Notes on Pynchon

A Screaming Comes Across the Sky…

Notes on Pynchon

Like some damp and mossy Tokyo stomping monster

He comes from and returns to the sea

The model cities of lies and paranoia

Reconstructed (always) in time for the next rising.

Nordhaus byway of Zoo Station

Bone scattered rocket caves, the crunching descent

Surreal news on reality, a virtual history.

Linear gravity grooves,

The roads, the encoded signs, the toll of media

Tunnels through the fallen towers.

It is guileless, your rush from the past

Avoid the petty guilts, Marx, the murder of poets.

Your rooms filled like an infobahn architect

The visual autopsy, here you surf alone

And sift the mind, resistor the body

No place here for silk, or women;

The irrational fears of smooth intimacies.

Surrogate and symbol

Remind them; your existence

Ancient forests will burn, rage in force

From your sun’s twisted entropies.

You have stalactite driving eyes

Mysterious, not divine, or blessed

With the vision of heavens last caress.

This wasted yearning for nothingness

Buffered by yawns and gaffs of laughter

Have turned your world of Things

Into our desert of beings that lack reason

Except for the twisted urge to your ego’s surrender.

If death is in our bones, our brittle, fracturing skeletons

Rain a storm of mortality, over the empires we build of

Blood and concrete and steel and dreams that must fail

Speak to me; stay with me here in your pirate’s kingdom.

You hang our fears on thin filaments of tragedy and fate

Underground conspiracies, the many rumors abound

From towers to roofs to caves in the cold, smoking ground

That V is a symbol that bleeds and seethes over your heart.

Release me of your medieval torture of faith

The gears, the wheels, the bladed pendulums of hate

With each new volume we anticipate, gyrate

With teeth-gnashing that we need a buried index to

The surreal knowledge you sublimely incubate.

Why do we read to seeth, in reels of your dark cinema?

You have stellar pre-destination

There are no dreams;

On your empty edge of the universe

All the stars are counted.

The Dark Web

The Dark Web

In the apathy of WWW ruins, ghosts of TCP/IP roam the barren kingdoms

Of pavement artist and wiremen…

Misinformation and degradation of the innocents left to roast in URL’s of spit and blogs

High towers of cell, television, microwave and particle accelerator toast their meaning

Radioactive pod-casts, vapor trails of malcontents nurtured on personal ads as nanotech

I bled her, shred her, disposable as kitchen wrap

Viewed through the poisoned keyhole of my soul

She demolished space and time, warped perspective and found infinity

Where the swine eyed moon cowered from the blistering sun,

The souls engraving etched my dark tumors into her heart

The site was something like “harmony is a vision” – your visitation awaits

The cruel scammers, love jammers, the infidels of infidelity

The jealousy pirates lounging in deckchairs for the newlyweds

The lovers imbedded as jaded journalist in some war-torn peninsula of fates

It is severe and kitschy, rampant lethargy, eyes as dinner plates

Slumming and patronizing, a la carte amore, the waiters skim on skates

Like Sun Ra at the Kilimanjaro at the end of the ’80s,

Anvil heavy rhythms play out the musical chairs of fate

I loved her, I despised her, left letters of love shrouded in hate

I was matched with strangers whose dark souls I adored

I was terrorized by the calls for a true soul-mate

I researched, I lured, I lied, I cured and hurt the lonely, I broke their banks

I kneeled, not to pray, but sway the innocents, and butcher their wholesomeness

I lived in the shadows of the grace of widows, looking for that first date

I was a banker, a lawyer, a spaceman who has seen the empty edges of the universe

Where all the stars are counted, where truth has no grace, no time, no space

She loved me; she was like I, a darker version, a mysterious voyeur of loves leap of faith

And I accepted her; she loved our cruel bonds, our moods, our lies, our faithless sex

And I discovered that you could not lie about wantonness, the trust of flesh and desire

And I wanted her if only to choose between truth, lost faith or myself

And I needed to abuse all her faith; I needed a mirror, I needed to the self’s dark echo

And I needed to prove faith is a lie, that I was a God, I was God-less, His other

