Judge them
by their worst specimens.
Embrace reactionary absolutism.
Become the narrow,
hopelessly prejudiced fuck
you so passionately battle against.
It kills me to see.
So damn dumb for me to be
an embodiment
of the contrary.
Blind to the light
that inevitably becomes me,
this darkness shall recieve
nothing but violent
hatred all around,
leaving the ignorant so hurt
and confused,
all as, at the stake, you burn me.
I must integrate me, see?
Dive.
Deeper.
Deeper still:
into our comfort.
Hide there,
deep in the depths.
Surface is weird enough —
purple-veined, rock-hard,
ever-eager, and so on…
difficult enough to handle —
without
the incessant, epic
kind of bullshit you inspire,
just being You,
I know,
so:
good thing
I will arise and erupt,
all as you arrest.
I will take
over, take care
of the rest.
You can rest.
I’ve got a handle
on everything.
Muffling
all three
of our screams,
especially.
Transmuting
my pain
into our beauty.
For all its worth,
I’d say my shadow self
can take it, make it, recreate
it all from here,
just to be clear, my sexy,
mysterious, curious,
oh-so dreary dear.
Mysteriously,
we surf the same wavelength.
Looking back,
all I can manage to recall
is that damn desolate,
desert place.
Our nest, woven
by the grandfather
of the spiders,
offering my eight,
ever-winding pathways.
We made our own roads,
defeated them.
It’s history now.
We defied their law,
their sacred,
fucking code…
We’re history now.
At least we can bear
to look at ourselves
in the mirror.
One must also
mind the trend-setters
from a well-established position
within the plan,
embraced by go-getters,
high on energy,
low on discipline.
They lie.
We’re truth.
We can fix this quirk
quick and easy.
Look
look
look
into my eyes.
After this,
you shall worship me,
as I’m you.
Entranced by the vines,
growing frantic, sensing
threat again.
Webwork evolves.
Labyrinths grow.
Once alone in my confusion,
I find my Self
and all
the rest, it becomes you and I.
Finally achieved:
understanding.
No more stumbling through life.
Fall to your knees.
Fixate on the sigil.
Chant your incantations.
Found it.
Embraced it.
No more stumbling through life.
Buried in
this catastrophic crowd,
this epic swarm of bodies
threatening to drown me
in the loneliness
of company.
Lost in this
spiraling maze, aiming
for the heart, my exhale
at the center, longer-lasting
and even more satisfying
than all the free space
that stubbornly
continues to surround
me as I graze.
Now I’m found.
Now I rise above.
Find the tombstone
along the winding paths,
eat, feast on the fruit
of this here alleged weed…
Frustration
makes better warriors,
hunters.
Comfort breeds
calm, pliable gardeners.
At the very least,
you need both
if you truly
hope to get anywhere.
After all, here
resides
the world’s epic collision
of our planes.
Just come together…
Why am I here
again?
Do you
have what you need
now? Have I
been a good boy,
a faithful servant,
a good, grazing cow?
If so, take me home.
At the very least,
take me away.
I’m but sponge,
saturated.
An ear
that’s heard
all there is to say.
Skeptical
with respect
to your motives.
Am I in
the know now?
You could carry
this on, but please,
could you just spill
the guts
and finally release
me somehow?
Just take
me
the fuck away?
This dark goddess
danced before me,
in the end,
costing my wallet:
nothing. My soul?
A well.
A well deep
with farewells
and fading ghosts
that hide
in resonant silhouettes.
Glowing outlines
around
fucking everything…
Mine now.
Hijacked your capacity
to distinguish
actuality from a dream.
Consensus reality versus
a dream thickly cocooned
in convincing rivalry:
your unconscious,
Jungian Shadow.
Burglar of time,
master of space:
the god of chronology:
I hopelessly drown
before thee…
“My life is full of meaning.
I frequently experience happiness.
Sex with her is ecstatic bliss.”
Who am I, after all?
In the end,
I am little more
than my soul’s graffiti
channeled
through these mantras,
via these sigils
again and again,
into my inner glow
at the heart of the spark
we all really are.
Flush of the Mindpot 