The Induetsu

...

The Induetsu were a Native American tribe that lived in the desert region of Utah known as Monument Valley, a region known for its strange rock formations. These rock formations, set against the aesthetic backdrop of desert monotony, were held by the Induetsu to be extremely significant and helped form their peculiar religious beliefs and even more peculiar social customs. They saw the monuments as being a type of door to the spirit world. Like most early civilizations, their housing structures simply featured openings that functioned as doors rather than the object we commonly think of when we think of a door, a “nothing” set against a “something.” The monuments are “somethings” set against “nothing.” As could be easily guessed, desert life can be harsh, food and water are hard to come by, and much of one’s life is dedicated to work to keep the society alive and well. The religious concepts arising out of such a life bear many similarities to our familiar Judeo-Christian concepts of a utopian afterlife of Heaven, a realm they referred to as Onglata. Onglata was a paradise where none of the earthly problems applied, where there was plenty of food and water, where people were happy and did not have to work.

Whereas the Judeo-Christian tradition arrived at moral codes for individual living that, if followed, would allow a devotee upon death to be reborn into a perfect life in Heaven, the Induetsu failed to arrive at a concept of an afterlife and instead strove to literally pass through the spiritual doors into the world of Onglata in this life. Their technique was breathtaking. During a child’s upbringing, lessons on the glorious Onglata were frequent, easing the difficulty of living under such harsh conditions. The transition to manhood was marked by a ritual that was repeated every year by those able and willing, a ritual of trying the door. The Induetsu had succeeded in designing catapult-like contraptions, not for siege warfare, but for painful spiritual journeys. Men would be hurled against the impenetrable surface of the rock monuments in the hopes of breaking through to Onglata. Many survived particular occasions of the ritual, but it was rare for men to die for any other cause...

River God

I found peace on a river, once

Floating calm, the birds my guide

No shipwrecks to avoid

No provisions to buy

Found but not kept

For snaking rivers end in teeth

And that one ends beneath...

Over the falls, there I fell

Falling, drowning in mid air

Tall rock standing stoic

Empty reasonless stare

How hard it is

To keep what's found! Futile notion

To float without motion...

To float and never drown

Like hearing silenced sound

Still, occasionally at night

Passing between the deep voids

I feel the distant hope

Of some alien joy

Heaving a sigh,

Forgetting what's behind, what's left

For to learn foreign tongues,

To learn to re-invest;

This will be the real test

Rain

This might be edited in the future, not sure. For now, here it is.

The day is rain; the rest is mud

But artificial roads beckon me,

Inviting me to my destination- had I one

A chorus of ambient metal courses

through the fingertips of my soul

I wander semi-familiar paths

And choices present themselves

And decisions are made in a flash

The flash of photography;

Hardly voluntary

One right-wrong turn and I am

I am heading toward my grandmother;

An act as old as me- but cruel memory!

This is a resting place,

Mere fabric, not reality

Fabricated photography;

Hardly voluntary

Time!

Cruel wicked bastard!

Not our fathers' son

The eraser hunting the Word,

The Word that pens creation

From the eroding mountain tops

To the depths of memory

The erased, the undone

The forgotten evaporating

Rising up to make new rain

So mountains will be afraid

The day is short, the rest is rain

The rain that closes roads

Is the rain that is time that is death

Walking in circles, seeking nothing

Walking and walking until we lose breath

Lose the photography,

And breath is become voluntary

Lose the photography

And life is become voluntary

Science

The old man walked once again into his classroom. A new set of anxious third graders glanced at him, but mostly continued chattering amongst themselves and generally being children. He sat at his desk, and introduced himself. The children mimed hello, and with a bit of effort he was able to hold their attention.

"I want to start this year with a story. Now, this isn't just a story, this story has meaning. There is a moral to this story. Does everyone know what it means for a story to have a moral?"

This elicited some stubborn response, but that was normal. Just as the old man was about to begin his story, the door to his classroom opened, and in walked an old student of his.

"Well hello Mr. Dockins, how are we today?"

"Professor Dockins actually! I've just been accepted as a professor at our own University here in town."

"Well congratulations Professor Dockins! I'm glad to hear it. You came in just as I was about to tell our eager minds here a story. Please stay!"

