As time goes on, new and remoter aspects of truth are discovered which can seldom be fitted into creeds that are changeless.
~ Clarence Day
PoemsA History of Manic Depression I
by Raul Alvarez
For God so loved the world he drove it straight into a brick wall, and the world folded around him, and the world removed thirty percent of the flesh from his face, and the world broke three of his ribs, and the world was on fire, and the world was pried open by a host of angels, and the world was sprayed with chemicals and water, and the world was placed on the back of a large tow truck, and the world was evaluated by an insurance agent, and the world was declared a total loss, and the world was replaced with a new world.
Magnus aharmonA History of Manic Depression II
by Raul Alvarez
For God so loved the world he took it orally, three times a day, with adequate food and water per his psychiatrist’s instructions, and he found the world started to control him, he found the world removed the angels from his lips and from his ears, and he missed the angels, and he cried out to them at night, and he could not remember his dreams, and he awoke only to take the world anew, one by one, into his stomach, into his blood, until the world became his flesh, until the world began to breathe for him, until the world began to speak for him, until the world began to think for him, and he and the world were one.
The insiders deignisIn the New Century I Gave You My Name
by Alex Dimitrov
The orchestras kept playing. They had a gin fix.
Why in this fog I still see you I can’t say.
With your beard and high darkness around me.
In your small machine many messages
and faces that once let you in.
The ocean drowns time all the time, slowly.
Everyone had a birthday and buried something.
I was coming from one person and into another
when really what are we: some accident.
In this show where we all have a favorite.
What we have is a taste for that thing we can feel,
will not say. Some of us wanted more
and in all the wrong ways too.
There was of course an escape…
in a year, on a street, in some near distant past
when what had us was childish and flame.
And maybe it would have been different
and maybe it would have been this.
Do you remember my hair when I met you?
Much longer. The violins ended it well.
Outside, the city continued to tease us.
Hurricanes came, storms couldn’t please us:
it was all very fast and beautifully made.
You ask why I’m thinking of death
but I’m thinking of you and it’s fleeting.
We were terrible, unrelenting and everywhere then.
All I know is I can’t stop writing about people.
So much happened. I can’t stop writing about love.
the black eye partiallyHere