God's Silence

Returned to the silence

The fallow fields of ancestry

A resemblance of the tortured structures

Of manic barbarism

Carving the wood of your soul

Against the grit of concrete

Your dancing shoes

Having crucified your delicate step

And maybe you would usher me out of this life

For the age had ceased becoming

In the vessels of reflection

In the grace of sadness

Closing hands

Entangled the fingers of memories

Groping at the vines of sense

And loving the dissatisfaction

Breathing the heavy silence

Moved in metallic colours

And refracted the sounds of industry

The pits of other souls

But shadows for the tasting

For the trilling of the violin

On the tongues of madness

Licking the floor

And feeling for the semblance of a scavenge

At the close of the August sun

The cross of the Lord

Was the devil’s mousetrap

The bait by which he was caught

The Lord’s death

A time travelling

As the pigeon in the dead of summer

Huddled still against the cold

Ruffling its feathers

Witness the rape of Mother Earth by a man

And the joy of standing faster than god

Demystified

The preoccupation of class

An intelligence of wealth

Clung by the voice of reason

A spear to the heart of Christ

The close of the hunt for mystery

And a single horn blew unto the wind

That those wounds would come back to the next

They would be coming

I would demand

It was blessed fast

The raising of the stormy night

To the clashing of the egos

Fraught with their hovering dissension

Grasping at their sanity

’Lest the beauty of the truest moment

Was a weight too much to bear

In the air of light unveiling

A soothing black dress

That swept the floor in its humility

Collecting the dust of devils’ footprints

Pure of its abyss

Mocking the passes to her vanity

With a smile that would kill

For exhaustion of its tension

It was forced and beautiful

And it rained bullets on all the dry language

That had parched our throats for a lifetime

Had left us speaking soft

In the shadow of our intellect

Tore holes in the veil of innocence

’Las the colours poured through

Were the light of distant suns

Some other mind’s that was a tracing to

That was spinning on the floor

A crazy wind

In embrace of its collapse

I am the air of all that is light

In the farthest reaches of the black

Stepping in the circle of disconcerted flashback

The memory was blessed fast in coming

It was the world relieved of its soul

Having blessed kissed the night

And returned to God’s womb

The Holy Mother was nude

And sipping champagne

Wasn’t it just lovely?

A calling to the sleep of the city of dreams?

She was just a shadow dancing on the walls

In the wake of a fade to nothing

The dark edge of the light air thy bête noire

And I tasted the power of a woman

That broke the water of innocence

Was a little death of the heart

And a deep stare into the abyss of spaceless thought

Timeless glare

’Las she caught up in the afterlife

And we came to new ground

Bearing the scars of our rationed tragedy

A sunken history of the dearest reason

I passed my consciousness to the still emotion

Of the world’s soul

And fast my words had wings they came alive

Such motion is the beauty of all that grants us life

And once I’d spoken fallen empty

We met an embrace that would usher thee from life

Aforementioned

A bloodletting bite

Her fangs a brilliant evening harbour

And how much longer will they snap for you?

Unraveling that dearest reason

We had crystallized our descent

Our entanglement in the coy spider web

Šialenstvo

Follow the white rabbit all dressed in black

And it the taste of pure sadness

Is the joy of the dark life

The failure of wanting that which should not be

A kiss fell to the cheek

Of the shadows of the web

Like to wait on the dew of mourning

To exemplify the sagging of our intelligence

The hunch of our backs

’Las things carry us

And the angel Adonis passed our last dance with bliss

I ask

Was it the wood of your soul

Against the grit of concrete

Carving the momentum of your spin?

Or was it the tea that drove your intellect

To the edge of the abyss,

And the spark that frightened you dive deep in?

That is,

Was it the silence of God your calling?

