. . . We Rent These Bodies . . .: Philosophic Reflections on Time, Memory, Madness and the Politics of Euphoria and Escape

By T. Dove Lourde

In 'We Rent These Bodies', author, T. Dove Lourde examines
his own personal memories regarding the philosophy of
transformation, dealing with such topics as insanity, death, love, sex, drugs,
addiction, religion and other forms of 'euphoria and escape' and how the
touch of time can make (and help) us deal with them all, be it emotionally, spiritually
or physically. 'We Rent These Bodies' is a deep look at the transient but
beautiful world that we all often take for granted and the beautifully transient
lives we all live as part of it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514459003

T. Dove Lourde

Poet/artist T. Dove Lourde, a native Texan now living elsewhere, has published three books of poetry prior to number 4: We Rent These Bodies. Also underway, a novel, Lourde’s first, entitled Nowhere to Run From, and a collaborative writing project with the poet Nola, a poetry travelogue of sorts, as of yet untitled. Lourde dabbles in other art forms as well including painting and music and draws inspiration from classic literature, art and music, politics and history, the sciences, nature, and philosophy.

Book preview

… We Rent These Bodies …

Philosophic Reflections on Time,

Memory, Madness and the Politics of Euphoria and Escape

By

T. Dove Lourde

Copyright © 2016 by T. Dove Lourde.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/04/2016

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CONTENTS

Evocatio

The Grand Allusia

Ritual of 2

To Speak of Heads

Music of an exile

Captive

Recess

Fireside gospel

Foot Massage for Heretics

Liquid Morning

Turned On

When We Were Older

To a Man With a Hammer

The gulf and all troubled angels

Neurotica-Hypnotica

Mister E. reads T.O. Mordaunt

Ants For the Hour

The Whim Cycle

Is It Hate to Wrong the Heart

Throwing Shade

Patient Zero and the Cause for Silence

Admit Your Eyes, Saturn

Blue Ruin

Drinks, Winks, WIngs

Please Papa, Dont Send Me To The Boneyard

As Far As I Can Remember

Framed

Live, Doll, Live

Dena

Nethers Relic

Mammatus

Paper Fortunes

The Walk

Todays Shad are Future Chum

Bonesaw

Pre Vis

White at the Red Gate

Risking the Dark

Talks With D in a Hotel Room

Exodus

Skirmishes

Red-Eyed Rabbit

Old Bodies

Code of Omerta

Notes on a Girl and Her Shadow

Venus Doppler

Lost and Foundling

Trading Co.

Lese-Majeste

Give Me Picture, Give Me War

All the Old Haunts

Pinko

Donner Dinners

A Sleep Worse Than Death

Counting Sleep To Follow Sheep

Schrodinger Scat

Claro Que Si…

Skinsifter

Bobbin for Eyelids

Dead Men Dont Preach

Perhaps a lunatic was simply a minority of one.

      —A. Huxley

All that we are is the result of what we have thought.

      —the Dhammapada

The doctor sees all the weakness of mankind, the lawyer all the wickedness,

the theologian all the stupidity

      —A. Schopenhauer

Worn out garments are shed by the body,

worn out bodies are shed by the dweller

      —Bhagavad Gita

How frail the human heart must be—a mirrored pool of thought.

      —Sylvia Plath

…We Rent These Bodies…

Philosophic Reflections on Time,

Memory, Madness and the Politics

of Euphoria and Escape

By

T. Dove Lourde

Evocatio

Well as I live and breathe…

Damn my eyes and eyelashes

charting normal paths to the sun

Damn my nose and throat

whose labyrinth resembles catacombs

like the back of skulls, therein

Damn my pounding heart

whose beat echoes to my core

Molten

breath, a gaseous fiend

meant to hold for function

Damn the mind,

a trip inside

with organs as guide…

…out here

bones are,

pound for pound,

stronger than concrete

Skin is meant

to hint at high notes,

smooth tones

and hands lead to thighs

Blood, blue and red,

that runs from cuts

is a short term friend

and gameplayer,

filling two heads

The womb is a room for tongues

and curious articles

And plastic hands

and iron chins

repel the house animals of day:

lizard diseases, posthumous puppeteering;

indigo insanity, Wendigo insatiability

Propped up by guarded blood cells

and an antsy soul

Ears register the reverie of melody

and anguish of war

Eyes fog and fuck with night

till days nosy intrusion

Teethmarks are common fare

for necks, shoulders, ear lobes

thin pressed flesh

Talk into the good side of my face

Evoke the rich spirit

that was broken since Adams beauteous rib

and he

set us naked in a new world,

flawed and radiant,

with tempers flared,

fears of fire and disease,

ravages of the mind

All in good time

But never doubt the mind

And never doubt the efficacy

of sharp edges,

quick points,

shards of cutting sound

and Artemis’ midnight howl

Visceral incentives for recovering the shit

weve lost

over time

Her damage is meant for flesh,

covered in holly berries and oil of clovis

She is cloud and fire covering

the theme park of creation

Out here

we

her flesh box flunkies

play

The Grand Allusia

Flame out, sweet fawn, and fall from stasis

Build an

altar

of Acacia wood and

make right your eulogy

In curious times

we headed east toward living waters,

east in times of the afterglow

When riven, left to the crows

we headed west, in times of bad bets,

west in in times of scurvy and scotoma

as we were

candles without wicks,

shoes without laces,

a drug with no answer

Just ghosts of the living waters,

living lips and salty sea

A child of living water

A boy at waters edge looks forward to

a man remembering the flavor of his childhood from afar

The effects of living water

The articles he left at waters edge

cant be replaced

Living and the effect of water

He came across a viper once

resting in a shallow pool

He killed it with the pointy end of a