I imagined a circle and then I imagined eternity. That which ceases to adapt, dies. The cruel moment is its discovery.
Believe what you must but it will not save you.
We contend with the fascism of everyday life that says we must conform to certain expectations of how we must act in order reap the alleged benefits of our society and culture. Those who do not are sought out and weeded out and forced to either eccentric or extreme activity in order to make a space and a place. You cannot step out of the world because the world is there and its tendrils permeate every aspect of life on this finite planet. The only final escapes are off the planet, either through the mind or through death. Death being the inevitable end of anything and everything including the universe seems a futile escape at best, leaving the mind. Here is where what energy may be harnessed must be harnessed to pursue the recreation of the world and the pursuit of true freedom from attachment, from life’s restrictions, from death itself.
I will never know…
We are all subject to the randomness of the universe.
Humans are plagued by the illusion of mastery when we master nothing, not even ourselves.
We expect nothing will break us even as we are broken.
I still wait for her to come to me, to return my flesh to the earth, my soul to the sea and my mind to the sky.
There are no fixed points
from which we navigate.
The fog obscures everything.
Everything is in motion.
What landmarks there are
will be gone when it is clear,
although clarity births
its own confusions.
I have watched the stars change.
There are no inevitable truths.
We move across the landscape of time
as though we had a clue of our destination.
But even in death there is no surety
of an end.
All things escape me
and yet there is no escape.
I hear the distant tolling
of buoy borne bells,
the crying of gulls,
the endless susurration of the waves,
singing their song,
singing their song,
singing their song.
I am mute.
There is nothing I can tell you
that you do not already know
if only you paused
to think about it.
What I yearn for
you will not give me.
Some say it is unseemly.
I do not care about them.
In their time
they will burn.
Moths dance in the darkness.
I feel their wings against my face.
The flames they seek do not burn.
A spider weaves its web,
spiral upon spiral.
I want to die in your arms
as you suck the life from me,
but many promises are unkept.
This is the nature of the night.
The worms turn slowly in the moist loam.
Your body is the earth.
I would be buried in you.
Receive my corpse, my love,
receive my corpse.
Do not expect answers.
There are no answers.
You will die asking questions,
but only silence or white noise,
or the blasting inevitable will greet you.
I have no answers for you.
Do not ask me.
I would rather you die in the dark
for the darkness provides its own comfort.
I am a cold bastard.
We were put here to suffer in ignorance.
All the gods are cruel.
They, too, will die in ignorance.
Get used to it.
I need a cup of coffee.
It’s not about happiness but how far you have travelled before the journey stops.
It never made sense. It will never make sense. We are limited by what our brains can process, what our minds can create.
Tired of filling holes with smoke,
the strange words crawl up the walls
like nervous spiders.
If luck would have me
I would be her gallant knight,
but I might as well be dwarf in a tutu.
Bird singing from a wire,
crows on the gallows,
all casting shadows that dance
with wind and time
as though the clocks
all knew semaphore.
The ivy wraps around my neck,
anchors on my bones,
a wren nesting among its leaves
and my heart, dear heart,
singing from its cage.