Archive for:January, 2015

On the Soul

January 23rd, 2015

     When I think of the Soul, I get lazy and soft, as if I’m in a hammock, sipping scotch, half-reading Harper’s & pleasantly semi-aware of the sounds of distant kids playing soccer in a field – parents rooting them on, a coach’s whistle – or sounds of a nearby sidewalk cafe on a balmy summer afternoon, all ambient-murmury with muted laughter and silverware clinks. In other words, I slip straight to avoidant floppy-head mode; I change the channel to something lulling and daydream inducing.
     Then I remind myself: back to work man. Soul.
     Right. So: Right now, today, I believe in the Soul. As what? As a spirit counterpart to our existence, an entity not definable in terms of terrestrial physics and our understanding of dimensions, materials, properties, gravity. An alien stuff. An alien stuff that’s elsewhere, in a realm beyond but also co-existent with us. A place as close as possible to us as can be – but impossible to reach or perceive under quotidian circumstances. A stuff that’s tethered to us invisibly, impacted by what we think and do in our Terran existence, such that after our meat vessel dies, soul remains, more or less atrophied or strengthened by our terrestrial decisions, and through some divine logic & mechanism then re-tethered to another Terran (or maybe other planet’s) organism, the nature of the selection of which tether being a function of what state our soul was in at time of our earthly passing, and so on, again and again, infinitum (I don’t believe in a stoppage to this process as desirable or possible — the cycle is the point and there is no release from it, and that, my fronds, is A-OKAY).
     So yes, today at least, I do believe in something like what is commonly understood to be “soul” – and something akin to what many religious traditions have understood as reincarnation – but beyond the above loosely-sketched speculation, I can say nothing else about its substance, characteristics, dimensions or process(-es), because I don’t believe it operates subject to laws and measures humans have encountered.
     Now where’s my fucking scotch.

[posted by: C Way at 6:25 PM]

[file under: misc ||| non-fiction & essays]

Art of the Day: Poem – Wallace Stevens’ “Fabliau Of Florida”

January 19th, 2015


   Wallace Stevens

Barque of phosphor
On the palmy beach,
Move outward into heaven,
Into the alabasters
And night blues.
Foam and cloud are one.
Sultry moon-monsters
Are dissolving.
Fill your black hull
With white moonlight.
There will never be an end
To this droning of the surf.
      I’m surprised I’ve never posted any Stevens here. It’s taken me decades to be at ease with him. To not struggle with him. To just relax in language with him, enjoy his wit and play. When you do that, the rest of him blooms: his works’ spirituality, their unmistakable gnomic presence & impact… many poets are riddlers, but the riddling way Stevens blends slyness, humor, the archaic & the eternal in such a potent way is so attractive & valuable to me.
      I love this poem for too many reasons to list. Let’s start with this: Beaches at night are holy places for me, it’s where the material plane and the world-behind-the-world can merge. Beaches in general are portals. This poem captures some of that heady liminal energy, beautifully so, which taps me down to the roots.
      But there’s something else here that adds another richness to the work for me. The archaisms — “barque”, “phosphor”, “fabliau” — terms like these are always a little quaint and oddly transporting for me in Stevens — they root this ephemeral meditation in the material plane. That last term in particular: it’s important to note that a “fabliau” is, typically, a bawdy metrical tale, particular to early French poetry. I love this about Stevens, how he keeps you off-balance with some bit of semantic dissonance like this. Because “fabliau” undercuts what reads like a haunting, overt meditation on the eternal with a suggestion of something much more profane… night-beach sex maybe? Or just a sexualization of outjutting land meeting sea meeting foam meeting moonlight meeting night? Which itself isn’t so profane after all, but begins to sound instead like a kind of erotic mysticism, a paean to the principle of eros inherent in all creation. Which then leads to the questions: What’s profane, what’s mystical? What’s bawdy, what’s aether?
      Everything, everything, everything. Listen to the ocean’s roar, close your eyes, mix everything together and sing.


For more information about Stevens, please check out’s bio of him.

[posted by: C Way at 11:03 PM]

[file under: ART OF THE DAY ||| Literary Arts ||| poetry]