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harveybirdman

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Blog Entries posted by harveybirdman

  1. harveybirdman
    a faltered glance, a look askance
    but who would stop to guess the chance?
     
    blushed cheeks with velvet voice
    yet no one knew there was a choice
     
    a knowing smile, he looks away
    both know again, again we'll play
     
    one lies yearning, try not to kill
    this delicate bloom by keeping still
     
    the other's heart, it is unknown
    unknown as well is what was sown
     
    and so we stage this careful dance
    leave nothing open nor ope' to chance
     
    e'er part as friends though hope we might
    I say, good sir, a fair good night
  3. harveybirdman
    We settle back on leather thrones, glass and ice our sceptres.
     
    Candelabra lit, the hounds at rest, two brothers share the night.
     
    Tell me, lord, of mountains far, and I shall speak of valleys.
     
    Whisper soft of tears aloft, and I will gale with laughter.
     
    Boast upon your finest hour, while I but moan defeat.
     
    Your nights of black and smiles lack, I will comfort be.
     
    And when laughter wanes and tongues grow weary,
     
    morning's light shall end our night.
     
    We rise but slowly, friendship now holy,
     
    and turn to walk away out of sight.
  4. harveybirdman
    Altered and musing on my reverence for Camels. (from long ago)
     
     
    like a candy box of confections
    I open it up to sidle my fingers through
    I choose a carmel beauty and slowly lift it from its shell
    even dormant it scents the air in the passage to my lips
    I light; a passionate, smooth dandy mingling his breath with mine
  5. harveybirdman
    I miss out out with a lot of horror movies. 1) I'm not a straight man. Could we have less titties in these things? Please? Now full frontal male nudity for days would be just fine. Am I a hypocrite? Fuckin' A…maybe I just like the company. 2) I am one of those sick souls who actually thrives, nay, insists on good writing, on a substantial story. (Unless, of course, we are talking creature features and then I am willing to negotiate my standards or perhaps throw them under the bus altogether.) Why does horror so often have to wallow in the lowest common denominator? I love Phil Hartman's usual line in "Newsradio" whenever he is trying to argue the profundity of something when really he just wants something for himself: "It speaks to the human condition!" Well horror does speak to the human condition. It speaks to base instincts, to the boundaries of our culture, our norms. It takes us to the very edge of the safety of the camp's fire light and dares to step into the darkness beyond. It can strip away all of our comforting notions of what is real, what is safe, what we are. This is what draws me to horror and fantasy and science fiction as genres-let us redraw the entire map of reality. This activity can expand our notions of what is, what could be. Stepping outside can broaden our perspective even if afterwards we step back to where we were originally. And every once in awhile someone comes along who actually takes my hand and draws me out to the edge, who shows me the shadows- not merely pointing to them from the safety of the fire's glow.
    What brought all of this on, you ask? These thoughts are not brand new for me but most recently reignited by the movie The Human Centipede (First Sequence). I have been fascinated about the plot for weeks since I first heard about it and I saw the movie a couple days ago. [note: spoiler alert-and I am not speaking of your appetite here] It involves a surgeon who was known for separating siamese twins. He wanted to take separate entities and join them to reverse the process and make a conjoined creature. So he kidnaps three people and surgically joins them mouth to anus to form a human chain, a centipede as it were. He creates triplets conjoined by their digestive tract. This disturbs me. It also makes me want to stand up and applaud and let us address that. I could not get the imagery, the concept out of my head. That is horror. I want you to make my skin crawl, make me doubt my kinship with humanity, take me further and show me a brand new frontier. I have felt some shame in the past for enjoying a disturbing movie (e.g. "In a Glass Cage") but I think the pushing of boundaries is the salient point here. So the concept for this movie was magical for me but the execution… I am reminded of something my friend told me about showing your ass in public. If you are going to do it then go all the way. You don't just let it peek out a little. Some wonderfully imaginative and dark soul (talking of you here, Mr. Six) came up with this concept and created this movie. And I thought it was well done and a good horror movie and so much better than much of what I see in the genre. But I found myself thinking of things that could easily be done to fully explore this dark corner. For example, I want to see the full "expression" of the digestive tract connection for this centipede. Isn't that merely exploring the underlying premise for the actual horror of this scenario? Granted, a few minutes after I was thinking: is Anyone going to administer a laxative so we can get a money shot here?(I am classy) The idea was raised in the movie-but it was never acted on. I want to see you go all the way. Jorg Buttgereit's movies have disturbed me in the past. And don't get me wrong- the implied, the unshown can take us further and linger longer within us than the graphic. That was the sublime beauty of H.P. Lovecraft's creations. But we are not exactly inundated with subtlety here with The Human Centipede, are we? You are on my radar and in my mind now, Mr. Six. Thank you. Take me further next time.
  6. harveybirdman

    siren

    By harveybirdman,

    Oh, mighty giant, how I worship from afar.
    I see a lone, striding tsar.
    But I may only gape.
     
    Oh, fateful spectre, your visage of a love once known,
    unearthing the wounds I had sewn.
    How may I end this pain?
     
    Now, squinting siren, I climb aloft to reach to you.
    Now my life shall 'gin anew,
    and I smile at the thought.
     
    And as I jump come close to me you wicked, wicked boy.
    I am that lovely shattered toy
    you now hold within your hands.
  7. harveybirdman

    untitled

    By harveybirdman,

    I'd build a pyramid and on bowed knee
     
    dedicate it to your memory.
     
    And if I carved up the moon
     
    you would be the first offered a slice.
     
    For I hear your plaintive howl on the wind
     
    and I answer, with bloodied throat, in kind.
     
    Know that when your lonely soul flies the byways of the ether
     
    you do not travel alone.
  8. harveybirdman
    She hadn't meant to walk in on her father;
     
    she'd only wanted a glass of milk before bed.
     
