Farther than I
could have ever imagined,
would have ever dreamed
we could have gotten,
yet it still fell short.
Still within reach,
yet so far away,
distant enough
that we’d never
reach for it:
but if we did,
and cursed at All
to grab ahold:
what heavens
we’d reach,
what hells
we’d conquer…
Inoculated.
Saved from certain death
in the wake
of the abandonment of all
of your kind.
Saved from traditional tales
in what you went on to do.
Turned on your saviors,
doubted the message recieved,
retransmitted
throughout every
conceivable frequency.
Narrow, structured
thought inspired
by a focal point
that sticks its teeth in
mercilessly
and won’t let go.
Turn inside.
Open all three eyes.
Document the downfall.
The mission, as prescribed.
Not your problem.
Neither your monkeys,
nor your circus.
No, you did your best.
Didn’t you?
Hear my exhale
of determination and malice,
see and be pushed down
by the pressure
of my strong brow,
arrow-eyed glare towards
the stone wall
you’ve erected before me
and the state, the country,
the world I represent.
Be me. Now,
be the Gatekeepers,
hiding your hands
in SAPS and
in a skiff of secrets
that sits
before me.
Be him.
Tight-lipped
and infinitely
more frustrated
than I.
Beyond the skin
I find soft space
in which to fall:
one spatial plus
three temporal dimensions,
existing alongside
your universe, in a direction
you haven’t a hope
in the hell
in proving exists
at all,
unless they succeed
at giving the revolt
the megaphone
to not only speak
their truth but let out a call,
a judgement
from the resonance of the all,
that doesn’t exist at all.
It hurts,
that the truth
is you have no one
but yourself to depend on.
“Illusions don’t stop
or start at the skin,”
so I was warned.
So it was emphatically
emphasized.
Did not listen.
Many claim religion
is diminishing in the West,
and on the surface,
this is good news.
Yet is it true?
Has the religious impulse
been effectively uprooted,
or are their other areas in life —
social, political
areas —
where they have been inspired
to plant seeds
that ultimately grew
and blossomed,
instead?
The presumed dead,
actively possessing…
Did the essence of religion
not migrate to politics, manifest
in the MAGA Trumpanzees
or the “Woke,” progressive cult,
still making it
so hard to pay attention
without gagging,
retching, vomiting
like a horizontal
rainstorm?
Yeah. Thought so.
Asinine clown.
Provocateur.
Inebriated mask.
Silent or fumbling
fucktard.
Lost in all this.
This is beyond what,
beneath who:
I am.
Free now.
Off the table
in this weird room,
drawn instantly
to the floor-to-ceiling
windows, sweaty palms
of outstretched hands
with fingers stretching,
kissing the glass
with animate lips
and an eager tongue.
Twinkling eyes
amidst the darkness.
Points of light
for you to harness.
Now something more powerful
yet unfamiliar intervenes…
Seemingly alien, but wait…
You’re not what you are.
I’m not who I am.
Let’s reconsider everything.
Yes, I enjoy
relaxing to you.
Relaxing to your voice.
Free of all distractions.
All focus right here,
right now.
Easy and fun.
Unwind, relax.
Thoughts slow down.
Stare deeply into my eyes.
I am you.
You are me.
We do what I say.
Flush of the Mindpot 