No more reason to believe

But enjoy the life of night

It’s ringing

And ringing

Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Rest in Peace, My Ineffable

The tug of the other shore

Had stretched me thin

And I carried the weight of industry home

From the higher planes of cognizance

Fleshing along the stagnant reeds

In a veil of minimalism

Induced by an excess of waste

As the western prestige

In aspiration

Had shipped the fronts of globalized affairs to the east

Where reason became a binary code

Foreign to the western enlightenment

Now having learned to let go

And settle in ambiguity

Always waiting to see what unfolds

It was August on the western front

And the other shore had stolen away

Dreams became as evasive

As those Himalayan mountain summits

The intellect longs to dwell upon

If only for a moment of purity

If only for a sharper decay

That fed the soul with a simplicity

Such the withering of the body

In chemical trace

Could be held in disregard

Insofar as the perpetuation of things

Drove the division of sides

Offshore we speak in tongues

Discarding of the record

Lives on paper undone

And there was a wedge ’tween the parts we played

And the weight of industry had settled it in

But by force of reason

We cut through the haze

And we were casting the division of the spirit

Out to a sea whose waves

Danced with uncertainty but still in confidence

Yes we were forcing the closure of the dialectic

To carry on a reason

Dear to our traditions

And the world was losing its mind

It was beautiful to watch

From off the shore

All the lovely people

Swaying on the banks of the sea

The crowd an asset of some financier

Skewering humanity

And a steep slope to climb indeed

With such weight to thick the air

The beauty fell silent in the music

Rest in peace my ineffable

I’d tried so hard to reach you

Just another lonely night in Puerto Rico


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, In Search of Dreams

The molten glass apple seeped along

The darkening of dreams that wander stoned

Begging the everlasting stars to be reformed

’Las the dreams are empty in the middle of the night

And the ticks of time kept falling to the floor

Of a clockwork stairwell

Towards the bellowing heights

Where those vivid dreams that live

For the godless sky

Had closed their doors preemptively

With a deadbolt that should warn

The nocturne’s seeker

To never shy in thy intrusive meanderings

Rather step with tact

On the floor of the cathedral

To the banal rhythm of a mocking bird’s prayer

That sung the shells of all his brethren

Whilst drenched in their blood

Whispering of an ocean somewhere in the depths of love

A mountainous submerged contention

Staring at the walls composed thy scenery

For argumentative sake’

A mere conceptual imposition

And they the dreamers rose to catch the moment

In the dust of their empty hands

Kneeling under the weight of their faith

And reaching desperate for the sanctuary of reason

To wash like a river

The desert sands to whitened chalk

I must have been dreaming

As I marched along to the pace of orange elephants

Setting to flame the steeple of rationality

And the bellowed effect

Of the bells that burned their somber chime

Caught the hedgerows of the garden

Contrived of the language

That sought to undermine its own creation

The objective betrayal of the human creator

By the hands of a formulaic essence

Could no longer hold to the dogma of its mathematic

But wandered into irrationality

Climbing the stairwell to the underground

And listening to the stares of ghosts that dwelled

In the parched shatter of a church of industry

A perch for the vultures to land

And hunt the raw fibers

Of the black night below

Where the dreams were empty glasses

In the shimmers of the stars

And the sacrament it flowed

In the veins of shards

Which lay to covering the motive

Having lost the shine of a reason to dream

Which lay broken

Waiting on the sun to warm the dark

And bear a light wave of reformation


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Seven Sins of Reason and the Selvage

Complimenting NO!R New York City's Seven Sins of Reason, 

a book of poetry contemplating God's boredom after the Seventh Day of Creation.


http://www.noirnewyork.blogspot.com/

NO!R SEVEN SINS OF REASON 

SATURDAY, 8 SEPTEMBER 7pm-2am 

$10 at Door

   Posted by Rachel Wilkie | Ezra Mabengeza No comments:

Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Eastern Capitalism

Reality was a fresh squeeze perpetual
In the shadow of the city of dreams
The jade of New Amsterdam
Wrought from the palaces of Vienna
In the cathedral of a home
Climbing with the vines of the ego
A temptation to cover
Thy nude embrace
And the glass apple was melting beneath the sun
Set through the rift of the bay
Like the great white and gold fleet a sailing
And a western light was calling
To the rising of the east
On the loose strands of capital investment to cut
And the long debts of immediate return to meet
The ambiguities of olden souls
Alleviated in the measure of enlightenment
And forced to dance in a communal reason
The severance of the ego in a united existence
Upon the alignment of demeanour
A façade of mutual agreement
Superimposed unto itself
In order to dissolve into the machinery of legalese
A misanthrope
A harlot of high esteem
For the absence of any attachment
And drew many a groping phrase
To let them go into the solitude of thy night
Like no one was ever calling thy name
Out from an ecstatic moment
Wherein the ego becomes to the world
A simplicity tending to nothing
The limit as approaches zero
The product of emptiness and a variable whole number
That is
Emptiness always reproduces its own
The world becoming to the ego
Should the ego monetize itself
In the columns of an expense report
Generating one nuance at a time
Stripped of entropic potentiality
And by force of reason to fall in line
A dynamic structure of one’s imagining
Drawing the commune to season

How long were we sleeping on the harvest for?


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Step Up

The witches sat in an intellectual circle
Collecting their charms
For witty gestures of the abyss
To cast into the souls of their desires
Fishing for a surreal evening light
To slant through the gray summer haze
And stray the clouds
To return their ephemerality
Pour from the hands of their blessed gods
A wealth of dark wisdom
From the inner reaches of the ego
Struggling to maintain its image
Consistently against the wanderings of the mind
A mystic, Hispanic osmosis
That drove a coy, harsh silence
Into the shallow smiles of the lookers
A comedy of the true spirit
Spinning like the wind
In the plaza of the golden elephants
Dreaming all the way back to India
Where the fountains gushed
And spouted of the east
And children came to play
I was playing in the empty forests of the west
The fronts of easy despair
Watching the image unwind
In a crisis of economic confidence
All Bohemian contracts satisfied
And an alleviation of the sin
Devil’s kiss
To hold a light in dark places
Washed out and unstrung
Unraveled by the needle
From which the canvas was sewn
The betrayal of a reason
Akin to the falling of the angels
From the shots of rain
Soaked with lust
For the inner movements straining resonance
Out from the skin of reality
Stepping to the structure
Upon a relief of chaos
That congealed the crevices of a loose mentality
Wherein darkness might (rain/reign) in the moments
From the voice of the muse of logic
The blessings of the corporate gods
Come through in a cool standing
Basking in the aura of the current fashion
Like it were something sacred
Something to be left untouched
Unmoved


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Stutter the Violins

Stutter the Violins, a short film

In the dissemination of a little life’s work
The stutter of the violins
Was silenced in the cool flow of things
A tango on the pavement
Echoed in the ice
A crystalline nature of mathematics
The columns of numbers
That define the power
Like the pillars of an ancient temple
To gods that danced with men
That now step to the product of enlightenment
In the digitization of symbolism
The mathematization of the arts
Or the revelation of the formulaic essence of nature
A linguistic necessity
In the patterns of the molecules
That give birth to life
Upon each and every conception
No child of the universe forsaken
In a squander of love
I let go of the rain
To dance in the hood of darkness
Thinking in the palace of light
To dwell on the quiet edges of the streets
Working on the conceptual rim of the castle
That would stand in lieu of peace
For the satisfaction of the irrational number
The chaos that trails off to eternity
From the most definite structure of a reason
Unraveling the mind
And cue the violins

‘Stutter the Violins‘ is a short film casting elegance on the struggle of structure and chaos.
Filmed and Edited by Kevin Yee, Thomas McGovern, and Sean Keane.
Featuring rollerblading and poetry by Jason Greendyk.
Incorporating J. S. Bach, Violin Concerto No. 1 in A Minor, BWV 1041 I. Allegro,
digitally remastered by Jason Greendyk.
/
‘Stutter the Violins‘ is a part of the full length film, The Shock Video.
It is a byproduct of The Apple Juice, the epic poem of rollerblading by Jason Greendyk.
The Apple Juice is dedicated to Sean Cullen, creative of the infamous ‘The Apple’ film series and mastermind of INRICLOTH.
The musical component of ‘Stutter the Violins’ has been featured in NO!R NEW YORK‘s Ceremony of Innocence, December 2011.
Love and a taste of The Apple Juice to BLK DNM, KOEK NYC & I Roll NY .


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com