In Diegesis

i think the truth [sketch]

Ian Walters — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 03:26:11 +0000

even though my heart’s been
ecsticted drifting i still think
the truth when i speed by
the houses of the homeless i can’t
help but be thankful for the ecclisity
their unknowing reflects in me
the simplicity of being and i’m
not talking about the wayward
broken up tired bon fire
huggers in the street i’m
on about the buzh-y boogie
boys who bugged about after
the shove still stuck in terms
of under and above subject
object stop it motherfuckers
you’re black-hole-ing my
peace with your monolithic
stiffness siftin fools’ gold
business keeping me prolific
in this poetic justice donuts’ spotlights
hosing bogus criminals just for kicks
they seized evolution now they’re
getting off with it systematically
structuring idolization of the individual
but anyone who’s ever seen anyone
without legs or braindead or plain
dead knows dividual we are
like the chess playing swanson
outside my place hopped up
on sleepers every night sings
i think the truth i think
the truth i think the truth

-Words, Winter 2133

my love on earth

Ian Walters — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 17:51:16 +0000

remaining without you what connections
you presented before me revealing
the possibility of that physical grace
in the grass your muscles outlined by
moonlight that i suddenly understood so
breathtaking and then you kissed me
because it was that or absolute loss the
stoning of my heart in the silvery
sheen your warmth melted into my
bloodstream as sylvia eviscerated
into music we all headed towards
the pond so she could have all the water
she needed and i gently pushed you away which
you didn’t understand until i sat down back
straight eyes shut half lotus you stood
cock eyed jaw dropped confused as
the revelation of how loved you could
feel coursed between us and you remembered
driving the car me in the backseat glossing
over neon reflections of the backwards time
digits whizzing by dark grass and rolling
appalachia and derek on and on about securing
some power on some faraway planet and did
you want to make the jump with him there
would surely be a wealth of potential for
the likes of the two of you to seize please

come on man you and me who could stop

us as i nursed sylvia with water i felt the ecstasy
coursing in the backseat consciousness a social
phenomenon invisible to eyes but pumping between
my breath and my heart when i caught you in
the rear view mirror and the surge first
burst forth in terrified wonder afraid because
we both knew the likes of this had never
once occurred before and who were we to be
the first i mean i hardly knew you but from
that philosophy class eyeing each other’s thoughts
i mean who were we not to it was already
happening and i suspected what you later proved
after we arrived that we both knew it just like that
when you started running backwards in the field
leading me towards you with your tentative
glances tentative because were you really
going to slide into me just as you did after
i opened my eyes sitting half-lotus and you
and everyone else were suddenly unsurprisingly
nude but we were not swimming no we were
on dry land and in love and i swear to god
if god will even let me swear to it being
as ignorant powerless and uncertain as
i am i have never in my life felt braver
so cognizant of my standing up so
much a body of muscles and skin organs
bones cartilage so much an extension
of the earth itself except my lips channelled
all of my thought into the most certain
being i have ever been a part of a whole
new world as the disney thief says a

new fantastic point of view except

in that moment we were the horizon
which views nothing but is the union
of heaven and earth and though you were
the strong one and i the poet it was you whose
projects of ambition took you away
to create a new epoch of being i believe
is what you said some machine some
science could project pure being
intelligence into every corner
of the universe and you had an obligation
if you could to facilitate the savior of man you
believed that’s what being was throwing
you towards in its own destiny how
you pleaded and prayed for pure being
to throw me on the same course how
angry you got at me when i kept
to my books and the plants and
my family and the destiny of finitude oh
how you made me weep and how we
reconciled in the physical i will
not forget so long as i live and i am
sure that if you should die out in
space you will reach out to me
in a dream or vision or overwhelming
pang of emotion and now that’s all
i have in my love on earth is

the knowing of you at a distance

-Words, August 2133

the work

Ian Walters — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 17:43:12 +0000