    But as the door swung open her ears were greeted
     
    with a deafening explosion.
     
    Blood and brains painting the walls, a dress, her face.
     
    Blood-flecked pigtails quivered,
     
    mouth gaping at a landscape in hell.
     
    She slowly steps to the side of her slumped hero.
     
    Gingerly reaching out to those strong, gentle hands;
     
    recoiling at their warmth, now unholy.
     
    She bends as if guided by another to retrieve
     
    the steel scythe that has already harvested one.
     
    Rivulets of her pain roll down and away
     
    as she places the barrel just as she was taught.
  9. harveybirdman
    He is the one betting hounds at the Kentucky Derby,
     
    speaking a foreign language in a familiar land.
     
    He is the one looking for snowstorms in the South,
     
    and predicting rain amidst the desert sand.
     
    He is...
     
    Searching for a niche in alabaster walls,
     
    casting no shadow as he roams down the halls.
     
    Everyone knows him, a stranger nonetheless,
     
    what could possibly ail him is anyone's guess.
     
    He is king of a world,
     
    and lord over none.
     
    Always running the game,
     
    but never has won.
     
    He's a scholar, a poet,
     
    a singer: no rules.
     
    He's also a dreamer
     
    and dreams are for fools.
  11. harveybirdman

    arctic soil

    By harveybirdman,

    I ask you, gentle reader, would you scorn
     
    the violet's death in arctic soil?
     
    slave's last exhalation in endless toil?
     
    Could you chide or reprimand
     
    the Indian's rest after futile fight?
     
    the moth's candle respite from his quest for light?
     
    Would you then begrudge me my final rest?
     
    Would I find a cold, unyielding breast?
     
    And if you would that rest but kindly allow,
     
    my final breath a kiss of thanks upon your brow.
  12. harveybirdman

    a wanner hue

    By harveybirdman,

    Those carmel lips that curl so deliciously at the corners
    on a boy draped in a chair
    His head falls back to reveal the silky strength of a neck
    a chest rises and falls as he clenches the air
    A sharp intake as I sink in
    his taut belly quivering with the pain
    Crimson ecstasy flows gently down savannahs of flesh
    and a whimper escapes from those earnest lips
    Then white knuckles turn a wanner hue
    as muscles are laid to rest
    And a smile plays across my lips
    as I recall the last words on his
  13. harveybirdman
    Oh, Annie, sorry child lost from my breast.
    Where did you step wrong walking among the mortals?
    Was it me they saw in your eyes when you confessed?
    Close your weary eyes while I absolve the rest.
     
    Oh, Dragon Lady, can you smile now your work is done?
    The voices you hear these shall ne'er understand.
    Pity to you, for ours is not the way of the sun.
    Almost finished now as you gently squeeze the gun.
     
    Oh horror, the atrocities and blessings performed in your fight,
    hobbling those of a lesser god.
    They burn and destroy us, hide away those with a light.
    But you know and love your father, you have the sight.
     
    Oh, Annie, so confused with realities hurtling past.
    Who are they to claim the one for all?
    As the steel touches your temple the die is cast.
    For you, my darling, my arms will fly so fast.
  14. harveybirdman
    I remember concert and marching band in high school. This was written back then in honor of and with much gratitude for our high school band director, Jeff Evans. ( a Patient man )
     
    "Shout at the Band"
     
    You didn't play the allegretto,
    your notes are all flat.
    You say you can't play anymore!
    You got the sixth grade blues,
    your music you want to choose.
    If you want to leave, there's the door.
     
    You got your spit valve stuck,
    you don't give a fuck.
    And you think I don't give a damn!
    So put your instruments down
    and keep clownin' around.
    If all fails I can:
    [shout, shout, shout!
    Shout at the band!] x2
     
    In sectionals you suck,
    and with any luck,
    we might just go to state.
    On the field you screw around
    and make unmusical sounds.
    And on my nerves you grate.
     
    So you ungrateful wretch,
    no awards you can fetch.
    But to me you still bitch and moan!
    And the damn booster parents
    who can't understand
    why I sigh, and groan and:
    [shout, shout, shout!
    Shout at the band!] x2
  15. harveybirdman
    a deep bass rumble
    from the throat of hell
    as Demon clears a throat
    a plot unfolds
    insidious, threading, dynamic
    rising and falls
    the demons approach
    they creep out from
    every darkness, every crevice,
    every corner of every vision
    they tiptoe in to the scenery
    long, incisor fingers clatter
    along amorphous shapes
    they come fast but surely
    along your mindscape
    caressing your mind as you watch
    sliding their fingers between the sulci
    was that a grin- no a glare
    the myriad faces reach out to touch
    and dance back to peer again
    they are infiltrating every corner
    of every dark, blood-matted hall inside of you
    they become more you than you ever aspired to
    every clotted breath in and out
    is passage for the demons
    swimming over eyeballs
    writhing within nostrils
    squirming between muscles
    I am transported
    I am witness to fiery revels and orgies of genocide
    my body undulates in gore
    and monstrosities of a behemoth evil
    shambling just outside of my vision
    to see them naked would send my soul
    shrieking into insanity
    I am carried along a path
    reds, oranges
    soft fire, sobbing lament,
    stabbing regret, shrieking pain,
    their cutting into souls as one would gut a fish-
    these are the flowers, sun, sky of my world
    milky rivers of red float through the air, my mind
    the cutting, stabbing, squeezing
    are the grass under my feet
    I wander through the fields of the Lord
    I witness work, leisure, religion of this land
    piercing screams, gurgles, snapping, rending-
    guttural consonants of a feral language
    at once desperate and resigned splinter my head
    but none break the silence of the unholy landscape
    leaking from my eyes
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