Mishka Zakharin

 

The Official Mishka Zakharin Website

 

 Last Updated:  17 November 2008

Bio of a Mishka:

 

Option 1 – Hardly True

          Option 2 – Mostly True  – updated Oct 05

          Option 3 – Absolutely, Totally, and Completely True 

Option 4 – Promethian Perspective

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“But I have told, that too much… now there was I to drink happy vodka, and to disseminate me… should be no more told concerning it……”

 

 

“Has anyone ever told you that talking to you is kind of like pulling teeth?”

“You mean… because of all the blood…?”

 

 

 

Published Works of Mishka Zakharin

Blah, blah, blah… and ‘what have you’…

links to other websites

 

 

Mishka’s MySpace

Mishka at AuthorNation

The Writer’s Box

http://zmishka.blogspot.com/

http://allpoetry.com/MishkaZakharin

 

photo gallery

 

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 Published Works of Mishka Zakharin…    

 

That Was a Good Two Glopsworth – Daemon Mishka, Volume V  ~ NEW ~

Sex & Death:  Passion’s Welts  (poetry)  

Spectre of Life – Daemon Mishka, Volume IV  (journalish ramblings, poetry) 

Mishka’s Florilegium  (poetry)

Big, Mad, Naughty Monkey God  (poetry)  – ?????? 

Kromeshnik  (poetry)

Bastard Imagery in Shakespeare  (poetry, short fiction, journalish ramblings)

Mishka’s Comedia (2nd Edition)  (poetry) 

Year of the Golden Monkey  - Daemon Mishka, Volume III  (journalish ramblings/poetry/fiction)

Mishka, Mishka  (poetry)

Banana You!    - Daemon Mishka, Volume II  (journalish ramblings)

And Then She Put Her Clothes On and Left…  (poetry)

The Mishkan Book of the Dead  (fiction)

Mishka’s Decameron   (poetry)

Mishka Shakespeare:  The Complete Works  (fiction/drama)

The Mad God   (poetry)             

Possessed By the Daemon Mishka   (journalish ramblings)

Of Gilded Hearts and Girded Loins   (fiction)

Big, Naughty Monkey   (poetry)

Mishka’s Comedia   (poetry) out of print

A Silk Purse From a Sow’s Ear   (poetry ) out of print

  

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—Blah, blah, blah… and ‘what-have-you’…

 

 

The Reign of Reason and Light

 

“Now for the reign

of reason and light…

and of will,

and of strength…”

 

In the warm golden glow

of a spring day in autumn…

and life looming largely,

abrading mine inner darkness

with shadows of light…

my head hurts…

and the hymen of my soul

bleeds—

          for no one……

 

 

Life is like when

you’ve got the really bad gas,

and you let one rip—

really a juicer…

but, no, then you check,

and you’ve just completely

crapped your pants…

—and paying taxes…

(the bastards…)

 

Ah, but in the dreams

of deepest desire—

the very chosen life would be

like warm, warm breasts

on the coldest day of the year—

an entire, silken pod of them!

just surging over and all around

and (spiritually) through!

heaving in supple satiation,

and leaving in their wake

the sweetly soft tingle

of an holistic, tittupular

splumage rising…!

 

Or, perhaps, life is like

a really bad analogy

that doesn’t make any sense…

and when you question it,

when you try to glean

some token of reason out of it,

a mystical force pinches your brain

and makes blood spurt

from your eyes……

 

 

 

 

 

“The Times, They Are a’Changin’…”

 

—but what if the times aren’t really changing? 

What if everything is always completely static,

forever exactly the same as it has always been—

but our individual (or collective?!) consciences

are soaring through a series

of just ever so slightly different realities,

so that it seems as if things are changing?…

Then shouldn’t I be able to retrace my steps—

to go back and find a better path?...

—or perhaps such would cause a massive disjunction

in the centrifugal, temporal alignment of the cosmos…

then we’d all be fucked…

best, perhaps, to let go… to move on…

blah, blah, blah—ever on and along

the random reticular of the fourth dimension……

     

 

She is the dream

with whom I would walk

in the waking world

I slumber blissfully

in her ambient

of such utter grace and beauty—

of the underlying zeal

conveyed in a fiery glance

we stroll joyously,

hip to hip and arms around—

her lips find mine

—and again, and again!

—but then we trip,

catching one another at the last

(—though we have already fallen!—)

in the buoyancy of lofting hearts

she laughs—

muffled in yet another kiss,

and then—

bloody (freaking!) cathedral bells!

chaos and damnation!

—the alarm!

and I’m awake

and she is again

just a dream……

 

Bloody hell rot.

 

 

So where am I?!

(But who are you!?)

