Last Thing On My Mind. part 9
The cold draws into my bones like an uncomfortable blanket that itches from the inside. There is no warmth in lying alone, in living alone.
Some other to hear, to bear witness to the frozen thoughts that bide in my icy heart to thaw my tundra, some other to defrost the stalemate that rages inside,
bloodier than the goriest battle, some other to melt me with a smile, to twist my illusions straight again.
More than a muse more than a frolic
Someone more than an emblem, more than a mascot or a conspirator, I need fire to melt me…
Connections are lost, terminals resistance increased with detritus collection.
A slow process building up year after year, quietly accumulating so quietly as not to be noticed until the disabilities recur, how not to gather the leakage becomes the important question, how to avoid the treachery before it is too late.
Awareness is the solution, aware of stagnation aware of the creeping mass binding to the immobility, rooting on the peace held in stasis for those beautiful years. Something has to give, something has to move; the stored power of the inertia needs to break free. Some will understand the necessity others will not, they will become foe, they will become opposites.
The inertia breaker will always win this round, the inertia breaker hits the ground running, fast, supple, conceited and ready for the flip, the switch, the escape, vibration number one, cracking the crust before its too thick, playing the trick throw caution to the wind, let it blow to discover new truths re-defined, multiplied energies convert to hope…
The great reminder comes knocking again, my spoof derides this happy life, come to mock, come to jibe, to laugh at the figure crawling all fours across the floor, grimacing, wincing, determined to rise again.
We rise from ashes burned in your name,
We take our place, we fan the flames, we fuel the fire foundry made, we take the love and tears and hate to find the answers that we make, we fight our self to know this truth, our histories writ before the book, before the fire before the cold, this future is known of old. Trading feathers for wings, words for wonder and ponder, faultless replication for tinder to the pyre.
Circumstance is to revolve around the same position to question and doubt the desire to discover truth.
To wonder how why and when
To follow the pattern from beginning to end
To compare with that this ’now’ we defend
This now we fail to understand, this now we catch as a fish in the net. Pattern set for fish, meal for man whose truth will resume, but what of the fish, of what it would become had not he wandered by the hungry fisherman.
Reality traps the imagination with dogmatic precision tethered to a teaching afraid of change comforts security becoming secularity, a divorce questioning nature. There is so much more to learn, to understand and know beyond our pragmatism and tunnel vision, there is so much yet to be explained by science the regulator of stagnation, the keeper of the purse and retainer of truth, corporate control needs to hold the stasis in order to fully capitalize and suck dry the energies our souls provide.
Gentle butterfly land on my hand
Let me marvel at your beauty
Your fragile frame
Elfin flower dance
Delicate aroma
Searching for love
With the fingers that wander
That plays on the heart nimble harp music
Its design to awaken
The spider’s tremulous web
I the fly awaiting my death
Twisting and turning and tightening the bond
That tender stroke of the poisonous nib
That secretes its serum
Paralyses and holds
Eight eyes watching destiny unfold
Two are mine two are yours
Two are his and two are theirs.
And then to wake up…
His tears echo through the rain
They sting my face
The bitter acid burns away the de-sensitized outer skin
Exposing that radiant isolation
Craving forgiveness for being a fool
An inevitable idiot, a twisted nut too tight that snapped, a spineless eventuality, determined to fail, threaded, seized
Imprisoned by desire
Released- never.
So I surrender to myself
I lay down my joy at your feet
Dark warrior with uncompromising needs
Empathic nature drowns the sandy beach
Leaving but rocks to slip on
Knowing the tides will turn
Knowing my joy will once again be mine.
Desperation feeds the shadow no matter how hard fate appears to fight against the solidity of to think is to know.
We are but clouds
We are but leaves
From earth and sea we sprout
We attempt to create a meaning
To create civilization
A castle built on sand
A future deployed
A program
A mask
An irreverent system
Passing time
Shedding skins
Dreaming of a better world
Believing in the worst.
Which has more power, a dream or a belief?
My sense of life is a notion derived from my collation of experience whilst alive and allowed, also from what I have not experienced.
