Poems from 1998 by Vago Damitio

poems by Vago Damitio 1998 THE DEVIL’S GIFT LOU-SO GAVE UP EVERYTHING. WALKED AWAY THOUGHT THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN WAS OFFERED TO HIM. FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD, ALONE FROM EVIL HE COULD NOT ACCEPT- HE SAW THE BEAUTY OF LOVE- IF YOU WILL. LOVE BY ITSELF, BEAUTY ISOLATED, IS LONELY, ASK ANY MARRIED COUPLE. … Continue reading “Poems from 1998 by Vago Damitio”

1998 poemspoems
by 1998

THE DEVIL’S GIFT

LOU-SO GAVE UP EVERYTHING.
WALKED AWAY THOUGHT THE KINGDOM
OF HEAVEN WAS OFFERED
TO HIM.
FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD, ALONE FROM EVIL
HE COULD NOT ACCEPT- HE SAW THE BEAUTY OF
LOVE- IF YOU WILL.
LOVE BY ITSELF, BEAUTY ISOLATED, IS
LONELY, ASK ANY MARRIED COUPLE.
PAIRED WITH AN OPPOSITE-PEAKS
CAN BE SCALED, FREE OF WILL
CARRIED LIKE A CURRENT
BETWEEN OPPOSING POLES—-OF MAGNETISM.
PLEASURE IS BEST EXPERIENCED AFTER PAIN.

IN TURNING DOWN HEAVEN CHOICE WAS CREATED.
CHOICE. FREE WILL, IF YOU WILL.
SUFFERING SCORCHING KNOWLEDGE, LIKE HELLFIRE
RAISING THE APPRECIATION OF —-
PASTORAL ANGELS PLAYING LUTES.
ALLOWING ONE- OR ALL- TO EXPLORE THE DEPTHS –
FOR THE KNOWLEDGE OF HELL ALLOWS YOU TO RISE MUCH HIGHER–
OR FALL MUCH FURTHER.

RAIN

DRIZZLE DAYS DEPENDENT
NOT ON SUN
GREY AND NEUTRAL ALL AROUND

ALASKA

ALASKA IS LIKE SOME SORT
OF APHRODISIAC. MAKING ME
ETERNALLY LUSTY- LUSTIER EVEN THAN
ME– IN OTHER PLACES.
HER TOWERING MOUNTAINS PAINT

PICTURES OF LARGE SUPPLE BREASTS
AND I’M REMINDED OF PUBIC HAIR BY
HER FORESTS. CONSTANTLY WET
AND MOVING IN A STATE OF AROUSAL—
BUT SOMEHOW IT DOESN’T SOUND RIGHT
TO SAY – I WANNA FUCK ALASKA-
OR- FUCK ME ALASKA
BUT THE SMELL SO RICH AND
MUSKY. LIKE DIVINITY.
LAND AND SEX.
SEA AND SEX.
SKY AND SEX.
SEX.
ALASKA.

SUMMER ENDING QUICKLY

SUMMER. WHY BASEBALL?
BECAUSE MEN PLAY LIKE CHILDREN
IN AN OVERGROWN LOT?
BECAUSE NOBODY LIKES HAVING
TO PLAY IN THE RAIN.
SUMER. WHAT IS IT?
IS IT THE BERRIES?IS IT THE
SALMON? IN THE STREAMS,
WORKING TOWARDS PROCREATION
NO MATTER THE STRAIN.
SUMMER? WHY EAR CLOTHES?

The Sex Score in a Bizarre World Lab

by
Sex Score and Universal LabHe took his coat off and hung it on the peg,, where it always was, waiting for him to take it wherever he went. He walked into the kitchen, melancholy, and full of wonder as his mind thought back to the days of his youth. Working on yachts and falling in love at every port until the list of loves became like a list of books he’d  read. And forgotten.

It was no longer  simple  to answer  how many women he’d slept with or how many times he’d been in love. He had to second guess himself. In recent years he’d answered with

“ You really don’t really want to know that” and if pressed he would say “Four”. It was the magic number. Not too many, but not too few. Only it was such an outrageous lie.

Bizarre world in which you were expected to keep your own score as you went and nearly every other person was keeping their own “score”. It turned it into a giant competition for the good and the bad.

