Work Re-Begun!

After a long [forced] hiatus I am back at making new work. A few can already be seen at Red Bubble.

Poem: "The Birth of Random Sound"

The Birth of Random Sound (v2)

I saw there in the face of the sun,

an outline of those things first felt

ages, when my skin was new,

was budding. Then I heard the

tinny cascade of the fountain

—went to be baptized into hardness,

Would you like to finally hear what happened that day?

I went to the voices we all hear.

~~~

Entry: Unprepared for their verity. Their

mixture of love and hate dealt undiluted

and even-handedly. Fair mercilessness.

I melted down from the inside out,

I heard their arguments as my new gospel,

I covered my eyes in shame, opened them and looked,

and then covered the eyes of my heart.

You are the eyes of my hearts lords,

I am shackled and I will not remove them,

“You don’t see, I must stay until the song ends.”

It only deepens, that is the life of this song.

Most nightmares are about relentlessness.
Such is so torturous for that pink worm to

Wrap itself around. I would say that finality

only gets more aggressive and intense.

But, it doesn't. It always does nothing.

It’s consistency is mortifying.

~~~

Everything I have is nothing to it.
The song will not accept any of my sacrifices!

“Here are my children! Here are my treasures!”
“Fine—fine, here…. Oh… here
You can have my… my hopes as well.”

Vibrates till it crystallizes air, till
It smashes density and dampening.

It obliterates me. I try to

grab something. I reach for a seed, for

a plant, for a love, for a mom, but,

I keep going towards the voices we all hear.

And I keep wanting to all the more.

slipping

frantically

mud slapping against my wrists and hands,
clawing, clawing,
I’m

slathered against fighting.

I cannot save myself;

It knows the perfect randomness.

© V. Johansen 2009

Image © V. Johansen 2008

I Looked

I looked tonight and I saw. I see things all the time, but tonight even this one--perhaps reflecting off of a particularly empty or questioning me--emerged as more self-reflective than usual.
Before I knew, dancing between images of spent skeletons and hallucinatory loves, I found there was something speaking about my struggles with religion, mortal fear, and reality as something *far* greater than a conglomeration of molecules and a system of transferring energy. Life, any given moment, is something even more than spiritual. Whatever that is, its frighteningly sacred, legendary, baffling... and powerful.

The poem is entitled "shield."
Here is an excerpt:

the shield of those who've passed
I am wired with so many honest conflicts that each
dime and paradigm shift leaves me too scared of betraying
the truth that was or the truth that will be true
both are so certain of themselves
I am absolutely certain of myself--there you are again,
when my nails were in the old bark, that
time at uncle james', I was certain that big, huffing thing
would get me
I didn't know they could smell things out, but I knew
I felt and swore which are the same
that they could crack delusion
oh, i have never been so scared in all existence
now, not afraid of death i still overturn at the
recollection of the collection of the accounts of birth
which is the great process of all, and all that there is
and all that is being answered to.