Poems: James Reidel - 'Then there are the rumors.' The post Poems: James Reidel appeared first on Queen Mob's Tea House.
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The interpretation of the unfolding dream here precedes the dream itself, which is how the paranoiac method tends to thus inscribe the conditions for experiencing our coming attractions.If paranoiac doesn't do it, by the time you reach inscribe you know Buuck is holding up a three-sided mirror, better to show off the utterly playful relevance of his project to the layering of poetry production, reception, and (...ahem) reaction. Each piece is titled "Prophetic Vision," again a seeming literal transcription from the English dubbing. Each starts "To begin --" and each but the last piece concludes "And then --" It's a neat, rule-governed framing for the chaotic, "defeated wild boars," a unicorn guided by doves, a "hoodwinked" beast that beckons, a Holy Warrior accompanied by a zebra, and, most pleasant, impossible phrasing: "It's a ocean of clusteramaridisis / Welcome, Master Detective / Here's warm hospitality / And then --" (Amarid, discoverer of magic crystals, is a fantasy of American novelist David Coe's.) I take Paranoia Agent as a figurative reflection made of available analogues, pixel impressions, and creative immanence, a media quest and landscape that by my logic can also be classified as a nature poem. To find your own turn to video, as Buuck has, to wallow in nature's conspicuous outreach, rabbits, horseflies, "dished meatballs," the "sun's cherry blossom," and the occasional sage "somewhere between intuition and science." Like any excellent quest Paranoia Agent goes inside the framework and forward and backward in time to replicate anomalous dynamism and "the karma of the people...first cries of the newly born shoes of / gold...an illusion."
a form of crystalline leather encrusted with strategic Christ, a strategic Christ dressed up in astrological fairy-dust that colored the open veins a hummingbird-happy silver...More than one or a trinity, god fills in quantum entities on a not-fully-occupied terrain, on "pause." This is space and time Stan aims to lay claim to and protect as his own, since "When you think of God, your head fills up with the stickiest most human love-notes and ambitions to kill people and build things on their land." We are Buddha's messed-up puppies then in an unimmaculate system ("God never bothers to wash His hands") in which human dissonance is not perversity but a bit of big physics spurred into metaphysics, killing, and stealing -- it's all "OK," Stan explains, because "our almighty has it in Him and can handle it...infinite space [where] human exhaust can diffuse and diffuse and diffuse..." It's all in the mind, body, soul, and god in the way of Stan's thinking, "an unhealed tragedy." He isn't kidding.