The Crows

2009-05-31T12:41:00.000-07:00

We are just
storms of gas
weather fronts

Just flashes of light
at the inside

2009-03-28T11:34:00.000-07:00

Oceans rising
deserts drying

Do we run for lack of choice
or are we chased
across continents
and ages

Do we stay put and defend
worthy of the salt in the earth
counting off the drops of rain
ticking off the gradations left us

longterm trees
screwing the earth with our roots
pissing in the air
staining the sand with their blood

the grandmothers are calling
transforming energy

are you torn with indecision and doubt
walking the fence post
are you collapsing with the weight

or is it the light of hope
i see in your eyes
when we succeed

hands

2009-03-22T09:52:00.000-07:00

I move forward
changing my landscape and perspective
with every step

i could have done it without you
the path was just as steep
the rocks just as jagged

you had my back
with your hand resting on my shoulder
in case

i heard your applause
i felt your approval
it brought the mountain closer
it made my steps closer
and now

i stand on the springboard edge
my toes wrapped around
gripping tightly
to the rocks
that you are

i could have made it this far without you
but you made the journey
with me
and this view
this landscape
is infinite

thank-you
for your hand
uphill
thank-you

videomag as a facebook blog of the imaginary centre for healing human cognitive development

2008-06-19T10:08:00.000-07:00

with background info on djinnis and the constant myth
stories of the last hours of agent sunshine
fabulous new tellings
each one more timely than the last
of rumple-steal-skin
crow myth
history of the flee and the flight
northwest
chasing the sun around the earth in slow gambles
each civilisation
stronger and stranger than the
last that we flee from
before the collapse

look back at your family
over your shoulder as you run
at this point
your feet are already wet
with the rising of the water
echoes of the flood
flashing

calling you from the past
do the grand spirits of the djinnis on fire in the sky
firestarter descending
calling you from the past
the only thing the past ever does
calling warning

I recognize the ladder of openmouth footholds
that allow me to climb higher above
hand in mouth pulling me not forward but up

sacrificing the past and land to move north and west
axis of the earth
tilting minutely and changing
shifting continents and the iron beneath me
moves magnetically to the north west
chasing
and I flee the dark
for all I'm worth

scraps of paper on my desk

2007-11-26T11:22:00.000-08:00

oh the
woods in which
i have walked

my soul
rests there
still

2007-10-15T11:18:00.000-07:00

captured thought
frequency waves
patterning the atmosphere

crow lines
crow nests
hawk calling
babies alone
crow plays
long summer days
hawk calls
eats them all
crow says
this time
will be different

when your whisper is loss

2007-08-29T00:04:00.000-07:00

Let me sing you the song of my loss
And the how the narrative of my life lost her footing and faltered
When for a whisper of a moment
I was lost

I see that future stretched out before me
for a moment
knowing how incapable I would be
for a moment
for a whisper of a thought
and how the world
my world around me would shift
alter my paradigm view
significantly
capably
but for a moment and a whisper of a thought
to ride out of the darkness
like the dark hero
in a novelette

but I have been kissed by the floor before
and I know that
the sun also rises
but that cold hard feeling in the deep pit of my consciousness
stole over me and all I could see was that time of great alone that we try to put off
for as long as we can
dancing only alone with that darkness
and how I missed you in that narrative
to dance with me in that stolen lost narrative
whispering the future to my pillow

race home to me
below those blazing night lights
on that hard road made for you
shouting the names off the map
I watch your slow crawl up my little square of google maps

First Chapter: The Watchers

2007-06-18T13:22:00.000-07:00

It was a matter of crows she said. I heard her say it. My back was turned. But she said it anyway. Then I saw her cross the street and walk away into the wild crowds. They were always wild this early in the morning. Left and right, up and down. Not like here. Here they just stare, unseeing. So wild, and beautiful like the flocks that travel south. Only watching for directional alterations from one individual.

