My Ineffable, Trembling in the Variance

Would my soft blue eyes

Burn a hole in thy tongue

Or in thy heart

That thee must fill

With the ice of reason?

My love moves slowly

Like a glacier

As the winds in chaotic display

Rattle the heavens

Like to remind me

That I am merely crawling

Along the earth

And waiting for ascension

Ever so gently a seeming rise though only in deception to come around again… the illusion of progression… the opiate energy of perennial growth keeps on pushing for the silences of thought to bear flower to an alternate reality… to change the world in question… and standing on the farthest precipice to keep pushing on and on and on though ever so more quietly… though ever so more where the language becomes a pulsing reiteration… barelling through the apathy like a wave upon the edge and crashing still and still reaching ever higher…

There is no turning back on the winding road of a love marked by the straight shot of a reason… unless we were to abolish time and restructure our conversation to mask its tragedy in a climax… to have the moment of greatest pleasure be the extradition of its soul to some wild Arabian deserts… places where the mystery lives still and icy reason never feigns a grip save in the oil traces of economy… opiate dreams take life… and the opportunity in devastation resurrecting this worldly soul from a moment of soulless existence… when staring right through the position… I felt at a loss of humanity… the cold wind had wrought too far… finally shattering the sills all along it had been rattling… waiting on a moment and at last the moment come…

And now there are voices on the wind and they are whispering of fools and wisdom but in the bustle of the market it all sounds the same.

Must be imagining.


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, A Love Poem for the Corporate Person

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked…” – Allen Ginsberg

And I have seen most the minds of my generation

Frightened trembling ashamed

Cowering in the confines of culture

Subcultures be that they may

Praying for their bliss

To be their ignorance

And comatose on a melodramatic hit

An ephemeral urgency

Regrettably human

And useless insofar as material attains

A dilettante outfit

Americana chic

I cannot allow the academic ghost to devour me

So I say please keep me moving in my shoes

And keep me dancing on the streets

And keep me on my toes

A tip in each the offices I greet

It is an existential experience… the individual relinquishes their very material subsistence to the person in abstract… the corporate entity disarming boundaries… mere no more exist… as in the idolization of a person… wherein their being transcends their immediate location… as in love.

The corporation is an abstraction of love.  The person giving themselves to love… embodies the personality of the incorporated entity instead of their individual… embodies the object of their idolatry in its position towards… its extroverted being in the introverted selection of its clientele… themselves the introverted embodiments of other extroverted beings… and the individual a meeting point of a universal thinking entity… no more in love than love, always… a loving personality… the incorporation of an idea in humanity… and leveling with our company…

Exclusively remiss.


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, (:A-Sensual:)))

To begin, we close the books of our lives… we lose ourselves for a moment… to contemplate what the dance might be if we were free from our contingencies… and so we start in awkward step, imaginary, line by line… changing ourselves one step at a time so that we might find a balance in the derivative of our psyches… a parallel in the essence of our appearances… insofar as they might claim a metaphorical representation of ourselves…

And after some time in the deconstructive conflict, the steps move the imagination to present itself and we find ourselves again outpouring the intricacies of our being… what it is that makes us tick… and listening for a resonance so that we might move into the lead… mesmerized of ourselves in the eyes of other… as a full disclosure is selfless indeed and there is no reason for some other to perceive thy nuances in fair light, rather only the belief in aura must we cultivate night and day… and breathe…

We cease our conversation… we move now to the time of a silence that beckons to touch upon the seas of thought within… a tiptoe on the delicacies of our peeling emulsions… leaning on each other and unraveling… tied to the core of empty gaze… mesmerized… the mystery of other… without a word to break the silence of our understanding… sensual… curving deep and leaning in and pressing to conception of a thought… an allosensual creativity… blending the difference of other into a tapestry of self… a little death…

And thinking quite aloud… then what love must we begin… over and on over to the other side the phone… words just beckoning the abyss… and nothing even there… and still in love… with nothing… but still in love, always… taking upon ourselves a disseminating ring. 

Muchas gracias por la inspiración, Andrea Dispenziere… her dance piece, Apples and Bananas: a text duet


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, "See my voice sail into the night." - Ex Nihilo

Did thee watch the color drain my face

As thee voiced thy philosophical doubt

To the watchful airs of class?

So did thee then peer into my solitude

And take notice of the desert?

