More Secret Writings & Preview album Corbae (Laine) Love, Compassion, Night. #music #poetry

OTHER Corbae Previews here
For #LCN Album Corbae (Laine) Love, Compassion, Night.

 Lyrical notes for my current track I'm working on ..

[ Corbae (Laine) - xxi - (take it) from me, to you ]

its what you take
take it from me
that you are wrong

its what you say
about the way
we should have stayed

its all but gone
the light we shared
the way we stared

into the sun
and burned our pride
for all the times

we'd thought we won
but should have run
we should have run

into the sun...

Thanks Guys
Luv Laine

lyinghere lyinghere 

Get a quick fix for some #Poetry or some #thoughts ! check out my previous tweets @lyinghere or my http://lyinghere.blogspot.com

Secret Writings & Preview album Corbae (Laine) Love, Compassion, Night. #music #poetry

Corbae at lyinghere.com

OTHER Corbae Previews here
For #LCN Album Corbae (Laine) Love, Compassion, Night.


 Lyrical notes for my current track I'm working on ..

[ Corbae (Laine) - xi - Stories from the End of the (long) Day ]
< you should trade (the girl for the day) >

and you won-wonder why
I did not, say goodbye
as you walk, walk away
from the life that we have made

it took me too long to say anything
anything
it took me so long to say everything

it took me too long to say anything
everything
it took me too long

so you'll stab out the day
to erase what we have made
and you'll miss, passing by
all the times I've said goodbye

(well)
it took me this long to see that everything, everything
was changing at the edge of this day
it took me too long to see anything, (that everything)
was changing at the rush of your game

it took me too long to see that everything, everything
was ending at the edge of this day
it took me this long to see anything, (everything)
was mending all the choices we've made

< you should >
trade (thegirl for the day)(the girl for the day)trade(the girl for the day)(the girl for the

day)

hope you're enjoying the week Everyone!

lyinghere lyinghere 

Get a quick fix for some #Poetry or some #thoughts ! check out my previous tweets @lyinghere or my http://lyinghere.blogspot.com

20 minutes ago Favorite Reply

Last Days of Summer - Corbae & (1)NS update

Many things on the go, this last quarter has seen some good progress and I'm looking forward to a few things, like launching (1)ne Night Stand on October 1 2010 online release in the flash tool Issu and free pdf download, then completing the remix of Corbae - Eviscerate Ante.Meridiem & Post.Meridiem. PM will be up for sale soon on facebook and nimbit by November anyways. I'm still having issues setting up a free download of AM off the lyinghere site, but I'll figure it out.

With the release of (1)NS it will be web update time, then its gonna be focus on recording & design projects.

The acoustic LP Corbae (Laine) - Love, Compassion, Night, I have been writing on my guitar on the front porch since early May. Looking forward to putting the sounds to vocals, its a big challenge for me, but thats what I live for.

Then a combo of music & poetry > Corbae - d3mons EP and the Graphic Poetry Book bedtime for d3mons. this will be a crazy mix of art, design, words, pohems, and fiction. its plot oriented but its a very short story I'm writing for a handful of characters.

Anyways, this is just touch base kinda message.
more news shortly.

love,
laine

quote from the Eviscerate Cover:

This is now the twenty-first century.

Fascinated that we are living in the twenty-first Century, however saddened we
have no daily space transit, no spinners, no androids or robots to do our
bidding.. this left us with music, that in nineteen forty, would sound like
'future music' should. Being in the future, doesn't make us accept it better.

Yet I find much of this 'future music' primative, tribal, speaking to our bodies
and spirit.. and nothing like the missing rocketships from our back yard.

These are non-ordinary moments.. never is this moment the same as that moment.
Nothing is ever repeated. We are never the same person, never the same body..
nucleotide division, celluar consumption, protein composition all tell us that fact.

Even staring at objects in space, trying to ascertain their purpose, the chemical
composition in this yellow paint, or the metal used in that sandwhich wrapper foil..

we're in a time of humanity no one wants to be in, but we all need to accept
where we are now. As only when we accept and acknowledge this,
can we work to change it.

Try to eviscertate reality in every moment.

This is for all of us living in the twenty-first century.

+laine+ © 2010

100 Days (wrap up) #100DaysofPohems #Poetry

Thank you everyone for reading 100 Days of Pohems!

It has been a great and successful challenge again this year. I'll be back at this next march 2011.

In the meantime, production for two e.books to be released this fall, (1)ne Night Stand and Bedtime for dƏmons is under way. I've pretty much decided to launch all this just off Lyinghere.com so keep your eyes peeled for updates.

Corbae is getting some wrap up soon. Have a few final cuts coming. No video updates as of yet. Also working on acoustic tracks for the new LCN album and hoping for early release 2011. As a side note, looking for some little gigs with a few companions this summer, will be good to jam and get some more experience in before the year is out. Hoping to do a small EP release for dƏmons when it comes time.

Working out details for a non-profit painting project this fall, so hoping to hit brush to canvas this August.

enjoy the summer and keep me posted with more of your feedback and updates
thanks everyone

much love
+laine+

[ .two.hundred, by.one.hundred. ]

[ .two.hundred,by.one.hundred. ]

i

swear, I saw the world, at midnight, in its real and fleshy work, where the summer light, all but gone, imprinting on the facets of each face, brushing back your ear, the hallmark crowd, the wolves all weary, the boys are marked, as the dark comes on.

ii

know, that we saw the world, at midnight, it's all on, taking bets, where the underground is calling, now, from its toothy maw, unsaited at the end of day, as the running wolves, work the crowd, and blaring boys, are cut down, in the black out heat.

iii

love, where we woke the world, at midnight, just before, the weight comes on, the breath, holding back, from the traffic lights, insight, that the neon marks the worth, the work, that spark that pulls us, up and out, wolves in the crowd, where we are down, as it breaks the late late, and bright boys burn out the night sky.


