It’s not important to remember days, and wonder
why has our time become so slow;
it doesn’t matter anymore if there’s no thunder,
after the rain, before the bow…
It matters not why in our backyard’s desert,
there are no camels and the Bedouins have left;
what truly matters is a sense of water,
illusion wildly clenching to my chest…
Tired, alone and ravaged by disasters,
battled by winds having no taste of sea,
sold by myself to unforgiving masters,
too thin to die, too obvious to see…
In no-man’s land they’re selling cheap allotments,
graveyards to be, or not to be;
some weird biochemical arrangements,
for my abandoned christmas tree…
Nobody’s making attempts anymore
to stir a peace of roses.
Individual daffodils and bunches of sage
challenge shields of rage
hidden under profaned altars
of compromised innocence;
piled mountains of drowned chariots
awaiting another exodus to chase…
I nearly fell for you Delilah,
but I am blind you see,
incapable of discerning
between a hairdresser and barbers.
Nights of shattered crystals
call for vengeance,
and Picasso crying
shards of broken Guernicas
over forgotten mind fields…
It’s always midnight
on the side of treason;
either too early,
or too late
to find another door…
Don’t ever leave your clothes outside
when told to take a shower…
that’s what we are
on god’s minefields…
The shape of my heart
Odd frame of mothers,
and fathers passing by;
never failing to re-write
the history of cubic thoughts…
of lensless glasses
always a year behind
the real need of eyes…
No one came to my funeral.
They came to say goodbye,
to mourn, to cry…
Dressed in black like crows
awaiting patiently until the first worms
shall make their way from underneath my skin.
Yes, they came,
but not to my funeral.
There was I,
alone, dressed in black like a monstrous raven,
nested uncomfortably amongst shiny cushions
filled with cheap fibre; hollow fibre…
They all came in the end;
where were they when I needed them most?
When all my innermosts were screaming
for anything to ease the pain of screaming
There alone, blind, wrapped in blood,
so unlike the orgasm which conceived me…
Dumb little sucker,
tossed around like a bushel of cheap meat…
Nope, no one came that day.
They were busy with their own funerals and stuff;
except for the dying ones, themselves.
They’re all here today;
adorned with cheap, dead flowers,
choir of drunk undertakers
digging the last trenches of dignity.
Photo by Wikipedia
“To hang on from day to day and from week to week,
spinning out a present that had no future…” G. Orwell
No one knows where, or when it starts, as no instance can be recollected neither of space nor time, of that flash moment of realising truth, the truth…
At first it’s like a bothersome feeling of an acute uneasiness of mind, a transcending understanding of wrong and evil, lie and betrayal.
There’s no same event triggering it, no resemblance whatsoever of any dimensional frames. It may be under the bed of hiding your first packet of cigarettes in a home where everybody smokes, or the frozen still merry-go-round witnessing a bi/multi/polar granny violently shaking a grandson’s hair and attached head, because of the hideous crime of being five playground minutes late for supper…
It’s realising the truth of “1984” O’Brian’s diatribe on power; that power is desired by those holding it -or other aspirants it may be said-, for the sole purpose of holding on to it…
Power exists not merely as a philosophical concept; it is an entity , with its sole purpose of displaying itself against and above its subjects.
Power’s only means of survival is both dualistic and parasitic, as it must have a host, and also a subject upon which vexation – it’s life-force – shall be applied. This is vitally essential for both the master puppeteer of power, and his/her subjects, as the owner of power must exercise its vexing’s —self-sustaining— attributes in order to continuously remain its host, while its victims must exist in order to maintain “life” in both Power and its host. And “must” excludes liberty and/or freedom on both sides of this tragic symbiosis, making life nevertheless easier at the upper end of any face-stomping boot.
You see, liberty and/or freedom have always been reciprocally exclusive even with power, as these cannot exist until power does.
In the —rethorically speaking— end, life has never been anything else but the “defiant hopelessness” of carcasses, subjects to Power’s greed to maim.
“Must” nevertheless, seems to have a slightly different meaning for Power’s host, some sort of pathetic cream upon its illusion of life, whipped afresh by every whiplash of vexations; a perpetually inescapable samsara without any known heaven of absolution.
Power and its subjects, a never ending downhill purgatory of an its own tail biting snake head, “eternally” bound to each other for Power’s existentialist sake…
I am an honest agnostic, which means I believe that the infinite complexity of what we know as Universe, with its endless structures of combined information, cannot be the blind result of a random happening. Having said that, I have to cut short the eventually mounting joy of any I.D. reader, because my belief in a —maybe— once planned cosmic event at which’s end we have found ourselves facing our daily struggles, seems to have gone somewhere at a moment in time/lessness wrong, as wrong as the event itself.
As a formerly trained, ministry and education graduate, with twenty years of a very active international ministry, I have come to understand not only the faultless logic behind my doubts in a very faulty masquarade called “evolutionary science”, but also in any religion’s attempts to capitalize upon this rational truth in order to transform it into a(n) Elohim/Jesus/Allah/etc “did it” club, good enough both to scare away any evolutionists from even considering I.D. and the gullible into seeing it as “the” foundation of a self-inflicted hope in a never arriving “saviour”…
-to be continued…-