Hazy Shade of Winter, Less Than Zero, pills, sheet walls, redaction, and deciding to live.
From a hit by The Bangles, to the bloody and '80s adulating reach of American Psycho, episode number 38 starts and ends with more bangs than a West Texas brothel in the 1800s. Seven writers from the site complete the landscape here, with a lead by area_man, and wrapped nicely with thePearl and Mariah, so you know the new blood between them holds its mud.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLsEjqj8g6s
And here are the pieces featured on Prose. Radio.
https://www.theprose.com/post/816235/when-the-zoloft-hits https://www.theprose.com/post/816024/searching https://www.theprose.com/post/816017/they-call-her-fickle
https://www.theprose.com/post/816230/the-day-i-decided-to-live https://www.theprose.com/post/816225/if https://www.theprose.com/post/816122/i-redact-my-forgiveness
https://www.theprose.com/post/816108/perceived
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
The Long and Winding Road
The long and winding road,
Leading me passed my yesterdays
And into my tomorrows.
The road pass my old tears,
My days full of abuse and feel.
I sit here,
Watching the sun going down…
And watching the shadows
Engulf my past.
I await the dawn,
Where promise and hope
Wait to be born.
The long and winding road,
Is full of moments caught
In the snare of time…
The births of my children,
Christmases long gone..,
The emptiness of life
Without you.
The long and winding road…
Has been leading me here…
To find myself in your arms,
To share our dreams on our own.
It has brought me to a new dawn…
Where your golden hair flows,
Dancing across my soul.
It has brought me here…
Where your touch
Stirs not only the man
But also the soul.
Where you not only inspire me…
But lead me to the moments….
That will remain ours alone.
The long and winding road…
Has taken me beyond the shadows
Of my yesterdays..,
And into the light that is tomorrow…
Where you await me
When comes the dawn.
The Day I Decided To Live
The day I decided to live,
Caught me in a steel boot panic,
The small of my back,
A wormy spasm
Of mortal Morse code
In hell’s exiled hospital bed.
I am going to live.
Apathy aches
Through crawl space bones,
Her humid bore
Fogging to a damp finish,
While once weathered sighs
Float through grey morgue skies,
Skirting deadweight tides
Of tedium’s laboured arrest,
Lapping and licking my bleached heel
So pathetically.
I am going to live.
The bald scream
Of atrophied helplessness
Staggers me on,
And catches the ears
And eyes of God,
And I refuse to drown
In this landfill avalanche,
Like a perfunctory punk.
I am going to live.
I jumpstart the last nucleus
Of infant flame
That had retired
To a soldered melt
Of sunny sizzle,
As black psalm laments
Crystallise into turncoat hallelujahs,
And mutiny’s inferno
Gives Bloody Mary
An everlasting
Atom bomb kiss.
I am going to live.
Junkyard demon dogs
Drip dross through fanged bluster,
And the devil’s tremulous waters
Are glaucoma eyed bonds
And last gasp glances,
Of stonewalled silence,
Scrambled mirages,
Distorted mirrors
And pilloried ego death.
I am going to live.
I devour the curse
And strike up the band,
As my stop watch pulse
Shivers through my powder keg hand,
And I will unearth the mile high soil
And limp bow legged
Through blood sun boil,
Because you cannot gaol
The uncaged heart
Of one who knows
That beyond death’s saltwater kiss
Waits the sacred miracle
Of reset revolution
And purpled salvation.
I am going to live.
Fresh ink and new blood, and more: Amount of strength, honeyed earth, a muted past, seasons, and screams of the dying.
Some new blood and fresh ink flavor Prose. Radio's number 37, with a handful plus two pieces from the inimitable talent of our writers. Good to see all the new writers bringing their style to pages of Prose. --And also good to see Last and area_man in the mix with them today, and AndyDrew closing it out with something beautiful and dark and light, in its own way.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5iHmKR3IOg
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/816003/christ-like-without-the-benefits https://www.theprose.com/post/815932/lake https://www.theprose.com/post/815971/back-and-forth
https://www.theprose.com/post/815979/the-watch https://www.theprose.com/post/815993/space-age-bodhisattva https://www.theprose.com/post/815994/seasons
https://www.theprose.com/post/815920/wee-woo-bus
And.
As always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
They call her fickle
Listen,
the muse sings to the
pulling of weeds, to the
piling of bricks, to the
scrubbing of plates.
The muse sings to the
earthbound, to the occupied,
to souls in revolt against
menial days. Silent cries
beckon loudest, prayers and
invocations be damned:
the muse will not be summoned
and scorns intention. She
cares nothing for your plans,
laughs at your blank page,
pisses on your offerings.