© Bryan McLean July 3, 2010
100/100:2

[ .all.weight. ]

[ .all.weight. ]

the all start fray, quickened to the pace, long passed longing, the wild side for wolves, all vicious in their natural way, the flirt, the fall, the ever minding way, they work, stirring early from their front door slumber, the whirring in time, to the frothing mouths, and sharpened tooth, grasping for your pulse, as lovingly they sway you, held to their breast, and set to devour, inch by inch, every morsel.

© Bryan McLean July 2, 2010
099:100:2

[ at.night,the.secret,lovers. ]

[ .at.night,the.secret,lovers. ]

undercover, where lovers lay, on sides still working, in the low-low candle light, the clandestine operations, of mouth on nape, nuzzling the lines that run the length of torso to hip, each gasping maw, hungry and filling up, with the pulse of heat, palms playing out, vicious and inviting, as all eyes are glowing, in the deep gloom.


© Bryan McLean July 1, 2010
098/100:2

[ .last.day.of.june. ]

[ .last.day.of.june. ]

the set so brilliant sky, works all the words in blue, as the flowers hold, and the footsteps fold the pavement, under toes, still longing for the heat, on the last day of june.


© Bryan McLean June 30, 2010
097/100:2

[ .the.working, deadmound. ]

[ .the.working, deadmound. ]

hours, finding this muddy site, hallowed near dark, plant it, the shovel spills. by horn & hoof, the hungry maw exposed, the heart shoved mouth, paper thin lips reach right around, choking it down. all is ready on the deadmound, body bound, certainly cannot be free, not from the circle cast, only the head, is all that's needed. the girl straddles the sodden corpse, cantos too old for ears, salt spilling in over the wire. say it, say it. need one word, just one. all of this working, just to wake the sun.


© Bryan McLean June 29, 2010
096/100:2 dƏmons

[ .open.mouthed, we.breathe.harder. ]

[ .open.mouthed, we.breathe.harder. ]

as the stutter of silhouette shifts, the green glowing diamonds, now almonds, birds, or boxcars, race each other, over the rails of grass, the tint of cheekbone, as skull tops to the trunk, we watch the canopied atmosphere, through branches shaking the pilfered cinema, showing out numbered, as we churn comedy from tragedy.


© Bryan McLean June 28, 2010
095/100:2

[ .in.living.echoes. ]

[ .in.living.echoes. ]

somehow all I hear, are sounds in living echoes, hearing distant chimes, down the silent sleeping street, thinking of you on foot, eloquent so delicate, missing each footprint you leave.


© Bryan McLean June 27, 2010
094/100:2

[ .the.working, on.the.dark.road. ]

[ .the.working,on.the.dark.road. ]

heading north, into the rain and wind, heading bound and buried, as the calling pulls, as the swelling is clearer, its ready in remix, the tape deck, switch out, switch on the haywire running, as the gravel gives way, and the cutting cutless fumes black clouds from its gutter mouth, and its hellfire redeyes, burning along the skirt edge,
of the black highway.


© Bryan McLean June 26, 2010
093/100:2 dƏmons

[ .caught.on, to.the.fall. ]

[ .caught.on,to.the.fall. ]

and in love, we fall, with serene surrendering, to seasons lost and conquered, contemplating all the little details, flowing in slow motion, as we catch our breath, we cup so close to breathe, autumn not far off, the leaves, all but ready,
to fall at your waiting touch.


© Bryan McLean June 25, 2010
092/100:2

[ .steady,cruise. ]

[ .steady,cruise. ]

steady as she goes, as twilight sparks, marking memories, salient sounding, as the late light cruises on, our out-calling tempest, atrophied in the painted skies, held high, your searching eyes, searching out the warning signs,
that marks the ending of the day.


© Bryan McLean June 24, 2010
091/100:2

[ .at.night,the.rain. ]

[ .at.night,the.rain. ]

my heart beats for you, my rain, my love, sloshing waters underneath my skin, the haunted footsteps, splashing down the hall and hark, marks the breathy wind outside, hushing your neck and nuzzle, as the raining march gets you further inside me, running down, running through all my parting hairs, all harrowed, are my ever loving lies, leaking through walls, my plaster, the touching fingers running cold, the rain all drumming, at the glass, beating frame and fracture, my heart beats for you.


© Bryan McLean June 23, 2010
090/100:2

[ .six.twenty.nine. ]

[ .six.twenty.nine. ]

six.twenty.nine. a.m. dotting the stitched lines in the pillow creases, the the crushing thunder starts me, starts the pulse of day, only marking the daylight, the breath of dawn, so unexpected, the lines run from eyelid and maw, as the dreams break in the streak of sun lined light, and are lost in the instant that birthed them.


© Bryan McLean June 22, 2010
089/100:2

[ .words,enough. ]

[ .words,enough. ]

am strong enough, to hold the ocean, in spite of, the wearing way,
your laugh, still pulls, my insides out.


