jeudi 22 février 2018

the Barren Idea of You



Against shame & unfair odds, I fought you
while all the while  you despised me, belligerent.

I shuddered, shivering, would or did you care for us ?
yet I knew you hated us outright, with all the tidy inattention that smelled of you,
the clean & quite tidy corners

Of a sacred space. With incense and lit wicks, trembling.

And I fell, like a star smashing on the pavement !
…wishing oh dear Lord, that Eternity be placed, inside some ephemeral vessel!


« My dear darling, up and dancing awkwardly in a very vain story, where all is fake & fakery from one level to the next witnessing endlessly the spectacle underneath God's awful scrutiny.

It has no mystic use for you or me, nor does it ever consult our sweet bigotry.
It vibrates longitudinally in complete and resonant discompassion
across the temporal fibres wrinkling, the dead surface that insects thrive on.

There is nothing bold & wonderful!  Nothing worth taking to the grave to ponder till doom's day.»


Pleading with all this in unkempt mind, we fight unjust battles for romantic reasons, without any favor from gods or demons or men or ghosts or those fickle titans hiding in the air we breathe, covered in hair & fur. 

We fight rebellious bodies, our souls twitching in the wide & silly shooting range of sickly horreurs, 

... embedded in the vernacular from the start of younger years defaced with time, the pure & unnatural innocence obliterated.

But now I know how forlorn it was arduously desiring to reduce you and your intangible pith into some soothing stale-mate phrase. 

Placing you in a tight and holesome digestable frame: 

to make a gruesome image of you in accordance with my disfigured light! 

To make of you, a static sterile thing ! An Idolatrous revery. Into a barren idea of you and your numinous secret soil.

« Love is an ungrateful & abominous joy which can be unearthed from beyond the Aether. An inspired lovely brave and sometime solemn quintessential liqueur, inebriating the wakeful in the heart; longing to quit at last that idle twittle sound of murderous arrogant spleen. »