She will not bless self-anointed
poets who ransack corpses
for metaphors.
So move forward. Live.
Be about your business, turn
the grindstone, then breathe.
Breathe. Listen.
The muse sings to those
hungriest for song.
A spirit in smoke.
Reminisce;
How the realms formed within the reddest mist
The simplest twist of smoke had its destiny,
Operculum, Red Myrhh, Styrax
For;
In you all scaffolding of dreams is folded
And grows through the seams of
Simple things, burrs bursting
Even now in all the distant kingdoms
It is twisting through the air- the lattice
Of this new reality.
And your are here interweaving
Subtly in the fashion of the new formation,
All the moods and the passions of the
Air- you exist folding the pulses of the
Wind, the secret channels through which
It carries space within space, distances
Across distance,
In the indrawn cave where
I first met you-
Operculum, Red Myrrh, Styrax
Were the offering to the fire
Which burnt beyond the
Lamp of time- and as your
Form began to rise- I could
Tell it wasn't of nature
Reminisce;
How the realms formed within the reddest mist
The simplest twist of smoke had its destiny,
Operculum, Red Myrhh, Styrax
For;
In you all scaffolding of dreams is folded
And grows through the seams of
Simple things, burrs bursting
Even now in all the distant kingdoms
It is twisting through the air- the lattice
Of this new reality.
And your are here interweaving
Subtly in the fashion of the new formation,
All the moods and the passions of the
Air- you exist folding the pulses of the
Wind, the secret channels through which
It carries space within space, distances
Across distance,
In the indrawn cave where I first met you-
Operculum, Red Myrrh, Styrax
Were the offering to the fire
Which burnt beyond the
Lamp of time- and as your
Form began to rise- I could
Tell it wasn't of nature
"Taches Solaires", "Geometric
Messenger From the
Three Poles" forever
Echoing-- echo and
Dislodge: in my eyes
You became the solar
Secret of Fumage
And now I am become
As Anaximander-- this
Secret day-- For I am turning
In my hands the seeds of
Worlds-- the ambrosial
Seeds of flame, which are
Shifting and dancing in
A voluble grace-- I make
The spinning wheel of all
Time, trace shapes of a
Gyre within itself, letting
Cycle spin unto cycle
Moment melt unto moment
Blossoming- as time also
Dissapitates, stands still
All that is raw in earth
Becoming pure, shifting
Patterns of these worlds
Alchemical Cycles-
Spin cinnabar to jade
To gold
You are what is hidden
In the Pays Interdit-- the
Inward vessel, the shimmering
Pearl, the heart and the pangs
Of it- the war in which
Many worlds are born
Rising above all of it
You are- the "Ciel De Peurve",
The "Harpe Astrale"-
Become depressurized,
Expanding and interweaving
In many horizons of silky
Smoke, and above as
Sunlight glints upon the
Golden and resistant
Stratosphere- the clouds
Themselves synchronize
And float, with patterns
Of this smoke below
And as you rose
You were the spirit
The spirit of all art - it was as if
I took had taken thr Visage De Profil,
brought it
To your heat, so that the
spirit emblazoned
Upon it melted off leaping
And danced in freedom, growing in
Its true form and shapes, well beyond
The picturing and the imagination of its
Creator, and flowed
Pulsing in patterns
Rotating within each other, in many
Inward, dancing, cycles of the
Repeating form each a of the next
Mandalic repetitions of
The forms of your mist split off
From each other splitting
Into new shape and form
You sink into the earths core
In order to revitalize it
There are many multitudes
Of vert and of emerald in
My spirit that you send
Thrilling- your spirit
Swims the air--
As the Jade and Malachite
Of you smooths and soothes
You the burnt off residue of
Despair and of happiness
You dance the "Eight Silk
Brocades" -- you dance the
"Looking over your shoulder
To the moon"
As you started to rise
I could tell your form wasn't
Of nature- Taches Solaires,
Geometric Messenger From the
Three Poles forever echoing
You were the solar secret of Fumage
I am become as Anaximander,
For I am turning in my mind, the ambrosial
Seeds, the flame -- of so many unborn
World's
You are the secret of balance in all
Things which is furled
And
With hands cupped to the eyes
I become as Appolonius--
Seeing inward, all patterns melt into the
Darkness of those cupped spaces--
And then eyes quivering upwards
Flicker open the vision attempting
To surf upon the twisting torrents of
These flames- which split from one
Another and each echoing the patterns
Of the other's rapid pulsing and writhing
In increasing sync
An almost unbearable wave of heat
Forces the eyes to close- and then there
Comes- the coolness; eyes
Now strobing between scrying
The fire- where beings and forms
Beyond imagining are
In all patterns of the smoke
The space inward-- behind the
Eyes goes from the black emptiness
To the charged darkness of the
Starry sky
Yes
I closed my eyes, and mapped out
In you the pantomime, Thick Realms
In you the sinuous shape of time
The sinew of time, static form
Now sinuously given unto the new.
