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12Radio Surviving The Holidays — iRadeo

New Poetry from Marc Daniels/Charlus "Our Desire Is What Murder Us"

Our Desire Is What Murders Us

Wanting.

Automatically turns the switch

From being "O.K"

Into unsettled,

And from civil servants

We change into the unbridled within us:

Wild Horses,  Being Broken-

I kissed a Montana girl

On a Greyhound bus

when I was Twenty-Three,

I told her Id meet her in Helena

But I went straight on up to Seattle

And witnessed the true edge of society

And never called her

Not even when shook up and, 

I tucked my tail between my legs and ran home

and got on that bus back to Connecticut-

When I dream at night

About big blue skies

And air that you can actually breathe,

I sometimes feel

( I never see them)

Wild Mustangs snorting heat

In cool, moist, December frost-

6 am, dawn to the pure

Death to the rest of us

Wanton sinners-

Your big blue Country girl eyes

Montana young woman

Swim in my ocean

I seem to barely manage to wade in-

A world watery and turquoise blue

and sometimes the darker kind of blue-

They look at me

      Your American icy blue's

And I hear them say:

That was the one time when,

Marc,

You should have gone towards Desire

As if you whole life

Depended on it-

Desire, 

One way or another

Gets us

She has got everyones number-

1976. Young Doctor. Garden in India.

1976. 

The setting is an Indian garden.  

Young Indian Doctor, Goes into his workers shed (He is looking for some general item, perhaps a water container)-

His worker is an Indian peasant farmer, who he has hired for general assistance while he studies his medical pursuits.  He stumbles upon (and as a Doctor's curiosity is inate) inspects a common Oriental smoking pipe. He breaks it apart and see's ancient hieroglyphic text on one of its parts.  He runs his finger over the message trying to translate the meaning of the inscription upon the inner bowl of the pipe.  He Scrapes some resin. Tastes it. We see his face and a far off look out the window of his hired hands domicile/shed. 

Next scene:

There is a Radio playing.

It's a boxing match being called. Young boy, holding the transistor. Its the Son of the worker, listening just outside their shed.

Young Dr temporary distracted from his work smiles pleasantly and watches boy listening to radio from his own window perch just across the Indian garden. 

Their is smoke coming from the window of the shed that houses the boy and his father. 

We see The Dr's face change, from pleasant,  to worry, then to a subtle darkness. 

The next moment the worker comes out and immiadtely looks over at Dr first.

He calls the boy in. 

All we hear is a muffled shriek   

All we see is the Dr shudder and drop the notes in his hand.

What We hear next is the boxing match on the hand held radio.

Camera pans in on it.

Its Laying cracked on the floor. 

We hear the announcer say "and it looks like the young gold medalist has broken his hand" this will surely cost him the gold". 

The Image changes suddenly from a close up of the radio, to a Camera angle over the young Doctor's back, as he goes across the way, towards the shed at a furious pace.

Kick to front door.

Beastly grunt.

Kick to bedroom door, equally brute. 

Workers shocked face. Kick to workers mid.

Dr hits him twice and drags him across the garden to his kitchen.

Worker is dazed. Doctor furiously ties his wrists w medical tape and slams them down into a Pail of rice.

Reaches into workers traditional Indian robe and finds the tool commonly used for harvesting. Its A smaller iron claw like structure.

He proceeds to violently smash the claw just inches from workers hands into the rice.

Worker is clutched w fear.

Doctor realizes he is half out of control and drops the claw and staggers away. 

Next scene. 

Young boxer. Back home. Apartment. Queens New York. Hand wrapped. Mother and father hugging him. Kissing him. Telling it will be ok. Suitcase in other hand. Goes to small bathroom. Looks into mirror. Camera pans in on his eyes and face.

Then The camera pans down to the broken hand wrapped in gauze. 

Next scene.

3 months later.

Same Indian garden. 

Worker leaves to work the fields in the early am.

Boy running ahead to join friends off to school. Garden empties. 

We see the same camera angle as before when the Doctor moved to the workers door. Only this time,  he is  walking. We hear breathing. Subtle singing of birds. Opens door. Finds smoking apparatus. Scrapes. Tastes. A softness gathers in his face-  

Next scene-

Worker forever loyal to him 

 We see this when Doctor dressed in his fine suit now, being picked up by official looking vehicle presumably leaving w his luggage. 

Reverse scene. Camera behind worker as he strides towards Doctor who is getting ready to get inside the  vehicle.

Moment of tension quickly replaced by meaningful look between the 2 men.

Worker extends his hand to shake. 

No words-

Camera closes in on hands embraced

End scene-. 

Marc Daniels Channel — iRadeo

Marc Daniels Channel — iRadeo

rainer maria rilke

You Who Never Arrived

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt
landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and
unsuspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening... 

