American Cyborg

VIII. Howling

Howling

Winter 2016

 

Anyway,

we decided recently that manifestos don’t say, “you must” but rather, “I won’t.”

We decided to shroud ourselves in our favorite art, in our favorite music. Not as a security blanket, but as armor.

By acknowledging the validity of the struggle – the fact of the matter – we can carry on. We won’t let the challenge of pressing the thoughts stop us. They buried us, but we are seeds.

We were thinking of these mechanical words, galvanizing and vulcanizing, and their etymological relationship to pressure and hardship. Galvanizing is stimulating an object by electricity. Vulcanizing is throwing an object into a fire.

We are the semionauts, the explorers of symbols. We won’t forget our history of beat wanderers, navigating their understanding on jazz percussion.

We believe in the alchemists, who thought they could make the best from the worst. They did not have the scientific consensus that we have, yet. They were optimists – an increasingly difficult proposition.

Beatnik was a word invented to shame the followers of Kerouac and all, comparing them to Russians. Beatnik is still a slur in the Beat community. Russian can be too.

We won’t let the fear mongering get to us, but we won’t ignore the spot in the apartment where the champagne pops itself, either. We like the fun kind of fear.

“We must knit a new world” is the phrase I saw at Basel Miami this year, the most optimistic and therefore absurd scenes in the art world. But I like that phrase, it resonates nicely with me. Knits are cozy.

The shopkeeper sank through the glittering stones,

Escarpments behind glass filled with meteor dust,

To find my request, show me the best of these

Earth’s ancient teeth and her munched old lunch.

“This is what there is to be seen,” said he, placing tabletop

The wet looking olive rock speckled with seeds

That surfed magma’s shores long before

Fires danced in Hominids hands.

It simply rested upon the counter

After wrestling with the weight of the world.

There it is, inert and perfect as the outer edges of anything

with cosmos awry within.

“This is what there is to be seen,”

he placed in my palm the Peridot Green.

 

As we all know, the sun sets beyond these walls

Somewhere beyond these hills the crimson end begins

Somewhere beyond our horizons shadows swarm

We become a window twinkle on the night scape

Somewhere beyond our block, blue buttoned up and weaponized

Lynches the steps we’ve built to home

 

In here we are old and young and howling both!

In here sheet music flips in the wind

In here we drink from bubbling glasses and foam at the mouth

In here the sweet center

In here

Is a man costumed in feather galaxies that orbit blackhole eyes

Fingers do the Carole Dance ‘neath cloud blouses

Pine the nosegay and holiday times

In here

Mosfet Queens stand wind tossed in skeletal fall

Secret society symbols stand in sight

And her eyes are mirrors over smiles

In here

Painters paint robotically or robots paint painterly

the twin painters puppers

or paps pug and poodle

In here

The blood red galvanized doodle was

Imagined on rocking chair porches

Or rainy stares out windscreens

In here

Our ghosts pop champagne corks

And hang their work in corners

haunting the feet of floor dwellers

In here

Phantoms veil the texting heads

Photons flare and red gates glare

Our shoes are set on Peridot Green!

 

In here we borrow Allen’s voice

In here we Howl!

As we all know, now the knowing is not knowledge it is now a growling growing and wailing. The hatred hunger is grumbling and what once was mumbling is bubbling up up up a memory of what was once is with last grasp and gasp clawing its way up and storming at the gates! Alert all states all your mates! The enemy is coming! Once more the enemy is coming! Outside a fight awaits! A light in the tower! We must Howl! We must Howl! Tell them all! This warmness can throughout! Let not the cold outside seep in and ruin our lovely home! This is all our home!

Howl for your sisters!

Howl for your brothers!

Howl for those who have been silenced!

Raise your head to lovely Luna, my people all

We are a bristled pack and

We are howling!