Pigs Might Fly

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

"How about we get us a nice pizza pie"
asked Eggbert, the pig, of his trainer.

"Now what about giving it one real good try?"
replied Phillip, the coach on retainer.

"By ''we' you mean 'me', in the tree, I can see"
our proud pig proceeded to ponder.

"To the slingshot you got waiting up there for me,
to propel me above over yonder."

"Well yes", replied Phillip, "a brilliant invention,
the thing will insure your upthereness.

Its cleverly torqued with terrific high tension,
by science's suped-up awareness.

Opportunity's winking at you, if you dare,
strap in, pig, fly as high as you please."

Our pig whipped out his lavender cell phone right there
"Bring a large to the farm, extra cheese."

[ 02-21-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

"Don't limit this to what you know" declared Fritz the fenceperching cat
"Trying to figure it out triggers reason, and this is three steps beyond that.

You don't have to follow a plan or a roadmap about how it all should appear.
You fly with your heart, and in unbounded airkiss your puzzle becomes crystal clear.

If you're looking for evidence why you are grounded, then certainly some will show up.
Why not seek wonder, like seeing a jester in steam from a blue coffe cup?"

"This cat is a trip." Thought old Bessie as she slowly grunted up into the air.
"They can say what they want, but I'm glad that he perches nearby on that fence over there"

"Not all of the time." Bessie silently heard from inside of her very own head.
"Every once in awhile, I do take a ride when I need to shake off last night's bed."

And the two became flyers, the cat would ride often on Bessie, with laughter and song.
They made up their own definition of friendship, it took them quite nicely along.

[ 02-27-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Give Up?

"I Quit it! I live in a sty and my dreams to go fly were exactly that, dreams.
All this energy lifting myself off the ground is less easy than I think it seems.

There are several degrees of delusion and I'm getting off of this merry-go-round,
though one inchoate, thinwhispered small threadbare moment, I do think my feet left the ground."

Thus spoke Sarah, as angst reared its pugugly head and just slammed her with logic and reason.
Her coach Quinn nearby rolled his eyes, slowly sighed, loosened tie: it had been a long season.

"Your self-imposed limits all ground you far more than your fair girth, my cloudseeking lass.
The way that you hold your relation to flying's completely informed by your past.

Epistemologically speaking, my treat, the word "know" is a human invention.
You labor under delusion when thinking you know, it becomes your intention.

For example, if you think "its getting too deep" that's precisely what you will experience,
and draw to yourself like a magnet the thing that you know that you have extra fear against.

How can I put this so you'll take it in, and beyond that, put this so you'll mind it?
There's one certain thing, child, when you look for evidence, bet the full farm, for you'll find it."

"Oh, look at this now, Quinn, I'm sinking, your pep talk was simply a mindbending riot."
"Its a straightforward message, my pig flying friend, when your left brain is talking, don't buy it.

Have you seen a blue monkey on gold roller skates, or a girl with a broken clay drum?"
"Just shut up!" simmered Sarah as she shimmered to air above, thinking "That Quinn is so dumb..."

[ 02-28-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

A hermit I know carries business cards, ten,
to paint laughter on new unmet faces.

My friend Frieda Frickle, the flying pig lady,
has been to thirteen thousand places.

This summer, a goat crashed his car in a lake
and a fish wrote a book about sparrows.

So don't tell me you know what can and can't happen,
when you say that, what you see narrows.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

I was a ferris wheel repairman and I traveled the country fair circuit.
As I walked, I was oft into the show tent quickly fingered
Gypsy fiddlers, highwire bike rides, hot air balloon theatrics,
at all of them I looked and laughed and longed and loved and lingered.

Till one time on a summer Tuesday, early hours of evening,
when twilight seemed to last a thousand years and thirteen weeks,
I saw Aloona Aftermath's flying pig trick comic skill show,
and everything before that night just took a huge back seat.


*

[ 03-03-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

A flying pig showgirl from France
performed airobatic trick dance
she was costumed so neat
in her sequins discreet
her appearance left nothing to chance.

When she took to the air, in good fun,
leaving logic and reason undone,
everywhere brains flipped open
chins upturned, folks stopped mopin',
'cause it tasted like drinking the sun.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

I sat with my pig face to face.
and said "since you fly with such grace,
let no puzzle confound,
why not quick quit this ground
let the birds and the breezes give chase."

We listened as earth spun on by
letting go of the things we might try
used our ears as expression
made a laugh out of tension
and decided we have no clue why

cities crumble, and mountains fall down
that which lives dies, and comes back around
there's no certainty here
not too much is too clear
but those birds sure do speak some sweet sounds.