© Bryan McLean June 21, 2010
088/100:2

[ .leave.me,standing.here. ]

[ .leave.me,standing.here. ]

wheels are turning, words are churning, heavy on your mind, your mouth gone dry, when you try to say my name.. the context of this wake up is reminiscent of any break up, where you just don't want to move and its all happening in its own time, morning gone.


© Bryan McLean June 20, 2010
087/100:2

[ .carry.on. ]

[ .carry.on. ]

feel my body broken, the planks bore siding, shingle all the lines, and the curves missing, beating, scraping at my bow. handles missing, and nothing to carry me on or over, to breach this reef.


© Bryan McLean June 19, 2010
086/100:2

[ .guess.it.was,her. ]

[ .guess.it.was,her. ]

your catalytic past, fading into the night, as the highway pulls away, like the film in your gage, in the ways that you sway, oh in the ways that you sway, always.


© Bryan McLean June 18, 2010
085/100:2

[ .mouth. ]

[ .mouth. ]

words wilt in your very presence, as the gaps between gasps increases, mumbling making out the oral orders, as fingerprints imprint in passing, the secret seal, the sounding sigh of the palm to thigh, as hands work up sides, fingers clutching, my mouth meets yours again, cutting off the catch of breath, as you stutter, edit, all onto the cutting floor, the mouthing mercies, all implanted upon you.


© Bryan McLean June 17, 2010
084/100:2

[ .starling,soundings. ]

[ .starling,soundings. ]

as starlings start the sounding day, frothing at maw and wire, talons tucked underline, as they cackle out the wet morning news, choking in the fray, flit and flutter from branch to clothesline and home, in green grey light, lamenting history, as the start works wear down, the clouds move on, and the little birds wind down,
in hunting packs, calling.


© Bryan McLean June 16, 2010
083/100:2

[ .and.she.left, the.next.day. ]

[ .and.she.left,the.next.day. ]

even when I define, all the things I mean, rounded out in silences, those vignettes lost in late hours, she's calling out, bridging gaps in words worn-out, as the little things she says, cannot reach their errant destination, cannot breach the intricate nets for defence she's built up, wailing in all surround, her hollow hands hugging close, her narrow minded feet, pushing away, at each slender step, as the ground pounds further away, between myself and her toe-tagged digits.


© Bryan McLean June 15, 2010
082/100:2

my secret to lyinghere

Bryan McLean This is where / lyinghere / comes from.. between the purpose of one's final resting place.. a secret purpose, such as the video for 'Just'.. the song 'In Your Room'.. my ongoing romance of laying on the ground in the dark listening to music.. when one does not know how to tell the truth, no matter the place or timing.. my shaman journeying.. slumber to achieve dream states.. and being abandoned.

Depeche mode-in your room

www.youtube.com

 · Comment ·  · Share

[ .touching,toes. ]

[ .touching,toes. ]

your toes, so out of tune, tonal on the radio frequented carpet of grass, to lower path, straighter legs so lower, finding the divots and set groves, as they curl and cup the skin below my knee, in the dark, when I can't sleep, beside you.


© Bryan McLean June 14, 2010
081/100:2

[ .the.hungry.earth, chalking.in.circles. ]

[ .the.hungry.earth,chalking.in.circles. ]

circles, mind going in circles, walls a whitewash of our codes our calling, rocking to-and-fro, as its coming on, mouths and mircles, screaming, crawling inch by inch, over water ruined surfaces, down here in the hungry earth, the sketches out of my brain, the shaking hands cannot stop, and only exhaustion lets me sleep, before the fingers wake, and find the filthy chalk, and start my scratching once again.
(f*nd me, please find *e.)


© Bryan McLean June 13, 2010
080/100:2 dƏmons

[ .announcing,sundays. ]

[ .announcing,sundays. ]

is it
the wall of earth
the sunward facing starling
the blowing pine & branch
or the sunbleached rocks
that has all the earth
awaiting its next notes


© Bryan McLean June 12, 2010
079/100:2

[ .wash.over,me. ]

[ .wash.over,me. ]

out of door, the marks are lines now, running through the scalp, through the cloth, to the rushing skin, as the pulse harrows and hounds the purpose of the day, and as the clouds seed the ground, soaking through the fingers of grass and toes of roots, that are the seething earth, made of you and me.


© Bryan McLean June 11, 2010
078/100:2

[ .fade.into,the.background. ]

[ .fade.into,the.background. ]

swelling grey green, the late spring lilacs, humming leaves, all in motion, colour hums the numbing echo, shoes scuff pavement further, footfalls on the worn out path, as we pass each lark and tree, as the swelling deep inside, finds heavy homes in our thoughts, as the humming ground, calls to us, us speeding on,
into the grey green light.


© Bryan McLean June 10, 2010
077/100:2

[ .could.have,been. ]

[ .could.have,been. ]

hate to say
but every time it was you
when I was upside down
when I was turned around
it was you
it was you on my mind.


© Bryan McLean June 9, 2010
076/100:2

[ .the.working, plans.begin.to.seed. ]

[ .the.working,plans.begin.to.seed. ]

standing on the sea-saw bridge, the sky all fire orange, the dirty burnt cutlass still smoking hot, hands on the rail looking out, thinking the time is raw and ready. shovel, check. salt, check. barbedwire, check. swollen heart in pocket, check. four quarts of goat bile, check. radiator cooled, check. gas time, road time for the Oldsmobile, stomped out smoke, foot down heavy, and three hundred miles to go, three hundred miles are counting, on us.


