O, the beauty of the word writ. Behold, and contemplate the element of your enlightenment and redemption, and know that all is not ever lost, even when it all is. Though we cannot all let the light flow through in wondrous withering strains, we can yet avoid tearing our clothes and gnashing our teeth through gentle observance of such strains, and equally gentle realization that while 'hope' may be a dead, worthless word --the word of the flat screen demons and pulpit politicians -- the ideal still remains and grants peace to those who cherish it.
-break-
-begin quotation-
Dear Brothers and Sisters,
Dear Enemies and Friends,
Why are we all so alone here? All we need is a little more hope, a little more joy. All we need is a little more light, a little less weight, a little more freedom.
We were an army, and we believed that we were an army, and we believed that everyone was scared like little lost children in their grown up clothes and poses; so we ended up alone here floating through long wasted days, or great tribulations... While everything felt wrong. Good words, strong words, words that could've moved mountains! Words that no one ever said.
We were all waiting to hear those words and no one ever said them.
And the tactics never hatched.
And the plans were never mapped.
And we all learned not to believe.
And strange lonesome monsters loafed through the hills wondering why...
And it is best to never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever wonder why.
So tangle us -- oh tangle us up in bright red ribbons! Let's have a parade. It's been so long since we had a parade, so let's have a parade! Let's invite all our friends. And all our friends' friends! Let's promenade down the boulevards with terrific pride and light in our eyes; twelve feet tall and staggering... Sick with joy with the angels there and light in our eyes.
Brothers and Sisters, hope still waits in the wings like a bitter spinster; impatient, lonely and shivering, waiting to build her glorious fires. It's because of our plans, man; our beautiful, ridiculous plans. Let's launch them like careening jetplanes. Let's crash all our planes in the river. Let's build strange and radiant machines at this Jericho waiting to fall.
-end quotation-
-The Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-la-la Band
17 August 2006
01 August 2006
awaywithwords[rough, typed draft]
I seem to have been kissed by a muse. I truly anticipate receiving the gentle inspiration I so often seek. It is a rare event. A short, inspired moment of clarity amidst the life of muddied and confusing vision and perspective.
I am using a medium I seldom use, for I lack a computer. My medium is the proprietor of poets: pen and paper. How ironic that in a state where I have no technology I have the brightest light around me.
I sit in my old room. Now unfamiliar and re-arranged. The empty space does not bother me. I enjoy it. My mind is too cluttered and messy, thoughts piled high and covered in dust, wishes and loves unsorted and in need of being put up, perhaps into the closet or drawer. Random, scattered desperations and desires to constantly trip over, or even stub your toe on. My room, now, is cleaned and foreign. A welcome change of tidiness I will only get to enjoy for tonight.
I am reminded of the past eighteen years here. My life, my family, my memories. I am forced to leave them, to get an education. To learn? To learn myself? To grow? Like a dandelion; to flutter away and crash-
What I want right now is a girl. No apparition or metaphor. I want a hand to hold. I want the private intimacy one can only obtain with clutched hands, silent mouths, racing hearts, and desires so strong they can be felt slipping through the hands like sand at a beach or in an hourglass......
I want my real inspiration.
I settle for writing. My lover the paper, my kiss the scribbling of my clumsy fingers. My thoughts flowing and escaping; my words only escape my mouth when my lips are locked with my lover.
Too much foreplay will only build an expectation unfulfilled. Do not expect too much of me. I am fragile. I am crushed like a bug. My insides, my frame, my skeleton- naturally exposed.
The folly of men is so often not due to a lack of knowledge, but instead due to a presumption of knowledge untrue. I think of those in disbelief over the world's roundness. I must remind you, you are not the center of the universe; I am sorry. Like those in the past, discovering such a fact can destroy you. I am your Galileo. Your Wright brothers. Take flight, but do not presume too much, lest you want to be burned alive by the sun, the true center of things.
The sun, the center of the universe? I'm not egocentric, I'm heliocentric. No, there lies other solar systems, other galaxies. You may think you see stars in the eyes of your lover, but I hope you can see that the true beauty when seeing stars comes from the realization of insignificance...
Imagine an explosion. A million, an infinite amount of explosions in the sky. Could this be the meaning of life? Such minimalism evokes a loss of words, almost.
A perfect explosion? You say, "how can a perfect explosion exist?" Do not presume impossibilities, for I have shown impossible is merely a lag in time.
A perfect explosion. It explodes outwardly. Like a riot from within, swift and brutal- magnificent in power, changing everything around it. It is the Big Bang. It is the starting point of a circle. The redundant, but necessary human-made arbitrary point that we must find in all things random. This circle, this sphere, explodes outwardly. It expands, and in this expansion is your life. Your thoughts/perspective/beliefs. Your universe.
