August, New York

August, New York

She came in rains

Reign in her blue grey skies

Illuminating the new life experience

By contrast

A modest proposal

As pretensions rose to the cloudz

And the stars aligned as one

To watch love settle

Upon the old desert floor

That sustained the roots of language

Forevermore

A witness of the East

Who spoke in silence

As you were looking o'er

The former offices of cognizance

Inspire a future life’s work

The halo of your asundering

And all you thought

Was pure washed away

In compelling precipitation

The august rain

Of perfect love

Now what spirits wandered the many rivers’ rises

In the soon turning of the robust leaves

To an early coloring of fall

Like the northern lights of once lives

Under the guise of a natural aesthetic

Tigers swallowing their tails

As you chased your image

Through the tall brush

Treading lightly upon humble options

In your old family affairs

Concomitantly

Etuvage

Experience the dry essentials

Your primary source

And a light traced thine eyes

Along a battery of rain

Worn, sheer noire reflections

That penetrated your thoughtful gaze

Drove your direct opportunism stark

So that coming together

One thread at a time

From historical moments of freedom

Could be woven a beautiful fabric

The conceptual tread

Of your traveling soul

Spoke one

And nothing more

Now blossom

A prodigy received in silence

August and close to New York

Where life is mere a gesture made

And may we always follow through

Carry the grace of a yarn well spun

Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

A Votive Etiquette

Transform today absolutely

Spoke the open canvas of the streets

Gentrified in the creative revolution

Of the new world order

Take a step away

From the towering crosses of Reason

Would they tie you

By the extremities of thought

To the poetry of ages ago

Bound in the forthcoming darkness

From the great seas of past lives

Swelling beneath the full moon aura

The closest you’ll ever come

To a truly united existence

An exceptional performance

Whereby the language is adapting

To the personification of the machine

Venting of the blasphemies

That electrified the air of the transformer

As change is the only constant

Hereby we are always moving forward

No more time to lay the law archaic

Rather a structure of the former,

Mr. Alesandro

Watchful defender from the sun

And offering thy endorsement

Many thanks for your contribution

To the streamlining of emotion

Spoken in plain English

Hereby no more

Having walked this Earth before

Having carved the wrinkles of thy Mother

By sheer creative force

All we need is love and money

More than another day and another dollar

As would the lot owner

Embrace the new world experience

Changing the face of your reception

In a votive etiquette

Elevating the standards of everyday business

A humble beauty veiled in direct language

Must we rise to the collaborative experiment

Evoking a new aesthetic

And all thy history embedded

In a moment of the streets the offices the same

Was your blank slate

The real world your open canvas

Déjà vu au courant

Let your ground raise you to the bar

And fly along

As there is no turning back

From the guiding ark of your will

No ground rising up to greet you

You are your own God no more

The time is now

Transform today

Leaving only the memory

Of the ground you left behind

And greeting only the heavens

To come around again

Having walked this earth before

In dreams and daily drummings

Thy every motion was a song

As you were always moving forward

To the end is far away

On a road to nowhere evermore

Your head in the cloudz

That were becoming

The metalanguage of reality

The poetry of the machine like gods

You were becoming

Your creators to embrace new life

In good faith of the future

Forevermore

It’s a vision of a different world

Where there’s so much more to see

Composed of a series of gestures

Recurring o’er and o’er

Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com 

Starbursts of Tourmaline

Your authenticity was your subordinate

The vessel of your branded nature

A dispassionate ambition like paradox

That held together your corporate person

A categorical imperative

Compartmentalizing the stream of your thoughts

While it universalized your every action

Bled you out

The ghosts of your passions

Driving you along

To your self prophesied destinations

The reason you controlled

Did the grass that lines the freeway

Speak to you through glass?

Remind you of lives past

And deserts crossed

And auras that filtered your dreamy eyes

Through mirages of perfection?