© Bryan McLean June 8, 2010
075/100:2 dƏmons

[ .on,day. ]

[ .on,day. ]

it was quite pleasant earlier
now the palette has exchanged the
golden honey light & the
pallid blues dotted with
plane, bird or stick-winged bee
now swathed in grimy pastels
yet the swashbuckling cross of ships
built of cloud and vapour
give the shy sky the texture of life


© Bryan McLean June 7, 2010
074/100:2

[ .if.there.were.no.histories.. ]

[ .if.there.were.no.histories.. ]

would we strip the past
to make way for the future
or would we repeat the past
in desolate need to destroy our futures
would the sacrifice and suffering
of so many, of all, have been for naught
or would we rise past our differences
and move only forward
would our nature draw us back
looking for the histories we once held
does only the past define us now
can we not become something more
without looking back over our shoulders
would we still be as beautiful and grand now
if there were no histories.


© Bryan McLean June 6, 2010
073/100:2

[ .at.night,it.takes.us. ]

[ .at.night,it.takes.us. ]

let us see
where the night takes us
let us fall
where the night lands us
let us fly
when the night calls us
let us run
how the night lets us
let us be
what the night makes us


© Bryan McLean June 5, 2010
072/100:2

[ .the.hearts.of,man. ]

[ .the.hearts.of,man. ]

please, turn off, our trampled heart
tramp it is, the switch is easy
all in grasp, your finger-hold
the martyr, only pending
on the edge, the push-start pull cart way
you waddle concert steps
and perspiration varies
of the urban town
the drill of lye
as all will to eye-folds over
ever obsessant, incandescent
your loving lies, the landscape scrawling
out the lines of pen in distances
you only knew, you only held
in hands that have not touched
the hearts of man


© Bryan McLean June 4, 2010
071/100:2

[ .vitro,la. ]

[ .vitro,la. ]

so close to you
I could touch you
sense the heat of your breath
feel the strands of hair on your neck
touch the sweetness of your skin
push the pulse of your system
almost grasp you
almost be you
in only a moment
I'll be right there
my reflection
walled in glass


© Bryan McLean June 3, 2010
070/100:2

[ .street.psalms. ]

[ .street.psalms. ]

no man of worth
ever noted, ever awarded
the working man, his hands so scared
so fading.. as you walk his streets
his buildings, benches, plumbing, electrical..
the secret show, all for naught,
the buses, frames and folding
the scaffolding of paint and shingle
all made in his image, all made by heavy palms,
ignored by hands that hold
so very much of him,
his pride, his fumbling pay-cheques
car payments and children's clothes,
 late rent, late nights,
all ignored by your hands and feet,
his gift, their gift, to your future's future.


© Bryan McLean June 2, 2010
069/100:2

[ .made.up.for. ]

[ .made.up.for. ]

good nights are defined
by the beer you drink
the bread you eat
the company you keep
not by the day you've had
the work you do
or the disappointment
in your chest.


© Bryan McLean June 1, 2010
068/100:2

[ .parts. ]

[ .parts. ]

memories are
a white-wash
of gutter-trained love
in it's ashen hour
and your stumbling
precarious ways
are nothing
but a block
in the path
as you are hiding
all your best parts
under the eaves


© Bryan McLean May 31, 2010
067/100:2

[ .in.passing,you. ]

[ .in.passing,you. ]

on dry streets, late evening, my mouth met yours, in passing,
no words were shared, nothing to say, only in passing, my mouth met yours.


© Bryan McLean May 30, 2010
066/100:2

[ .at.night,breathing. ]

[ .at.night,breathing. ]

eyelashes brush close, to the thin skin over bone, their intense marking,
making it terribly clear, how much they want more of me.


© Bryan McLean May 29, 2010
065/100:2 短歌 tanka

[ .one.word,adorations. ]

[ .one.word,adorations. ]

snow
falls
in
love
with
you


© Bryan McLean May 28, 2010
064/100:2

[ .an.honest,night's.sleep. ]

[ .an.honest,night's.sleep. ]

waking
again
in dark rooms
where
I am trying
to be oh so
bright

rolling
again
in soaked sheets
where
I am trying
to finally
sleep

breathing
again
in lamp light
where
I am trying
to be free of
fright


© Bryan McLean May 27, 2010
063/100:2

[ .lonesome.room,blue. ]

[ .lonesome.room,blue. ]

you cannot stop it,
festering in your swelled chest,
that candy striped gift,
that one you have kept a while,
in hopes you would forget it.


© Bryan McLean May 26, 2010
062/100:2 短歌 tanka

[ .caught.on, to.you(r.workings). ]

[ .caught.on,to.you(r.workings). ]

in hollowed out schemes, the halls echo
howling for approval, admission
alkaline our linings, shimmering now
as it seethes, centred forwards,
the weight is willing, circle closed
as all calling begins, as the working begins.