Afloat where I would soar,

drifting when I would surge…

(better, methinks, than

to just stagnate in sinkage…)

—just rambling along,

singing the same ol’-same ol’ Blues…

months yet to go

of this wintery woe—

yet my mind springs ahead

to…… well, Spring, I guess…

(if you want to get technical about it…)

—to a warming of weather,

of heart, body, and soul—

and I won’t look back

upon the heinousness

of cold, bleak, snowy January…

I’ll just throw out

all that old Christmas candy

(everyone was so wonderful to bestow),

because I rather prefer meat—

bloody steaks, juicy chickens,

or pleasant porkchops—

ah, Potemkin (you bastard!), old friend…

you are gone, but not forgotten…

(you’ve a bit of gristle there in your teeth

and (I think) some pantyhose)

butanyhoo…

 

“If January Kalends be summerly gay,

‘Twill be wintry weather till the Kalends of May!~”

…well, then what if it’s sunny

but just colder than a witch’s tit?!……

St. Genevieve save us all…

and yet will I decree:  Happy New Year!! 

And so shall it be!...

<—or so the weak and gullible will be led to believe…!>

May the gods not be so angry—

amen.

 

 

 

 

Ode to Musings – #6

 

I am both yin and yang—

though I suppose more yangly

than yinister—

in all of their

consummate cosmology;

 

I am both wave

and particle—

not to mention

a warm, fuzzy

beast of love

in the sack!…

a macrocosm of nothingness,

a microcosm of all—

 

epistemologically speaking,

I’m just your average, everyday,

peasant, avatar, Svengali, bastard beanhead,

spewing forth an over-cooked

and under-digested feast of

pseudo-psycho-literary-babble…

 

If you were to take away

the prurient essence of

my underlying corporeity,

I’d be nothing but a stray thought—

alea jacta est…

 

I suppose it’s really rather like

what Descartes was always saying:

“I don’t know anything about anything…

but I know this—

ready or not, here I come!

 

 

 

The Ass Poem  (a sonnet)

 

Needs must I assay, with utmost assertion,

Her assets, all, were of the finest display—

Yet must I assert, her fairest ascription

Follows her about in the most pleasing way.

To assess from behind—the soul doth ascend!

Demands an assiduous aspiration;

An assurgent assurance that, in the end,

Assents to an assize of asseveration!

To assort such an aspect, yet not offend—

For easily may your assigns go astray—

Let not your emotions be astir, my friend,

And, with a subtle assuagement, survey;

So ascetic I must be—or it’s harassment, you see…

Ah, if only she could know how much her ass meant to me!

 

 

 

CANTO I:  Bohemian Rhapsody

 

They don’t care…

most of them don’t even know—

how could they?…

Why should they?…

But if they did,

they still wouldn’t—

the bastards!—

and that’s the whole point,

then, isn’t it!…

 

Drifting through a silent fog

of solitary existence…

floating atop the fetid quagmire

of a reality that goes nowhere…

stagnating in the mucky-muck-muck

of the fucky-fuck-fucked-up

society of barbarous being…

ever dragging me down

to unacceptable and exciting

new depths of degradation….

 

I writhe…

I wallow…

I slither all about

as if yet shedding my scales

for flesh and hair and nails,

dragging myself along the shore

to the subterfuge of evolution

in the tree-tops…

day chases night

into summer chasing winter—

but a flash of light,

a shroud of darkness,

a flush of warmth,

a shriek of cold…

the centuries fade away

into ages and eons,

and all that never changes

is the delusion

we have progressed—

that we have become more

than the animals we once were…

 

—we are yet,

and shall always be,

the primitives we started off as…

it is only the act

of pretending to be appalled

by our savage natures

that has become more elaborate….

We are but actors,

feigning sainthood

as we revel in sin…

enslaved to the burdens

of corporeity….

 

 

 

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Links to other websites:

Authors:

Schick Happens – The Genealogy of Michael E. Schick

FNCNE Foundry Networks Certified Network Engineer   – Jon Fullmer

James Goi, Jr. – Author, Speaker, Mind Power Coach

Kinematics of Inertial Navigation Systems – Mikhail Ivanovich Zakharin  (no relation…)

A Place With No Name – Shannon Lynette

 

Other:

www.sevencupsdenver.com   - Seven Cups Chinese Teahouse, Denver, CO

www.larrydahlke.com  - Actor, musician Larry Dahlke

http://www.jamesfullmer.com/    - The Art of James H. Fullmer

http://www.onebrickmusic.com/   - One Brick Music

 

http://www.linkoncenter.com/   web-search site

http://www.zepti.com/  web-search site

http://www.societydirectory.org/  web-search site

http://www.oy-map.net/  web-search site

 

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V l a d i m i r   M a y a k o v s k y

 

P a b l o   N e r u d a

 

J a c k   K e r o u a c

 

S t e v e   M a r t I n

 

S t e p h e n  C r a n e

 

A n n  S e x t o n

 

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Writers’ Quotes

 

le Morte de Author

 

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half.com       barnes&noble.com            amazon.com

 

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To Contact Mishka:  mishkazakharin@yahoo.com or mishkazakharin@gmail.com

 

Copyright: 2008  Mishka Zakharin