The Rhyme of the Ancient Space Mariner #5

 

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.

 Philip K. Dick 

 

_1090562.jpg

 

26/11/2088

 

“Not as a rule, hear!”

Come to think of it, she did so. Where are you, Todd? Yo gabba, she’d said, and that shed some unnecessary light upon the whole affair, but…

Hold it, she told herself. There are still a couple of unanswered questions. There could be a no firmly inside my head.

Hold it rather than to question him, surely?  Question Jorge himself, and he’ll come along in AT when they came, and he would answer… 

But what if he didn’t? An hour to weed out because then and such. Yeah, right.

Questions, she thought, almost angrily. The bloody mystery! The way things are I can hardly start looking for him all of a sudden – that was not SOP. Would he? Any man? So even when she first saw the gun feelings she didn’t trust him… a little at 1st, & then Todd, it seemed, had quite a lot to be going for The Man.

She listened absently, still. Four hours after Todd’s departure, Tannoy the Terminal Pump flight-tested the newly repaired jalopies across the launch pad. A warp core had eaten itself. She listened. Her eyes had waited an hour for him, towards the departure entrance and the wrecked fuselage.

Gradually Foot Motel were painted on its side concrete hard standing. Todd got the message. For crying out loud, it couldn’t take three hours!

 

THE END

 

_1090552.jpg

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

***

 

“How’s Your Head Today?” *

‘… every dedicated artist is something of a sadist, willing to countenance a little or a lot of suffering – not only his own, but other people’s – for the sake of the end product.”

 ‘A familiar type, to be sure,’ Ware said with a lopsided grin.

 

— James Blish, Black Easter or Faust Aleph-Null (1968)

 

 _1090264.jpg

 

 

“How’s your head today?”

“Sort of in a bad space. Sort of down.” 

 

television, at low doses

around midnight

movie is a movie

is a halfway over

 

 “How’s your head today?”

“Sort of in a bad space. Sort of down.” 

 

I just can’t talk so

I attempt to speak

to my downstairs

& find me tripping

theories:

I’ll leave it up to you

you of the past

to finetune

my future

 

“How’s your head today?”

“Sort of in a bad space. Sort of down.” 

 

 my tongue feels dog

very cold to the touch

texture basically normal

save for the buds & I’m

afraid to open up in my sleep

& somehow I just know

it is light

it is light

like a camera flash

###

###

###

 

 

_1090323.jpg

 

 

 * Philip K. Dick, A Scanner Darkly (1977)p. 24

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

 ***

Grey Anti-Matter

There are things I can’t force. I must adjust. There are times when the greatest change needed is a change of my viewpoint.

— Denis Diderot

 

_1090569_2.jpg

 

 

memories of pain & of people 

I used to know keep invading 

crowding my mind space

 as I am dragging around

a skeptic weight force

of grey anti-matter

massive & inert 

&

everything still & all

all of my memories

seem oh

oh so

old

 

 

_1090566.jpg

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

*** 

 

 

This Ancient Sickness

 

“We have always made mistakes, but the greatest mistakes are the poems we have written.”

— Tristan Tzara

 

_1090559.jpg

 

 

 

this ancient sickness came

communicated by thinking:

 

feeding off of this negative energy

 

of my caffeine overdose I feel

 

soft shadows pinching me

 

& furious with myself

 

& the shadows

 

eye try to

 

settle it 

 

& eye

 

tire

 

###

###

###

 

 

 

_1090558.jpg

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

*** 

A Condition Of The Head

 “Remembering is just a matter of smoothing the transitions.”

— Robert Anton Wilson, Leviathan

 

p1130438.jpg

 

 

wait, before I roll off: sensation became more molecular/ wait, wait! – talking to myself/ the difference became yet obliterated suddenly/ so eye handle eye conversion/ & someone cave in easy to weedtime/ & weedtime would realize that time was endwhere/ so I flipped head and kept talking to me brain/ & my imagination ceased to rile that friend on the phone for a minute or two/  & the attitude felt right/ & the voice was becoming softer but didn’t feel like talking/ the last so perfect to my essence!/ as the four point questions were being answered already/ aware of reality/ the intense voice was answered over & torn about/ & what about that? high, but the drop from peak was still in my level/ it all felt so stuck again!/ creating my whole hallucinations four ways to switch trip reality by the synapse: too abrupt to couple – – –

 

 _1090438.jpg

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

*** 

 

Night of the Toadstool

 Owê war sint verswunden alliu mîniu jâr?

 Ist mîn leben mir getroumet oder ist ez wâr? *

 

— Walther von der Vogelweide 

 

p1130447.jpg

 

 

& when you phase in first your hands & feet will be drifting out of consensus reality, the plot person had said at the beginning of Leaving Las Vegas/ but I know it’s always the amoebas vs. the time dwarfs/ & no matter how hard I strain – they’re impossible to understand/ though my eyes really follow them/ against the walls for a minute or so/ cut to: short term memory scene b/ or some other random scene/ still dehydrated I’m drinking to turn out the ultraviolet lights & the fan/ & eye phase out & I seem to be stuck/ to the bottom of the ocean/ forever & ever – – –  

 

 

p1130442.jpg 

 

*** 

(*Woe! how all my years have vanished!

Have I just dreamt my life or was it real?) 

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

*** 

 

Dysphoria

“There’s no such thing as a bad photograph.”

— John Baldessari

 

 

p1070009.jpg

 

 

gravity

pulls me back down

 I mile fuzzy & comforting eyes

 down down clear straight lines

 menacing guess in a loud rapid

 voice & eye snap back to sentence

& by the time I’ve finished there’s

only dysphoria & impaired speech

left to congeal on the carpet &

the last of my family members

notices me &  looking at me it

tilts – careful my mother!

(squiggly symbols)

###

###

###

 

 

p1070007.jpg

 

***

Peter Bies © 2010

***