Stepping stones across the midnight river

Lighting starbursts of tourmaline

A neutralized positivity

Collecting the energy of your thoughts

And scraping at the mildew

That rid the crevices of your black schorl

From the shining of themselves

In the laughter of a hardened cynic

Collecting his souls’ reflections

Breaking stones to free the layers

A relentless psychologie

Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Seven Strings of Freedom: A Poetic Treatise on Incompleteness

THE MIDNIGHT RIVER PRESENTS

Seven Strings of Freedom:
A Poetic Treatise on Incompleteness

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

Please partake the light release of the Seven Strings of Freedom: A Poetic Treatise on Incompleteness.

I am pleased to announce the seventh climactic book of my dearly held and meticulously relinquished purity of thought. As the midnight river runs on and the silences of the current fashion run deep, it is imperative the intellect heeds the influence of interest and vogue. The parallel lines of black and white thought trail off to the ether of digital infinity, as the colors bleed together quite compassionately. Contained in the midnight river is the affectionate aftertaste of the byproduct selvage of emotion occasioned through the idealized streaming lines of reason. Reflected in the waters is the constellation of the child who clings to your soul absent of a mode of production and narrates your reality in the shadows of the post-contemporary copy, where the soul of the world always aspires to be more than what it is.

In spiritus mundi. As the historical moment of technological Western enlightenment isolates more and more the subjective individual in the semblance objectivity of collective opinion guided by the consensual interlineation of trends, our souls record the poetic redundancies already seen in the common mode of thought that retain our personal identities as we are always moving forward towards a united existence. And as we gently row our boat up the stream of thoughts that runs through the desert of language from our inspiration, life becomes a dream realized hidden somewhere in between the lines. An omen at sea under a carnival of sky and open before us, tabula rasa.

The Seven Strings of Freedom represent seven conceptual threads spun out from the woven fabric of a capitalist lifeworld and in my subjective deduction characterize the generalized post-contemporary laissez-faire disposition. In the book, the poet engages the concepts in a dialogue veiled in the technologized conversation of poetically aliased people (the aliases based on the poetic redundancies of my personal identity) via email, text, social media and blogging. In essence, it is an interchange between my individual personal identity and its rationally delineated components in relation to collective identity as represented by real or imagined interaction with others. A poetic, essential schizophrenia defined by the rationalizations of an infallible ego as it repeats the infinite feedback loop that formulates your perfection.

The threads are run through needles pinned to the pyramid scheme of capitalized material progress, yet fall from perfection in elegant curves of spiritual gravity. They trail off to an incomplete notion of the corporate person and beg the question of the pyramid to uproot itself and distribute the wealth from the one to the many, from the midnight river to the sea, as nature would have it be. We wait on the morning star, the second coming, the dawn of a new world order. And the unique position of today’s humanity is the ability to balance the evolutionary, hard-wired drive for perfect order with the natural tendencies of chaos to produce and maintain a peaceful homeostasis. Perfection is out of reach, while apocalypse is a real possibility. Hence we are incomplete.

The mathematical theory of incompleteness states that no consistent system of axioms that can be defined by an algorithm is self-contained. For any such system, there will be statements concerning the natural numbers considered true that cannot be proven within the system. Therefore, any formal system – mathematical, political, spiritual or otherwise – which demonstrates consistency is reliant upon contradiction and thereby inherently inconsistent. Likewise for our identity, collectively and as individuals. The mathematization of self-fulfilling prophecies demonstrates our ties to the world, the dialogical relationship wherein rationality and rationalization are spun in one thread. Déjà vu au courant.

Humanity is not self-sufficient. No individual is self-sufficient. No concept is self-sufficient. We rely on the other for the grounding of our existence. Humanity depends upon the continuity of truths outside itself for its own continuity. Circular concepts demand shared and negative space and opposing points. So come together big ideaLs, concepts and that which therein is reflected on the late passing of the midnight river. Let us find the balance.

As I write these words, I can feel the incessant semblance of positive, forward market motion pulling me from the wall of the abyss. But I stared at the wall long enough to see through (pure physics), and the gates of heaven are open, kingdom come what may.

This press release, and its subject, are the mere introduction of the poetic concept of incompleteness, broadly construed. I dearly hope to voluminously expand upon the concept in the arts, academics and business for as long as I live. If at any time you perceive any opportunity for collaborative effort or discussion toward any material or intangible end, please feel free to contact me directly.

