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    Observations on Chaos
    Observations on Chaos
    Observations on Chaos
    Ebook198 pages1 hour

    Observations on Chaos

    By Helen Slade

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    About this ebook

    Chaos became a branch of mathematics in the 20th century. In this 21st century, it has interesting and exciting possibilities.

    In Observations on Chaos, Helen Slade looks at the chaotic features of Life, Nature, People, Places and Science. Turbulence can be found in all these areas; from a state of mind (A Discourse on Depression) to what we have done to our planet (Ruination) and the violence of war (Boudiccas Curse).

    The 25 illustrations in this poetry book are her own paintings. In the portraits she has hoped to extract the visual essence of the subject, not a mere likeness.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTrafford Publishing
    Release dateAug 5, 2011
    ISBN9781426971884
    Observations on Chaos
    Author

    Helen Slade

    Helen Slade, artist and poet, believes that expressing yourself artistically is finding yourself and losing yourself. It is as simple and as complicated at that. Your observations filter into your mind, are felt in your heart, and are translated by your soul. You are driven to express the eternal and interpret the profound. She currently lives in British Columbia, Canada. She is also the author of the poetry collection Impromptu Musings.

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      Book preview

      Observations on Chaos - Helen Slade

      Table of Contents

      LIFE

      EPIPHANY DURING THE NINTH

      CONNECTING THE CIRCLE

      SEXUAL EVOLUTION

      THE SEARCH

      APPLE CIDER

      INTERRUPTUS

      SWEET TORMENT

      MISUNDERSTANDING

      A DISCOURSE ON DEPRESSION

      NATURE

      BLACKBERRYING

      MIRACULOUS MIGRATION

      A PASSION FOR PLANTS

      RAVEN

      DAYDREAM

      NATURAL

      NATURE’S CHAOTIC BALANCE

      RUINATION

      FOG FALLS

      WINTER SLEEP

      GANG

      PEOPLE

      SPRING REUNION

      MINSTREL

      CAN’T HELP MYSELF

      HELP YOURSELF

      UNDONE BY DONNE

      ISAAC NEWTON THE MAN

      HELEN—NOT A LOVE STORY

      A WOMAN’S PLACE

      PILOT (FOR DANIEL)

      FINDING THE CELT

      BOUDICCA’S CURSE

      THE LOTTERY FAIRY

      PLACES

      GATCOMBE CHURCH

      HELENAIA

      HALYARD CHORUS

      THE GOLD OF ITALIA

      THE CRISIS IN LITTLE BORNING

      VEGAS

      OCTOBER – EARLY MORNING –

      HAMPTON COURT GROUNDS

      SCIENCE

      BACKWARD TIME

      PARTICIPATORY UNIVERSE

      ARTIST—SCIENTIST

      ISAAC NEWTON—THE SCIENTIST

      RESEARCH

      CHAOS

      NAKED SINGULARITIES

      To Christopher

      missing image file

      Waterfall

      LIFE

      SKU-000475029_TEXT.pdf

      Self Portrait at 40

      EPIPHANY DURING THE NINTH

      True artistic expression

      is a manifestation of the daemon.

      A revelation of that hypnotic

      and the timeless state

      in the multiverse

      where you must appease

      the energy force.

      You see hear and feel

      the tentacled groping

      of this haunting.

      You gasp a strangled cry

      and grip the sides of reality

      to assuage the inner self.

      Expression without the daemon

      is a phoney and dishonest

      statement of nothingness.

      But the battles and tormented

      wrestling with the daemon

      drive many to despair—

      as they wring out their souls

      while expressing their art.

      Transporting themselves

      to a freedom zone

      and the liberation terminal.

      Some seek a crisis to satisfy the daemon

      and shred themselves to excess

      drowning in drink

      overdosing on drugs.

      Believing that a life lived

      at the edge of existence

      will enable a purge

      of the creative force.

      If they cannot inhale

      the daemon’s breath

      then the purge is

      — a useless and pathetic

      exercise in futility.

      Dying in abbreviation.

      You cannot fake the daemon

      but you can fail

      to recognize it

      at your peril.

      As the Gnostic Gospels say—

      "if you do not bring forth

      what is within your self—

      it will destroy you."

      An exasperated suicide

      desperate desperation

      eternal frustration

      damned to disaster

      vaporized despair.

      I longed to be known—

      so I created the world—

      that I could be known.[1]

      Connection realization transportation.

      Thesaurussed thoughts.

      Borderline dreams.

      Nightmare visions.

      Dragged through the dredges

      of gushes of ruts—

      swamped deluged and wiped out.

      Psychedelic dramas

      magnified perceptions

      simultaneous equations

      of experience.

      Neither too much or too little

      but the nice absolute quantity

      for life’s balance.

      Brought to the doors

      of the big bang

      to quantify the galactic hopes

      and steer away

      from chaos to order

      and back again.

      Catalystic energy

      quantum designs of fine tuning

      in a parallel universe.

      Face to face with the daemon.

      No longer inside you

      but exterior and partnered

      with your soul.

