Got a Guggenheim Mind
In a Dime Museum Body.
A highbrow brain
With a lowbrow soul.
I’m a wholly holy proley.
Homey, don’t ya know me?
See me glittering?
My innards are
Splitting with
Wizarding mystery.
This is my prayer for inspiration:
Let me be the museum.
Let me be beautifully used.
Make me the cult-place of the muses
My physicality, a literal house of spirits.
Oh, daughters of Mnemosyne,
(Who herself is daughter of Gaia,)
I am invoking you, mystical nymphs of creation,
This is my begging to begin, my invitation.
Let’s face it: without you, I’m nothing.
I am crying for you, Calliope,
Fill me with meditation geometrical, holy Polyhymnia,
Waltz with me inwardly, inner Terpsichore,
All you sweet sisters, enter me with grandiosity
I grant you all wings within my body
My flesh as your haven is what I can offer,
A rabble of satyrs is what I am after,
Gathering a smattering for dancing and laughter.
Gallivanting through Ethiopia,
Call me Falasha:
Like Pythagoras and Osiris, I’m doing recruitment,
My business? To gather all 9 of you Muses,
Make use of this earth-suit,
Make my skin-shell your dwelling
Shine your brightness through my opacity
To put it oddly:
1 Museum (that’s my body)
3 Oracles
5 Satyrs
7 Levels of Heaven
9 Muses
and
11 Elevens
I will
Ride the upward spiral,
Weep with Melpomene,
Laugh with Thalia,
Give good face for Mona Lisa
And for Da Vinci,
I’ll catch bullets in my teeth,
slip from shackles for Houdini.
In the name of all lovers,
I am taking all comers,
My gates are flung open,
All restraint has been broken,
There is no restriction.
Releasing all inhibition
Is the price of admission.
There will be no coercion,
It is your own decision.
To follow—or not—the sweet heartbreakbeat rhythm
I will be a museum,
Fill myself with light,
Provide a hospitable environment,
Wherein a muse would see fit to reside,
Be golden on the inside,
Give darkness nowhere to hide,
Pray for inspiration,
Show ego to the door,
Be a living embodiment of willingness,
Say yes to the unexpected,
Fearlessly shed my pretension,
It’s simply a form of protection,
Release my iron grip,
Relinquish control,
Host the unknown and be unafraid of being alone,
For this is a solo mission.
Hallelujah!
The stranglehold on my soul is slackening,
This poem is unraveling,
The muses are answering,
The blocks are all shattering.
Can you hear it
From the spirit?
Dearest,
Fear is so 3D.
11th Dimension is where we are heading!
11 times 11, making 121
Of unity/duality/unity
This palindrome is a hallowed home for the divine 9,
It’s high time!
Time to dance with the satyrs like your troubles don’t matter,
Cuz they don’t.
Time to dance with the satyrs like your heart won’t be shattered,
Cuz it won’t.
Time to commune with the muses like your truth is not useless,
Cuz it ain’t.
Time to commune with the muses like your bloom can’t be ruined,
Cuz it cain’t!
I’m lovingly succumbing to Stendhal Syndrome,
Overcome with beauty/sublime/fantastic,
Gladly losing my grip over some artistic script-flip
I have 11 times 11 stories inside of me,
11 times 11 staircases rising in me.
And each flight is upward-spiraling,
M.C. Escher-ing toward destiny,
Filling galleries of galaxies,
Water Lilies Monet their way around in surround sound,
My Chagall eyes are Jerusalem Windows.
I carry a
Planetarium
In the dome of me,
Pineal sun glowing
Like aurora borealis,
Georgia O’Keefe blossoming,
Always open.
My pulse carries ancestral whispers, archeological and artifactual,
I’ve got Frida guts and a Van Gogh heart.
A mosaic transcendence,
With a turnstile entrance,
Drop your token in the slot,
Let me show you what I’ve got.
Let my suffering not be for naught,
Let it bring blossoming,
Let me create a soft landing for the muses,
Holy sisters, let my efforts not be fruitless,
I’m going all out ’cause I’m all-in, and the truth is,
If you use me, my existence won’t be useless.
Turn me from mausoleum to museum.
Let me not be where kings go to die.
Let me be where queens go to fly.
Let me not be where men dwell in eternal rest,
Let me be where sacred sisters soar, eternally blessed.
Yeah, I got a Guggenheim Mind
In a Dime Museum Body
A highbrow brain
With a lowbrow soul
I’m a wholly holy proley.
Homey, don’t ya know me?
See me glittering?
My innards are
Splitting with
Wizarding mystery.
This is my prayer for inspiration.
Let me be the museum.
Let me be beautifully,
Beautifully
Used.
***
Photo by Tess. Lotta of Tess. Lotta Photo/Graphics
***
This is it…your last chance to support The Upward Spiral via my Kickstarter campaign. You have until Shabbat begins…the album will be released Motzei Shabbat, 6/13 at 11:11 PM. I hope you will celebrate with me! Here’s a track to listen to for free. I hope it brings you some joy. Some light. Some healing. That is my intention. With love. XOXO
