I fear my life will be like a dandelion, shockingly bright, only to blow away. 

Wayward Hair

I was in love with,

my wayward hair then,

and so was he.

I would think,

looking in the mirror,

I am the Earth Mother.

“Oh damn,

I’ve got pillowface.”

I’d often remark.

I don’t care,

what face it is,

as long as it’s yours.

What if I had

the face of the walrus?

I’d ask him next.

I would be your

Koo koo ka choo

Or your carpenter.

As long as you don’t hammer

in the morning or at suppertime.

Really, anytime it’s inconvenient.

Dearest, you know

I’d bang you anytime

day or night.

I loved him

our morning routine

and my wayward hair.

When bad plots happen

Scientists have created

a trust potion,

an advertising promotion.

“Just smile, because

you know,

they’re making love.”

No, fuck you.

I know what they’re

up to. And to be honest,

without being rude, they’re

trying to control when and with

whom, we can be nude.

Odd but true, think of

the economic situation

of a monogamous relation.

What you’re thinking is correct,

we do love cheesy endings. They

should be a choice though

and not the way.

We don’t need no Number 9.

Now and forever we don’t need

no thought control.

In sickness and in health,

take your stimulus package

And rock the recession. With our one

and only weapon left, emotion.

Seasonal Affect

When it rains precipitation is at

100% and it pours though

not exactly pouring weekly as

sprinkling, drizzling, and misting daily.

It’s scattered storms and partly cloudy.

Dark with a chance of light.

My average highs have become

record lows and there’s

a small chance, 30% or so, of

good weather and sunny feelings,

a 75% chance of stormy thoughts,

dark imagery, and gallows humor as

things are no longer light and

variable. There is a severe chance

of  thunder and a flash of lightening.

Soon the local on the eights

will show my head blowing

N by NW at 108 miles per hour.

Keep The Lights On

    

I.

Tesla refused to have sex his entire life.

His sexual frustration

powering new discoveries.

His human chemistry replaced

by a body sung electric.

His high potential charging

in between the gates that separate

the coiled recesses of his mind

                        II.

Edison approaching the deadline

tries out design after design.

He knows it’s coming down to

the wire his desire to stay current

resists his  resignation at his lack

of innovation.

                        III.

As he slumps in his chair

a flash of lightening  illuminates

the child’s toy bobbing and weaving

like a butterfly about to be stung by a bee.

Promethean Franklin sparks new ideas

using the right key and filament he can 

pass the torch to the next,

he becomes the fuse for future

generations to stick their two cents in

completing the circuit.

                        IV.

Gilbert Hackathorne pockets the pennies

he finds. It insulates him from the power,

he keeps going and going surging through

life even though a fuse and man, can

burn out after extended use. After plugging in

the future, monitor lights up with the Electrician

at Corning.That same night a colorblind

technician  chains lightening together

with gray wires, frustration, and spare change.

Old Poetry finds a home.

I'm going to post some things I wrote a few years back for class. Perhaps seeing them online, (hopefully with constructive comments), will boost my creativity.

Libationer

Around my house where the Canadian Mist settles

and the Grey Goose flies Daniel tests Beam’s mettle,

set against the evening sky.

We set out a glass where an Old Crow can talk

with the Green Fairy and reveal all he knows

about Samuel Adams walk set

at Woodstone Creek.

We set out a glass where Kentucky

Gentleman sing this song of a

Bufflo Trace by a set of Four Roses

set on Black maple hill where the

heir apparent Crown Royal

of the White Horse

keeled over after drinkin’

too much Feckin Irish Whisky.

WIP Poem

A little something i'm working on.

Ode to Brachininae

Of all the species on this great Earth,

there’s one my mind often grows envious of

while watching political debates.

A lowly ground beetle, carapace shiny black,

body shaped as a violin. These maestros

are consummate diplomats.

How I wish that it could be up on stage

forleg tibiae fiddling with its miniscule bowtie.

It would hold its own in the first round.

It’s hard on pests and has a firm Not In My Backyard platform

But in the second round it comes under attack for

some recent bombings against unarmed civilians

 and retorts with a mixture of  shock, surprise,

hydroquinone and hydrogen peroxide.

The discourse dissolves into debilitated debaters.

I, Reader

I, Lucifer, Fallen Angel, Prince of Darkness, Bringer of Light, Ruler of Hell, Lord of the Flies, Father of Lies, Apostate Supreme, Tempter of Mankind, Old Serpent, Prince of This World, Seducer, Accuser, Tormentor, Blasphemer, and without doubt Best Fuck in the Seen and Unseen Universe (ask Eve, that minx)...