© Bryan McLean May 25, 2010
061/100:2

[ .solid,state. ]

[ .solid,state. ]

we want to crawl inside your heart
and make a home there
nesting to the hollowed out sounds
of your missing beat


© Bryan McLean May 24, 2010
060/100:2

[ .the.suffocate(d).(ea)r(th). ]

[ .the.suffocate(d).(ea)r(th). ]

rev0lve, as the grubs eat your pulpy carcass, as the millipedes know new depths of intimacy, we're never alone (in) the deep ground, as the mud of mire, reclaims translucent skin, as the love of all things transcribes, your fate, marked on lashed hands, lungs lost all capacity, for love, for light, digits reaching out, to the caked maw, pulling out the suffocating earth, as you dig and pry until you are free, of fate, of translucent skin, till the lungs are air, till your wings are air,
till our eyes are sunward.


© Bryan McLean May 23, 2010
059/100:2

[ .all.the.little.things, in.passing. ]

[ .all.the.little.things,in.passing. ]

as I remember
all the little things
in passing
you said or say
all the hearts
in passing
you said or say
that we move on

avoiding another
lonely night
(in/out of bed)
as the ghost of you
trails through
the glistening records
(lp, ep, 45)

skipping at the beat
needles skipping
in the chest
been taken for a ride
all around the outside in
a deep history
in jazz and blue
cords and tones
strung in the heart
sounding in the mind

as I remember
all the little things
in passing
you said or say
all the hearts
in passing
you said or say
that we move on


© Bryan McLean May 22, 2010
058/100:2

Feedback #100DaysofPohems - Annual Project² #Poetry

==============================
Feedback # 100 Days of Pohems - Annual Project²
==============================

Hello to Everyone!


... First off

Much appreciated for everyone following me this year.

I know its a lot to follow every day sometimes, but its great if you even just swing by every so often to get a collection of new words.

We are a little over the half way mark. I'm still very excited about this (mostly because I know there is an end to the obligation and I will have more time for other work soon)

So far this year has been an interesting collection of well planned writing and last minute groggy experiments (the latter more the former), also things I've included like my graphic submission for 48hrmag (quite the exciting project to follow), some of my design, drawings, and photo notes. So overall this years work is going well.


... On to business (and tea!)

I'm looking for some brief feedback..

nothing fancy but anything you'd like to see more or less of,
things that work or don't work, elements you'd rather have more of?
general thoughts or impressions are wonderful

a bunch of one line suggestions really do help the nature of this project.
you can reply or just email me : lyinghere@gmail.com or reach me at contact.

... extra project notes

working at compiling last year and this year's work
into two compilations as e.poetry

bedtime for dƏmons - I've signed on another artist, animator Clint Madrid, to give me some dƏmon sketches and backgrounds, just to change up my style a bit. I enjoy my art and design, but I really want to work with other artists this year.

(1)ne Night Stand : memori, manipehsta, sketches, & living.
also have a few artists in mind to do some background work, either abstract paint/print work. we will see how things go this summer.

both of these will get wrapped up about mid-November I'm hoping.

Corbae will have some final cut launch soon. hoping to release soon but having some mixing blunders here and there. Also writing the acoustic album as we speak. its a long process all on your own, yet very fulfilling.


... wrap up

Once again everyone, thank you for your time, love, and feedback!
Wishing you a great summer as its coming on finally.

miss and love you all

Bryan Mc(Laine)
2010-05-22

[ .caught.on,fire. ]

[ .caught.on,fire. ]

desire, unquantifiable, in reflective purpose,
finds the rounding edges to their photo frames,
semi-fore faces, where hungry lies leave them lying here,
the curve of every line and lip, yet holding out till the accelerant goes,
the workings of every room goes off, burning and bringing every scrap to bear,
breath now caught, when they're finally in her exothermic grasp,
clasping to be free, it's pulling the atmosphere from lung and air,
pulling the head & heart closer, pushing out nothing
but the uncontrolled heat of bodies, now caught on fire.


© Bryan McLean May 21, 2010
057/100:2

[ .sinking,skin. ]

[ .sinking,skin. ]

we've sunk into our own thoughts our own hearts as the humming underfoot was reminiscent of the underworld, the highway transcription of mediocre temper3ence, we engage in, sunlit and drawn thin as we sink into our own hearts our own minds.


© Bryan McLean May 20, 2010
056/100:2

[ .at.night,we.bloom. ]

[ .at.night,we.bloom. ]

sounding pulls, like palms do, hands all over, every angle, as the siege begins, in the dark light, the night poised petals, flush with intensity, conical imprints, thumb prints, ever at the ready, all down the line, the grin and flash of teeth, knowing in their presence, as eyes do, eye up, all the near and nulling surfaces of skin,
pulls me closer still.


© Bryan McLean May 19, 2010
055/100:2

[ .the.hungry.earth.ii. ]

[ .the.hungry.earth.ii. ]

shattered glass underfoot, where it catches the edge of his heel, his longcoat soaked through, tattered, simple shelter finally, frayed through gloves push at a broken door, the wood worn threadbare, like his hollowed out heart, weary,
he lays down with the hungry earth.


© Bryan McLean May 18, 2010
054/100:2 ~dƏmons~'a.

[ .caught.on,film. ]

[ .caught.on,film. ]

swallow, all the sounds
sour static, eating at the
face, the sun-ward sky
turned upside down, water blue
running over, the new
near death policy, where stains
stay in place, grave coloured
coffee cup tombs, shatter on the ground
like falsetto gull cries, shutter shut
wingless, loveless longitudes
cutting the last lines, at the corners of eyes
one bottle too many, heedy answers
found at the bottom, of all the histories
dragging them back in, caught on film.


