190818G
-----------
You who fear the darkness,
cling to the light,
not knowing your own weakness,
and never finding the strength.
The beauty of darkness,
causes you to run away.
You dive into a sea of light
preferring to drown.
Countless millions of the drowning,
are calling you to join them.
You hear their chorus,
drowning everything out.
I didn't expect you would hear me,
when I tried to call to you.
I won't waste a moment
watching you drown.
I have gone to the darkness,
and you have drowned in the light.
I wanted to take you home,
but that was as distant as the stars.
You would have to enter darkness,
to go that far.
You could never face darkness
and so you were taken by the light.
-----------------------------------------
190818H
-----------
I remember what I do not want to,
and I forget what I would remember
forever, if I only could.
I have forgotten you long ago,
as if you were someone I never knew.
There are always too many to forget.
We move forward and go on,
solely by means of forgetting.
It has come to that.
Memory dump, overflow,
and we are another divide by zero.
Something stored in error files.
We are being written off
as nothing more than mistakes
littering the way.
Words that become trash,
that violates the scenery.
All of yesterday's stale news.
The ghosts repeat your name,
but I refuse to invoke it,
as if that would call up the dead.
I wanted someone more alive,
but they say that is forbidden,
in their world of copy cat killings.
-----------------------------------------
260818A
------------
These are faux times
of faux freedoms,
faux passions,
faux leather,
faux finishes,
and faux starts.
Faux anything,
and everything faux.
We held a faux meeting,
in faux space,
claiming faux knowledge
of faux lives.
A faux association
of faux circumstances,
making faux connections
in these faux times.
Faux happiness,
in our faux flesh.
Faux feelings,
in a faux world.
Our faux freedoms
of faux association,
faux expressions,
in these faux times.
------------------------
260818B
-----------
The Word was not
into flesh,
but the flesh
was flayed
into words.
--------------
260818C
-----------
I imagined I saw
your hydraulic blood
spilling out
from android wounds.
The new sainthood
of self mortification,
you tied yourself tight
to machines.
Your imagination
fantasizing flesh,
bleeding out,
from android bodies.
The world has changed,
in all those ways
that I never dared dream
that it ever would.
We are no longer
anything we seem to be,
in our siege war mentality
of steady attrition.
They will seek relics
of your having been.
Seeking the new protection
and the new salvation.
Heretics of my type,
are lost in those voices
that cry in the wilderness
of urban wastelands.
Watching you
as you shed synthetic skin.
With a gesture, I am certain,
you would severe my head.
----------------------------------
260818D
-----------
You failed to addict
to what they claim to say
are the right things to addict to.
So it seems to you
that others all failed to addict,
to anything of you.
Parallel lines straining
into a simulation of infinity,
remaining entangled
by all those invisible forces
that keep them apart,
no matter how they go.
You get that lonely life,
lacking addicts.
They populate every approach
to any common landscape,
leaving you coming and going
from isolated observances.
The ugliest games
some people play,
claiming they are playing
for the sake of body and soul,
as if you can still make believe
that you have both of those.
Dreamt that you could win
some sort of freedom,
and dreams come true ?
Freed from everyone
you get to sit in an empty room,
pretending at entertaining ghosts.
Set yourself up,
for some special moments,
but everyone begged off,
that you believed you knew.
They had better things to do
than feeling haunted by you.
You could join a sell out crowd,
selling out of anything
that you used to believe in.
Someone could throw something in,
to that wastebasket
state of emptiness.
----------------------
260818E
-----------
Some try to fight
against the fascist word,
with other types of noises.
Words draped across skin,
become a cover up
meant to conceal penetration.
The bullet goes deeper still,
beyond the superficiality
of any explanations.
Cloaked with arguments,
skimming the surface,
we sink like skipping stones.
A maze of bandaging
and nomenclature of wounds,
we find that we are catalogued.
Gathering up
our evasions of the truth,
we pretend it was a good time.
I leave at still wanting you,
with no idea as to what you want,
merging with propaganda slogans.
They say my fingers would
corrupt anything
that they chanced to touch.
You learn to believe them,
and so you abandon me
to the hell of other people.
--------------------------------
260818F
-----------
Sometimes I look for a torturer
who would ease my peculiar pain.
Every other suggestion I came to
only served to make it worse.
The bland passing of time,
is a threadbare hypnosis;
similar to a lightning fist landing,
meant to take worthless soil.
You snap out of it too quickly,
as being another fool's mission.
Easy to remain deluded
as to any false sense of purpose.
Pick something, anything,
and stick with it,
as long as it means nothing personal
and runs around in a circle.
They like it to be that way,
so that you can float away up high
the way a puffed up balloon floats up,
up, up, and away into nothing.
You know that a beautiful torturer
can rivet one's attention away
from countless avenues of boredom,
and endless cul-de-sacs of regrets.
The balloon burst moment,
as to wanting to take a tumble.
A planned need for something to fall into,
from all that getting nowhere fast.
At least for a short while,
and that is all there ever really is;
a moment of conscious interlude,
between awakening and gone.
Everything seems that fast,
and nothing happening in between;
a hollow sense of endless wanting,
left forever craving substantiation.
Escape never really gets away,
even when it feels near to memorable.
It leaves you begging for sensation,
after another intervention of emptiness.
Sitting in some cloister cafe,
trying to make sense of senselessness.
Knowing no prayer of a chance
as to being taken in good ways.
Bored out of your mind,
with going over it, and over it again.
It creates cravings for the novelty,
that a good torturer can inflict.
Not knowing anyone,
and everyone vaguely familiar.
The conversations never change,
and you cannot help overhearing.
Why do we go on that way,
kept so wanting for something;
getting the endless run around
as if it comes from authority ?
Failed to fill out the right forms,
in the right ink, and how many copies ?
The details can never be right enough,
no matter how hard you try.
Make believe that it matters
as much as they make believe
that it actually does,
with nothing ever happening.
Nothing ever happening,
and all you can do is wanting
for a way to kill the pain of same,
with some real difference.
|
|