Life was confusing enough without developing this incredibly complex game called Love. It was a constant battle to remain afloat in the overcrowded sea of humanity.

He set his briefcase down and walked into the living room, grabbing a banana as he passed through the kitchen. He sat in his lazy-boy recliner and reached for the remote control after rocking the lever back as far as it would recline.

Kicking off his shoes he wondered to himself, “ Why are my socks so nice. Why do they have designs woven into them.Certainly not because I like them, but as a part of the game. At some point I decided that nice socks would make it simpler to seduce women.”

He kicked off his shoes one at a time. Right foot first, then left foot. They dropped to the floor  beneath the footrest of the recliner. He knew they would get in the way when he went to un-recline, but at this point he didn’t care. Later he would be annoyed with his earlier self for creating more work for his later self.

Life is like that. The now you is usually making decisions for the later you, and usually,  they are lousy decisions. Maybe you get it right more often as you get older, but you still screw up every time you do anything important.

Hindsight is 20/20, Foresight is often blind.

If we knew the future would we let it happen, or would we change the future, making it unknowable. Knowing too much is worse than knowing nothing most of the time.

What if you knew you’re destiny and hated it? Would you create it by trying to evade it? In which case would you have created it without the knowledge?

Does the universe have clockwork motion which gives us 70 or 80 years before we have to return to our places? What do we want?

Now is the time to communicate with our future selves so that we don’t regret any decisions later, make the best decisions possible.

What should I do? Do what you think is right.  Don’t hold back in your beliefs, explore them, trust them, make the most of your hunches and talents. It isn’t really what you think that counts.

Do you get what I’m saying? It makes sense to live your life as if every decision is your last.

When does it end? We don’t know. I t goes on as long as it goes on so make yourself at peace today. Find what it is you need to do.

What you would regret in your last moments. So what if you thought it would go on, you’d have more time.

You don’t that is the nature oft eternity. The world isn’t the friendliest place in the universe. It is made to solve problems.

Think of the world as a laboratory. The picture you had as a child was not entirely wrong. The Universal  God is a consciousness, which works in a clockwork fashion to an ultimate goal.

Humanity and life are a way to solve certain theoretical problems. Life is placed within the universe in various situations to which the best solution is found through adaptation.

It is not the word of anything. Each planet not a lab, but a test tube contained within the vast workshop-lab that is the universe.

Et tu Brutus?

This is one of my favorite Shakespeare stories…worth sharing again and again.

shakespeare, julius ceasar, brutus

ASPEN, Colo. – Julius Caesar lay dead and Brutus was talking to his co-conspirators about swords and blood when he paused and excused himself, saying “I seem to have stabbed myself.”

Aspen actor/director Kent Hudson Reed accidently cut his leg open with the knife he was using in an outdoor performance of “Scenes from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar” on Wednesday.

He tried to carry on, “but my boot was filling up with blood and I was flubbing my lines, wondering if I was going to pass out, wondering if the audience could see the blood.”

Portia (Susan Mauntel) took Brutus to a hospital for stitches and play narrator Tyson Young announced the performance was canceled.

“That’s what you get for trying to kill Caesar,” he said.

Reed said actors normally don’t use real knives, but the scene was set up so none of the performers were close enough to hurt each other.

“But I hadn’t thought an actor might stab himself,” he said.

Reed said the show would go on, although Brutus might be limping for a while.

An Invitation from Vago Damitio: The Madman

I’d like to invite readers to join me  for a thousand and one Sundays of reading and writing.  I’ll write if you’ll read. If you’d like to join me, you can sign up at http://eepurl.com/rMijn but don’t worry, if you decide one Sunday is enough, you can unsubscribe with the click of a button. By the way, there’s no charge for this.

One of the most important things I’ve ever heard about writing is that there needs to be an agreement between the writer and the reader. My agreement with you is this: Read my work and I’ll keep writing the best that I can for you. If you don’t like it for some reason, please let me know and if you can, please tell me why. My email is vago@vagodamitio.com and there is nobody I would rather here from than you, the reader. If you come across grammar or spelling errors, I would love to know about those too. Thanks in advance for entering this agreement with me.