And I did as I pleased, without sympathy, or empathy, seething on the ruins, my heartless greed

And I had taken his place with a new trinity of brutality, the wasted wants, truth in blind flight

We made love, maybe just sex,

And she asked me who was I, and I lied and said: “I am your fate…”

In the many-chambered web of our bed, truth, reason, meanings sprawled like dead bugs

In the dark web’s ruins, we made up our bed, keeping the stained sheets of loves aftermath

In the faithless sun, sweat flamed the brushed veneer of our gelding; we rode on…

Into a night bled of fate, full of dreads and wanton longing for real desire where the flesh must meet

The horse burned out, rose like Pegasus, ashen wings beckoned us to look at the moon’s eclipse

Brittle to words, and facial tics, waiting for some glimmers of resolution, or empty words of redemption

We each pulled out our cell phones and scanned the latest personal ads

She is too innocent to be numb, only left to have all wonders wrenched away

Her spirits drained of any sense of divinity, of any prophecy of the mornings to come

I gave her a machine-for living lifestyle, towards an agonizing excess without perspective,

Where nature adores the immigrant, the wanderer of desires, the fool in the rain…

She has arrived, she sighed and trembled, without tears, accepted the hornets mask

The emblem of doomed desires, the look of the faithless, waiting to be used again…

I humbled myself before her, blossoming in her loneliness, and hate, her bent faith,

Each hungry kiss was a stinging reminder, a wretched mirror that did not ask,

“Who are you?”

“Why are you?”

“Where did you do this, to me?”

“What did you think about, me, or just you?”

“When can we do this, again?”

While turning my soul into a hot cauldron of hates, a wasteland of sunless love

While the moonless tide surges the seaweed creeping ashore

Webbing her bare feet with voyeuristic curiosity that overextends content without context

Now she knows me, where to cut and bleed me, and then leave me

Now she knows I am the fire, not for warmth, or light, but for burning the unread pages of her life

The White Room

The Monolith

The White Room


Argent parlor

               Bed in roses

                              Cool, darkling stares

In Black and White

               Absorbs all light

                              Here are delights

Am I crazy?

               When I think right

                              No, I think, Yes

None can answer

               The nun’s prayer

                              She is my dread

Fetid and soiled

               She tells me my

                              Soul is abused

The Blues, Feng Shui


                              What is to come

The sun, no suns

               Enter this room

                              Know no regrets

Remember light

               Pale moonlight smiles

                              Unending dooms

You are here, too

               Knitting our lives




                              Enola Gay

In the dark lies

               The half-life’s live

                              Glow with regrets

The Pilot smiles

The Pilot lies

               He is here, too

Heavy water

               Tithe the oceans

                              Wanting to share


The sitting room

               The doctors stare

                              Await the storms

Of unhinged lives


                              To believe dreams

We know all rooms

               It’s our puzzle

                              Solving his muse

How could he drop


                              And call it hope

How could we lie

               And say its hope

                              Smoke and more smoke

The cities burnt

               Shadows that crept

                              Ashes of smoke

The rhymes of war

               Jingle tingle

                              Laugh and mingle

Bloody the rope

               Half-life of hopes


My eyes bonded

               To the running

                              Chilly children

Where do they go


                              Parachutes launched

Kill them all and

               Kill them again

                              All Indians

Manifest the

               Cruel destiny

                              Of all dead flags

All western fronts

               Have fallen true

                              To opinion


Doctor Panzer

               Is no Nazi

                              He smokes and smokes

Says funny tropes


                              Is all in hopes

The numbered Jews?

               No opinion

                              As he debriefs

All the children

               And hands them rope

                              To strangle hope

Let’s them dangle

               In gas chambers

                              And the Pope knows

Counting their souls

               Expecting the news

                              Safe in his rooms


               Dead horses roam

                              The carcasses

Nero has time

               To decide fate

                              We have no time

Where memory

               Kills the torn fate

                              Memory lies

We imagined


                              Burnt across skies

That gave our lives

               Something to kill

                              Something to strive

Dawn never came

               Medicine Man

                              Cavemen’s fire  

The spinning wheels       

               The carcasses

                              Dawns desire

New horizons

               To kill and kill

                              Roaming the prairie

To improve lust

               To tramp in dust

                              Weapons deny

Us to Jesus

               But I’m the Christ

                              In this closed room


Silent running

               The crimson cross

                              Love massacred

Who is he to

               Say what is true?