*

[ 03-04-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

"I wish you would watch it" said Billy to Sandy as leaves from a tree brushed his face.
They were flying real low around fields and green meadows, and moving at quite a brisk pace.

"Oh really?" asked Sandy just cruising along as the fields gave themselves to her view.
"Remember, old man, that the time space continuum makes all this motion feel true,

But you know as I do that it's all simultaneous, nothing to do with our action,
wonder your life at what might happen next, meanwhile its quite beyond retraction."

"I know, you old sow," replied Billy with volume, "My brain's not a bucket of rocks.
I just would prefer not to witness release from this sweet cell of temporal locks."

"Whatever you say" replied Sandy as she indeed slowed to a more gentle pace.
"I understand well your reluctance, indeed, I do somewhat thrive on the race."

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

I'm scared for the health of my flying pig friend, who goes by the plain name of Ralph.
He fishes on summery days and plays flute to the moon 'till his good mood goes south.
And then he just lies on a platter on the table, an apple stuck deep in his mouth.

[Peter Voice]

Wow, big thanks to Taxi Trix, Lynneski, Robert, Nick, Bev et al, for the poems. The Flying Pig Project is cruising along just swimmingly. Two of Karl's poems have been combined and put to music and "The Airborn Bacon Band" is sort of manifesting itself from nothing.
The first image that was created to promote the project has been selected for an international exhibition of email art in Marbella, Spain.
The image can be found at http://www.chalkcircle.com.au/flyingpig/index.html# Click on the thumb nail, top right. The exhibition is at http://www.mac21.com/frame.htm
The image itself was quite a team effort, modelling by Sergei Droujina (ex-Moscow Circus, currently teaching at Melbourne's new National Institute of Circus Arts, NICA.), the body-art by Chalk Circle, the "Flying Pig" by Bev Isaac, the photo by David Simmonds and digital preparation by Tim Hynes.

We haven't even started to try to get publicity or major sponsors yet but have already raised more than 2 grand (the Air Wing of the Victorian Police have joined us as sponsors, showing a fine sense of humour as have the 1st and 6th Squadrans of the RAAF who fly F111's that they affectionately call "pigs"). The international element from the contribution here and the Spanish expo are going to be to big help.

At the moment, it only costs $150 to sponsor a pig (we're making about 45) but in two weeks we plan to have a new website, several more images, the finished installation, all sorts of stuff and be ready for a big PR push. This means we are going to put another zero on the end of all sponsorship deals. So, how about it Shelley, Lynneski, Moth-Head, Chance, even Queenie, after-all it's only "Australian" dollars. Get in now.

Thanks again to all who've contributed so far, but don't let me discourage any-one. We are still looking for more stuff. We haven't had any poems from Europe or Britain, yet. We don't mind if they are in Spanish, German , French, Chinese, etc.

[ 04-21-2002: Message edited by: Peter Voice ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

"What will you do now, my flying pig friend?" I asked Phil over tea Tuesday last,
"You've had a good run here, the season is over, its time to let go of the past."
"I guess I'll meander through clouds for awhile and caress wind's engulfing embrace,
I'll drift all unfettered through mountains and sunsets and seek a mysterious place,
where Max the Snow Lion will wait for me, pausing, we'll let the world spin for awhile,
flow of soul, feast of reason, dance of words and of silences,
dancing which well suits my style."

[Peter Voice]

I wrote this privately to some-one today


This thing is growing into a truly scary monster but fortunately I've talked a lawyer into doing all the incorpration and other legal shit and have some people who are willing to sit on the board , etc.. So as soon as I've done my bit I'm outta here.
It's going to be a close shave, with the Youth Workshops and other stuff Chalk Circle do, some people are trying to tout me as a role model. I have my local Federal member of Parliament (Minister for Youth Affairs) on my back, 6 different State Police "Youth Innitiative" groups offering sponsorship, 3 divisions of the Australian Armed Forces have signed up and the squeaky clean, you beaut, legend forever, captain of the local Football team has jumped on my wagon.
I won't go into the Aust. media here but we're getting ready for them.

Help me please, I need enough material to cloud my escape from this monstrous hydra. People are being nice to me and are expecting me to be nice back. Help! Please, please.
I have found a very nice cave about 150km NW of Broken Hill, if I can dazzle them with enough good material, I will be gone months before they notice.


Sometimes, you have to wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew.

[ 04-22-2002: Message edited by: Peter Voice ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Surely you can jump on a nearby pig...

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Pink elephants befriended Seymore pig as he conversed with 13 wayward ducks and tipped his hat to various loves unspecified.