I marked it's structure, and from
Whence it was-- the cresting
Spirit of the dove, hidden in the
Passive stillness- caressing the
Spirit and healing it
As you come back out- rearising
I can feel the gates
Within me opening- the flow from
"Magpie Bridge" to the "Jade Palace",
Turning to the middle Dantian -
Floating down the ladder- "small heaven"
And "small earth" interlinking
In me love and solace and peace
Crests, ever interkneading.'
Forever
Echoing-- echo and
Dislodge: in my eyes
You became the solar
Secret of Fumage
And now I am become
As Anaximander-- this
Secret day-- For I am turning
In my hands the seeds of
Worlds-- the ambrosial
Seeds of flame, which are
Shifting and dancing in
A voluble grace-- I make
The spinning wheel of all
Time, trace shapes of a
Gyre within itself, letting
Cycle spin unto cycle
Moment melt unto moment
Blossoming- as time also
Dissapitates, stands still
All that is raw in earth
Becoming pure, shifting
Patterns of these worlds
Alchemical Cycles-
Spin cinnabar to jade
To gold
You are what is hidden
In the Pays Interdit-- the
Inward vessel, the shimmering
Pearl, the heart and the pangs
Of it- the war in which
Many worlds are born
Rising above all of it
You are- the "Ciel De Peurve",
The "Harpe Astrale"-
Become depressurized,
Expanding and interweaving
In many horizons of silky
Smoke, and above as
Sunlight glints upon the
Golden and resistant
Stratosphere- the clouds
Themselves synchronize
And float, with patterns
Of this smoke below
And as you rose
You were the spirit
The spirit of all art - it was as if
I took had taken thr Visage De Profil,
brought it
To your heat, so that the
spirit emblazoned
Upon it melted off leaping
And danced in freedom, growing in
Its true form and shapes, well beyond
The picturing and the imagination of its
Creator, and flowed
Pulsing in patterns
Rotating within each other, in many
Inward, dancing, cycles of the
Repeating form each a of the next
Mandalic repetitions of
The forms of your mist split off
From each other splitting
Into new shape and form
You sink into the earths core
In order to revitalize it
There are many multitudes
Of vert and of emerald in
My spirit that you send
Thrilling- your spirit
Swims the air--
As the Jade and Malachite
Of you smooths and soothes
You the burnt off residue of
Despair and of happiness
You dance the "Eight Silk
Brocades" -- you dance the
"Looking over your shoulder
To the moon"
As you started to rise
I could tell your form wasn't
Of nature- Taches Solaires,
Geometric Messenger From the
Three Poles forever echoing
You were the solar secret of Fumage
I am become as Anaximander,
For I am turning in my mind, the ambrosial
Seeds, the flame -- of so many unborn
World's
You are the secret of balance in all
Things which is furled
And
With hands cupped to the eyes
I become as Appolonius--
Seeing inward, all patterns melt into the
Darkness of those cupped spaces--
And then eyes quivering upwards
Flicker open the vision attempting
To surf upon the twisting torrents of
These flames- which split from one
Another and each echoing the patterns
Of the other's rapid pulsing and writhing
In increasing sync
An almost unbearable wave of heat
Forces the eyes to close- and then there
Comes- the coolness; eyes
Now strobing between scrying
The fire- where beings and forms
Beyond imagining are
In all patterns of the smoke
The space inward-- behind the
Eyes goes from the black emptiness
To the charged darkness of the
Starry sky
Yes
I closed my eyes, and mapped out
In you the pantomime, Thick Realms
In you the sinuous shape of time
The sinew of time, static form
Now sinuously given unto the new.
I marked it's structure, and from
Whence it was-- the cresting
Spirit of the dove, hidden in the
Passive stillness- caressing the
Spirit and healing it
As you come back out- rearising
I can feel the gates
Within me opening- the flow from
"Magpie Bridge" to the "Jade Palace",
Turning to the middle Dantian -
Floating down the ladder- "small heaven"
And "small earth" interlinking
In me love and solace and peace
Crests, ever interkneading.
Solace of soul never leave
Moon and sun in the single
Sky are breathing. And my
Spirit explodes a second
Time into its being.