November 8-14, 1999: Jim Lamoreux and Brad Apple

Week of November 8-14, 1999

Jim Lamoreux and Brad Apple

Jim Lamoreux
jml@lamoreux.reno.nv.us

Bio (auto)

My name is Jim Lamoreux and today, I live in Reno Nevada I will turn fifty this December I live downtown and drive to Carson City every day to work at a government job The rest of the time I work on my web page trying to shift my concerns to content now that I have the mechanics working somewhat reliably I am a veteran of the Vietnam War and was there during the Tet of 1968 Every time I type that I feel like I’ve just risen out of a Hemingway novel waving a flag and firing a machine gun I am an artist and also delve into consciousness expansion things involving sound and indirect hypnosis What draws me to this is the fact that change can occur using “poetic” metaphor in powerfully hypnotic ways Scripts that I’ve studied by leading hypnotherapists in the Eriksonian tradition are so deeply imbued with poetic meaning they are breathtaking sometimes.


The following work is Copyright © 1999, and owned by Jim Lamoreux and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Wind

It gathers somewhere
high above
in places we couldn’t breathe
collecting in arid silence
or in a roar
like beasts
caught in a pit of atmosphere
howling to be released
into the mindless tree tops
or to pull and haul at eves
on windows
warmly oblivious
to its rage
provoking now and then
a “Listen to that” or
“This is going to be a bad one”
from behind a newspaper
or over the sounds from the T.V ,
or the slight crackle
of eggs frying in a pan
It is far above
invisible and terrible
tearing at the fabric of clouds
like a dog tears at Kleenex
scattering the tissues of the sky
across the wild blue carpet
high above us
And then
on some signal we don’t hear
perhaps a shriek
or like dogs will tell one another
now is the time for the kill
it comes down, each facet knowing
how to trap and bluster and mangle,
the world scattering before it
like rabbits in a field
fleeing before the hawk
First the wind chime
marks the gathering morning
innocent, like a child’s toy
not betraying
the anger that comes behind it
like a bear, prying at the slats of a smoke house
and then
the howling, the assault, and trees
nodding away from the power
and the earth bundled and crumpled
and strewn
like angry love letters
trapped in barbed wire
waving frantically at a lake
pocked with white caps
From high above the mountain ranges
it howls and rages
stirring the pine needles
in the tops of giant trees
like breath
through the tines of a comb

and like some monster
invisible to us,
leaps the tops of mountains in Washoe Valley
and makes the barbed wire dance, and the cattle
lumber together
in tight
bewildered knots
of hide and flesh.


Brad Apple
bradapple@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

I am Brad
I live in Toronto, Canada
23 years old I just wanted to write something down for me to remember

The following work is Copyright © 1999, and owned by Brad Apple and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.


Innovation

I was alone, except for the cockroaches pounding across my kitchen table
like a heard
of elephants It must be the way I smell Nothing has been eaten on this table since I moved in I light a cigarette and stare out my window Directly at the wall of my neighbor 2 feet of space is it day or
night?
And blow my smoke through the screen I may not be the cause But I contribute I take another drag and pause Inventing a better place for me.

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