I BRING YOU A FLOWER

their brain is an electrical device
Their mind is a field, and there are sub fields

for aeons, their skull provided the mind
With the required level of insulation

the recent proliferation of powerful electromagnetic waves transmitters
Had an “unexpected” result: Their mind went increasingly wireless

hence nobody knew what to do
When this message appeared on the screens at the [. . .]

The message read like this:

Greetings,

I discovered a way to build imaginary bridges
To get across real rivers, seas, walls, bodyguards, whole armies

Have you heard the bells yet?
I am coming to you

When I will lift the veil
You will see me appear from within

I bring you a flower
A reduced-sized sunflower to light up your day

Shit,
Yeah!

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The Serious Sunflower by reading_is_dangerous]

A DAMNING POEM

I will get the sun
Remove it
Not to estimate its worth or to rearrange the lighting
No

I will get the sun and reduce its size to that of my fist
Then I will hit you with it
And watch your ugly nose burn
To its core

there is no personal god and there is no personal soul
But the evil, the evil in YOU
it has grown so much that it’s now real
Real just like some real firewood

I will now get the sun
Remove it
Reduce it
I will hit you with its Light, and you will burn. Damn you!

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Sun by reading_is_dangerous]

YANA

it was probably a cobra
The one we used to call the Barber snake

it was probably that snake
That brought the plague to our city, elephantinus

I don’t know how the infection jumped from snake to man
But the pain would start at the bottom of the spine

then it would come up all the way to the neck
And you’d be feeling like a postbag for some serious amount of time

the disease wasn’t deadly. It was a plague manqué
However its victims would lose their resemblance to themselves

even the voice was lost. The smell
That was all lost, forever

even that particular spark of the eye
That was replaced with something more mineral-like

like gold
Like salt

people subsequently wore masks
So family members and friends could recognize each other

there were beautiful masks
there were ugly, and devilish masks

our mayor at the time, the unpopular Tyn uk Bla’h
Was once offered a mask with the likeness of a sinister hog. Ha! ha! ha!

. . .there was a special mask for the postman
And one for the roundsman, and one for the doctor, etc.

there was a special mask for every important job and people
But after a while everybody started trading masks

the result was an extraordinary mess
Anyone could pretend to be anybody else

then even those who had not yet fallen sick
They tried everything they could to catch the disease

one guy put a barber snake in his hat
And died

so there were left a few immune individuals
They became nervous, and shit, yeah!

one night, we killed everyone of those
Except . . .one good Peret Gosrip

Peret was a rich man, and he had a sailboat, the Linchpin
He was always very articulate, and he had a good voice

he saved his life with this idea:
That we needed someone to represent us here or abroad

because not everybody among the other people
Would trust a mask

so they decided to let Peret live on his sailboat
He had to wear a mask when he could come to visit me

otherwise little children upon seeing him would run away
Screaming - - - they were frightened by his face, you see?

they didn’t like the body, his odour
But the face, Peret’s very own resemblance, that was too much for them

so I made two masks for him
One to put on when he was feeling good, and the other one

that situation went on and on
Until everyone dropped their masks (the children too)

by the time, most of us had settled for a new form or resemblance
Like that of a broom or a fire fighter truck

me, my name was Yana
I chose to turn myself into a simple silver spoon

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Yana by reading_is_dangerous]

THE GEOMETRICAL PARADISE

today he found an old scale
He noticed the scale’s pan weighs a hundred and twenty grams
That’s twelve decigrams. “Let’s take a picture.” he decided

then he measured how much gold he had left at home
Three, …and four kilos
Great! “Cousin Magnus sure will be happy to hear about this.” he thought

then he remembed the words of Paul Claudel:

one hundred and forty four is twelve times twelve
Twelve is three multiplied by four, the square multiplied by the triangle
Twelve is the root of the sphere, it is the figure of perfection

twelve times twelve is the perfection multiplied by itself
It is the perfection raised to the cube, the plenitude which excludes
anything other than itself: THE GEOMETRICAL PARADISE

(my translation)

paradise or divine grace
Simple, elegant beauty; an extraordinary dance
Mercy; extra time or being out of time

when he looks at a clock and it is twelve past twelve
He stops for a minute or two
To contemplate a few arguments of great weight

I am a bubble
In a bubble universe. . .
Pop!

::: ::: :::

[Picture: 120g past weightlessness by reading_is_dangerous]

Paul Claudel (1868 - 1955) was a French poet, dramatist and diplomat, and the younger brother of the sculptor Camille Claudel. He was most famous for his verse dramas, which often convey his devout Catholic faith.

By the way, I really found that scale today.