— Lucifer

I tracked down this book after reading Duncan’s newer work, The Last Werewolf.  I was struck by Duncan’s ability to fully use the diary format and his incredibly bizarre grammatical constructions. Also the book about werewolves made me cry. So, there’s that.  Anyway, I became slightly obsessed with the book and wanted to read some of his other novels.

I, Lucifer seemed to be the next logical choice as I’ve always loved stories that feature Old Scratch as a character or protagonist. By the blurb on the back it appears as another story about Satan’s fall and teases that the devil “finds himself understanding what it’s like to be us.”

Yes, that’s what I need! I must know Lucifer’s side of things. Something I haven’t read before in: Paradise Lost, Memnoch the Devil, Letters from the Earth, or played as Demon: The Fallen and In Nomine. Snark aside, there are some archetypes that I never get tired of. Instead I usually check out new interpretations of the same story to see what’s different, new, rehashed, deconstructed, and so on.

The plot follows Lucifer in his month spent on Earth wearing a suicidal writer’s body like a cheap suit. Lucifer himself reveals the story to us. In this capacity he’s the best unreliable narrator and the best user of stream of consciousness I’ve read recently. The stream of consciousness is as disjointed as one might expect for an alien immortal consciousness that was present at the creation of all things to be squashed down into a human mind. This physical joy ride comes on the behalf of God who offers the Devil a deal. Live like a chaste human, die, and then come to heave no questions asked to be reinstated as a minor angel; a reverse Faustian pact essentially where the Trickster will give up all his immortal powers for a much longer judgment period.

Lucifer scoffs at the whole idea of salvation and sees the reinstatement as an angel as a slight jab at his “well known pride.” He does however; enjoy the prospect of getting away from the normal torturous duties of hell.  He mucks about in the body doing Hunter S. Thompson level of drugs and generally anything else he can to drive the body he’s in directly six feet under.  For being the devil he does seem to have some limitations for the suffering he brings into the world.  For instance, there is one (of many) disturbing passages where Lucifer wonders what it would be like to commit a rape.  For several paragraphs, like Declan’s body, we are unable to think about anything other than stalking a poor woman back to her apartment and when things are about to get incredibly uncomfortable a few angels show up to tell him to knock it off.  He can be self-indulgent just not commit any mortal sins that will stick to Gunn’s soul.

When I started to read the book I really felt sorry for the meat sack that Lucifer was using. Declan Gunn started out as a schlub who had one hit book, became an insufferable ass, and alienated everyone.  He decides to take one final bath and winds up worse than dead, undead possessed by the devil.

Lucifer’s story arc does tip toe toward the idea that anyone can repent but it seems heavily inferred that when something goes according to plan, particularly God’s plan, you either are saved or doomed to a predestined outcome seen only by the creator and relayed by his winged messengers.

The book held my attention easy enough and provided me with some neat new ideas. For instance, even though Lucifer is a fallen angel that does stop him from suffering from the evil in the world because at the base of his existence he still is part of the angelic host.

 I really enjoyed most of the book but as a caveat, some of the content in the book made me quite embarrassed to be reading it. I can’t really recommend it to anyone for this reason. Although, if you happen to be around it you should thumb through it.

As an interesting side note, Glen Duncan lived with a musician, Stephen Coates of The Real Tuesday Weld, when he was writing the book. Coates made an accompanying album as a sort of soundtrack to the book. The Real Tuesday Weld album I, Lucifer  has an odd feel to it. Not one I would have immediately thought of either as Coates describes his music as "antique beat" a blending of jazzy dance hall numbers and electronica dance.

We return now to our adventure already in progress...

With little fanfare, fireworks, and fritatas I have returned to this Blog in an attempt to write more. I've never been more resolute before but this has nothing to do with a new calendar year and more to do with a little self-improvement. So without further ado, allow me to reintroduce myself to the world.

Hello, My name is Donhnall. I'm 24, happily married, and almost completely lost.

"Lost?" you might ask.

Yes. Dear Mysterious Phantom Reader I am lost. Scuttling across the floor without so much as a silent "C". I know full well where my silent haitch is. Stuck firmly between two hard "N's".

"Well that reference was a little obvious and pretentious Don. Can I call you Don? Good."

Thanks for noticing Dear Reader.

The important thing to take away from this rambling mess is I'm back.