© Bryan McLean May 17, 2010
053/100:2

[ .drag. ]

[ .drag. ]

though my pulse is slow
our chests could race together
see which one of ours
might make the finish line first


© Bryan McLean May 16, 2010
052/100:2 短歌 tanka

[ .remnants. ]

[ .remnants. ]

feels like falling                                

in love                      

with the idea                                                    

that gravity                            

holds tight                      
and never lets go        


© Bryan McLean May 15, 2010
051/100:2

[ .the.hungry.earth.i. ]

[ .the.hungry.earth.i. ]

he wonders where are all the lovers tonight.. likely locked down, in thin walled rooms or hotel parking lots, looking on, wing and brow, shuddering under the cover of concrete, the steel and neon hold steady, as he moves passed, the hungry earth.


© Bryan McLean May 14, 2010
050/100:2 ~dƏmons~'a.

[ .moved. ]

[ .moved. ]

clouds move
stars appear
bangs move
stars appear
lips move
stars appear


© Bryan McLean May 13, 2010
049/100:2

[ .soft. ]

[ .soft. ]

keys tracking strings, theory revolves, the late light fading,
as each handhold keeps us closer, than the streetlights we pass by.


© Bryan McLean May 12, 2010
048/100:2

[ .midnight,ravages. ]

[ .midnight,ravages. ]

legs won't stop kicking, in the dark, can't seem to sleep again, twitching, can't seem to keep cantos from seeping into the late nite narrations, mythos crawling from the ceiling, from underneath the bed, the watching and waiting signs, of greatness or blunt failure, the sweet maw or wet tooth-sucking grins of the elongated shadows, hunting hungry, every corner of the room, holding steady
at the edge of every corner of your eye..


© Bryan McLean May 11, 2010
047/100:2

[ .the.endless.television,averages. ]

[ .the.endless.television,averages. ]

I actually wanted to write something of consequence tonight.. but instead I find myself still bitching about the expectations.. the world unchanging.. the need for image, appearance, keeping the fit form of youth.. where the unrealistic values of life oppresses us.. the fat, the weary, the terrible terrible fact that the majority of the western world are average.. average height, average size, average weight, average day, average thoughts.. cannot squeeze enough bodies into the perfect frame.. if there is such an army of average out there, why is that bad, why is that frame inconsistent, off set.. why can it not rise up and take back its average lives? should we not be celebrating our unity, our similarities, embracing and loving the massive amounts of average we all are.. ordinary waist, ordinary face, ordinary clothes, ordinary transit.. why does difference allow us conjecture.. why does it reign supreme.. our differences are celebrated, salivated, on the differential scales, extremists are allowed to hate those that are different yet praise on high those that stand out, blare out, they are the golden son, the adam Ḳadmon, beautiful daughter, or the nemesis, enemy, black sheep.. if all extremes are besieging us, why are we not embracing the clear fact that perfection is an imbalanced as the average ratio of dimensions in space.. we all speak of love, is love not the average? is love not the one thing all parents, all philosophies, all religions, keep on high.. or is it the average deceiver.. hold on, hold on to yourself, hold on to your average moments, your ordinary days, hold on. just hold on.


© Bryan McLean May 10, 2010
046/100:2

[ .a.stalled,impermanence. ]

[ .a.stalled,impermanence. ]

wanting to have
so many more
simple moments
that simply pass away
all attention drawn
all attentitives on
the way you smile
right through me


© Bryan McLean May 9, 2010
045/100:2

/ consequences of hustle /

/ consequences of hustle /

hustle - swelling and pulpy, co.active in the breach, the beat near ready, the pulse increase as the cheeks flush, rushing to the knees, rush on, hush on in the dark rooms, in the city glaring neon streaks of train and tail.light, gathering to punch and run, the beat at the ready, as all out semper fi the tweak to highpitchfork sounding, hush of travel, consequence of running your daily hustle in the fast lane, the growing bodies, neon in the night light, swallows all shadow, the so so soft semblance, here we are, standing, unrequited, in the callous club, dub dubbed down, where the wallowing of our slumbering feet, push back the beat, trees to lockstep shellblast, consequence of modern melancholy, we were run, we were from, all points across, pillars under the ocean, the gastric system, stellar in the wind down, proximity of pericardium, pushing to swell, as we swoon to your hustle.


© Bryan McLean May 8, 2010
044/100:2

#48hrmag #poetry #submission http://48hrmag.com

[ .the.standing.people. ]

[ .the.standing.people. ]

all in grey boy, fighting in the early summer light, to win out, wanderlust lines caking at the maw, the spun round love in the playground, at worn out, starting out again, sunshine days all wrought with eager expectations, as we all welcome the sun-time, ready for the on coming season, ready for the run of river, shade of sheltering people, old and oscillating, watching over all we do, and sharing all we see.


© Bryan McLean May 7, 2010
043/100:2

{ .while.I,wait. }

{ .while.I,wait. }


rush
              of skin

           hush

        of hearth
                                     lush
                   of lips
                                               bitten



© Bryan McLean May 6, 2010
042/100:2

[ .the.best.of.me. ]

[ .the.best.of.me. ]

you have to know
that I'm always here
this mouth
this match
this burning spark
it's in your pocket
waiting for you
to pull it out


© Bryan McLean May 5, 2010
041/100:2

[ .as.the.giants,coalesce. ]

[ .as.the.giants,coalesce. ]

sand so eternal, in between your tugging toes, sun set so high in your hair.. as the giants of collisions ride the night, as irradiated dust clouds are moving as agents, as the gaseous monsters consume, coalesce.. all in the dark mass of night.. as, close, you ride to me.. your mouth consumes me, irradiated, as we coalesce and collide,
all in the dark mass of night.


