A FEVERISH FABLE

A delirium maintained will sprain your brain
a lasting illusion amidst the confusion is the only way
to fool yourself into thinking you're not insane
what tools do you use to build your ruse with ?

I seen so many fools led down that path
hell I was their pied piper do the math.

They lied to me, now I'm a word sniper.
I'll leave a bloodbath of old fables behind me

The linen these stories are written on
not worth a dirty diaper
grow up, use your mind,
leave language behind

she said to me and I'll follow her
into the sunsets ever after
where the echoes from this beautiful disaster
sound hollow, my respect goes creeping

on tiptoes to follow
as a gecko slips past
the shadow of a branch
like a sundial angling slowly
away from the dusk
an upthrust column
of stone serves to shelter
us temporarily from the sweltering musk
we breathe in these fevers from constantly
these seething feelings we've learned to trust
always haunting us, haven't we had enough
of these ghosts of our own devising
or are we merely addicted to the notion
of our own fancies each day rising?

Now everybody knows words don't exist
do you suppose the point's been missed?
I propose language itself exists only in our imagination
think about that and get back, what it means to me
is that everything real is by definition unimagineable

Because even the word real is but a figment
another pigment of the shading for something which
there are only shadows of words fading fast
we all know they won't last and we can surmise

that all words used to disguise the truth
if gathered together would amount to a fraction
of a feather of the whole of reality
fully on display before we arrived on the scene

wordless in all its magnanimous glory
here in the story lies the very secret
to the enigmas posited by Zeno and Kant

as Borges conjectured that
"we have dreamt the world"
by observing Novalis having memorably written
"the greatest magician would be the one
who would cast over himself a spell so complete
that he would take his own phantasmagorias
as autonomous appearances,
would not this be our case?"

and then Jorge Luis elaborated further by stating
"we have dreamt it as firm, mysterious, visible,
ubiquitous in space and durable in time;
but in its architecture we have allowed
tenuous and eternal crevices of unreason
which tell us it is false",
I in turn am moved to observe
that we have merely interpreted the world

and in order to untie these lovely philosophical knots
it becomes helpful to realize Novalis's statement
may be refuted by replying "indeed it would not be our case fully
for what you have posited is an imagination borne
of an underlying imagination; what becomes helpful for magic
is the undoing of our original imagining, language itself."

It may have only seemed
that way because we perceived
it to be a labyrinth when it might just be
a singularity of which we, by necessity,
appear to be only parts, so here
is reflected the disease of our hearts,

That of considering ourselves
or anything for that matter as parts
of a whole when in fact
the nature of the singularity
refutes this. Here it is shown
how we must unlearn
what was formerly known

and just why the keys to truth's locks
always seem to lie in paradox
a delirium maintained
to the very end
like the lasting
illusion of
a true
friend
and
to
pre
vent
any con
fusion by
that I mean
to say take a look
around you today

RESCUELESS

If the human race is bound
to wink out like a candle
snuffed in outer space,
paralleling the same fate
each one of us knows
with certainty awaits,

then what gives, who cares,
why try and stop it, instead
look up and stare one more time
at the darkling smear
of starpoints winking
beyond in the night,

and ask yourself, once again,
don't I feel alright ?
So be it: call out
in the dark
to each other
"good night".

ADEPT

The definition of readjusting
one's view of world & self,
the anamnesis of recovering
the knowledge we were always
part of a whole & never the central theme.

This divorce from a common law knowledge
paved the way for the ego.
A shunning of the mother goddess.
The study of letting go; the practice
of letting go. What is there to let go of?

Well certainly not the ground.
(Once a supposition is merited,
a plausibility is extended;
something like a merry go round
where old rides die hard.)

The study of properly planned revolts.
Examining the back yard.
Scratching for scraps in the moonlit dirt
The study of choice & identity.
The question of who regulates it & destiny.

The question of freedom and
the limits of our rights to it.
The definition of self.
The study of perspective & priorities.
The meaning of being human.

The study of photosynthesis.
The observation of con artists & shell games.
The nature of the beast.
The assignment of application.
The study of definition.

The science of chaos, to say the least
the order of faith. The needs of the few
outweighing the many, the challenge
of how pretty no longer is a penny.

The methodical scrutiny of grime.
The stain in the transmitted lie.
The disease of the silent eye.
The hills of foam on the pond
floating on dark underslitherings,
where steam bath dreams rewind.

Peel back skin of faces to find
the study of all mankind.
The study of one man studying,
left behind for someone to find.

The study of dust, of skins being shed.
Re-emerging life, polished anew.
The study of what, where, and are we who
(the study of me is the study of you).

The study of balancing each
other out of the equation,
the entire history of a nation,
the dream of changing our mind,
the need to invent a new word,

the necessity of creating our own language,
the wisdom of learning for ourselves
the study of wisdom. The defining of change.
Forgetting having uncovered the meaning once.

AMBERGRIS

And what came of it all is still falling.
No way to suppose how the pieces
of this rose fit or what pattern
the petals will fall in, matter of fact
there's the beauty of it, to revel
in the opportunity to not be the architect.

Once, a city of fingernails grew.
From this embroiled, razorcoiled
hanging garden dropped battalions
of ripened fruit, hunched and ready,
this crop grew to prune itself.

Thus leaving the nails to grow
another race. One after another
dropped into the stew, come
to perfect a manicured face.
This chitinous fortress a tomb.

Once, a pretty breathing firestorm
flew from each other's lips
and scalpelwired eyes, a coalition
of the lit. Relay trance.

Magnification of distant concerns.
Zero avoidance. Hidden yearning.
Perhaps for reassurance where
the park benches are made of claws

STATES OF BEING

If "Absolute Power corrupts absolutely",
then know the real nature of "God":

The "Devil" IS "God", only fallen. Corrupted.
This shows how "God" has NO POWER.

Herein lies the secret of his inviolable status:
If power corrupts, then by definition
the one who would be "God" must abandon all power.

In so doing, He achieves Mastery
(while those who seek power must fall).

By Letting Go, "God" achieves becoming
One with the universe.

Thus, We are given a choice.
We, too, may Let Go,
and Become One with "God" and the universe;
the ultimate surrender.

Therefore, "God" and "The Devil" are not seperate beings;
rather, they are seperate states of being:
the states of the heavenly (or divine)
and that of the infernal (or damned).

To be damned is to have been sent on a path
from which there is no recourse.

The pursuit of power, or riches (merely power in another guise)
is just such a course.


This is exactly why it says
"Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here"
on the gates of Hell.