The Rat Cafe Podcast: Recent Episodes
the Rat Cafe
Fractured Tusk
Do you know what no one wants to say when dreams, it seems, lead the Way? Partial blunders block the sky, and no one knows the reason why.
Narwhals wonder who’s equipped to raise the dead from ancient crypts. The weather’s dank; the times are rough. The end is nigh for most of us.
Has God not gotten damned upset about the Goddess’ new pet? Have tropes of mythos failed in times when dreams dissolve, all left behind.
You build your castles in the sun and cool them down inside for fun. While sweating out all normal tears, your live in clouds for years and years.
And when the later times have come, you fold your glow and then you’re done. A journey looms—a distand shore— you’re going where you’ve been before.
You wore a pendent depicting a bird on the wing opening its flight to a swath of blues and greens and reds that descended down in a swirl to a gigantic tortoise nibbling on a rock.
Inside the rock was a tiny town built of amber and gold, lined with gems, which were ruby red in artificial light but a deep emerald green in the sunlight.
A man, wearing a long coat and black boots, strode through the town gazing at a shop window that simply read: YOU’VE BECOME PART OF MY DREAM
They hold them in chains, they scale up the logs, their places arranged, those man-faced dogs.
They’re carved in the stones, they’re remembered by all: Egyptians and others, some look just like hogs.
Some look like retreat, some are sunk in the bogs, summer comes and it goes for the man-headed dogs.
Just what arose in their interlinked cogs? Their brains are the same; they’re boiling like frogs.
You’ll see them in dreams that slip and then slog, depending on none those man-faced dogs.
NaPoWriMo, Day 28
Dollars to Doughnuts
Is this what you've been trained to do: consume and tend sex, money, and food.
Work and duty, TV and drugs, consume and follow those corporate thugs.
Beliefs and science and shows of force keep your reliance a matter of course.
Dollars to doughnuts, you've heard it all, yet the ads you watch keep you in thrall.
Someone forgot to close the lid: you're wired, essentially, to follow the id.
And as long as you continue to do what you did, you'll slide on down as you have slid.
Yet hope, that banshee, continues to thrive, and part of you desperately wants to survive.
Only surrender falls free, empty of fear, since the call of what's Bright is always so clear.
There's an icy, cold wind, and the fire's down to coals.
We're buried so deep underneath the atolls.
We follow the signs of the dead sea scrolls
as they reach out and fine-tune our motor controls.
May surrender succeed, as we empty our bowls,
and no longer have need for the slurp of the holes
or the pluck and luck of the play of the poles.
Crossing over, you remember ALL of your soul.
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Lady Radiator*
It wasn't long until we met her: the lovely lady radiator.
We were so loose back in those days; we lived and breathed another way.
Yet could we ever once persuade her, or say enough to ever save her?
We built our clan, come what may; she came along, at first, to play.
Though each of us would always savor the pleasures of her smallest favor,
as time wound on we went astray and played our lives another way.
But that itself could never break her or mask her devilish, smoky flavor.
Dissolving with our heart's true savior, surrender is the price we'd pay.
*with thanks to David Lynch
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Hidden away in an ancient temple, newly discovered, it's not so simple:
underground chambers that boggle the mind. Your neurons are twitching, but you feel fine.
The crisis of knowing is understanding. Your focus is fine; your mind expanding.
Your bodily brain goes on hold, while an inner reflection explores your soul.
Probable clouds dance in the distance mapping out spots for your re-existence.
Forgotten familiars gather around, drawn by the pull of the joy of the sound
of the delectable pucker of incredible lips and the compulsory swaying of beautiful hips
through the henges of stone under the mist that vibrate with pure, outshining bliss.
Yet a part of you strives, or so it would seem, to shut it all down and go back to the dream.
But the only real choice that you ever make is to choose the illusion or finally wake.
It's all up to you, to refuse or allow, and the moment of choosing is right in the now.
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doesn't have any smell that I can tell
doesn't peer at the world doesn't act like a girl
doesn't take a few tries or tell any lies
what was that about girls? as intuition uncurls
still confused about sex still dream of my ex
it's these kind of games that mess with the names
of the feelings inside as I suffer the ride
of intuition
that damsel astride gets away from me, fly
tips the shine of my pride till I'm blind and have died
on this paper before me that was empty, ignore me
but now there is art that has bled from my heart
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She knew of things that time often brought; in a life filled with strife, it became what we sought.
We then knew of things that time would soon bring; in a life filled with strife, it became what she sang.
And the gases from Parnassus eked into our minds, elongated our spines as we paid her in kind.
She tipped tables towards truth (her name was now Ruth), so able to delve so deep in the swell that all gathered round were then lost in her spell.
As we suckled her visions, blown away by the frisson, we detected no lies in her utmost precision.
Most wanted her eyes to look now their way, but we hoped, then again, she'd have nothing to say.
We read her dissent yet could not repent that a bonafide oracle who made us feel horrible
could awaken en masse our fast-asleep class but then, yet again, she was just a total badass.
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she contemplated the sounds she was hearing but could not focus on anything significant
meaningful time outsourcing offshoring
ROI that slippery slope
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embarrassed by God mammals with leashes my toilet is running let's see where it reaches
embarrassed my God what does that mean? the idea itself is squishy, it seems
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When the dial was first turned to tight focus the beings stashed within their dreams doubled down, twisting faces into frowns
They smelled no death but felt bereft as they stood upon their shaky ground
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when i dredge through my mind as i'm working overtime
lift the lid on the cages as i seek throughout the ages
neither there nor quite here i'm actually everywhere
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