The morning air described the scene to trees while over scones and tea the elder dreamer whispered hope to yellow bird unsatisfied.

"Our lives are less a one-way street and more a picnic in a cone" he claimed as salt and pepper punctuated, sugar magnified.

The nuance there was lost on little bird, he heard himself far louder than his tea companion, he was simplestuck, unmystified.


Cavorting through the mental meadows elder dreamer frequented had left him dizzy, he retreated quickly, though unjustified,

His fast escape from wonder left him back on solid mental ground, the sound between his ears resumed, cold comfort came to coincide.

[Butterfly Man]

Calling all poets! Can anyone (Karl?) help me turn this story into one about flying pigs for Peter? I wrote it almost 30 years ago when I was yet unbitter ... thought it had a nice theme for his project.
....Robert


Softly In The Quiet Places by Robert Nelson


Ages ago beyond dim mortal recollection, a small, fragile creature blinked once and was born. He ws perfectly normal, seemingly like his fellow creatures, except for the inordinate size of his heart. So big was it, in fact, that it would not fit safely inside his ribs.

The world then was a great, bright dark swirl of air and water, filled with still places and dangerous currents. The God in charge of this world looked at it and at the little creature and whispered, “You have three choices, Little One. You may let go of your imperfect physical home and return with me to wait for one which is normal. You may give back this unusual heart and go forward into physical life, free of pain and feeling. Or you may choose to keep your strange heart and learn to carry it with you.”

The fragile creature closed his eyes. Like all tiny ones, he carried pale memories of a time gone by when he had walked this same earth. His soul was very old and he knew much of life. So he sighed, opened his eyes, and embraced his heart. The God nodded, fashioned a fine silver chain, and fastened the lovely heart to the little being’s ankle. Then the God touched it and the chain and the heart became invisible to all but the tiny creature. The God said, “Now you look like all the rest. It will not be easy.” The tiny creature nodded and fell asleep.

In time, the currents of the earth swept the creature into earth events and he was duly named Caphir, after a star in the constellation of Virgo.

Caphir grew and played about in the streams and eddies of earth life where all small creatures learned to negotiate before stepping full into the tumult of living. But he was not exactly “right”. Many times his mother would trip over his invisible silver chain and turn on him for being so clumsy. Other little creatures ran into his heart which bumped along after him, and bouncing off onto the ground, they would deride him for his strangeness. Caphir was alone most of the time.

Because his heart was so large , when it was light it would go up like a bright balloon, pulling Caphir along. It would soar so high that Caphir could see all the earth and could look down at the swirly patterns, dark and light, and understand why people were so confused. And he would shout down, “I love you all anyway!” But no one could hear him because he was so far above them.

Too, when his heart was heavy it would sink to the bottom of one of the dark still places and Caphir would be dragged down and down into the cold. There his heart would sit like an anchor with poor Caphir drifting helplessly around it. He would pull and tug at his chain, trying to dislodge his heart from the bottom, and he would look up and shout, “I love you, please help me.” But no one could hear him because he was so far below them.

Most of the time, however, his heart just tumbled along behind him. It got scrapes and nicks and bumps, and once or twice, a little crack. To Caphir it looked as though it would never last a lifetime. He was sure that one more good bump and it would crumble into a million pieces.

Once, when he was a young man, Caphir walked all night, thinking about his situation. Finally he decided that he no longer wanted to be bothered with dragging his burdensome feelings around outside himself for all the world to batter. He was determined to be like all the rest. So he set to work with a hammer and chisel to break the silver chain. He stayed alone for days, working feverishly, pounding and grinding and filing. At last, weak and exhausted, he sat back and cried, for he had not put one dent in the smooth silver. Between his sobs he heard a voice calling him. He sat up and listened as a firm voice said, “Caphir, I gave you the choice when your ancient memory was still intact. You chose this path and choices are not easily unmade.”

So Caphir wiped his eyes and sniffled once and pushed at the chipped-up heart with his toe. He was lonely and unhappy, but he resigned himself to his lot. As he mused over his fate, he kept pushing his heart up against the wall and it would roll back to him. Soon he began to notice different ways to bounce it off the wall, then from one hand to another, then back off the wall. “Why had he never tried this before?”, he wondered. Look at all the wonderful tricks he could do!

Caphir became very excited. So excited, in fact, that he forgot to be sad. All night he practiced making his beautiful heart do color cartwheels in the air. The next morning he felt he must show someone else this great discovery. He rushed outside, then stopped short. A great weight descended upon him. How could he show anyone? His heart was invisible.

