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Getting Into the Character

By Israfel Sivad

I was writing for three bright nights.
What was I feeling – scared of – then?
White light was shining through my mind,
shining out through my sad, puppy dog eyes.

I was thinking that I was in Paris,
thinking that I like Paris a lot.
What did you think of Paris?
Maybe the nights were too bright.

Should we have been scared of the color white?

White light going off in my brain,
shining, snowing, driving me insane.
My friend, if you only knew,
you wouldn’t have to go through

everything you’re going through.
The snow is steam. It smokes.
Forget about everything else. Forget it.
There is nothing to fear about white.

Writing, everything
goes away, stays away
until tomorrow, sleeps

through the night in Saint Annie’s arms.

White light driving me insane,
but I don’t see it anymore.
I feel it here, can feel it now.
I found my character.

He never went anywhere.
He is the man in the trench coat,
scaring school children, driving them
insane with his stories of white nights.

Can you feel it, now,
feel it in the front
of your mind’s eye

staring at everything staring at nothing?

Nothing but black
reflecting white light,
conjuring satanic rituals
in the room beside our room.

I feel them there now –
voices chanting, incense burning,
fear, trembling. Torture screams
delight, one and the same.

Delight in the torture, the blackness of light!

I’m waiting on a call
from you, my friend. Everything
is pretty in Paris again.
Nothing has really changed.

I thought it was black, then,
but it was white. The night
was white as the day was black.
I was writing for three bright nights.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music performed, produced, and arranged by @gn0m0n
Thumbnail: “Close Calls” by Rogelio Ronco: rogelioronco.com/

Starburst

By Israfel Sivad

Last night, I made love to a vampire.
She was never able to kill me.
I left my notepad at her apartment.
If I don’t get it back,
I might put a stake through her heart.

But I could never hurt a woman.
They are too beautiful to see.
Even the vampire I met last night
looked like an angel to me.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music written, produced and performed by @the-atmospheric-science
Thumbnail by Rogelio Ronco: rogelioronco.com/

Padded Walls

By Israfel Sivad

How silly I must look
to everybody:
sitting around
my apartment,
listening to records,
writing words
on padded
walls.

There’s another black
mark to mark 
my place here
in this world.
I keep records
by recording
my thoughts
for nobody.

I have nothing
to think about,
to worry about,
to do anything
about. Nothing
to do about
anything except
everything.

My whole life
is padded walls.
My black marks –
writing on
the great wall
we built
to keep out
the hordes.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music composed, performed and produced by The Atmospheric Science
Thumbnail: “Kites” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com

The Jungle

More muscular and aggressive,

this is the time of our lives.

Our bones are thicker, our feet –

larger.  Our necks won’t keep us

from the front line any longer.

Our eyes are armored.  Our manes

are black and mature.  Your music

has grown flat; we’re blind to the

birth of your Lord.  Move to provoke

us again, you who slaughtered our children.

In Sumer, we reached maturity.  Prehistoric

peoples merged themselves with us, turned

us to the steeds for 18 of your gods.  We

despise your superior attitudes.  Equanimity

lies in our souls, which is why we beg

your mother for forgiveness, offer

her first-born our most prized possessions.

Not even the serpent’s poison could

destroy us.  We are your kings after

death, alive inside their hearts and minds.

The sun itself shines from our music,

the wings of our third eyes, our tongues.

Once upon a time, we led you

through the desert to be abandoned.

But we are jealous gods, punishing

gods who will visit the sins of the

Fathers upon their sons in the jungle.

I Was Wondering…

By Israfel Sivad

He was hanging out inside some bum,
driving the poor guy insane.

When he fell the first time,
he met his blessed mother.
Veronica wiped his face.
Simon helped him carry his cross.
He spoke to the women of Jerusalem
when he fell the second time.

I stepped out of the church.
The sun shined on my notepad.
I couldn’t believe I was still alive.
I was certain God would strike me dead.
English is written backwards.
Hebrew is written forwards.

Do you think this would all make sense
if you read it in reverse order,
do you think this would all make sense?

Hebrew is written forwards.
English is written backwards.
I was certain God would strike me dead.
I couldn’t believe I was still alive.
The sun shined on my notepad.
I stepped out of the church.

When he fell the second time,
he spoke to the women of Jerusalem.
Simon helped him carry his cross.
Veronica wiped his face.
He met his blessed mother
when he fell the first time.

Driving the poor guy insane,
he was hanging out inside some bum.

