Are Raw Words Obsessive?

I

Perform for me this tea art.
Sweet Daughter when you and I are together, we'll live.
So let’s walk.

I am for tantra, fiery pictures above dust,
in a full glorious rainbow.
How many will never understand beauty.
Men gripe, offer unity,
Driven until you're caught, some bird.

Black peace could give us language.
My aesthetics you use, until she stills green passion.
Glass bodies in communication seek Music.

You trust your electric model,
never together under passion.
A traitor with a whipped tongue feels free.
I like this freedom, I believe in the drunk!

The animal I need makes my empty Death.
Clean sex and an electric picture . . .
Models grant no denial. Respect.
Could the old gal win at dice?


II

I see sculptures, manic sculptures after praise.
Only symbols, they are laughter.
When in such a worry, you and I.
Good character destroys what won’t give us night.

Grand Sir, first know. Let her draw her companion’s will.
Here howls a beautiful language.

The Mare above him was caught,
must know laughter, and be all danced.
Suffer to investigate a thought,
Life flies after us, set in a black limpid experiment.

See the two partners,
somehow forget if silhouettes capture a mad thought.
Improved though blue, please may you comfort us.
Praise only simple morphine to scale. Conserve it!
It’s an awful hidden and daunting reserve.

Life knows patience in heaven, as silence.
Free my esteemed fellow. Sleep!
My mate is innocent, how will you go and decide upon her silence?
I’m for tantric teaching.
Bed her to discover animal music.


III


Let's test our will.

Call me.

Model my hard question, through music.
We spoke of her money jungle.
Then she went crazy, have patience, . . . so choose.
Fly with a glass stranger.
Tropical, can we tell about glorious endeavors?

This impulse is soft, and looking spotted,
and that studio experiment in passion,
Brother, all around you sculpts an Angel.
Fill a glorious missive. Anger would have faith.
Share his joy. It will glitter.


IV

Our water is the bed, through my ear she goes.

Could we know blue?

Elves balance, cuddle with color.
I try to empower kids. Fly to me,
“I weld men. Follow behind me.”

She and Zeus chant face to body.
Shimmer about the rain, about the grand river.

Celestum II

What do I hear
when I hear voices?

Are they mine or yours or someone else’s
shells, ghosts, cast off homes,
or mistakes of language?

All the things that were never said or done.

What a pleasure to watch the wind
Catch a fold of the curtain then lift it,
and send a curl running across its breadth.
A crab across a rock before a wave?

A seething mind boils, then cools
Every idea an explosion, sending a thousand sparks showering
Thick crust cracked and bleeding molten rock
Late in the day sky and coral turn the green of limes.

Melts and so moves downwards
Through fire
Purifying itself
Thus reaches heaven

Under attack
Assume the female form.
Prepare to give birth.

Confusion

white hair rages
through cardinal provinces, 

princely states
salmon, natives, 

hybrid acids display
the bright belly of a trout,
now hazy grey
in a world polluted
murder leaves a wake,

of confusion.

Vulcan Vishnu

Vulcan spews smokes, towards a giant bird,
Vishnu gazed into the silent eyes

     of the seven-headed cobra.

The artist rests in territories where ideas live,
     amidst carved giants and mute faces 

     of stone and wood.

A small pot of mercury
the size of the tin of baked beans,
we may eat for dinner,
      is impossible to pick up in one hand.

Ingots may be lifted with great strength
      after a deep breath, held for a second.
Violin space-music plays, the volcano explodes,
      the space ship on the ceiling lights up.

The roar of anti-gravity engines are heard.

Paul, Mark, and Luke - Scoby Notes

I named our first Self-Contained Organism of Bacteria and Yeast, Paul, in memory of the famous octopus  Paul, who lived a short time after predicting the outcomes of eight World Cup Soccer games.

Past feats aside, Paul seemed a good name.

So Paul begat Mark, and Mark begat Luke, and soon kambucha was exploding literally from every vessel at house Potter. I've concocted many superb tasting drinks in this manner, without keeping so much as a pencil scrap of a note about process.

Invention happens spontaneously, when one is not recording results. The recording of results inevitably mire any process in a protracted program of exhausting all possibilities.

One knows this when one follows one's genius around the house, and one's genius in this case is a flat rubbery slimy organism used to ferment tea.

A Kambucha SCOBY represents life, as unique as that of a cow that produces rich cream, or a tomato plant that yields exceptional fruit. This log shall transcribe that life. Here I write everything Paul is fed, everything taken from Paul in the way of harvest, and jot for posterity every note that I can think of to better understand the mysterious brewing process involving bacteria and yeast.

Paul sired a blessed two year lineage in this house, descended from a SCOBY mare supplied by Steven Rodriguez, he has since been divided into three vats.

I'll name his sons Mark or Luke. At times they have all been fed grape, rose liquor, pineapple, blueberry, pomegranate, acai berry, but always the base diet has been a tea and sugar mixture.

The flavors produced by Paul have been so extraordinary that I've reluctantly taken up a blog post to document what I'm doing here, because in reality I have no idea. Steve R. says I'm a mad scientist just mixing stuff together and never creating a record or a label.  We both dally in ceramics. He's very careful about glaze recipe, I'm not.  I contend in my defense that the greatest learning occurs when records have not been created.

So I'm now keeping records but skeptically, knowing myself, not for long.

Imitators will find that duplication of my results is nigh impossible. The SCOBY bacteria and yeast have a memory for everything that was done to them, and they retain genes to digest certain compounds in case they are encountered again. The digestive process then runs as a result of the SCOBY's experience with other fruits and nectars and teas which make up its diet.

It may be possible however to notice that a rose kambucha brewed with Rooibos tea after a diet of blueberry and pomegranate is especially flavorful. That may be the extent of the benefit of this note taking process.

Otherwise, just as I've said, it is a record of Paul's life.

-:-