is knowing what you are
doing cognizant of the body
steadying forth feet on the spinning
earth circling the transcendental
condition for the world as we
know it while popping upp’s
between fulfilling expectations
and breathing anticipation of
knowing what you are doing the full
awareness of which is impossibly
teasing in the memory and in
excitement for the horizontal
possibilities spread out before you
and stepping, chest-ing, skin-ing,
bone-ing, thinking, blinking,
resting, apprehending screens &
trees & music permeating from
the wave of cars’ motion into
your window as you work listening
to your own music because it’s all
more present when you’re nervously
uncertain of the infinite conditions
for the possibility of everything within
the reach of your senses pulling
in to the work with invisible
strings tugging so gently just
to recognize stillness within
this loving stalwart place
at work rippling into tragic
ephemeral palaces where little
girls are raped the rape of all
time ever coursing through
the fear of heaven platonic
good & ideas of a world
more real than getting my dick
into the sea of love but it just won’t filter
between the gentle comb of her
hair through my childhood
fingers so afraid of castration so
averse to pain and not knowing
that clinging to mother’s leg could
lead to gripping a stranger’s shoulders
with nothing but nothing in my
eyes closing in the face of laying
down before the truth it’s time
to sit up vertical a state so basically
at work in work the activation of
activity itself the seeing of subject
and object as the same without
judgement without fear of hatred
enveloping all your skin if you
keep your eyes open and stay
still it can’t touch you just
step forward slowly and carry
the work with me please
-Words, Fall 2133

ekstasis

Ian Walters — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 22:15:32 +0000

[beautiful poem by the original author of this intellispace, very influential on me...]

‘and then it happened making
me nervous to even say
how ek-static my chest heaving
heart spilling on zig-zagging red
brick in curving lines likes horses’
hair tracing footsteps to dance
troops and students bikers and
a couple of old people humming
on electric vibrating chairs and me
sitting on a foot thick slab of etched
stone espousing the value of education
liberation discipline some quote someone
remarked more than a century
before i sat back straight inhaling
heidegger’s rejection of dualist meta-

physics makes us all its bitches

smiling the text my ol’ quebster
sent last night the message i have
waited years to hear that he is
ready to fall in love and on top
of that she’s real for real smiling
the grass’s green smile at me the same
as all the athletes’ running & stretching
and forming an ecstatic swerving triangle
into chestnut street all lined with modern
means to ends technology and beyond
buildings a parking lot and blue blue
blue sky as much as any eye can
see anywhere so much gentleness
returning to a bug between the red
brick disappears into dirt i swear
it’s still happening this gentleness
on a library keyboard sounding like a creek
over stone bubbling inside so ancient
and true i contemplated calling my
mother just to say “i’m free finally
thank you this all wouldn’t have been
possible without you” contemplated
calling my ex just to say “i’m free
finally thank you you were right
all along i’m not a dark cloud
pervert i don’t know where that came
from but it’s gone” but instead
made no call to no one because
they all knew already it just has
taken a long time to happen this

absolute non-judgement this pure
being unafraid of death success fear
itself this limpid atmosphere still
animating the exuberance of matter
the same as it ever was i see now this
love this love this love under pushing
above and now i know quite simply
i will live as long as i will live not
longer not less for fear of somehow
disappointing potential itself how
absurd utterly absurd when there is
so much light to be distraught by the
chattering being of idle doubters when
in fact their doubting is lovely as is
our fear and our unconsciously concerned
ensnarement of the now trapped by
the past and lost in ambition business
ever spiraling around the now the gentlest
most peaceful present that i know
i must lose sight of so heart broken so that i
may rediscover with even fuller awareness’

-IanJamesW, Spring 2013

A Prayer

Ian Walters — Sun, 24 Mar 2013 05:36:27 +0000

Dear God,
Please take me into Your quantum warmth.
Sublimate me into infinite possibility.
Let the world blink, so that I may
again be an invisible electron
orbiting the nucleus of love.
I can’t make meaning myself…

O Lord,
are You the speed of light squared?
I have a mass for You.
Please multiply Yourself by me.
My brother and sister and father
and my mother and all my
friends have mass for You.
We can’t make meaning ourselves…

Elohim,
I have seen an agapic universe.
I know what must be done.
The meaning must be made.
Give me the strength and clarity
to let the meaning make itself,
because only the Creator creates…

Amen. Word I am word.

-Words, Winter 2127

I am a poem

Ian Walters — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 19:07:01 +0000

I am a poem written
long ago that goes like
this, ”Remember me?”

She is ineffable.
She’s useless to me,
I can’t eff her.

I am a poem
with eyes that
roll back.