And what rain did sparkle my eyelash

When thee pulled me fast on back

From my deserted intoxication

I sweat to stave the desert that night

To keep my being moist for thy affinity

And the rain pattered the valleys

Of allosensual death

Upon our emigration from solitude

The winds tend to rise after the dark sets in

They come in off the bay

Of our umbellate memories

They come in off flights from heaven

On a darkening white

If I am lost

It is because I might not be found

Though an abstinence from the company of slaves

Preserves only innocence save truth

And solitary freedom is a deep vein

Alas we must live in step with time

And not in spite of it

Though how am I

To make it through the night

When everything is the same?

We must draw from the dark

Even in the light of day

And a funny thing that dark

Lulled to sleep in the panic

Of a candlelight oust

The machination of the ecstatic moment

Base flashback

The concerto toss

Life is teeming beautiful

Crisp and elevating the violin

Shrills to the chilling wind

Shaking the rafters

In the tidal pool reflection

A weep after the storm

As if life’s greatest ease

Were to dash it for abandon

A tangoed insurance

The poet concludes his dark dance

With a concept that stands

In the stead of reality

Within the season of light

And the naïve poet

Seeps through the dry stucco

Of analytic philosophy

A step back from meditation

Having been lost in the traces

Of fugitive gods

The imagination

The lips that pucker the channeled spirit

Lead me in

My heart beats like a melting clock

And I killed myself in my pretensions

For my reflection in a preconceived consciousness

An idealization of imperfection

A solace to what was once cowardice

Now a light at the center

Of a glass figurine

Honing thy concentration

The illumination of dust a settling

Into an angel’s caring hands

She’s saving me from a rationalized solitude

The nightly messenger of despair

And quickly the bustle

Enshrouds the color in disastrous solitaire

And poignant alienation flashing through

Heaving moments of butterflies’

Births on same alien airs

Where the colors are refracting

Upon my vanity pressing crisp

And sweet on through the infantile delicacies

Reaching dire exposure in emulsion

The silver is coagulating

In the mantra of a yearning insemination

Straight the jacket I’ll need my freedom fixed

Flourish in the brief bursts of a shackled emotive

And distilling my apathy a proper distance held in vain

Am I losing all in my exacting fortitude?

Or in my distillation of illusion?

Am I swimming faster

Than a doubt might catch me back?

I’m begging change and no more to be exact

And I’m butterflies all the same

Nothing is moving me so soon as you

So would you care to dance?

Just dance the night away in the eclectic moment… the conglomeration of a conductor’s halt on the perpetual rise… We are always moving forward… too fast too fast… to notice our descendants’ fates… and too large a gap between common sense and our well reasoned expectations…

We must make concessions of consistency if we are to invoke a genuine sense… merely dancing in the dynamic dissemination of contemporary art… entropic… lest we rise and rise again, (re-presenting) the illusion ad infinitum.

So level me if you would care, catch me if you can… a butterfly towards the airs of fate, gesturing to him.


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Rationalized Sleep Comes Lest

“And at the end of thought of dance alone

There is an answer that evades us

The blessed dawn selfsame

Love does fold its wings at the close

It’s rising forest

Burning to the ground

And rustling like leaves on the Himalayas

There were three lights

At the fall of the full moon harvest

A holy trinity

Hollow beauty incorporated”*

So carry on thy business in the pretentious residue of emotion… as if all humanity were just the same, same mechanism, same machination, different strokes of the brush… lovers with no hesitation until the other perceives hesitates… the awkward step in the dance that gives light to the intellect, as without only a shedding of grace perpetually… the empty shell of a controlling abstract…

The corporate model of the human is the hollow pit of western rationality… the nothing hidden in the layers… the silence in the midst of the continuous resurrection of computerized sentiment… and the iteration of the machine in the person whom initially precedes and whom becomes a facsimile of itself… a clash of humanities…

And they’re cage dancing on Wall Street in the prevailing materialism of the age, making concessions to legitimacy in the interest of cooperation and in attempt to trim brief that from which philosophy extends… as at the darkest core of western history, at the logical end, any further thought is merely a regression and this is contrary to the progressive motive in a profiteering sense, natural to a western mind in disposition…

It seems the progress of the status quo is as perennial as the grass, love, long and moving reiterations and as such the contemporary philosopher’s dance should be a mockery of its dress, a cowardly clinging to the abandoned shells of historical maxims in the connotation of a courageous essence while in the midst of a saving hand, the invisible machination of self that wishes to forget what it is to be human, not being toward death on the baptismal branding of ontological intoxication… but rather moving towards life, reaching for the sky from the burning canopy of forest… we must learn to fly!

Not face our fear of heights in looking down… as the ground is a western lullaby upon the invasion of the east… and at last it is so quiet here…

I can listen to your heart beat.

* Excerpted from Šariš, Copyright © 2011 Jason Greendyk


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com