I was wondering…

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: http://amazon/author/israfel-sivad
Music composed, arranged and produced by @gn0m0n
Thumbnail: “Christ’s Crucifixion” by Rogelio Ronco: rogelioronco.com/

Another Drunken Night

By Israfel Sivad

Me, I’m not a hero,
not a god and not a saint.

I’m a drunk,
sitting at a bar,
writing on a napkin,
dreaming about the girl
I could have met today.

Once upon a time,
in a land far, far away,
was a hero
I dreamed myself to be.

But behind me,
beside me are the women, the men,
the people who live, who love,
who fear, who hate, who build,
who work, who suffer, who shit,
who sit, who stand, who pray,
who wish, who want, who give,
who play, who scream, who shout,
who cry, who laugh, who sleep,
who feel, who hug, who kiss,
who fuck, who die alone and together,
together and apart, for better,
for worse, in sickness,
in health till death they do part.

Me, I only think.
Thought never dies.

I dream me up
like I dream you up
like I dream up
everything else.

Once upon a time,
farther and farther away,
I had a life. I had a love.
I had a job I could not take.
I had a dog. I had a mom…
So many things I would not taste.
I lived with hate. I lived with fear.
I lived with people whom I loathed.
I lived with God. I lived with sin.
To myself I was betrothed.

Now, I sit here all alone,
drinking my beer, wondering,
Is anybody staring at me?
Do they think it’s strange
that a man as young as me
would choose not to talk
to the woman beside him?

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: www.IsrafelSivad.com

Music composed, recorded and performed by @the-atmospheric-science

Thumbnail: Digital drawing by Rogelio Ronco: rogelioronco.com/

The Hallowed Halls of Academia

By Israfel Sivad

What did you say,
you hallowed halls of academia?
That our questions were mere
blasphemies?

Is that what you would say to us,

teach to us, your servants,
faithful and true, respecting
you and the order
you would teach?

Our reply is to challenge.

And if you reject us
yet again, we will move
our operation
underground.

Listen to me. All of you listen:

There are two people
who write for me,
but I can’t tell
you their names.

They are my secret yin and yang.

There are two people
who sleep with me.
They are my Lilith
and my Eve,

to me, Adam, the serpent, the man, Satan.

I thought I was alone,
but there is a harem,
a lion’s den of
men and women

reclining against my breast.

We are cultural aberrations,
hermaphrodites if
we chose to be.
Blasphemy?

We have not yet begun to blaspheme.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: www.IsrafelSivad.com

Music composed by Reify

Thumbnail: “Let Them Eat Cake” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com

Poetry Killed the Video Star

By Israfel Sivad

They killed Cobain
when they made him a god.
He was a god,
but not because they said so.
He knew.
He had to die to be real.

Fugazi was the true
voice for a generation.
“Everything’s Fucked!”
they shouted, they screamed.
“Do it yourself,”
they told me while I watched MTV.

And the radio
was blabbering for years.
Elvis Costello
managed to tune in its light.
Lou Reed’s rock n roll
is long gone. Nothing is all right.

A rock star is
a pantheistic god.
I’m a monotheist
fighting dualists
who shoot at me
and the ideals we make.

In order to love God,
have sympathy for the devil.
They killed our idols.
Now, we have to fight
for our right to die
when we feel it’s right for us to die.

I feel like I’m sixteen again
because I died at fifteen.
I’m a teenage lobotomy.
Joey Ramone told me that.
He disappeared on me, too,
but he did it naturally.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: andrews-songs.tumblr.com

Music written, performed and produced by Weylin’ Rose @the-aquwa-boys

Thumbnail: “Lacuna” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com

The Periphery

By Israfel Sivad

“Who starts dying… And when?”
I asked, screaming – Whoopy!
“Why didn’t Rocky have breasts?”
my mother begged of me.

Her hip bones liquefied –
giving birth to our son.
He was a beautiful, bright star,
and his momma went down real slow.

Jason would be the real name for Saint Nick,
delivering all his presents on Friday the 13th.
My name is simple. It’s plain – Michael.
I’m waiting to trick and treat on Halloween.

God would make for a great mother,
if He would let me suckle off His breasts.
I would drain all His milk for Him
if He couldn’t take care of Himself.

I can smell death in your cigarettes.
Do you think mine taste like cloves?
I love the way scent sounds.
I love the way taste talks.

Please, tell me, who is in Zen –
Is it the pig or the goat?
I’ll tell you what – The lamb,
the sheep look like mutton to me.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: http://amazon.com/author/israfel-sivad

Original music written, performed and produced by Weylin’ Rose @the-aquwa-boys

Thumbnail: “Untitled (Snowman I)” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com

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