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| may 2011 |
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| From Nowhere | 2:35am sunday, 29th may |
And there it is, as if it found home again from having traveled through the various aethers: the heartbreak that comes from nowhere, without cause, rhyme, nor reason. I had almost forgotten that such things happen in my life, that which makes no sense just plotz in my way, refusing to budge from the path, something that forces itself into my deal machine. Does it mean anything at all? Is something else, for some cosmic reason, announcing itself in my destiny by way of the aching in my chest? Or is it merely some chemical imbalance, having no intrinsic empathic value? I will say it: it is like an old compatriot, though someone less than a friend, who comes and goes from my life, and like the wind cannot be traced. Will I say goodbye to you in some finally someday? Aye, who is to say what tomorrow forfends?
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| to come | 6:16am wednesday, 25th may |
now, am i desirous of what may come when moon is full
destiny trips the light fantastic when the stars will all align
the prophet to stand astonished as what he foretold unfolds
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| Beginnings | 5:03am saturday, 21st may |
Where have I wandered? Where have I been? Am I waking up again? I go through this every now and again, as if I am beginning once more, as if my birth was always left uncompleted. What do I do? What shall I say? And why? Why? Why? This dreamer has spent much, much time dreaming of some day when he is to be ready (for what he never knows), but when that day comes, he is completely at a loss — for any and everything. Life is not what happens when you’re busy making other plans (ala John Lennon), but it is rather all that planning you do — that passes for life most of the time. But you know, how does one, in fact, do it: seize the day? Everyone always told me to, and never told me what that meant. And of all that dreaming... it is the safer thing than this gritty life, softer, but there comes a time when morning breaks and the light peals in through your window — I will grab whatever I can, and go... Maybe that’s it?
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| Knowing | 12:10am wednesday, 18th may |
It is amazing how much we know, not really knowing anything. How we can build whole cities building by building in which people can work and live, and only recently have we thought about the mathematics that underlie our comings and goings. For as much as we have learned, the most important lesson might be how prone we are to be wrong. No one has all the answers, and when a person does have something of a truth, in expressing it, he or she is likely to be misunderstood (perhaps even by his or her own self). Myself, having emerged from madness, I am curiously suspicious of everything, and trusting in strange ways. I suppose that that is not out of the ordinary, and we all have learned certain ways of believing. I merely marvel at how, imperfect as we are, we are able to make this world work at all, to sew a whole society together with such tenuous strings.
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| the door | 2:37am saturday, 14th may |
through the door
there is a river
where the moonlight flows
where the branches of the trees end in stars
and we climb the lips of destiny
to mean something
or be swallowed
and the river in its constant beginning
washes the moment away
until, being nothing
we imagine, beyond
there is a river
through the door
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| The Tune | 7:19pm tuesday, 10th may |
I walk through the tune of life new to the decibels. There are riffs that seem like I should know them, yes, but the music is wholly unfamiliar: it is as if I have maybe heard these songs before, but still can’t quite place the melody. The beat of my striding is an easy one, and I will try and keep the rhythm simple, I think, not try and outdo the meter that I spy some others keep in time to — but I feel as if I’ve never kept this here beat before, not like this. The instrument my soul is being strummed by a new hand; though the hand is mine, these fingers touch and are touched as if new to sensation itself. What is this new exhale, from which out comes such a song I never knew? It is all crisp and fresh — like I am a child again — and I wonder wide-eyed at everything.
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| the prophecy | 8:44pm thursday, 5th may |
still the prophecy comes not to pass
as the days unwind from the seeds of the promise
and the times of turmoil knot our insides
we do more than wait, but we obsess over that nothing
scant trails of almost news we follow, to leave us thirsting
the rain that does not come as sand trickles, drifts
we feel cheated, but cannot but hope
to wrestle with the clues that were to mean something
that were to mean everything
for there is a dream we all have dreamed
within it, the recipe for what it is to be human
of which we have had the barest of tastes
and the hint of the unmistakeable, invincible kingdom
bears the weight of such infinite possibility
that we walk centuries in the patience
waiting at the barest hinterlands of the dreaming
to prove we have always believed
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| Weirdness | 7:56pm tuesday, 3rd may |
So, while I was in Korea, some weird things were happening. The cartoons that appear from time to time resurged a bit, and I was dealing for a little while with the ghost of Leonardo da Vinci, and in a very weird way. For some reason, he was convinced that I was gay, and he was nonstop just coming on to me, as far as a spirit being could. It was very uncomfortable. It was from the cue of the demon, apparently, and there was yet another attempt by said demon to make me think I was the Antichrist. Again. My defenses held, as they are now wont to do, fortunately; though in one attack, it got past my outer psychic shield, and I was on level 2 defense. Still, I was not compromised to any great extent. Anyway, the whole thing queered me from taking any more cold or allergy medication. Any type of drug seems to be contraindicated for my constitution. But anyway, I think I’m pretty much back to normal, back home.
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| the mad kitchen | 1:38am sunday, 1st may |
and in the mad kitchen is destiny brewing strange desserts
sometimes to dust our fingers with powders of the miraculous
time, the ceaseless angel that feeds the hungry moment
life is a dish grown cold, but yet must be eaten, in darkness
punctuated by morsels of joy that burst as light when bitten
mostly dimmed by dreams of the past, at times invisible
ours is to grasp the seconds as they slip from our very appetites
never to collect enough excuses to satisfy the craving to be
as the winds lick the magic from our hands, emptiness howls
and in the mad kitchen is destiny brewing strange desserts
we that are starving for change have dreamed of dark sweets
the angel to open the final taste, to drop us in the mouth of death
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