Dockins smiled and took a seat near the rear of the room.

"Alright, so here is the story. The setting is a mysterious forest where the animals live much like we do, talking to each other, working, living together. In this community lives a turtle, a patient, hard working turtle, and his neighbor is a rabbit. Now this rabbit is known as being the fastest animal around, and one day the rabbit says to the turtle,

'I've won another race today! No one can beat me, I am the best, I am always the winner.' To which the turtle replies,

'You are very fast, it is true. But no one wins always.'

'I do!,' the rabbit replies, 'who could beat me? You?'

'Perhaps. Let's make the race be all the way around our forest, and I shall beat you.'"

The old man looked around, content in seeing that all were still paying attention. He continued.

"The day of the race was set, and all the forest was there to watch the starting line. The signal was given, and then off they went! The rabbit sped out of sight immediately, and the turtle scuttled along at a solid pace. As the race went on, the rabbit quickly put distance between himself and the turtle, but after only making it halfway, fell down exhausted. The forest was very large, and the rabbit had never run for this long before. He lay panting, and after a while decided he must have a drink. So he walked off the trail to a stream, drank some, then fell and went to sleep. Meanwhile, the turtle scuttled past him, and finished the race, first. The rabbit awoke and flew along the trail to the finish line, only to find the turtle had already arrived."

"Ah, old teacher, such wonderful stories. But perhaps you didn't know- such a story is impossible! Rabbits reach 30 miles per hour running, turtles only three or four. Unless the rabbit slept for days, the turtle would never catch up, and the turtle must rest also!"

The old man looked at his old student and frowned. The children all laughed and began to hop around the room, seemingly deciding that rabbits were most wonderful creatures. Oh to run that fast! Oh to have that bushy tail!

"Well, I must be off. The university needs me- good seeing you again."

The old man sat back down and rubbed his forehead. Then, standing back up, and regaining the students attention, he began a lesson on the animals of the forest. How fast they could run, what food they ate. Months went by while the students diligently learned about ecosystems.

The next semester, the old man came back to the classroom to the set of anxious third graders, who continued chattering amongst themselves and generally being children. He sat at his desk, and said hello. The children mimed hello, and with a bit of effort he was able to hold their attention.

"I have a story for you children, about two turtles. One was notorious for having races with the other turtles in the forest..."

In Through the Out Door

How vocal are the dead souls

In the minds of those looking back!

They set flames to the windowsills

Through which they peer

While day gives out

And cedes its light

To the cold, dark night

Still...

Still as the specters

Unmoved by vanishing vision.

...

How silent the living

Who despite their incessant chattering

Incessant bumbling

Move about symbol-less

Draw no conclusions

But (noun),

and (ad_) (verb)

...

How evil,

How vile the language!

How prone to illusory function!

A disintegrating bridge,

A raft of sponge.

We go in through the out door,

We who learned not to speak.

We go in through the out door,

And climb back over turnstiles.

Hammer

Every time the hammer strikes the thumbs flinch

And all these forces inside my brain

Are telling me to build a thousand houses, a thousand for you

But oh the fear that they should all fall around you

Oh the fear that they should all collapse

And kill a thousand men

Hands won't cannot do this

Clumsy broken all of this

To take a step Oh the fear

Oh the fear

These sands of mine are running down the sound is all I hear

Echoes from ahead are beating in my brain

And through my feet I feel the ground pulling me, pulling me

Down and All I see are holes in the ground

Down and all I see are stones with names

*

There's a trap between the thought and act, ropes around my feet

Vicegrip on my eyes that see but one thing

Image in a mirror, aged a thousand years

Oh the eyes returned are empty dead and dull

Oh puzzles like a fool with an empty skull

Hands are frail and hold a scarf

Clumsy, broken, all of this

To take a step Oh the years

Oh the years...

There's this smoked room.
It's coughing up a few more cheers, a bit more clapping.
Two lonely souls finishing up measured rhyme,
Tonal appeasement,
And a bit of distraction, a few beers is given in return.

Now this smoked room will vomit 10 or 15 people,
Give it a few hours.
They'll fall into cars,
they'll manage their way home.

The real trick, the real laugh here
There's a graveyard down the street;

They Will add to the numbers
But before that they'll see
Family and friends added to the registry