      Automatically written in

      the mystery matter and energy

      darkly shattered

      by the unexpected miracle.

      A long low hum

      of a black hole in B flat.

      Shards of splintered civilizations

      and shreds of genetic memories

      in convoluted and contorted

      grey matter.

      Segregated and symphonic dreams.

      Myths of personalities

      gathered and recorded

      as a remembrance

      of the human condition

      rendered obsolete

      by extinction.

      Redemption by my redeemer

      deemeth to demystify

      the declaration of demeanour

      demanding an end to damnation

      devising a doctrine of

      ethics morality and madness.

      The edges of the blues

      drooled onto a dime of dimensions.

      The improvised jazz of feelings

      a jam session of sensuality

      the bliss of a symphony.

      Striving to pacify the daemon.

      Demonstrated by flamenco’s duende

      and whirled by the dervish

      in spiritual removal.

      The deejay priest presides at the craving rave.

      Moved and rhythmed movements

      ecstatically worshipped

      by the groaning teen

      strung out on chemicals.

      The poetry of rap—raptured.

      A symphonic connection

      in the cathedral’s vocal cord.

      A chant of Gregorian sound

      musically moved

      motivated to the roof

      and all around.

      The individual meld

      Of visual waterfalls

      in a legacy of paintings.

      Sucked into the centre

      of a canvas in a

      split second glance.

      The dimensional twirl

      of a sculpture.

      The patterned preoccupation of shape

      imprinted on a primed mind.

      Once you meet the daemon

      And are introduced to

      the manifestation

      and recognize

      those obsessed features

      caught in a compulsive grip

      and a convulsive gasp—

      an esoteric mask

      must slip to reveal

      the universal self

      and unite you with the immortal beloved.

      CONNECTING THE CIRCLE

      One of your senses will take you

      to the steps of the time spiral.

      Pick up the disconnected ends

      and transform yourself.

      You will touch, see, hear,

      your personal reality.

      Spin into the inner self.

      The time spirals collide

      and force change in your space.

      Does time have substance?

      In sacred places does it change?

      Is there past time experience?

      Do the megaliths angle to the stars?

      Yes our duality depends on

      the position of the internal observer.

      A traveler from a parallel world.

      Your inner self creates

      your personal reality.

      Energy fluctuations —

      vibrational changes —

      a flawed equilibrium upset

      to regain balance.

      We have lost touch with

      an ancient place

      of secret knowledge.

      It has spread too far —

      dissipated and diluted

      altered and changed.

      People will look and search

      but they don’t see and find.

      It needs a liberated mind.

      Tussle with the truth

      of experience.

      Be awed by the blossom

      of knowledge.

      See the time wheel

      turned by the goddess.

      Connect the circle ends.

      Join the circles to create

      an ascending spiral.

      Find Shangri-La, Shambhala

      Belovodia, Hurqalya.

      You belong there.

      SKU-000475029_TEXT.pdf

      Bobby

      SEXUAL EVOLUTION

      The real evolution in sex

      is mind intercourse.

      Not the sexual fantasy

      of pornography

      but an orgasm of the intellect.

      The intimacy connection

      of true communication.

      The experience of closeness

      that lodges in a memory cell

      and revives many

      a pleasurable feeling.

      The ability to stimulate

      a nerve ending

      by your absence

      not your presence.

      Caressed by ideas.

      The touch that generates power,

      not the moribund demands

      of a dead battery.

      When the vagina journeys

      are completed

      and the penis emissions

      are depleted

      and moans are

      no longer from satisfaction

      but from complaints.

      The sex drive was designed

      for procreation.

      No matter what diversions

      we have decorated it with

      or perversions

      we have degraded it to.

      What tricks have our hormones played?

      We have been the giddy feeling

      of dopamine.

      The pounding heart drama

      of adrenalin.

      Oxytocin for commitment.

      Love is a chemical cocktail.

      You both crystallize at the interface.

      Separate—you are—

      incommensurate.

      Together you bond.

      Cinderella runs—

      but by the fourth year

      Prince Charming doesn’t follow.

      The cocktail wears off.

      Her attraction is hollow.

      They are not happy.

      They stay together out of habit.

      Held together by apathy

      faded dreams and bitter regrets.

      Inertia rules !

      Go in search of the mind

      on a higher plane

      than the body that engulfs it.

      The spirituality of sexuality.

      But if you grovel in mechanical sex—

      are fooled by pornography

      or guilty of the rape crime.

      Then I cannot persuade you

      to look any further.

      You are lost—

      and I am wasting my time.

      THE SEARCH

      Through continuous cunts

      searching for

      that one pressure sensitive

      moment of thrust—

      forever lost !

      Not an inability to commit

      but to connect—

      with the right tissue.

      Not duped or misled.

      Curse those past forbidden moments

      when innocent touches lasted

      and were considered adequate,

      as we rode on the crossbar of hope.

      A feast of appetizers—

      only beginnings.

      Contiguous foreplay empty of conclusions.

      Perpetual penetration.

      Thinking of the next intercourse.

      Where is continence?

      Instant sex directed by urge.

      A blur of

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