WHOLE CITIES MAYBE

if there is a land inside me
Then I can dig for stuff
The devil knows what waits five feet under
Ten feet under
One hundred feet under the top layers of me

a few golden coins
A few rusty weapons or fishing hooks
Nails or buttons or broken vases
Legendary doors. . .
Whole cities maybe !

so I am going to spend more and more time out there
Meaning in there
Deep

digging, and digging
Hopefully I will be unearthing interesting esfodi artifacts

::: ::: :::

[Image: First findings by reading_is_dangerous]

SECATEURS, GARDENING SHEARS, AND SCISSORS

he was fumbling with long pieces of metal
And secateurs, and gardening shears, and scissors

he thought, “I need a sponsor.
Somebody to give me carrot tops.”

there was a girl in pantyhose
A real woman. Her body was a power station

she told him, “I am a racehorse for you to ride.”
Her look was beautiful and natural

they fumbled with long pieces of metal
And secateurs, and gardening shears, and scissors

they thought, “We need a son.”
Somebody to walk with in the streets

many years later, they yelled:
“Toss the salad, boy!”
“Twist that metal frame, boy!”
“Work a variation on this. . ., the. . ., boy!”
“Now will you KNOCK THIS HOUSE DOWN, BOY!”

oh boy! oh boy! The old man, in the end, he whispered to his son:
“You need to stop mucking about.”

somewhere a man had not pulled out in time
Somewhere a mummy had fallen into the sea
Somewhere an unborn child was fumbling with pinking shears
“Get out! GET OUT!” he yelled

the devil knows why
Ugly, ugly devil

::: ::: :::

[Picture: In, Out by reading_is_dangerous]

APERERE-FLECTERE

down
Down below I saw the. . .
Let’s call him Mr. Parking

I had a bow
And one arrow. A good arrow
But now my bow had six strings!

that was strong "Mr. Parking sorcery" at work
Six strings: you can’t use a bow like that
Meanwhile the. . . the target was still in range

I decided I would shoot the arrow anyway
My one arrow, that good arrow
But now there were six men standing before me!

hello! the first one said. I am a salesman
What do you think of fantasy charts and graphs?
Oh! I said, I don’t know

hello! the second man said. I am a registrar
What name is written on your birth certificate?
Oh! I said, I said that I could not remember

hi! the third man said. I am a hangman
What is the last color you see when you die?
Oh! But how would I know? I tried: peacock blue

good day! the fourth man said. I am a pathfinder
What does it mean to you when there is a python on the path?
Oh! Well. . .

shhh, the fifth man said. I am a smuggler
What do you need? Missiles? Grenade launchers? Mortar guns?
Oh! Hey! What about hooks? For fishing. . .

nice to see you, the last man said. I am a medical practitioner
What can I do for you?
Oh! Nothing, nothing, NOTHING! I said and, yes, I also knocked on wood

I said: Let me see if I can manage this short interval of existence
Let me deal with my brain grooves and folds as I wish
Let me hand a femur to the flangunferrycks if they want one

let me experiment with lethargy (a little bit)
Let me lick dirty frying-pans clean if I want to
Let me forget about other kinds of pleasure if I feel like it

let me scream in the wind
Let me write new songs
Let me play the trumpet (the barrel-trumpet)

okay! Now the six men were gone. Mr. Parking was gone too
I didn’t have a bow anymore. No arrow!
So I just went back to sleep

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Aperere-flectere (the Sixth Sleeping Position) by reading_is_dangerous]

MY FATHER IS

my father is sixty-six
I wish him good health and a good mood

one day he came over to Armenia with my mom
He was shown an ancient manuscript, an Armenian translation of Plato

“oh, I remember that,” my dad said. “I translated it from old Greek.”
That was something I didn’t know, and that he knew old Greek

another time he told me a secret:
he had been working on the Net since 1969

fathers are mysterious
Fathers are full of surprises

my dad is a magic poplar
My dad is a fantastic black car speeding through the night

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Roots by reading_is_dangerous]

WHAT IS IS

the
They

they tried to i. . .
They tried to imagine creatures imagined by imaginary creatures
They tried to imagine the dreams of the imaginary creatures imagined by. . .

their wishes and hopes and fears and desires
“Can there be life without fear?” they ask
“Can there be fear without hope?” they ask
“Isn’t there always hope?” they ask. Even when it’s truly hopeless

the
They

they say the mind is a field
Strange beings inhabit that field
I suppose they want to come out, those
Those things
Those beings

They want to come to life
Maybe they hope. . .
Maybe they hope we’ll give them birth

WHEN METAPHORS TURN INTO REALITY
When what is is
The is is
Already or somewhere

the
They

or maybe we should shut the Door on their face
No!

no. . .

what is is
The is is

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The Is Is by reading_is_dangerous]

VIVA THE CYANOBACTERIA!

I am considering buying a few
grenade launchers or mortar guns

after transforming them a bit, I could start a
new long-distance golf business

“just please be careful with the snakes because it’s mating season.” I’d
be repeating so often, but that’s okay

so. . . Anybody interested in a joint venture? We could call the place the
“VIVA THE CYANOBACTERIA! LONG-DISTANCE GOLF CLUB”

what
what do you think?