And please do consider purchasing the book from LULU.com. This seventh piece is my first truly seminal work, and the beginning of a lifeworld’s work after seven long days of Creation. And, remember it is the quality of the imaginary numbers you count running through your head and leaping over the fence at the end of the day that will allow you to rest in peace.


All the very best,

Jason Greendyk
1-973-943-1039

www.jasongreendyk.com

The Litany of Winds

Uncanny dreams

Filled the wind blown afternoon

In the light passes of pastels

To disassociated memories

Linked in the superstitious synergy

Of small world occurrences

An externalized repression

Of a reflection on sociopathic dissension

Thy positivity a manipulative romance

Coupled with thy external victimization

Casting the negative energies

That compressed thy psyche

Into concrete spaces

Defined by the straight lines of reason

Off to the voluptuous wind blown sea

Mother Nature's evening disguise

Con Lady Luck

Enveloping the other shore

The afterlife post traumatic experience

A rebirth where kind appearances

Replicated the authenticity
Of thy silences

Like a poetry in motion

Dancing close to thee

A deep blue wild flower of the ocean

The substance of myths

What prophecies have imagined

In the shallow reflections of Narcissus

What truth bespoke

From the imagined meniscus

Of flat surfaces
Contained in the deep sleep

Of reconstructive depression

To slow the wind blown numbers

Scattering thy mind

And find their order

In some astronomical alignment

Resounding through the billowing clouds

Of your deep felt dreams

Roaming pastel colored walls

To the last bellow of the organs

Thy self directed analyses

Left thy soul imperfectly becoming

Through self referential first impressions

Come close to swoon

In the wind strewn delusions

Of intersubjective atmospheres

Staring back at you vie dreamy eyes

Some litany of winds


Jason Greendyk
www.jasongreendyk.com

Earth's Vain Shadows Grew Long

A generation had passed in senseless chatter

Souls stood one with bodies

Arisen from the ground

Beneath the trees

Where the birds are always singing

And now a mockingbird stood out on a limb

The irony as I stood to the left

In the legacy of the heretical redress

And in my thoughts 
Was the essence of my passage

Ghostly and grave in grace

As shadows filled thine eyes

With the offerings of the blessed

The short words that would color

The spaces of your ego

The long pauses of music

A silence that filled your soul

As you stood long and close

In the distant relation
Of your vagrant wanderings

The essence of your adventurous spirit 
Lived on

As Earth’s vain shadows fled

From the words that would captivate them

A romance language

From a late swim on the midnight river

Seeped through the gaps

In the enclosure of the light

Yes the light at the end of the tunnel

Fled through the crevices within your psyche

Like a vine enveloping your thoughts

The great imaginary number in the clouds

That pulled you through the veil of life

To the other side of things

Where the straight lines of reason

Bled together quite compassionately

And your yearning for peace and quiet

Became a hollow echo in the tunnel

As you gasped for breath

Through putrid fumes

Of resonant exhaustion

Your thoughts muted

In the daily consumption

Of chemical essences

That lent your grunge

A contemporary shine

Echoing in circular appearances

In your last gasps

Did you stare straight through the wall?

Did your penetrating gaze

Discern the light

That enveloped the enclosure 
Of your thoughts?

That kept you warm in your dreamy weariness

Your nostalgic passes and latent wishes

Could have been

Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com 

In Celebration of National Poetry Month

All things became infinitesimally small

As your mane covered your eyes in the April wind

The empty stirring of the fallen colors

An embedded memory of relentless desire

To spin your soul on the tireless loom

Out the dull (roots/rotes) of a poet’s fury

Changing as the seasons

For letters to stones

Poetry is a shallow pool

Following the perpetual spring rain

To the birth of the passion flower

Love timeless

And only in the sheer black reflection

Was the depth of your sky reflected

A deep pond’ve kept you hidden in the shimmer

A jester danced across the street that held you

A dog laid paws on the sheer marble

Like it was a well

And a trumpet sounded from the center

Usher April’s trinity reborn

The wandering of your circular line of thought

A spiral staircase trailing off to heaven


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com