Two recent Poet Outlaws posts got me to ruminating on what a stupid, ornery, 81-year-old man, who ran away from the Birmingham Country Club and the Tiny Kingdom, does to keep from going batshit crazy, besides playing a lot of bridge and chess with other old farts.
Afternoon Song
By: Charles Baudelaire
POETIC OUTLAWS
JAN 15, 2024
I adore you still
O foolish terrible emotion
Kneeling in devotion
As a priest to his idol will.
Your undone braids conceal
Desert, forest scents,
In your exotic countenance
Lie secrets unrevealed.
Over your flesh perfume drifts
Like incense 'round a censer,
Tantalizing dispenser
Of evening's ardent gifts.
No Philtres could compete
With your potent idleness:
You've mastered the caress
That raises dead me to their feet.
Your hips themselves are romanced
By your back and by your breasts:
By your languid dalliance.
Now and then, your appetite's
Uncontrolled, unassuaged:
Mysteriously enraged,
You kiss me and you bite.
Dark one, I am torn
By your savage ways,
Then, soft as the moon, your gaze
Sees my tortured heart reborn.
Beneath your satin shoe,
Beneath your charming silken foot.
My greatest joy I put
My genius and destiny, too.
You bring my spirit back,
Bringer of the light.
Exploding color in the night
Of my Siberia so black.
Sloan Bashinsky
Writes Sloan’s Newsletter
I think I remember having such experiences with some women in a time gone by. I don’t think I dreamed it. I hope I didn’t dream it. No, I didn’t dream it. Today, I dream of other things viagra has nothing to do with. I have a prescription to a viagra generic, but it sits on the shelf where I put it after my pee pee doctor prescribed it, on the chance it might come in handy... someday. I have not practiced with it, not wanting to get all hot and bothered with only my hand to massage it.
I suppose I would re-write, cast this into verse, make it a poem, but then, that’s now how she came out of me, so she is what she is.
Once she massaged this up out of me onto a page of my writing journal...
He feels deep beauty in the dark pool from which his writings flow. She clings to him like fine silk, precious oil. She feels solid, compressed, like... a black pearl, growing ever larger from inside out with each stroke of his pen, pushing her precious waters over her banks into his dreams and life.
Before that, she had massaged this up out of me...
Who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, be cast into verse? Yes, please tell me, who, just who, invented that really silly rule? Surely it wasn’t the maker of the first stone - otherwise, there’d be no stones to break all those slavin’ rules!
Today I posted at my substack something entitled "What Israel, Hamas, America and the rest of humanity need is a massive estrogen injection”. What fueled it really pissed off a man, and a woman I didn’t know joined in and gently yanked his chain a bit.
https://sloan.substack.com/p/what-israel-hamas-america-and-the
A Single Dreamer
By: Joseph Campbell
POETIC OUTLAWS
JAN 17
Schopenhauer, in his splendid essay called “On an Apparent Intention in the Fate of the Individual,” points out that when you reach an advanced age and look back over your lifetime, it can seem to have had a consistent order and plan, as though composed by some novelist.
Events that when they occurred had seemed accidental and of little moment turn out to have been indispensable factors in the composition of a consistent plot.
So who composed that plot?
Schopenhauer suggests that just as your dreams are composed by an aspect of yourself of which your consciousness is unaware, so, too, your whole life is composed by the will within you.
And just as people whom you will have met apparently by mere chance became leading agents in the structuring of your life, so, too, will you have served unknowingly as an agent, giving meaning to the lives of others.
The whole thing gears together like one big symphony, with everything unconsciously structuring everything else.
And Schopenhauer concludes that it is as though our lives were the features of the one great dream of a single dreamer in which all the dream characters dream, too; so that everything links to everything else, moved by the one will to life which is the universal will in nature.
Sloan Bashinsky
As my life progressed, and I moved away from the forms, structures and programming of my upbringing, I became aware that I had no fucking clue what really was going on and that making plans was an invitation to hear lots of cosmic laughter, and although it took a while longer, I finally concluded that I still didn’t know what the fuck was going on and there was no point in making plans about anything beyond a dinner date, a chess game, an out of town visit to one of my daughters and her families, which might or night not happen, but I had to at least try.
As I look back at it all, yes, I see tapestries being woven within tapestries. I see lots of interesting coincidences, which might not have been coincidences at all. I see that when I tired to write fiction, every story was a story within myself. There were no surprises, on mine, to discover parts of me I had lost, forgotten, thrown away, or never even knew where there. I realized in that way, perhaps God and I were somewhat alike, we both created to discover who and what we really are?
Looking back, I see at least eight deep relationships with very different, remarkable women, who somehow opened up something new in me, which had not known was there. They enriched my life, and it was not exactly easy for them being with me, because it was not exactly easy for me being with me either.81, I ass-u-me my romancing days are over, but what do I know? I’m just a stupid, ornery, old man, who has no fucking clue what’s going to happen next.
But, alas, I must confess that I do take some measure of perverse pleasure disturbing the not entirely peace and quiet of the status quo.
For example, last night, I shared The Hurt Feelings Report below with an Australian woman bearing some aboriginal blood, who had approached me about something I had posted online about the Melchizedek training, and we had chatted on Facebook private messenger ever since. I figured she would chuckle when I labeled The Hurt Feeling Report a weapon of mass destruction, but said she didn’t find it funny at all, and I figured she might not care much for the Melchizedek training, as I experienced it 😎.
I’m 81. I was born into Christianity, and after a while I stopped attending church, and later became interested in the New Age, and that didn’t work, and one day I prayed for God to help me and I offered my life to human service, and not long after I woke and saw two beings I figured was angels hovering above me in the dark, and I heard, “This will push you to your limits, but you asked for it and we are going to give it to you,” and I remember the prayer, and then I saw a white flash and was physically jolted by something electrical and then twice more, quickly, and the beings faded out, and my body was shaking and sweating. Thus began for me what I later was told and shown in mostly grueling phases, that I was being brought into the Melchizedek training, somewhat described in the New Testament letter to the Hebrews, which says Jesus is high priest in Melchizedek, which is an angelic Order. I was told Melchizedek comes to a planet in trouble, to prepare the it to receive the Christ, and Christ does not come to a planet without Melchizedek, and Mary Magdalene was of the Order Melchizedek. The author of Hebrews is generally thought not to be St. Paul, as their writing styles differed greatly. The letter was written to Jews, who had accepted Christ, but were falling away because the discipline was so difficult. The author tells the audience they should be teaching, they should eating meat, but they are still drinking milk, and warns them of the peril of leaving the path and urges them not to turn away from the cleansing of the Lord. The discipline is administered from the Spirit by the Melchizedek Order to some people the Order has cut out of the herd. The Order has nothing to do with human religious sects. The people chosen are put through endless rough tests, which use the goings on of this world as gists for the mill and coal for the furnace, which those people come to know all too well. Their views of everything are changed by the discipline. They become in, but not of, this world. They know they are conscripted, captured, and the grave peril of turning away from the path they have been given.
sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com
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