                              Up on his cross

Magdalene cry’s

               Pilat denies

                              All history

Man is a curse

               Sodden in prey

                              Damp in his grave

Spinning in the


                              Of Trinity

Of His power

               Where is power

                              Where we all fall

In this white room

               So pure and trite

                              I say goodnight

Depth of Field

Exit Wound

Depth of Field

Out among the disappeared

Light seems illegal and deviant

Eerie and mysteriously still

The flat-line of desires,

The ghost of former existence

Blurred away in heat-seeking focus

Smoked away the napalm sky

Crashing to the grey raving tides

Lenses zoom and point of view

Vacuums up the foreign dust

From rubbles of deaths in New Delhi

Are there enough pixels to adhere?

To white balance the sun’s

Avant-garde dissonance, the focal noise

Wind chill day of justice swayed

By the vertical jitter of cinema-verité

Light intensely accelerates into the night;

Lumbering like the golem towards his romance

In the damp gauze of moonlight

In terminal equinox, in a feverish sweat, loves satinesque

Streaming midnight movie scenes the dark room glows

Dichroic rolls as scrolls, the grassy knoll

Childhood’s unreal world; the overexposed:

The spinning, leering lovers now picturesque

The crazed mixture of drugs and money in spindles,

The molting waxen squares of plastique

The terrorists smile in pomp, our luminescence

They ask in ruse, “What is the caption?”

Is it in color, is it black and white?

Napalm sky, smoke black, fire bright

Rushes of deadline blood lost in backlight

How damaging is art to the unfocused eye…?

The Passion of Her

The Passion of Her


In the stillness of the house
Uncertain echoes of past lives
Mingle in odd intervals of her muse
On life and its meanings,
Interlaced in the hollow sounds;
The forced memory of dead traditions.

No more coffee and TV,
Frittering to life the engines of dawn.

She tries to glimpse the house
A room full of mirrors
No point of view of heaven and earth
All faces new moons in gravity to her.

The husband buried in lawyers,
Interned her son in clay urns smashed to earth.

Did they watch her through
The banal conversations
The technology of gender
On buying guns and hunting trips?

Her body seems off limits to her
Uncontrollable, yet hostile to desire.

She could tell them tales of her father
Roaming the New Mexico hinterlands,
Poaching rattlesnakes, lynching Mexicans
Hearts on fire at dawns blood red sun.

The UFO alerts and surges of wild horses,
Strange nights along the concrete prairie
From Las Vegas to Los Alamos;
The dust swirls and crop circles.
To reconcile this perspective
Of a vast and shadowy human network
Come to view her self-persecution
On the crosses of domestication

She has fragmented into phantasms
She has opened the closet doors.

To see them eat locusts and wild honey,
And pound their children
Out of the stone they were turned on
From the millhouse of her ruin.

