(“Loyalty Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Religion of Dog
Religions come in all shapes and sizes
Some good, some not so much.
But what would a religion of dog be like?
Kind, devoted and loyal, willing to please
And to defend, and be happily conditioned.
These would be the attributes of its followers
But what of the essence of its theological tenants?
Love, eternal vigilance, situational awareness
And of course joy
In a long walk or good play of tug or frisbee.
A religion of dog after all would be grounded
With it’s main focus the here and now,
Maybe not a zen focus
Maybe even more Dionysian,
But certainly within this
The values of family and pack
Would be supreme,
And this after all is not much different
Than all the human religions.
The difference which would make all the difference
Would have more to do with the wag.
(9/8/25)
Limbic Liminality:
Souls expand
Like bones crack
Thunder through the circuitry
My mind
Pine needles aflame
Death rolling circles through life
Some strange dimension in an eye-lash
Killing time like a synapse
The void folding in like a spider web
Love cannibalized
Something more profound
Twilight madness
Dionysian dances
Snow white eats Eris's golden apple
Drinks her own beauty
A third eye pops right out of her skull
Something vampirically visceral
Like a wandering pentacle
Stitches of fate
Giving in to Entropy
Dissolution elates the universal sense
Pain crimson in a sea of Nothing
Dancing in spite of everything
I dive right into this quantum space in me
Limbic Liminality
Apollonian days, Dionysian nights,
Over the favors of females, they fight.
Estrogen’s wiles avoid testosterone’s might,
Until the wild birds of lust take flight.
courage in cat form
strolls solemn serene stately---
Dionysian pet
11 April 2022
I wish to write another song
to show my soul some dignity
which trodden was for ages long
by demons of antipathy
that all its joy 'pends not on queens
but on the mind that shapes machines
which liberate humanity
from worldly bales and misery.
Aye I say a woman is mirth
in whose sweet bosom we rejoice
whose harvest is an infant's birth.
Sex nature's inexorable voice
calls peremptorily all men
whose fleshy urges have no end.
It enslaves by invocation
our souls to its convocation
in Dionysian sacrifice.
Let us take you up then
Where litanies of darkness mount the sun
Rest us on the magic night, bleakest evil oars
Arid pair of sleepy rebels float, limbs and root
Pretending what we are, reversed dreams of fields
Open as the window that is life, or so it seems
Hear the whish of mindful trees and zombie bark
Let us take you down, in dionysian diction
Where reality fluffs it’s cranberry tendrils
Where “real” is just a latin undulation of noise
Shooting star
With a quicksilver mind,
You deserve to go so far,
Can't someone stop you
Before you ruin your soul
With irreversible harm?
Drinking all day,
Every single day,
Out of your head on booze,
Is this the life,
Is this the way,
A gifted child should choose?
Your beautiful lethal life
My friend,
Has sent you around the bend,
Your foolish defiant
Dionysian dance
Could soon be at an end.
But you don't care
Do you, shooting star?
As you drift in your blissful dream.
Dionysian passion fills my soul
With a stream of life that knows no restraint,
Your frantic current defies all control-
Awakens the devil within the saint.
Injected with life, I'm lost in your force
As waves of strange visions rend me apart,
For purpose that has no ending, no source-
Oh, come to my rescue, creative art.
Apollo, come harness this raging stream,
With power of reason, channel the surge,
Reshape my voluptuous, savage dream-
Transmute its horror to aesthetic urge.
Bring order to chaos—hold tight your rein-
Come, challenge this frenzy of energy!
You both are needed—the crazy, the sane-
Dionysus! Apollo! Balance me!
Whilst I hover here
wondering if i'll be sick
The hazy details of the nights debauchery
Become clearer with every retch,
And nothing.
Who took that photo with the silly face?
I really thought id be able to pace
Myself this time;
But its shouldnt's and never agains
all morning in the loo.
The bad techno and overplayed hits
Still echop through my pounding head,
Recently obliterated by that dionysian nectar.
The midday sun now pours through my iris
Ill adjusted to to anything mut multicoloured strobes.
Another hopeful attempt to spew hits me,
Only to be met with dissapointment.
Cralwing from the linoleum jail,
I call a friend to reminisce
And hes the same as me, only he pulled and barely rememebers.
And so i enter the platic prison
for a last attempt to purge, but nothings there.
Looking in the mirror telles me to pull myself together,
A sparkling alka-seltzer cocktail takes the edge off
And I remember that hangovers only last a day,
whilst forgotten memories lie in obscurity forever.
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