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*Chandrakanta.

By A.A.J.B.



Lamenting tonight.

Lamenting the absence of moonlight

That still bathes my skin.



The inertia was pulling my blood.



The night goes on.

The clouds move in,

But I still see you everywhere.

Luminescent, ethereal light.

Still entranced, still in love.

I don't feel you anywhere!



I wander alone through the darkest of nights.

And I swear I still feel your pull. And I still feel...



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*Chandrakanta. Hindu. Feminine, meaning "Beloved of the Moon."

The Sinner.

By A. A. J. B.



Coming down is the temple of the mage.

The candles on the walls fall down and sets my rage again.

So if you see everything burn,

Just leave me here torn.

For I don't have the strength left

To put out the embers just born.

And if I am to die by fire,

Then that would just be my fate.

I was promised to die by water,

But that promise came too late.



Again the philosopher is stoned.

He took some pity from the old tome.

Rolled it up and burned it with his soul.

That's how the story always goes!

He disbelieves the words of saints,

The more his own heart breaks.

He watches cities crumble and break.

There's just no more heaven for pity's sake.

And once again I didn't know

That so many souls could ever let go.



Churches are collapsing here and there.

Fallen priest lie everywhere,

And not just in the air.

So when absolution breaks,

Am I the only one made of haste?

Was it apart of that stone foundation I lay

That support this dantesque hell I've made?

And I feel the hot chains

Just like the blood in my veins.

So I pull them out one by one,

So all of hell can see me come undone!



How I wish I could start again,

And flourish in a light that would never end.

But that requires the powers of gods,

That simply doesn't exist.

And this is mostly my shame.

For the most part you're not the one to blame.

It was always me.

It took some time for me to see.

Because these believers have died inside,

To further hide what we all have to find.

With only 60 pages, this book has managed to dig up those thoughts that I bury deep inside my head. If I was still alone, I would have dismissed this book as another scholarly conquest. I would have analyzed this book coldly, almost apathetically, but I'm involved, so this book tears at the those thoughts in my head. That one little question that always comes back to bite me; "Does he really love me?"



Psychiatrist R.D Laing uses this book to explore some of the most dysfunctional thoughts that any given individual can have. That "Do you love me anyway?" factor is very strong, as its practically sung.



"The shock, the almost physical effect, of these pieces works because the author has moved the analysis of our problems out of the solemnity of the textbook and the consulting room into the humanity of street songs." --Back of the book.



These are the excerpts from the book that spoke to me the most. Excuse the tl;dr. lol



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26



take this pill

to help you not to shout.

It takes away the life

you're better off without.



27



the trouble with you

's you've lost a screw



I'm sorry it's you

but there's nothing to do



there'll be no abatements

there are no replacements



don't make a to-do

just say toodle-oo



I'm sorry I can't help you

you'd cost too much to redo



you'll have to be abolished

report to be demosished



28



is he trying to amuse me

to confound and confuse me?

does he bring me home flowers

in order to use me?



I tell her I love her

because I hate her

I'm nice to her now

to do her in later.



does he kiss me and pet me

just to perplex me?

if I cut my throat

will he aid and abet me?



after she's gone

I'll quickly forget her

go on the prowl

and find something better.



30



they say that good intentions

pave the road to hell

if a thing is not worth doing

it's not worth doing well



31



I dreamt I was a butterfly

dreaming it was me

it looked into the mirror

there was nothing there to see



'you lie

I cried

it woke

I died





41





do I hurt you

when I touch you?



was that a shiver

or a quiver?



tell me where

you're there



taunt me

haunt me

as long as you want me



42



you'll cry

when i die



you'll yawn

when I'm gone



you'll be bored

unadored



43



cross your fingers

tell me your woes

there are lies that linger

cross your nose

if Cain were able

he would give you a rose



44



was that a kiss?



or a hiss



from the abyss?



45



I could tell

from your eyes

you fell

from the skies



out of the blue

there were you



but I knew it wasn't true

and away

you flew



58



is there a unicorn in your eyes?

tell no lies



did the swordfish

pierce the moon?



answer soon



59



when I try

from Zen sickness to fly



I'm sometimes low

and I'm sometimes high



sometimes I'm in

sometimes I'm out



sometimes I sing

and sometimes I SHOUT



sometimes I just laze around

sometimes I go underground



but

nevertheless

I must confess

it all seems less

than second best



without the one for whom I care

to pick my nose

and pull my hair

Bluebirds and Moths.

By A.A.J.B.



I loved how hollow the nights were after I crucified them to my walls.



I sing to them when I tap the glass,

my fingerprints smiling on the dust that reminds me of their empty shells.

How many times have I touched their caskets?



My shadowboxes of happiness.

Company We Keep

By A.A.J.B.



I.

Washed out cages smashed to pieces,

and I found you dazed in the rain of all the burden;

chains and soaked denim, torn at the legs,--

I use you for soggy bandages.

Keep me together, my escaping warrior.



II.

Shimmering, will-o'-the-wisp on the Miami;

the gaslight escaping her fragile lungs.

She is hollow and I lost her to the waves we dance in.

No search is issued because I still see her on the shoreline.

Lead me home, my sentinel soul.



III.

Thumping! Knocking! Are you there behind my ribs?

In these steep valleys, will I fall again?

A pause,-- then a sicking crash! I want to feel it beat,

but I want to rip it out and give it over.

Please stay quiet, my battered heart.