Tango de la Materia, No. 39

Corporate philosophy
Is at which point
Does the theory (supercede/
Circumvent) its posture as model
And become a woman
Belief in the market
’Til the tides recede
Then betray
’Tis only the nature of emotion
To heed the shallow grip
It keeps us from the depths
Cannot honor the appeal
It keeps us (from/in/from in) the shadows
As we know the light too well
As we know the ineffable space
Of silent (posture/repose)
Where a word is naught
But a pronunciation in vain
In apropos a prose

Tango de la Materia, No. 38

To speak anothers' mirrors
Hollow space to breathe in conversation
The empty conscious soul
Pure chaos blesses silence' oriole
Shudders graceful shaking bestowal
A French roulette rushing
Ventures into (untouched abyss/
Unchartered territory)
Some entropy born in the efficacy
Control of mind and meditation
Drawn the structure
To be grasped in (motion/
Motive) strife
Alas but imitation
The (words/notes) written are just
The shavings of the sculpture
Smitten
A man gazes upon the stainless sea
Merging o'er the river
And what nothing is he thinking?
What necessary catastrophe?

Tango de la Materia, No. 37

Life is a strange bird below
I save my sadness
For my solitude
It's sweeter that way
Like glossy lips' rosy smear
On a glass of (arisen/rose) dale wine
All the more subtle arising kiss
To ridge she came to me
Like prophecy
A corporate restructuring
Encased me an asexual high
That milked my ravenous
Pregnant soul like churning butter
Her thick (stalks/thoughts) stem
From a lightless world
Whitened atrophy
The shining road
Was a bed of feathers in the morn
No more a numbing logic
All I want the air
To whisper to me
My love
She left in a hurry
And in moments
Rationalized delineation
I abandoned all my children
My angels stubbornly unborn
For the semblance of a child
In my dear so pregnant soul
I choked so rationally
The tears
Imagining her symbolized abortion
Red light timeless memory
(Relieves/relives) the grope
A ripe fruit plucked in confession
Is taking its last breath
(To/too) light
Warming on the cliff' side edge
Mezzanine of blue
Ocean her eyes are wandering
As she tastes the sunshine suit
The shadows of memories
Too true to time too true
So so lonely in the valley of death
Having chosen the (river/road)
A pregnant soul must fear in breadth
In his own shadow
Feathers to mistrust
The bitter viscosity a deeper breathing
The seething conviction
In contingencies of a stream (a-drift)
Does shelter the sweet asexual dismiss
My soul is pregnant and my penis reared
Thrusting castes of sheer asides
Besides my sadness salty brie
I've been sweating cheese
My pregnancy
Is killing me I sneer
Do not believe

Tango de la Materia, No. 36

She sat in the silence
Like a turquoise stone
Material still
Shattering confessional
Icy breath it harkens
Evaporating on trust
A feed to logic
The last emotion we deceive
Belief if only to blush
Our inhalation
Of parallel Brooklyn straits
For a moment to erase our life
All its depth a hollow cave
He read her like a bird
On a solitary om'n

Tango de la Materia, No. 35

Ever tire of passing torches to the night?
Burning long the fringes of thine image
Masquerading hushed sleep of death
Read this humid day
In eyes having met to absent prayer
A fruit ripe of its last nurture to breath
To follow sweet silent nothing
Thy holy ground
O deposition of thine emptiness
Wanting grip the magnolia scent
Off suburban rooftops
Sundried stretches of concrete
Pale the glittering beckon of profound boredom
The steady rustle of an absent wind
Cellar flower wrought to vine
Its climb to fermentation
Long the wall
The well of cellar wine
So called are drowning in the age
Just waiting for the stars align
And might speak an endless phrase
Slight too divine
That might dare to speak to hymn

NYC Street Invitational

A brief hiatus from Tango de la Materia to entertain a poetic rendering of the NYC Street Invitational, a rollerblading competition held on August 20, 2011 in the heart of Williamsburg, Brooklyn beneath the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Please take a moment to imbibe. 



A gunshot sounded in Brooklyn, beneath the monolith of freeway shining through the dust in a rising August heat. The angels from their roosts rose to the call and took to the heavens, convening flocks for a stormy, symphonic moment in the industrial afterthought now postmodern haven of the glass apple, a figurine of a city so driven by immediacy in its mad dealings as to appear, and merely then to be, quite natural.

These angels, elegant wisps of passion, and for this moment pupils of materialism, danced scattered, daring lines through the temporary ruins of a free market, broaching irrationally circular motions beneath that suspended monument of linear thought, the freeway standing tall. Endlessly smooth in their moments of grace, terribly brief in their moments of falling from. Freedom does not exist in the marketplace, but it does in dust storms.

Like lions of percept savoring viciously these short moments as pupils, as rather than those endless stretches of pawning, and indulging the imaginary immediacy as a higher plane of consciousness, in harmonic opposition to the linear ethic echoing from the concrete, they lunged, leaped, bound. Smoke filled the air, carved the skyline, as rounds of guns blazed into the setting sun, the flocks of crowd stifled in the clouds yet vibrating in a collective consciousness.

Swift feet galloping on the film of sooty air as if untouchable, without boundaries, as if the angels themselves were nothing more than a feast of ineffable concept. Pure and empty they dusted the symbolism as if life after death were here and now, material. Mind over matter incarnate. The angels the conquistadors of the mind/body gap in real moments. Wielding blades these martial dancers convened this august day, skating dark, chaotic etchings, in raw immediacy, the imaginary point, into the linear ethic aforementioned.

And we the people listened to the scraping, the howling of the dust of moments wherein angels take flight. Scatter to the streets. Love is in the air in this New York City heat. Ciao ciao!

Please see The Apple Juice on the Philosophie tab of this site for a book of poetry regarding this manner of rollerblading. Enjoy!


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Tango de la Materia, No. 34

To betray the heart
Is not the same no
As to betray the reason
The revelation Corazón
To overcome the deities of sense
In essence retracted as weakness
At the limit of (sanity/
World dependence/
The child of the spheres)
A reasoned thievery
Having reasoned well
The stead of the heart
A fragile thing
Invisible razón
To reap the rational waste
Of hopeless romance
Savouring the emotional taste
Of a love not one's own
Having reasoned it there
As off some undulating song