Subscribe here

 

The Madman

Vago Damtiio - The Madman

Vago Damitio’s Weekly Reader

 

 

 

I’d like to invite you to subscribe to

The Madman: Vago Damitio’s Weekly Reader

Here’s the deal:

Every Sunday I’m going to send you an email with something interesting to read.  I’m going to start with the serialized rewrite of my first novel, Slackville Road (you can find it here with my other books, but it’s not the version you’ll get through email).

Slackville Road By Vago DamitioYou’ll be the first to see the rewrite because it will be coming to you. I hope that you’ll provide feedback, comments, and more. After we finish Slackville Road, it will be something else. The whole point of this is to build a more personal relationship between you, the reader, and me, the writer – so please don’t hesitate to contact me – even if you want to say “Hey dumbass, stop using so many dashes!” – or “I think you should have more T & A in this story.”

 

VagoDamitio.com

This is not going to be the same content that appears on VagoDamitio.com – which is my personal website and periodically updated whenever I feel the desire or have something to say –  – if you’d like to subscribe to that (i.e. get each new article emailed to you) you’ll need to go to http://www.vagodamitio.com/feed/ – or just go look at it once in a while and see what’s new there. On the site you will find my books, interviews, columns, photos, and random thoughts. It might be offensive or lame, but it’s real and it’s not driven by anyone but me.

That’s it.
See you on Sunday. By the way, I picked Sunday because I think it’s the best day for reading. I have fond memories of spending Sunday mornings reading over breakfast and I hope that you will enjoy reading me over breakfast – that sounds weird, but I hope you know what I mean.

~Vago

P.S. – This isn’t the usual travel stuff that I’ve become known for through Vagobond.com either. I travel a lot and usually that finds its way into my fiction (and non-fiction of course) but this is about sharing the creative with you. I hope you won’t hesitate to let me know how you like it.

Give Books to Pakistan instead of Guns

I’m doing a short roundup of articles I’m reading this morning, first of all, a fantastic Op-Ed piece from the New York Times Nicholas Kristof

Terror Creeps Into the Heartland

By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF, New York Times

KARACHI, Pakistan

July 23, 2009

It was the home of a Muslim religious teacher, but he was stockpiling more than copies of the Koran. His house blew up this month in a thunderous explosion that levelled much of his village and could be heard six miles away. Police reported that he was storing explosives, rockets, grenades and suicide vests.

But perhaps what was most dispiriting was that this arsenal, apparently intended for terror attacks, was not in the tribal areas in the northwest of Pakistan where the Taliban and Al Qaeda have long conducted operations. Rather this was in the southern part of Punjab, the Pakistani heartland.
Continue reading “Give Books to Pakistan instead of Guns”

Bulwer-Lytton Bad Writing Contest Results Announced

 

I love this contest. Someday, maybe I will win it, as it stands, I’m happy to not be the winner yet.

SAN JOSE, Calif. � A shambling sentence about screaming seafarers on the sturdy whaler Ellie May stood shoulders above the rest in an annual bad writing contest. David McKenzie, 55, of Federal Way, Wash., won the grand prize in San Jose State University’s annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest with this:

“Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin’ off Nantucket Sound from the nor’ east and the dogs are howlin’ for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the “Ellie May,” a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin’ and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests.”

The contest, a parody of prose, invites entrants to submit bad opening sentences to imaginary novels. It is named after Victorian writer Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton, who opened his 1830 novel “Paul Clifford,” with the much-quoted, “It was a dark and stormy night …”

Contest categories include purple prose and vile puns. Among other winners announced Monday were:

� “How best to pluck the exquisite Toothpick of Ramses from between a pair of acrimonious vipers before the demonic Guards of Nicobar returned should have held Indy’s full attention, but in the back of his mind he still wondered why all the others who had agreed to take part in his wife’s holiday scavenger hunt had been assigned to find stuff like a Phillips screwdriver or blue masking tape,” from Joe Wyatt of Amarillo, Texas, winner in the adventure category.

� “She walked into my office on legs as long as one of those long-legged birds that you see in Florida the pink ones, not the white ones except that she was standing on both of them, not just one of them, like those birds, the pink ones, and she wasn’t wearing pink, but I knew right away that she was trouble, which those birds usually aren’t,” from Eric Rice of Sun Prairie, Wis., winner in the detective category.

___

On the Net: http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/