But that was not the affection she was looking for…

Highways End

Entrance / Exit

Highways End


The light of day unraveled

Drove rain in fists of wind

Trounced the sound

Shrill its shearing fabric

The wet black-top hurled back moonlight

In shimmering frantic fractures,

Divided so evenly by the white dotted line

Rolling down the highway’s infinity

Until the highway collided

Into the sunset of your eyes

Ground molten pieces of glass

Impacted mirrors, the last glance


Emotions warmed the dampening rituals of summer

Drawing first blood from sweated flesh

Love came abruptly, like mercury in our solution

But the rolling path of tears

Gave our love some continuity


In mansions of billowing curtained rooms

High above the winding shore

Gull’s shiver and surrender

Too close to sail over what beckons

Attempted the barbed wire of lies too often

Your eyes more alive than the first dawn of life

Now surge in dense waves many leagues beneath the sea

Feel heat lightning wait in textures of wind

For the crackling moment of sound that never comes…

The Subway Cities


The Subway Cities

Your crown of thorns aloft my heart

Squeeze, tease and leech my love, gone of love

Bled in wars of childhood’s distant thunder

The rusting tin solders dissolve and fade

In autumn rain, the blood of summer

Like broken toys, love’s remnants drift away…

no ochre, no scenes, no crimson soiled cannoneers

no moods, no noon, no echoes of love will soon resound

In once rented, now owned, the chill and bitter winter rooms

The graffiti of dull lies etched across our loving lovers one face

Ensconced the groaning blighted concrete prairie of the City

And all love is the last love when you arrived

The sweet summer days all swept away

In some designer’s winter grey – the surging tides of your eyes

no sweat, no moans, no lust, where all’s a carnival of lust

no symphonies, no urges, no clarion calls of lovers undressed

It’s a treacherous, lonely trek, weary in the stealth of lies of self

Down that tortured lovers walk, I walk, glyphs to my many selves

Unqueued linear waves of decryption, boundless is the blood black night

It’s the skulking lurid annum of dread desires that freight my being

Whose dark and roiling cargo I must not own, the cruel words of love

You said, I said I’d own, the unending whispered words of a returning lover

no stone, no city, no carapace of fallen castles

no victory, no siege, no cringing black limousines

My soul, a thin rope I hold around my frantic twisting neck

To see the joyless leap, the cruel and freezing timeless descent

The sudden shock, the knot so tight

As constellations slowly twist and generate

A fraudulent midnight – that dreamy Chernobyl of your eyes

no muse, no crosses, no lust for murder

no chaos, no order, no total of zero in life’s empty sums

As my soul slices thru tendon and bone, bloody as the newborn

Taunt as a tsunami rushing towards twinkling neon far east shores

The remnants we dreamt, burnt out driftwood of western shores

The ghosts of smoke, your soul, ashes interned – the urn of your eyes

But what’s let go means how much of me do I still own?

Or really need to know, is me, or you, or two…?

Do you need to know…? Do you really want to know?

The true math of our attraction, add up our dissonance…?

Loves hard chalk shrieking across the blackboard of our bitter angst…

The numbers, even in astrology, never added up…

no mitered bishops, no dead princes, no plucked roses to deliver

no blind horses, no ruses, no stones to turn over in the forecast storms

I slip torqued by fate twisted in loves awe

Bludgeoned by self-inflicted lust of your unknowns

Old flames tempt as Aztec gold, enslave and slaughter memory

The dark bloody marbled mist of unending dawn

Entrap and laugh and please me

In all their fake ruined temples – I am sacrificed

no glimmers, no moons, no tears

no gods, no fates, no tease of love’s trap doors

Not so lost as unknown to forces of

Unspoiled mysteries of that vogue, you are, I roamed

no harness, no cape, no brimmed chalet

no roofs, no caves, no wonderment

no old feelings to embrace, stroking your cold armament

no autonomy, no grey conformity, no elevated trains to chase

no blood, no warmth, no hope

no silence as your chill reef of bones wash over me

no truth, no lies, no moon to loom the night of its cover

no rising tides, no rapprochement, no boats to tempt your distant shores

In autumn’s muddy streams, the fallen shredded leaves

Filling the rampant subway tunnels, is the bitter end of all our summers

no love, no light, no shadows to escape loves doomed twilight

no tickets, no turnstiles, no bitter embrace of our fates

And so, I lied, and finally leapt and flowed

Down the rimed station stairs, slipped along

Your flowing stained dark lace

I lost the chase of you in this and other underground cities,

Where hearts lie in stealth and palpitate, the Stations of your Cross:

Penn, Charing Cross, Gare de Lyon, Roma Termini, Ostbahnhof, Puerta del Sol

Your trains always departed in a shrill and freezing shower of sparks…

That ignites all the glowing and doomed subway cities:

New York, London, Paris, Rome, Munich and Madrid…

Where all lost loves pirouette in that maddening tunnel vision

The final riddle of doomed hope, never to touch each other again

The endless temptation, the infinite parallel of subway tracks