© Bryan McLean May 4, 2010
040/100:2

[ .syntactic.expletive.commentaries.from.your.needles. ]

[ . syntactic . expletive . commentaries . from . your . needles . ]

yup, time to start selling out, to start doing as I please, stop being a pussy, and fuck as much pussy as I want to.. commercialize the propaganda machine.. as the only solid way to connect with others now is clearly through the glaring daily marketing that feeds, forcefed, intra-venus-ly, vulva to pendulum, feeding that says buy me, buy my shit, buy this shit so you can fuck this girl or that guy, or both, at the same time if you can talk them into it.. hey we're marketing, we don't judge or fucking care as long as you buy our shit so you can tell all your other friends or fuck buddies so that they'll also buy the shit that we are selling you, from corner to skyscraper..
so time to sell out the simplicity of subtlety.. because no one is listening..
fuck you world, bullshit world. fuck you.


© Bryan McLean May 3, 2010
039/100:2

[ .at.night,the.train. ]

[ .at.night,the.train. ]

moving as does motion pull, the tug, in all its falling weight, gravity-inertia working against my dirtyboy demeanor, compassion not my strong point, wanting eyes do wander, the tracks click to the beat, involuntary muscle once again defenceless, senseless, as that falling weight of words and winking pulls me to closer you.


© Bryan McLean May 2, 2010
038/100:2

[ .the.hush,of.pulse.&.ponder. ]

[ .the.hush,of.pulse.&.ponder. ]

each foot presses more love into the ground.
as love imprints the earth, my love imprints in you.

I wonder when the words will come, when we sigh, when we pause and push the ground with our feet, digging the dirt, when wide lips of these, my lips, will find your lips, will they be warm, pressing to my lips, those words might falter,
crushed under the weight of when wide lips meet.

each eye passes, moving over to make way.
as over and over, my love imprints in you.


© Bryan McLean May 1, 2010
037/100:2

[ .setting,circles. ]

[ .setting,circles. ]

one night, I will be able to look at the stars and know I am looking back towards home.. but this night the stars are cold and distant, sleeping in the melancholy
and maudlin of the dark and dreaded galaxies


© Bryan McLean April 30, 2010
036/100:2

[ .fuck(for)fridays. ]

[ .fuck(for)fridays. ]

pretty sure, right now, you're not reading this, not hearing this, its only some donated time, when your hurt is down, so we should fuck for fridays, {tgifuck} find any girl, find any boy, find anybody, find your way to the cherry sweet center-folds, charity only starts at home, on the kitchen table, all over the floors, the sheets still say, orgies only start at home, so fuck for fridays, face baring in our laps, stay steady on me, faces lapping at your lolling loving pout, that skips the beating in our chests, the close close heat of breath, pushing at your skin, fuck for fridays, its the weekend way out, as the obligations are left at the door, tumbled coats to the floor, eloquent knees so sore, fuck for fridays.


© Bryan McLean April 29, 2010
035/100:2

[ .a.leading.role.in.numbers. ]

[ .a.leading.role.in.numbers. ]

so nervous in my nature, feet rubbing, heart pounding.. eyes looking anywhere but to your eyes, wanting to inquire, wanting to express, so uncertain what to say when words reach out, yet somewhere inside the deep universe, is that horrible me, I've swallowed, the hungry, needy me, that's travelled so far, with nothing to say.. all playing out in my head, loud like cinema, a nine yr old trying to learn Russian on his own; at twentyone in love and broke; a three yr old terrified from riding down a hill; a grade seven science project gone wrong; a sixteen year old fumbling to play guitar; a smurf bag walking to my dad’s car from kindergarden; at thirty one in love and broke; ya, always in love and broken; the fiction that our selves are made up of.


© Bryan McLean April 28, 2010
034/100:2

[ .coniferous.whispers. ]

[ .coniferous.whispers. ]

as the words imprint the regrets
that strengthen our failing resolve
in the wake of all the whispers
I keep wishing I had shared with you


© Bryan McLean April 27, 2010
033/100:2

[ let go of ² .. ]

[ let go of ² .. ]

the morning coffee, sky highway mountains, dusty gum wrappers, thinning hair, those sun soaked runners, running rivers, ticks at midnight, her perfume scented pillows, those muffintops, burnt out joints, your handheld apps, storm soaked office towers, shameful socks and grubby jeans, your screeching afternnoon napping alarm clocks, cold legs, bacon washed by oj, split milk in the fridge, broken eggs, the loves and lost lovers in life, wet fingertips, lifeless radio, sucked cigarette butts, happy moments about a quantum state recalled, a concerto, string sounds, hum of transit trains and traffic, steamy shower mirrors, chin scratched scars, sunlit catfur, sad moments of regret in the dark, seran wrapped meat, stale bread, jackhammered pavement, sweaty bottles, your trundling daily commute home, fastfood parking lots,
broken bottles, lines of bodies at the store,
skipping stones, gasmasks, tumbling laundry, the self.


© Bryan McLean April 26, 2010
032/100:2

More Book Shelf Moments...

More Book Shelf Moments...

