Date Posted:18:44:00 12/18/00 Mon Author: You know my name. Subject: A Song of Love
This is a song of my friends and my neighbors. This is a song of love
and of humor. This is a song to my fellow man, whom I love and would
waken his spirit to the beauty of life, if I could.
This is a song to Vincent, from whose imagination spring worlds,
constellations, monsters, maidens and horrors. Who laughs at every
thing I say, who thinks and sees and knows and is not afraid to show his
colors. Raise the flag, Vincent Darlage. Sail your ship high and far,
and let not the water hold you. Your sea is not of water, but of ether
and paper and ink and fantasy. Let sex be your guide, as it is the
trumpet call of love, and though you are lambasted for perversity, let
those who know you best judge you, for they will not say what is false
or crude or evil. What is truthful in the heart cannot be evil, if it
springs from that center, that core, that essence of being that was
before and will be after. Chase your spirit into the astral, and
perhaps you will visit me upon the rainbow bridge, and we will speak of
worlds and deeds and lands yet forming in our minds, and we will laugh
at ourselves mostly, for we are fools, you and I. But is not the fool
the wise man also? Is not the jester a prince?
This is a song of the love of my heart, whose womanhood sparked my
blood and sends fever to my waking. This is a song to the love of a
woman, of gentle breasts and sloping thighs, of tender valleys and deep
echoes of the spirit. I cry out to you and my voice comes back in song,
reverberating off of your gentle soul. This is a song to a woman whose
love may lift the world. Who laughs like a tornado, who cries like a
water fall, who knows more of cruelty and beastliness and evil and hate
and degradation than most of her kind, but lets such things flow from
her hands like sand, knowing that the spirit longs to be free and
gentle, to love at all is to love best. Her mind is a place where
desire and delirium grow like mushrooms. In the morning they spring,
though they were not there the night before. Give her a name, if you
have to, but no name will suffice. Catch the amazing Kimberleyfly, but
watch out for the hole in your net.
This is a song of Barbara, quiet and dark, yet loving. She will
not tell, nor will she divulge the secrets of her heart. They are
located in places, in secret coves where her children dance, where her
lover romances, where her Barbara-ian maiden slashes her sword. Her
life is a dragon with scales of adamantine. She is amazed by those near
her, her children most of all. They love her, they worship her, and as
a goddess she falls asleep every night, in auburn hair that twists about
her body like a blanket, in a ramshackle house of penguins and swords
and ceramic creations that dance while she is dreaming.
This is a song to my sister, whose life has been a play of
destruction, in which she was was the principle player, the principle
director, the stage hands, the curtain boy, the ushers, and the
orchestra. Yet, she survived and is whole, looking for the rest of her
soul that she left scattered. When she finds pieces she places them in
a cedar chest and beckons her dogs to guard it. Do not expect her dogs
to be wild, for wink and smile and they will soon turn mild and her
heart will be open. No teeth, yet plenty of bite, no
punch, though her fists are raised. She is full of love, brimming with
love, if only she could empty her reserves, fill up those in need. Her
dogs prance about her feet and lick her skin, they grovel and roll on
the floor. Their hero is a wild, long haired beauty, whom they are
destined to adore. Why are humans so difficult? They expect, they wall
you off, they surround you, they possess you, they will dampen you, suck
you, bleed you, if they can. Oh, for the love of a dog!
This is a song for all whom I know. I love you all, though not as
well as I should. Not as well as it is in my heart to do. Wake every
morning and know that all that there is is love. All we need is love,
and all we must give to attain it--- is love. Life is short, but life
is simple. So this Christmas, I send all of you my love. For Christ
was a man of love solely. His words were to love one another, and to
that, I will bend knee. To that I will rejoice in my heart. In that, I
wish to play my part...
