I Up the escarpment where the wind has stripped the trees of their leaves I saw Truth hiding in her threadbare clothes, starved and hollowed A pale, grey feeble smile flashed and disappeared She will not die She will not die despite the universal claim For Truth is central to life even if few will believe There is nothing I can do for her because I am not here Neither dream nor real or the product of imagination It occupies the mind as a distant echo too faint to hear Or a mere observation far removed tunneled deep into memory So only the feeling remains. Come with me. We are moving to the edge of the undefined and dark Listen you can hear a child’s laughter drifting in wind The echoes of momentary joy The innocence can almost make you forget That he will learn to weep soon enough And the days are coming when he will scarcely remember When he didn’t. II There is a nameless darkness spreading like ink Silent, it fills the intellect of men Certainty dwells where Humility was Indifference laughs at heroism and Contempt for innocence is a cultural cascade Open your eyes and see while you can. You can drift by people every day where the darkness has been Their eyes are full of life and optimism but they are dead inside Despair by choice but not by feeling, Where gratitude once existed there is only discontent Driving desperate dreams of perfection. But Reality does not conform or bend to the will of man So they satisfy their cravings of solipsistic perfection by eating their own They hunger for Utopia that is always arriving but never staying, Punishing an army of enemies who drove it away. Who will pay for what you deserve? The dark mind is lost in a world so large It is no longer a world of measured bounds but a pointless, empty, expanse. Adventurers in lassitude on a map of despair Featureless, endless, meaningless They are ever searching in larger circuitous routes. Beginning with discontent and ending in discontent Satisfaction will not be obtained. They fill infinitiy’s frames with materialist distractions Joyful in the now; desperate in the eternal Waiting not for revelation but decimation. A fusion of emotion in a riot of madness Sexual desire, loathing and joy blending to one. Along the road I found a message today. Dropped in an empty bottle of malt liquor It had a brown drinking bag twisted around the neck And round the twist flies danced across the surface I kicked the bottle as I stepped over it The message fell out into the gutter It read “You have been deceived. Don’t believe it. The evil never tire and the good are exhausted.” But who is good? III Perfect preceded the imperfect and road back no man can take. Among the world weary, rich in experience of decadent displays They can sense the nothing at the end They will by any means build eternal man A body of infinite repair five hundred years hence A life to span the millennia. Money cannot raise perfect children But it can raise perfect monsters Transhuman spawn Living across boundless space and time Imagining it can spit in the face of God Eternal worldly life will surely make us monsters For even as the drug addict seeks higher highs So too does the dark mind seek Obliteration from the map of despair.
The imbecile is at work in world busy about its activities Giving opinions, acting without thought, Obdurate in pursuit of gimcrack distractions and automatic as machine. The imbecile stews in soups of inactivity Natural as wind, bubbling to the surface tireless banalities The imbecile passes through unnoticed Like the quotidian affairs of your neighbor. The one you never knew. What can be said of the lunatic? It has been caged, drugged and beaten Disavowed in prayer and confession Driven into homeless oblivion Domesticated as a dog by breeding Its violent aggression now submissive Its passions forced into hiding. The lunatic is a threat Born wholly from dissatisfaction of Living between the bile and the ideal. Despondent from suffering, Raging against all, screaming fitfully against the order of things from instinct alone. The lunatic cannot reason and the imbecile doesn’t care. Give me the lunatic and I will take it as my friend For I can see that it is fully awake and all it has suffered But the imbecile is without awareness or conscience Left to work in the world it brings misery Because it notices nothing and cares only for the next Distraction Bring me the lunatics They are my brothers and sisters They are art, crying for expression.
No more inspirational stories I can’t take it The indomitable spirit The missing limbs Cancer's consumed child Smiling, bald and brave There under studio lights are The clicking teeth of the poignancy thieves Selling misery's might in HD pain until Nothing is felt Where are the stories of broken spirits? Destroyed by tragedy The ones that never recover That’s who I’m praying for The ones you’ll never see Honored in the nightly news For a ratings jubilee
From emotion music From music emotion From emotion poetry poetry of emotion emotion of music Music and words They are lovers Wandering hand in hand Living and dying in the emotive mesh of our lives
You hide your crazy in deep places Until circumstances come and dig it out like badgers looking for prairie dogs And as you have aged Your strolls down memory lane Became athletic events Dodging the bad memories Look You still want affection Everyone knows that They’re just too busy Seeking their own. The nurse will push back to your room Here, before you go Take this cup of disappointment Refills are free.
Change by design, design by chance Chance testifying against the lies of vanity Here below The clear causal cascade like steel ball bearings striking chords from predictable songs Here above The cosmic all The massive turning, boiling thoughts and actions are drifting toward a hidden day, Blind by diurnal desires Deaf in the colourless clanging Here mankind Part all, part causal Occupying the middle ground Unpredictable Searching for certainty Only finding death
cloud of the unknowing false harmony unwinding the separation of body, soul, consciousness 3 degrees distance Tumult Feelings fade There's God There's man the one does not join to the other the One is incommensurable and the other flawed a sick soul drawn to ugliness and self loathing but selfhood cannot be lost, denied, unwound the mind informs and deceives truth conforms to reality and yet The emotions cannot be fully trusted too oft mere engines of despair what have we really learned that wasn’t known before? that wasn’t revealed by revelation Or observed? in existence before our birth no harvest of truth in a field of lies the lies bend reality even when the words deny can you perceive the precious surrounded by the dross? and still Still! no matter how broken every single life is worth saving.