The wire is cold today, and the lights come on earlier now. Winter is coming, yet there are more people sitting on the street than before, and they are younger. They are invisible to the wilds that trudge past them with their vacant eyes. Winter freezes not just the ground. My cousins are calling and I am away. The grey light must filter through many clouds before it belongs to us.

It feels so good to stretch my wings, far above those Torn Feathers. They limp along on two feet as us, but their feathers will never grow back. We follow them and their lives around. Torn, they lay on the ground and we lost our family. It happened so long ago grandma says, that some believe that there is no relation. But I say let them watch. I say watch long enough and it hurts and blinds my eyes; what will it do to yours?

Ah the cold winter wind, how sharp it feels. Like I am the knife in the air. My cousins tell me where she is; our newest witch. She was born with three standing on her roof –three for girls they say-. We go now to meet her. She is still too young for us to take her to the Mountain and train, so for now we go to introduce more than just ourselves.

Our beautiful mountains. So beautifully purple in the dying light. The white tipped conifers pass beneath me, breathing their warm breath on my belly, lifting me higher with their warm currents. We are almost arrived and I see the smoke from their fire curl fine swirls and dissipate.

The window is glowing and I see her shadow loom against the wall, larger than life and full of portent. “Crow” she says and points at me. There is an old man in the room with her. He is sitting on a worm wood rocker. His brightly coloured shawl is wrapped around his shoulders and he is humming and watching her. She is building a tower, with turrets and parapets. It bears a striking resemblance to the castle on our Mountain. I wonder if she has already begun the dream.upstream. The old man stretches out his legs and with a sigh looks up at the window.

“Holy Crow” he mutters. “Grace, go grab your shawl”
The girl turns from the window and stares at him. Her light eyes catching his concern. Quickly, she grabs her shawl and they leave the room. A moment later and they are here outside. And I see her with so much clarity. Behind her eyes the stone is shaping, and she is aware of the change. The old man is behind her now; both hands are on her shoulders, keeping her. She gazes at the wrinkled hands, saying in her mind, “here is the long hand of time on my shoulder”.

He looks down at her and laughs. I see him bend by her side and whisper that I am come to see her. We are not the law-abiding crows you may think. Or maybe you think we have no laws? We are here to disrupt, as my grandma said, the status quo. We want her to have an unfair advantage when the time comes, because nothing is fair. We want her aware so that she may result change, so that we may witness it. We will assist her in any form possible. And the others like her. The old man knows this too.

They call us crow, we call us Djinn. Black and mischievous, we work for purposes not your own. We spinn the black tornadoes; like dark particles in a fog bank, drawing the eye to the light inbetween. We have never stopped flying. And from this height I can see the pace of the world, and I am still. Playing I Spy at a new level. There are more elements at play than a crow could count. But we’ve never been just crow.

But Grace has been born. At long last. The soul of the kiss, from sky to earth. The legend my grandma tells is of a grace who brings our lost family, home. And this small Torn Feathers before me, standing with her bright shawl-wings down. Looking hopeful.

Who is out there agitating for change?

2007-06-18T12:59:00.000-07:00

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2007/06/18/bc-kickbacks.html

Do we none of us have anything in common?

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2007/06/18/bc-cambie.html

Are we not all suffering at the hands of our government?

At the municipal, provincial and federal level?

Are we not all disgusted that such corruption exists?

That little business does not enjoy the privilege that the corporation does?

Corruption incorporated into the business of the government

It is the kickback not the cutback that is the war cry

Social Reform was so organized, so developed before it was broken down

A collective response to support a collective community

Is this all the response that I can expect to have?

How can you take this seriously?

