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Florescent Lakes at the Knitting Factory
And the bass began by putting all the planets
into orbit while the drums were crashing mountains and valleys into splinters
of falling words falling throughout the continents while this big huge sax
spoke in a collage of dance-ing cities the sax spoke fifty different languages
of imagery and the waves of sound created history and the bass was quiet words
quiet words and the bass was loud words loud words - and that's when you found
infinity at the end of a painting, that's when you became a child again and you
walked through paintings that were your silent dark consciousness - this is
where you rode the words of e.e.cummings through waves of paintings in your
head but you had only words and the words turned into paint into big dark oils
looming over a distorted reality - and the drummers face was a strained
distortion his face was god, his face was heroine and disease and a soon death,
his life was crashing through the drums - his life was separated into ceaseless
paintings by the bass - by the bass - by the bass which was un-creating all
your dreams into more feverish paintings which were a movie - a painted movie -
blood dripping from paintings - that's when there were words breathing from the
paintings - that's when all the buildings became a painting of alcohol -
alcohol became all your shipwrecked nights - alcoholic neon - alcoholic neon -
alcoholic neon - and all the words became a yellow distortion of sound and all
your abstract thoughts simultaneously became paintings of color-drenched words
spiraling around and around into grotesque sculptures growing out of the page -
since there is no ending the poem goes on forever. . .
About Eugene Ionesco's The Chairs or Crawling Over the Rail at the George Washington Bridge
I felt like a million corpses walking off the
stage, and the entire audience of five people lost their faces – flesh turning
into concrete and steel architecture – every face was a ruined window, the main character's face was centuries of
desperation, every face was disintegrating, every skin color was a violent
desperation, the main characters eyes were like tornadoes of psychosis, I felt
like killing myself even before everyone in the play committed suicide, the
chairs were all empty human existence is empty we are all empty I am empty you
are empty and every face is loneliness, each face is an abstract canvas of
slashing lines and violent color and storms and splashes of paint every face is
turmoil, every night is a night of figures despondently clawing at blackness
and our dreams are all silent screeches of mortality,
There's nothing to do
but swallow up my life – drown myself
in words – because poetry is rivers of
madness and death, poetry is barbed
wire and thick endless walls and watchtowers of angry eyes which are the human
race which is a surging ocean surrounding you and you are a strangled island
with no escape, and every life is a prison.
I couldn't help but
notice all the yellow and blue and red soldiers crawling through the skin in
your face, that's when there were thousands of people with volcanoes on their
faces and they were all slithering up the walls of your brain, that's when
alcohol became continents and loneliness, AIDS disease is this black lake you
are swimming in, your life is a lake of graveyards, your life is daily
massacres, you were living surrounded by whiteness and you clutched at life but
life was fading and the ground under your feet was cracking and rumbling until
the ground disappeared – that's when you paint six billion squirming people
holding a gun to their own head, that's when you put real barbed wire all over
your canvases, your mind becomes a burning landscape of barbed wire and walls
and watchtowers of eyes eyes eyes. . .
Wolf Larsen is the author of Eulogy for the Human Race,a poetry collection,
God and the Devil Dancing Through World War III Together, a screenplay, YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEE!
a poetry collection, Thrust! Lash! Clamor!, a play, The Exclamation Point!,a run-on sentence,
Slam! Boom! Crash!,a novel, and Unalaska, Alaska,a novel. Eulogy for the Human Race
is now available at bookstores, at Amazon.com, or via his web site (WolfLarsen.org).
Other titles – including Slam! Boom! Crash! are also available.
Wolf Larsen's poetry has been described as 'Picasso, Beethoven, Stravinsky, Jackson Pollock,
Genghis Kahn, and a thousand armies all rioting on the page." Wolf writes with the intensity
of a dozen Afro-Brazilian drums, Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, and Led Zeppelin all playing beautiful
chaos together. His writing is very psychedelic – and has been described as 'a river of hallucinations."
His work has been published in half-a-dozen literary magazines.
He has been the featured poet at literary readings in New York City,
Chicago, Lima, Peru, and Salvador, (Bahia) Brazil.
He is the editor of TheVolcano.org – the Internet's newest avant-garde arts magazine.
The Volcano combines wild painting and explosive poetry side-by-side because the arts should be an exciting experience!
Visit the most exciting author's site on the World Wide Web:
Wolf Larsen's Home Site
Email: Wolf Larsen
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