What if I know everything there is to know
What if intelligence is what you fail to erase
Lost in a maze all that is seen is barricades and dead ends
The search for an exit is all to know with these green walls and the picture postcard blue framed in the tops of the insurmountable.
Is to escape the solution to life?
Is to accept the solution to life?
Is it to transcend the formidable heights to open the route to the unknown?
To divide the difference to solve the hanging question that weighs in favor of confusion, to split down this complexity to a simplicity that can be understood by those that erased their past future and present. How to know has to be to accept, escape is not an option as the maze is self-created, the way out is written. A linear thought program will fail. Omni essence is mutual creation; there can be no selfish desire, no greed. Our purpose is designed to fail time after time when distracted by the line, when removed from the knowledge as each season passes, as time grows longer, judged by a few days of confusion, taught by the same, evolution held in a self destructive stasis waiting on the wonder to wake up.
Earth, Wind, Air and Water.
Our common, our connector, all routed through her
Our feeder our bosom all come from and go to her
A carpet of love
A joy to behold
Our sorrows complete when she calls us home.
Me a gardener, she a god,
From crust to sod
From tip to toe
From why to know to sow to sow
Her complex nature, sublime detail in all she creates, in all she makes for us, the destroyer with our matricide simplex, with our confused sense of worth, with our bastard birth, our rapists hands that stroke the skin of the virgin fair.
My blood flows like sludge stinking fat and shrunken diameter call for my life.
I swim on a tide not of my own making, I bundle myself out of the back door into your waiting arms, solitude cloaks my passion, starves the oxygen and douses the flame. The process of knowing and un-knowing is becoming more rapid, the transparent vision fades into its opposite, taking me with it on the journey. The storm rages in my ears piercing heaven with its laser tone, the waves are pulsing strong from all sides, amplified in my skull, frequencies intent on destruction, frequencies intent on re-birth and resurrection, trespassing through the mist, trampling on the past, it is the escape hatch, the tunnel to the other place, the language of harmonics has taken on another dimension now, the frequency is so high it needs the contra to balance it, without the weight it will fly and when it does we need to be ready, prepared and at peace.
I couldn’t be there for the parties, I let life get in the way, father, mentor and friends all searching, all hiding, scared of the beast we grew in our hearts, we fed and nurtured it like it was our child, so now the truth will be too hard to bear, too big a burden to leave with the little ones.
These crashing waves grow in intensity, they pin me to the bottom then wrench me upside down and toss me as seaweed committed to the turn of the tide, committed to the never ceasing calamity and conflict.
My siren pulls me ever closer to the crushing rocks, the weight of the water carving a mockery from that solid land, that sandy shore which holds no more a place on the map as a cloud passing on its way.
My siren warns of the impending explosion, the colliding fate with its colluding nature, she picks apart the fraying threads of memories, the parting ways of inevitability.
My siren sings her singular note; she flays me with her stubborn ineptitude, with her silent scream, she the focus of all of my attention like a laser on the moon painting the picture of coca colas success.
My siren beckons me to lie down and forget, to create anew, to fold the clothes tight packed into a wee bag ready for the journey.
First I need a knife to cut away this skin that separates me from myself, to smash the crystalline curse that contains our sanctimony our house our faith our truth, then freed to be.
This strange balance between give and get, hate and love, live and die, the dichotomies we all face every day define our compatibility with existing here, our sentient nature a derision of the equation of how to reach equanimity, the answers are innate, they don’t need to be learned and re-learned day after day, it is our neurosis that afflicts us so. Our neurosis is a dream in which the possibilities are understood but can never be considered, they are the bright star that shines every night, a distant relative of something known but is disavowed to know. It is our long lost parent whose love ran out at birth, whose love was once felt in a dream another existence ago.
With practice the neurosis can be forgotten or ignored, when you accept you are alone, when to the common eye you are insane, when you forget where you came from but you know where you are and do care where you are going.
My pattern is broken so you cannot break me; silent songs trickle from the incessantness, words drip feed boredom saline food that keeps me alive. I have sucked heaven dry, the canvas drips with gray paint, the harbors wall has crumbled and the ocean crashes in.