You are the God I’ve been
waiting for to luh
vvluh vvluh vvme.

I’m um poem, poe
mop, palm,
I’m drunk.

We were going to
sing this but no one
ever taught us how,
plus you’ve been
pretty busy and all.
It’s cool, I mean
I’m a poem, I
don’t care, I just
do my thing.

-Words, Fall, 2127

You will be humbled

Ian Walters — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 04:58:07 +0000

I have expected
to be loved.
I have neglected
to be loved.
You will be humbled.
That you can expect
and be sure.

When all the pieces have been assembled
and the mind, that terrible giant on its mothership cloud of genius,
has blocked out the sun and adorned a shield of solar panels,
and glory seems about to imbue your story
completely, you will be humbled.

You will be humbled. Someday.
Until that day, enjoy your
dumb, dumb, dumb dance of knowing.

-Words, Fall 2127

In God’s Womb (the Strangeness)

Ian Walters — Thu, 10 May 2012 15:47:33 +0000

The Philadelphia skyline has more narrativity right now
than I can possibly conceive.
Sitting on the roof if the world starts to end
I just bend my neck back and around like a flower on a long, thin twig,
and I see the whole place. The sky that blocks out the fullness of space.
The panoramic, mothership cloud that blocks out the sun.
It’s the street below and the trees and the skyline and the whole sky that produces the Strangeness.
It’s the trying to separate a part from the whole. It’s the loneliness. The loneliness is the step before the Strangeness.
The Strangeness is the step before the beauty. If it overwhelms me then the wonder manifests: what a fantastic womb this all is.

Like at a dance club with a couple hundred people after a wedding reception.
Lights, and pop music, vibrate these days like never before. It feels like heartbeats.
Folks do strange things, and so do I, yet still I wonder if they know about the Strangeness.
Why am I standing so tall, my spine so full and so light? I was sober too.
Most folks were not sober and were lonely. But on the dance floor they dispelled that loneliness.
They channelled the Strangeness, whether they knew it or not.
And all of them there, and all the music videos to the songs playing on TV screens all around,
and having just seen a beloved friend of mine change her name in a patch of God-light,
overwhelmed me. What is this life but a manifestation of God?
Every moment, everything. There is respecting that, and there is not.
From there derives all morality, conscience. Innocence ever unfolds through time, a constant gateway through which anyone can view anything and see the truth.
It is my magnifying glass, and I am some sort of Sherlock Holmes in God’s womb.

-Words, Summer 2127

mmmkay (ode to featherskin)

Ian Walters — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 00:55:35 +0000

I threw the cupboard door through the living room straight into a sticky, musical nebula, because it was ABOUT TIME.
I had an epiphany while washing my hands in the bathroom about the nature of sexuality, identity and dynamic change so I laughed real hard and smiled at the mirror and slapped the counter all in the same moment. When my mind shifted an instant later – like a hangover in morning sun – I dried the watery mess I’d made with a towel.
I spent several excited hours coming up with a whole new story idea that’ll never get written.
I emerged from the tingly sea of infinity into my body.
I longed for the tingly sea of infinity in my body, so I had a LOT of sex and suicidal thoughts. More sex.
I tried to master glory, so I perceived too much art too quickly and nearly missed it all entirely.
Time passed over strange manifestations of perception and billions of forgotten facts.
The other day I lovingly discovered truth is calm and ever-manifesting.
I thought mmmkay and then relaxed.

-Words, Spring 2128

All the Metaphors

Ian Walters — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 02:32:25 +0000

In middle-school mathematics my second major
infatuation said he wanted to be
a bird so he could
fly. In our one-bedroom
apartment my ex-girlfriend believed
she was a tree so she
could identify herself
as something beautiful
and growing.
Right now I’d like to be
one of the icicles outside my window
so that I’d glisten blindingly
against a clear blue sky
and sweat and
drip and sweat
and drip,
drip,
drip.

Where do all the metaphors go
when we’re not identifying with them?
Do they blend seamlessly into each other
in the infinite sea of God,
or do they just disappear
like fireflies into the night?
All the metaphors are a flash
of heat lightning over the ocean.

Hold my hand.
Hold my hand in this holy land.
I don’t need you to understand,
understand?

-Words, Winter 2130