2007-06-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

I mean,
Come on--How can this
propaganda be so believable?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWAbH3gPblo&mode=related&search=

middleclass elite

2007-06-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

Middleclass Elitism
'oh you must be so tired'
why must i be tired
don't you work this hard
convinced and convincing ourselves
that we are working to hard
'we must want to relax'
self medicating not our
stress
but our boredom

Expecting
that by judging goodness
in wealth
will necessarily get us
a better quality
pound of flesh
for our mighty
stacks of gold

Deltas and Epsilons
toiling for the middleclass elite
the propaganda of the
middleclass elite
Thumbing our collective noses
in the air
While the workingclass
elite
Thumb their noses
as our children
self medicate their boredom

OPEN CHANNEL COMMUNICATIONS

2007-05-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

OPEN CHANNEL COMMUNICATIONS

The silhouette pirouette
of the crow in
the candle- half
bowing half spinning
in the firelight
and we see it
in the trick of the
light
the illusion that
we are standing
still on this planet
while spinning terribly fast

LIKE THE LION I AM IN NEED OF

Do you see the
world from the eye of the Hurricane
Purricane
like Dorothy
dazing while the
witch cycled past
cycled past
spinning moving

WHEN ALL ENERGIES BALANCE THE WORLDS COLLAPSE
entropy

And the things
the things that are things
that are not me
go whirling
swirling cycling
spinning
fast
go by like Dorothy powerless
in the House
dazing and still
traveling without movement

in possession of the knowledge
without the power

To : "The Hollywood Propaganda Machine"

2007-05-29T10:13:00.000-07:00

ignorance is bliss
wrapped tightly in your
embrace
you whisper coded
subtexts to me
and I fear your interest
and intrusion
into my most private life
objectified and disenfranchised
where your will alone
can set your mind in motion

o crow soul
did you not see
the encroachment of the
ants busily dismantling
destroying
piece by piece(meal)
you were distracted by
the heights and the
violet skies
Have I failed to protect you
again

A paradigm shift can just be two steps to the left

2007-03-23T23:36:00.000-07:00

it is too late to
stop the train

now we have time
only to prepare
for longterm disaster

or flee

the migration of my sweet
cherry heart

migrating to
the nestled high
in the hills
home

up with my goatherds
keeping high tech
in high topographical
areas

higher than the
flood will flow

swing low
sweet cherry heart
coming for to
carry me home

And just my page and
my blood and
my sweat and
my tears and
my good salt
will build my boat

swing low
sweet cherry heart
coming for
to carry me
home

my immigration
is just the
migration of
my sweet
cherryheart
my sweet
human heart

full to the brim
with Achilles heel
that carries the
egg from
Koschei the
deathless and
in the egg is
my death

I have long
recognized the
Russian and French
in my blood

long ago daughters
and sisters
called through my
childhood crawling
through the pages
of my storybook
always Lisaveta

Prepare the Grandmothers
Shout in the Mirror
Prepare! the Flood
returns. This Land
is no longer safe.

I hope I hear her
in time

We are cursed
Cassandra

'All heard,
and None
believed'
-Cassandra

My Podcast

2007-02-05T12:05:00.000-08:00

Is a kitchen show,
as a radio program,
as a podcast, with cooking guests.
All our favourite recipes, songs, stories, recorded and stored.

How long since your ancestors left

2007-02-05T12:01:00.001-08:00

Did they flee California
Did they travel through hostile terrain across a dangerous and unknown plain into the unknown
Did they cross the ocean in the belly of an iron giant
Where did they run from first

Where will we run to next?
I can feel the gathering
like a great village
lifting up her skirts
Fingers tight into the fabric, the bags
Crossing the river in the dark
Slippery, mossy rocks in the darks
Tumbling into trees
Tripping over laws

I am your ourubourous

2007-01-22T10:13:00.000-08:00

I am your shield
against the growing
darkness

throwing myself in
the path of
evil until I
can no longer

with the right bit of
choreography anything
can be done

i saw king panda

2007-01-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

see he is here in someone's window

nice

2007-01-21T19:21:00.001-08:00

nice knowing you

nice

just like that

2007-01-21T19:17:00.000-08:00

oh my god!