry for the cigarette ashes I left on the hard, disinterested sahara tiles.



07/04/09



3. I Place the Cards



I place the cards in order

Smoking a cigarette

And the flag ship of my mind sails off

somewhere far beyond this oak table

threes on fours on fives

and queens on kings

kings on aces

I start making a phone call

But would rather not hear the endless ringing

That I know will not stop, there will be no other end

So I put the phone down on the table, still ringing, but not in my ears

And I place the cards

Twos on threes on fours

And fives on sixes

Next Week - audio files!!!!

Desperate Times

Desperate Times Hobo Prose

DESPERATE TIMES
Everything he says, he lies, things he says he lies, He says them just to lie

Won’t let me look him in the eye, look him in the eye, try, he closes off his eyes

His friends are all around, friends they do surround, His friends they all came down

To comfort, say goodbye, a comforting goodbye, never know when he will try again

Cause now they don’t know when, we’ll see you again, won’t see you again

Then his girl comes in, fingers to his chin, then he starts to grin

He needs comfort he needs love, not people up above, not those people up above

But Every word he speaks his false, words he speaks as false, words he speaks are false

He stopped telling time cuase he couldn’t lie, cause he used to lie about telling time

He stopped telling lies, couldn’t find the time, time to tell the tangible lies

Now he’s in desperate times, he’s in desperate times, he’s in desperate times –

Now he's Gotta find a lie, tangible little lie so he can get by -----

He’s been killed off by his peers, with scissorhanded shears, causes him no tears.

He’s shed so many tears, enough to last for years, what else to you really need to know.

Don’t believe he’s fine, Don’t believe his lies, when he says he fine.

He’ll cut you in your sleep, rest of us will weep and we’ll all be here much longer than we’d planned.

If he could have it his way – guess she woulda stayed, guess she would stayed, guess she woulda stayed

But He misses her today, yeah misses her today – days the day she left without saying goodbye

Group Spontaneous Prose

Desperate Times Group Prose Series: Volume I

It was late, about three or four in the morning. We were together for once; the three of us. Jared, Dave and Ben. I seized the moment; ripe with potential, primed for prose I proposed a group spontaneous speak session. We alternated turns speaking - each speaker gave way to the next, the line was continued - the thoughts were circular and I... would like to share the group prose with you:


Possums In The Night

The exit was clearly marked -- orange lights bold letters
Screamed silently, hysterically through fog and thru pills.
The door was within reach.
Tho my intentions had wavered –
I kept my firm resolve
And journeyed onward
and traveled

A possum in the night cries out with moans of fright.
Another day approaches and with it, the danger of the light
The obalisque of dawn.
The shade of slumber – the reaper of souls – the shouldered oneness of eternity slips on silently
And in his wake, we rise to meet a new day
Like a possum in the night

Clawing at terror shrunken reality myths – he struggles up his tree; protecting his best, family, of three.


Epiphany

There were cuts on
Her forearms
Their appearance
Unnoticed,
Dark nothings
In the
Night.

Haunt my soul,
Kill my sight.
To forget these
Visions –
The darkness
Makes it prettier
Inside.

I want to destroy
Myself
That thought I fail
To hide.
No longer inside
But now alive.
It’s so much brighter
Outside.


3 Degrees of Freedom (Tilt, Roll, and Yaw)

Life in a sphere
It’s better out here
An infinite loop
No escape
A dandelion falling
A unicorn calling
For more more she cries
Noone hears
Except for the dolphin
The dolphin hears all
Yet speaks for nooone
Noone sees inside my dreams
Strange
Except for the sleep man who hides from
Eyes of conception
He sees all within
But none without
Many things
Wondrous things
He weilds his power over the dreaming
Fooling us all into consciousness
A shhoting star
An oasis
A chance for respite
Peace
Calm
A tranquil desert
For a moment
The storm arrives without warning
Destruction is its creation
No sooner than it had came
Had it vanished
A midnight fever
A sleeping sickness
A plague of unwaking propagation

The sleep man comes to you at night
Upon his flaming motorcycle
Dreams come to me
But little do I see
I hear your cries
Before you close your eyes
Before I tuck you in
For the last time
Before I tuck you in for the last time
Yo make me say goodbye
I wish that I could cry
Make me want to feel so good
Make me want to have you
Make me feel so good
This feelim inside
Im trying to hide
It gets harder
In need someone in which to confide

The internet gives the mental space
To create a global identity
If you look at capitalism
Took a while
As far as communism
Marxism
It hasn’t happened yet
Global communism
Everyone interconnected
The internet loss of national identity
With the downfall of global banking
Reeals the approach to interdependence
All parts must thrive for the whole to survive

Les Philosophes by Helen Parson

Desperate Times Guest Artist Series Volume I: Helen Parson
Thanks to the wonder of the interweb, I ran into an old friend the other day. An old friend in the sense, that I knew her "when" or "back in the day." Not old friend in the sense that she's an octogenarian. Helen saved my life. Yes, it's true. In addition to saving lives, she's an artist extraordinaire. A student and teacher of the suzuki method of instruction; Helen not only teaches guitar, she writes and plays in her Seattle based band Princess Seismograph aaaaand she draws amazing comics - which are on display here for you, the people to peruse. They are brilliantly drawn and full of absurdly wordlys and Helen's staple whimsical chrimsical charm. A new comic each day for the next week folks... I promise!

Here for your comic reading and viewing pleasure: Les Philosophes






Next up: Group Spontaneous Prose with Jared, Dave and Ben