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Your friendly-looking, future business partner by reading_is_dangerous]

THE RED CHICKEN

there is a train I hear at night
And a dog too

those sounds bring me back to my childhood
There was always a train (heard)
There was always a dog (heard)
Every night

“where is that train going to?” I was asking myself
Who is traveling at night?
Who is going home?
Who is leaving home?
Who is on a train for the first time?
Who is on the train for the last time?
Who is eating what?
A cookie
A bit of cheese
A sandwich
A chicken sandwich

what was that chicken like?
Red

it was a real red chicken. It had a real red chicken life
That life ended when somebody chopped its head off
The chicken became a chicken sandwich (to be eaten on the train)

I suppose
I suppose I was hungry
Hungry for a red chicken sandwich

“what about that dog?” I was asking myself
What is it barking at?
Why? Why won’t it stop barking?

what kind of dog is it?
Big or small?
Probably medium-sized
Because from the voice of a dog, well, you can tell
Little dogs sleep at night, most of them
Big dogs don’t bark so much
Oh! What do I know?

did that dog had a name or not
Did it ever had a bite of a red chicken sandwich
Did it know
Did it know
There is actually a lot more than just a chicken sandwich in a chicken sandwich
There is a
A
A gorilla

but you can’t see it. . .
It’s an invisible gorilla
(intangible)

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The Invisible Gorilla by reading_is_dangerous]

STARS DON’T WEIGH ON US

to pull the Plough
You just need to put a yoke on the moon

prepare to dig the heavenly map
When it’s starting to thaw (the comets, the galactic ice)

don’t worry for the Lion ‘cos it’s really only a cat
See! It’s sleeping in the celestial stairs

I had a visitor this morning
Yizinyan. He said: “Stars don’t weigh on us – quite the reverse”

“where is Mr. Pango?” I asked. Haven’t seen him in a day or two
“He left the Freezer. Now he’s up there, no doubt”

on top of the mountain upon which no man can stand
a blue Jello being guiding an imaginary plough

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Mr. Pango on the Yolk Mountain by reading_is_dangerous]

YIZINYAN

sunny side up, the egg
In my stomach
It was alone

I left this morning, this morning of a good day
I left the pigsty
“Did Mr. Pango really return to the Freezer?” I wondered

oh! But what was this?
. . .my left foot had gotten heavy
Heavy
Swollen
Pretty swollen
Very swollen
Badly swollen

was it because of all these people inside of me?
The Dead
The Never Born
The Yet-To-Come
The Forgotten
The Hidden
The Imagined
The Distracted
Etc.

I don't know!

the sun was falling hard on my head
“I should wear a hat.” I thought
It is a little-known fact that most people around here don’t like hats
We find it distracting
Distracting
Distracting

there was a village where I used to live
All the houses were the same
Except mine: There was never any light shining at the windows, waiting for me
To come home, at night

well, well, I now have a new house
In a new village
And thanks to my fine little piglets. . .

I taught them how to turn the lights on when it gets dark
And how to put on some music too. They like the sound of the flute

so my head was hurting
And my poor left foot. . . Ah! I decided to wait there a little bit
Then came the rain

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Yizinyan by reading_is_dangerous]

MR. PANGO

. . .in a piggery, what would you consider to be an unfair position?

“out of here!” I told Mr. Pango, the manacreature with the
jello arms

I continued: “Don’t you ever try again to foist your beliefs on my piglets. They
need natural light, and decent food, and fresh water, and shelter, and that’s it.”

“I shall return!” Mr. Pango said. “I’ve already baptized the new little ones. Now
who, WHO? Who would want to eat the meat of a baptized being?”

“Damn!” I shouted. “Aren’t we speaking confusion around here?” I said
“Mr. Pango, PLEASE get out of here” I told that jello man

“Are you sending me back to the Freezer?” Pango asked me
“Would you prefer that I threw you down into the gutter?” I asked

. . .that was followed by a considerable loss of time

At last he left. I stayed in the piggery . . .all night long. To
give them grades (to the piglets)

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Mr. Pango by reading_is_dangerous]

I AM ANCIENT

you old fool, have you forgotten? That
I am at least as ancient as you are

it doesn’t matter that you erased my song
IT DOESN’T MATTER
I am writing a new one

my song might be gone, yes
But my voice remains

I am ancient
I am ancient
You have taken much away from me
But my voice remains
Strong
Strong

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Self-portrait by reading_is_dangerous]

THE EVIL IN ME

like this and like that
With this and with that, yes

this morning I woke up with an idea for a new type of handgun
Absolutely silent and deadly

why? I asked myself
The evil in me? Is that it?

oh! Well. . .
Anybody interested please leave a comment

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The evil in me by reading_is_dangerous]