Rainer Maria Rilke

Heres the link to the Interview with master astrologer Robert Phoenix regarding my new record Game Of Desire.  http://wildfire.gigya.com/facebook/preview.aspx?fb_sig_api_key=f7667e9ebccf2157d6f15f991a5e3ce9&wid=643019371&p=bHQ9MTM%2AMzM1NzAwMjgzNSZwdD%2AxMzQzMzU3MDE2ODYwJnA9NDUwOTcyJmQ9Jm49ZmFjZWJvb2smZz%2AxJm89MGMzODY1MjM3YjIzNDk2NTkxNzIxOWQ%2AODdmMDY1MGU%3D&s=1

Devotion. By Jenny Herner and Marc Daniels

Her face lifts to 
the dawn of him,
the distance 
a high wall.

Like rose 
to trellis scaling
to her dawn 
her cloudless all,

she longs to see 
his garden,
both the petal 
and the thorn,

to know the rain 
that falls on it,
to weather 
fair and  storm.

Devotion.

Invitation

  INVITATION  ( Lyon, France)

Lionized, 

that double-edged sword

often betrays a touch of bitterness

in the cup of sweet charity-

At any rate, it never just happens

there will always be blood

casting in one sense a very different image

then the menacing dragon slain

beneath benevolent St George-

Even when it is a simple delicate recognition

the Creator is seeking, 

like the tasting mouth becomes to the One

who brought the dark chocolate, 

unknown until later, 

when her sensitive tongue detects 

buried in its folds,

like the hidden meaning of a poem,

it was chocolate,

indeed chocolate, 

but with,

 just a hint of cardamom.

So recline sipping

 Jasmine-laced-green-tea 

with the one you love,

and allow your  attention to be  captured 

by a snake slinking into the garden

 as it suddenly appears 

from the fallen rubble of a wall,

which was once a portrait of craft 

but now besieged by neglect-

The serpent doesn’t ask,

yet one question clearly forms:

Love or fear?

Then, at the break of a new day 

your hands busy to construct

the rich espresso of  thought,

from an open kitchen window, 

notice, a black cat watching you,

waiting with alert patience for an invitation 

from you whom she perceives to be a kindred spirit-

You see, there is recognition 

in fact, it’s practically

in everything you sensually embrace-

So go on, offer to open the heavy iron gates

that lead to a city of cathedrals-

Mindfully place each step, 

read with care, caution

not to be misled into wild dream 

like undisciplined wisteria-

Because you have seen how 

“set in stone”

becomes 

“crumbled in decay”

when indifference, 

the paramour of waking sleep,

seizes hold of the now passing day-

Beauty is eternal and so is Emptiness-

Just like the divinity of Incense,

it kisses the senses then vanishes,

what was once whole, eclipsed -

Ashes to ashes 

dust to dust…

If you have ever watched someone die

you either see a final closure or rebirth.

No one is sure-

We can watch the smoke escape the body

with intellectual pleasure and revel 

in tempting Death (as we do)-

However,

this might be the one opportune moment 

when Time, in all its brutality 

mercifully slows for the two of You,

surrendering its onslaught 

so you can surrender to it,

like coupled Doves finding refuge 

in the arms of an ancient Cherry Tree-

The alluring Power of adulation is lost 

without the anchor of devotion-

A sailor unable to rely on the stars 

when the compass is broken,

adrift like the scent of honey suckle 

swallowed by The Land-

At the midpoint of Life and the Year

what becomes most apparent:

Recognize who recognizes you-

A black Cat with gold in the eyes…

Invitation.

Now, questions are only answers in reverse and snakes,

they may or may not be menacing,

but You have returned,

to a Home which holds the familiar

like an antiquated mirror 

refracted with De’ja Vu-

And this feels good, of course-

Do you know what I mean?

tiger6300: Schloss Wallsee by Leo Pöcksteiner

tiger6300: Schloss Wallsee by Leo Pöcksteiner: Schloss Wallsee by Leo Pöcksteiner : Schloss Wallsee by Leo Pöcksteiner Leo Pöcksteiner: Photos · Blog

Reptile

The eye is deceiving, when the heart is willing-

Theres a nasty rumor going about town-

The villagers are robust, bursting at the seams,

To tell the epic tale of your demise-

This kind of insidious hemlock

Has confused

Even the most upright

Of the mortals who walk

Amongst us

However,

Every so often

By the snaking edge

Of a river

Pregnant with April

A virgin is born

Not the virgin

That swarms our heads

No,

This is a wasp of the finest distinction

Its the pure poison

Of selflessness.

When that child

Pulled her lips from the swelling water

History was already decided

Freewill must exist as a paradoxical freedom-

But, thats the great thing about the creator

We will never out chess her-

And so

This clean being

By pure way of nature

Pushes and pulls

with non abiding cruelty and sweet crystalline nobility

Through her most potent trait:

An absolute lack of attachment-

Thus it is proven

The ancient Law:

That wherever there is goodness,

Also lurks in relentless pursuit

The more sinister reptilian-