After much thought, Caphir decided that somehow people must see this wonderful thing so he tried tossing a colored ball into the air so that it made patterns with his heart. But people only said, “Look at that strange man throwing a ball into the air.”

So he learned to throw his heart into the air with two balls. This took great skill, but still no one noticed. “Anyone can do a trick with two colored balls!”, they said. Caphir became obsessed. “They will see!”, he would cry. And he learned to throw three colored balls into the air, spinning around with his heart.

One day, as he practiced this feat, a child came by with his mother. The child cried, “Mother, look at the juggler. He can make magic colors in the air.”

“Juggler?”, thought Caphir. “Is that what I am? I only wanted someone to see ... but no mind, that is what I’ll be until someone really sees.”

So Caphir traveled the earth, doing his tricks and learning many more. All the time his heat dragged along behind him and he was safe only when he was making beautiful patterns with it and the brightly colored balls.

Sometimes he would become despondent and think that no one would ever see what his feelings really were. Other times someone would say there seemed to be more balls in the air than he was juggling. Caphir would become very excited and filled with hope. But then, they would count the balls,and say he must be a very good juggler to fool their eyes so. Caphir would sigh, and go back to juggling and think how people really should look more with their hearts and less with their eyes.

Time was passing and Caphir was growing, though he scarcely realized it. He still tried to make up for his being different. When he was not juggling, he tried on many faces and different beliefs.

He let different philosophies echo around in his brain and when it was too painful for his poor scarred heart, he let some of them out as words to protect him.

In the end, he would drag his heart up from the dust, polish it on his sleeve, and tell it, “You are only good for doing tricks and then few can see you even for a second. But, I guess that second is worth it.” And he would go back to practicing.

Many years passed. Caphir became well loved for his gift for making others smile and for his gentleness, but never for his being Caphir with the incredible heart. Caphir knew that his life was nearly half over and he felt sad but resigned. His wisdom was such now that he felt he could still love the earth and all it’s beings without their truly loving all of him.

One day, after many hours of practicing, Caphir sat in one of the quiet, light places the earth provided so all its creatures could rest. All around him were balls and rings and clubs of many lovely colors. As usual, his heart lay there among them. As he was wondering what new trick might make his heart visible, a lovely lady walked by. Caphir looked up to find her watching him.

“Would you care to stop and share my quiet place?”, he asked. “There are not too many of them left these days.”

The lady sat down beside Caphir and looked at all the colored balls, clubs and rings. “What are these things?”, she asked.

“The tools of a juggler’s trade!”, answered Caphir.

“This one is so beautiful,” she said, “it must be very special!” And she reached down and picked up Caphir’s heart and held it in her hands.

Caphir looked at her for a long time and at his heart cradled in her hands He had not looked at his heart for many years. Now he saw how the rough treatment had gradually polished it like a stone from a stream bed. It had a deep patina, had grown rich and shone like a jewel.

“You can see it?” whispered Caphir.

“Of course,” she answered with wonder in her eyes.
“How could one not see a thing so completely lovely?”
“You shall have it then,” said Caphir. “But there is this silver chain and ....”
“I know,” she said. “But that makes it all the more wonderful.”

Caphir was astounded. It had been a very long time since he had dared to dream that such a thing could happen. He remembered that once there had been a dark-eyed lady who could read the stars and read eyes. She had said she knew his heart was there, tumbling along in the dust, but that, like the rest of the world, she could not see it. She saw only its reflection in his eyes. There were some few others who could see its shadow,but nothing and no one like this.

Caphir looked back at the lady beside him. Gently she placed his hearty in his hands. “Here,” she said.” “You will need this when you juggle, for others should still try to see. Besides, all of us have a kind of chain, so we cannot give our hearts over completely to anyone. But I will stay with you because I have looked for a very long time for a man who had this special thing.”

Caphir touched her hair and smiled. “But why have I not found you sooner?” he asked.

“Because,” she replied, “you did not come often enough to the quiet places, nor did you look closely enough at the quiet people. Some of us live very ordinary lives. We can do nothing unusual. Our only talent lies in our ability to love those who have exceptional hearts and exceptional love.”

Caphir stretched out his hand to the lady and let the sun glisten off his heart as he held it. For all he had suffered, he was deeply happy that he had chosen to keep this unusual gift. He knew there would be more pain in his life, that his heart would take a few more bumps and jolts. But now they would not be taken alone. There was someone who could share and understand his capacity for joy and sorrow, his compassion and love.

The light moved softly in the quiet place and Caphir stood up. He gathered together the balls and the clubs and the rings, and he reached out his hand to the lady. Together they slowly walked away with Caphir’s heart bumping along behind them.