I posted this before on my previous name.. but as of late I've seen devastating effects of mental illness in my friends & even once & again myself.. so this poem has a particular resonance with me.. It's rather obscure, but perhaps you can find some personal value in it? "A's Ascent" by Derrick Stuart May-June 2003 It is a litany of Absolute Zero- poised phenomenal on the poems' couch for yet another virtual evening fresh from the backroom's debauchery We thought you were naive (then) but you have crossed the poles more & more successfully than I. You're an Actor! & should be proud of your accomplishments, 'specially at your age. One sneak-peak at your inherited serenity, promised & restored for ALL ETERNITY everlasting- instant herbal decline; the dance's predestined improvisation reveals elder marriage- you're gonna be real important someday. I'm impressed by the diversity of Life. JESUS DIED FOR OUR SINS Suicide was, when rattled by the rush, bewildered, drowning! confounded even with issues blatant, flamboyant with turmoil; At the end of thy Rope- (just like him!)- "everyone's tryin' it"- THIS IS WHY! It ceases to be by metaphysical randomness all defined without specification- like the wager, a future without a hymen. All canceled by headache. Percussive, guilty, and (beyond a shadow of doubt) righteous are thou. An alternative Casanova, no need for crystal to see or impress, a victim of magic & memory. You watch your own language! 666 does not claim thee any longer- although the glittering (but still unwashed) irony being that our hearts are fill'd to the golden brim, with satanic love. (Love claims thee still- everafter, Love love love love love love) A someday CEO, radical, with Gatsby dynamic- Time lost in the phone-call nostalgia which denies the confidences of the big-house by the river Where distortion produced, smoke & headaches w/ hormonal poetics- lost like you in the 19 car for it is you & I who alone await The Second Coming, from the alligator lonely reform of San Jose's distance. An unabridged philanthropist already from the screenplay's Portsmouth shout. Rock is dead 'Cos it's been slaughtered Maybe you can recycle it And call yourself a martyr. "Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?" Yes, ever get that feeling that you're no longer there? And ever get the feeling you're in L-O-V-E? Wow. Ever get that funny feeling that you are the Darkness? and then no longer? The smoke signals have ended 'bove the subdivision's beige Temple. And ever get that feeling- that you are Christ? I have, sometimes, in the desperate showered moments... ... and I'm singin' in the rain just singin' in the rain what a marvelous feeling I'm happy again. But where were you when my eyes were paint'd like the Madness? And the cards' Apocalypse knocked on my window (with the blue lights, even)? When the cable went out? When my poem crossed the state line? You were off in the days in nicknames. One for drink. One for herb. One for muse. A catalogue of monikers designated to move 'cross the broad human experience. And then you were a figure, solitary & guilt-stricken in the overhead circle. A luminous sphere without description! (maybe a radius in the 7 rays) How ecstatic, confusing this musta been- coming face-to-face high above our material world to the long-admired Spirit. A voice. A cinema of self. In this, you see the sinfulness of apathy (that the connection you should cut, the one you should certainly crucify is thy own wrongdoing). But all of this boils down to a number. And Jehovah's fated number is 23! Twenty-three to connect, to purify, to walk, to love & save- UNTIL THE END (the end which of course IS 23) And you were my friend. And you are my friend. JESUS DIED FOR OUR SINS. And what did you say unto the Source O incarnation of Comedy? "Alright. I'll go I'll go in peace. I'll go for my dad: 007 In Peace I'll go for the shelves of Atlantis, long-missed In peaceful peace, peacefully I'll go for the girls of the party Who took all from me By making me feel my way across the White Garden ('specially when made moist or damp) And enter. I'll go for my own unchanging room (and those lined-up in the womb waitin' for the days of dying and those, too, layered in tombs who cant wait for their chance) I'll go for the animated laughter of Colorado. I shall go for the censure of the inhumane and even more so, their all-too-human prey For my own dark thoughts and the dark thoughts of all For my own righteous thoughts and the righteous thoughts of all" Hooray for Hollywood! "I shall go cool for the jazz of the Slavs. For the majesty tangled about the magnetism w/ the courage of the jacuzzi, and I shall turn the heads, talking w/ their talk-talk from the society of destruction and up America to St. Elmo's Fire dancing as it often does O Vikings of thought, O raven-light tribe of belief, look ye upon the color of America. The power & inner-strength to open the pickle jars (even though I hate them) and reach with our human limbs, from the vast bourgeois gutter, w/ spastic motions for the candle (but instead grope the lightning & thunder Thor's helmet) It is the Monolith that in its cardboard chronicle seeks us. Politics is weakness. I remember it all, hark ye & lift thy detached hearts to the Bridge, hear ye the angelic pornographic Choirs of the Doom; the sensitivity of this bored hour & its lone encyclopedia Look you! through the blackness the fickle headlights doth pass the Grail unto the maze of TV towers & (We are going off-the-air! their wires span the Earth and the sky. yea, onward to Syndication) wonder where they'd lead us if we followed but their gifts burn bright; stay true and drown the silence of broken Americana in her home, and mine, and yours. Finally an elixir I remember, the satellite, y'know man, it is a-leadin' us back to Glory- some spirit- a mother Sophia from which ours is but perpendicular from Her firm breasts, high And the correspondence is saved against the lies. And the triumph taught the pavement, a volcano a real ass-kicking the crowds erupted with applause as all turned into sand Spanish solitaire a dance of my Arabic pride Passed-out from affection the paints are on the canvas and tell us still of Love love love love love love love love here, therefore everlasting everywhere! Jesus died for our sins. Politics is weakness! Call the chord and tell 'em 8 remaining years then lucky seven Watch there, the vulgar comedians dance Jerusalem miles I'll go with the seen-cross cultural icon, with glory but without dirt riches, with pleasures of the flesh I'll go for my two houses We weep at the Masque and throw praise for the comic unknown And I shall go In Peace To: 23, O my Lord, dear Song, In Peace I shall go Em hotep! For the video game that It is I shall go, indeed in the Lamb's peace in the Lamb's place Where O where do the hours go? The the Flood Haze, description of the scene In peace I shall indeed go Em hotep!"