ISHTAR'S SONG
Keeping with the tradition, I wish everyone coming my way here a Happy New Year.
Today’s text was inspired by three cards drawn from the Dark Goddess Tarot by Ellen Lorenzi Prince. Yet, apart from a general greeting to you all, derived from these cards, I also want to keep my own tradition of dedicating this type of text, the prose poem, to special people I know (for more about this you're welcome to check out The Logician, Eight Senses Plus Two, or Frag/ments).
This one goes to a cavalier errant.
For Drew Jacob
Compromise is wisdom, they say. But I say, death always comes to the philosophy of ‘it’s good enough’. Fortune favors the fantastic. Riding a unicorn is an act of boldness and challenge. The unicorn knows only the best and the rider knows what the rider doesn’t know. It is only through cunning that you can put the sun in your crown. But why does it matter, you may ask, when even on the throne you can feel your robe burning from too much friction with the stone. On the last day of the year it’s always a good idea to have a sip of rum laced with gunpowder. Lean back and reflect on the use of what you can do. Let it come to you through your song for the pine trees. And if you are myopic, like myself, then take the fork of Isis, the one that she wears on her head, and look through its moon like through a looking glass. The first thing you’ll see is freedom, not the walls of your home with all that’s in it, the stuff that’s merely good enough, and which greets you cheerfully everyday with these words: ‘Hello zombie, how are you today? Are you responsible? Are you respectable too?’ Let the gunpowder work through your veins. Take your ragged red robe and turn it into a sunrise. Hit the road. Meet some heroes, and offer them your holy grail. And then say thank you to the fork, the fantastic, freedom, and the followers in your household who hold the tambourine high for you so that you can do your dance better than just good enough: A dance with the dead, the mystery of the night, and the sun between your legs. The unicorn has just impaled a post-it note with a new year’s resolution on it: don’t fake it.
§ Note on the deck: The Dark Goddess, by Ellen Lorenzi-Prince, 2013, ArnellArt.
Today’s text was inspired by three cards drawn from the Dark Goddess Tarot by Ellen Lorenzi Prince. Yet, apart from a general greeting to you all, derived from these cards, I also want to keep my own tradition of dedicating this type of text, the prose poem, to special people I know (for more about this you're welcome to check out The Logician, Eight Senses Plus Two, or Frag/ments).
This one goes to a cavalier errant.
For Drew Jacob
Compromise is wisdom, they say. But I say, death always comes to the philosophy of ‘it’s good enough’. Fortune favors the fantastic. Riding a unicorn is an act of boldness and challenge. The unicorn knows only the best and the rider knows what the rider doesn’t know. It is only through cunning that you can put the sun in your crown. But why does it matter, you may ask, when even on the throne you can feel your robe burning from too much friction with the stone. On the last day of the year it’s always a good idea to have a sip of rum laced with gunpowder. Lean back and reflect on the use of what you can do. Let it come to you through your song for the pine trees. And if you are myopic, like myself, then take the fork of Isis, the one that she wears on her head, and look through its moon like through a looking glass. The first thing you’ll see is freedom, not the walls of your home with all that’s in it, the stuff that’s merely good enough, and which greets you cheerfully everyday with these words: ‘Hello zombie, how are you today? Are you responsible? Are you respectable too?’ Let the gunpowder work through your veins. Take your ragged red robe and turn it into a sunrise. Hit the road. Meet some heroes, and offer them your holy grail. And then say thank you to the fork, the fantastic, freedom, and the followers in your household who hold the tambourine high for you so that you can do your dance better than just good enough: A dance with the dead, the mystery of the night, and the sun between your legs. The unicorn has just impaled a post-it note with a new year’s resolution on it: don’t fake it.
§ Note on the deck: The Dark Goddess, by Ellen Lorenzi-Prince, 2013, ArnellArt.
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