In the beginning was… I don’t know, Ray, I don’t know. Let’s call the living to dance so when the music of the soft parade’s over spirit remains—a strange spell, a puzzle solution, a whirlpool of borderline dreams of one or another stumbling fools. The hand of fame, good night. Bless the blood of the heads bent. Where the Yes—voices shout. And like in a fairy-tale, in the darkest time, music, a drum out there in the sunlight. We gotta go, gotta take a little ride.
"And I have stepped into your dream at night, A stranger there, my body steeped in moonlight. I watched you tremble, washed in all that silver. Love, the stars have fallen into the garden And turned to frost. They have opened like a hand."
— Thomas James, from “Tom O’ Bedlam among the Sunflowers”
Something tells me to look at the radical angle. My eyes burn. It’s fear, it’s dread, like caged wings. Something tells me to describe it. Like spiders at midnight. Like a dozen murdered bodies. Like a thousand savage words, or strychnine—so many uncorked vials here. The hand of fear rises up like syphilis and brain swell—damnation and on the third day, resurrection. Something tells me this is good. Something tells me: You are a soul. (And a soul depends on a soul—) Lord, make me small so I can see with your largeness & feel something divine, closer to the ground, on harder surfaces-- & suffocate all remnants of fear: groans, beasts, nightmares & the cliff’s edge—dreamstorms of apocalypse.
Here, now let an unrestrained song of outrageous sunshine begin and brighten as it carries.
Jesus was born dreaming with a crazy-eyed intensity, “Today is the sort of day I’m in love with everything I can name.” With only a few days left on earth there’s not a breath of wind. “I will die in a fit of laughing. We are all temporary in this unexpected parade. My story seems pale compared to the thousands of others in all the boneyards of the world.”
"The point is to understand everything, to realize everything, every impossibility, every stone wall; not to reconcile yourself to a single one of the impossibilities and stone walls if the thought of reconciliation sickens you; to arrive by way of the strictest logical syllogisms at the most repulsive conclusions on the eternal theme of how you are somehow to blame for the stone wall itself, even though once again it is abundantly clear that you are not to blame at all, and in consequence of all this to sink voluptuously into inertia, silently and impotently gnashing your teeth and reflecting that there isn't even anybody for you to be angry with, that an object for your anger can't even be found, and perhaps never will be, that this is all a fake, a conjuring trick, a piece of sharp practice, and there is nothing there but a morass, nobody knows what, nobody knows who, but in spite of all the mysteries and illusions, you ache with it all, and the more mysterious it is, the more you ache."
"When I wake up just before dawn and hear the throbbing voices of birds as they echo against the silence, I am overpowered by yearning. When I ride in the dark on stark roads through dry, bald hills, I ache with desperate longing. I don’t know what I am longing for, maybe for some place of my own within these images, some place where I fit, instead of being the one human being still awake, the only thing moving across the hills in the arid darkness. Maybe that ache is loneliness. I haven’t found a name for the feeling yet, nor do I know exactly what awakes in me. But instinct warns me that it is too potent for me, that my soul is on the verge of cracking when I feel it that way. I cannot handle the sheer power of those wild emotions by myself. I have to find some way to share them. That is why I write. It’s instinctive. I just have to—because it is awake like lava in my blood, and sustains me."
Jesus used an alias or two like Midnight Walker and Sam James. He'd often say, "Dig this, property is death."
He was always dreaming. This morning waving from the window of a passing train, tomorrow dressed in a bright green shirt and a red cape. He'd panhandle your change and say, "Consider me a stray on my way through the dark tunnel home."