Poetry : Japanese Verses, Collection 54-60 - Leonard Cohen, The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry, Blake, Notes from the Underground - Dostoyevsky, Art of War - Tzu, Three Hundred Poems of the T'ang Dynasty, The Divine Comedy - Dante, The Canterbury Tales - Chaucer, Screwtape Letters - Lewis, The fall of the House of Usher - Poe, Gift of the Hawk, The Captain Verses - Neruda, Collected Poems - Dylan Thomas, Selected - e.e. cummings, wilderness & american night - Morrison, Coke Machine Glow - Downie, collection - Kerouac.

[ .leaving... ]

[ .leaving... ]

if you don't go
I won't have to miss you

if you don't stay
I won't have anyone
to hold my paw when its bedtime


© Bryan McLean April 25, 2010
031/100:2

[ .night.treads. ]

[ .night.treads. ]

I live at night
in the wet streets
in the dry whispering trees
and in the echoing foot treads
that I leave behind


© Bryan McLean April 24, 2010
030/100:2

{ .the.faces.. }

{ .the.faces.. }

i wear
all day
all night
faces

i carry
all the words
inside my pockets
tucked away
out of sight
how much I think
you are just so
out of sight

i worry
all day
all night
that I might fail you

i hide
all the faces
inside my thoughts
tucked away
out of reach
how much i wish
i could stop being
out of reach

i bury
all day
all night
my real face

© Bryan McLean April 23, 2010
029/100:2

[ what.am.I? two ]

[ what.am.I? two ]

am sinking in you
the depths and measures
all the rational distances
deepening our intimate relations
deepening our climbs
deepening our passion
passion that knows no bounds


© Bryan McLean April 22, 2010
028/100:2

[ .what.am.I?. ]

[ .what.am.I?. ]

petals of rain
filling the glasses
clinking like lovers lips
the mouth setting upright

and as I sink slowly again
to the bottom
I watch my golden reflection
slowly pass
to my resting place


© Bryan McLean April 21, 2010
027/100:2

in the tropic of pohems | 100 Days of Pohems

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. ~Leonard Cohen

On the Topic of Pohems | 100 Days of Pohems

▪ So why Poetry.. what is it?

Poetry : Literary Art, or prose. / has been well defined as "the measured language of emotion." / the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts.

the list goes on.. however, poetry surrounds out daily lives; the music we listen to, the song of birds, thunder of skies or highways.. words placed in print or digitized.. email, marketing, jingles, posters, everywhere, almost so much as to deafen our senses to it.

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. ~T.S. Eliot, 1920

So the why here, for myself, lies in the fact that I chronicle my life through stories; not just mine but everyone I encounter and those characters I create.. sometimes saying how you feel or what has been going on in your daily events does not describe the intensity or depth of the matter.

I've been at this personally for over a decade, writing, plotting, travelling, meeting new & old friends.. and just writing things down as the come, capturing stories, or writing when something needs to be plotted out for the sake of art.

▪ Laine cannot spell... Pohem?

To explain.. from my most recent work on The Syndrome Papers (free download); to my past writing on Amore*pheous Works, Cantos for the King of Fall, The Judash Diaries, Harsh Mandolin, and The Mephestopheles Books, All of which are produced under the 'Seconds in Silence'lh model of assemblage thematics and often touted as bohemian poetry, or my (p)reference the word, pohems.

bo·he·mi·an (b-hm-n)
n. A person with artistic or literary interests who disregards conventional standards of behavior.

Some better known poets of the twentieth century, such as Jack Kerouac, Leonard Cohen, Dylan Thomas, Ezra Pound, ee cummings, Jim Morrison, Pablo Neruda, Gordon Downey.. they all had a tactical approach to writing in their own styles.. some from the head, body, or heart, some within their own landscape of rules and design.

▪ Poem authoring, so how does he do it?

obsession.. there is so much in the universe to learn and observe from.. and I have such an unhealthy love of all things, insatiable thirst to absorb everything around me. Originally trained as a fine artist, I seem to find the composition in all things, not just images or events, but music, works, and actions. The Abstract Expressionists, The Dadaist, and so many post-modern movements and artists, like Marcel Duchamp, Jackson Pollack, Robert Rauschenberg, Mark Rothko, all stole elements of collaboration and finding new or different ways to express something much larger than any artist had done so in the past.

Dadaism was a cultural movement, beginning early WWI, primarily involved visual arts, literature—poetry, art manifestoes, art theory—theatre, and graphic design, Its purpose was to ridicule, through anti-art, what its participants considered to be the meaninglessness of the modern world.

So although much of my work has previously been characterized by my personal turmoil, I've often sought the bigger events reflecting and revolving my life.

▪ Poems.. whyfore?

as journaling was a heavy western way of keeping biographical notes, british authors like Auldous Huxley, or the more common sea captains.. ancient cultures held oral traditions, and journals of a tribal history was best kept in a story and style that could easily be passed on, to teach future generations. a vast majority of Chinese literature, especially the poets of the high Tang 唐 Dynasty, such as Wang Wei, Li Bai, Du Fu, captured their lives & struggles, all as portraits of their moments in history.

It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things. ~Stephen Mallarme

Regardless, I've enjoyed the long journeys & moments I've been able to capture on my own; learned that sharing the events and my perceptions have given some insight and inspiration to others.. so I continue to do so and hope that by giving these words a home, that I've also given them their own voice.

Again, thank you for reading yet another year of 100 Days of Pohems.
+luv.Laine+

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. from Dead Poet's Society