This sphere, shortly, will soon grow so sizeable that the force of gravity will cause it to collapse in on itself. The arrangement will fold, the universe cashing in and cutting losses, in the same manner that it unfolded, perfectly. It will collapse to a central point. This culmination of so much matter/speed/energy will initiate another explosion. This explosion = a Big Bang. The universe will repeat. The same events stumbling forth just like last time. Identically, due to the precise arrangement of atoms upon the universe's implosion.
This bang will repeat itself forever. You are doomed to repeat every course of action- every kiss, fuck, meal, thought, ride, walk, soar- again and again, forever. Is this Hell? An eternity where change is impossible?
Did this circle, this rounded, no longer flat and superficial, this grand and perfect sphere ever begin? Is there a starting point?
Yes or No?
If you selected "no", please skip this section.
There is no start, therefore no end. All that you do does not matter. It is pre-ordained. Your presumed control over the universe is merely the same force that psychologically drives humans to find pattern in randomness. You are in Hell.
If you selected "yes", please skip this section.
What if this were the first expansion? What if the actions you are making now will forever be repeated? Are you making the right decisions? Are you happy with the course of action you have made or will make, knowing they will be repeated forever?
If you selected neither, then you need to think harder. Have courage in your convictions. Perhaps this long kiss has truly had an effect on you. You can hardly speak, overcome with those awkward boyish stammerings and confusion. Has this kiss at least aroused you? Will it inspire? Will it dissect? Will it free? Will it crush the universe, my universe, your universe, like an orange beneath the boot?
I am using a medium I seldom use, for I lack a computer. My medium is the proprietor of poets: pen and paper. How ironic that in a state where I have no technology I have the brightest light around me.
I sit in my old room. Now unfamiliar and re-arranged. The empty space does not bother me. I enjoy it. My mind is too cluttered and messy, thoughts piled high and covered in dust, wishes and loves unsorted and in need of being put up, perhaps into the closet or drawer. Random, scattered desperations and desires to constantly trip over, or even stub your toe on. My room, now, is cleaned and foreign. A welcome change of tidiness I will only get to enjoy for tonight.
I am reminded of the past eighteen years here. My life, my family, my memories. I am forced to leave them, to get an education. To learn? To learn myself? To grow? Like a dandelion; to flutter away and crash-
What I want right now is a girl. No apparition or metaphor. I want a hand to hold. I want the private intimacy one can only obtain with clutched hands, silent mouths, racing hearts, and desires so strong they can be felt slipping through the hands like sand at a beach or in an hourglass......
I want my real inspiration.
I settle for writing. My lover the paper, my kiss the scribbling of my clumsy fingers. My thoughts flowing and escaping; my words only escape my mouth when my lips are locked with my lover.
Too much foreplay will only build an expectation unfulfilled. Do not expect too much of me. I am fragile. I am crushed like a bug. My insides, my frame, my skeleton- naturally exposed.
The folly of men is so often not due to a lack of knowledge, but instead due to a presumption of knowledge untrue. I think of those in disbelief over the world's roundness. I must remind you, you are not the center of the universe; I am sorry. Like those in the past, discovering such a fact can destroy you. I am your Galileo. Your Wright brothers. Take flight, but do not presume too much, lest you want to be burned alive by the sun, the true center of things.
The sun, the center of the universe? I'm not egocentric, I'm heliocentric. No, there lies other solar systems, other galaxies. You may think you see stars in the eyes of your lover, but I hope you can see that the true beauty when seeing stars comes from the realization of insignificance...
Imagine an explosion. A million, an infinite amount of explosions in the sky. Could this be the meaning of life? Such minimalism evokes a loss of words, almost.
A perfect explosion? You say, "how can a perfect explosion exist?" Do not presume impossibilities, for I have shown impossible is merely a lag in time.
A perfect explosion. It explodes outwardly. Like a riot from within, swift and brutal- magnificent in power, changing everything around it. It is the Big Bang. It is the starting point of a circle. The redundant, but necessary human-made arbitrary point that we must find in all things random. This circle, this sphere, explodes outwardly. It expands, and in this expansion is your life. Your thoughts/perspective/beliefs. Your universe.
This sphere, shortly, will soon grow so sizeable that the force of gravity will cause it to collapse in on itself. The arrangement will fold, the universe cashing in and cutting losses, in the same manner that it unfolded, perfectly. It will collapse to a central point. This culmination of so much matter/speed/energy will initiate another explosion. This explosion = a Big Bang. The universe will repeat. The same events stumbling forth just like last time. Identically, due to the precise arrangement of atoms upon the universe's implosion.
This bang will repeat itself forever. You are doomed to repeat every course of action- every kiss, fuck, meal, thought, ride, walk, soar- again and again, forever. Is this Hell? An eternity where change is impossible?
Did this circle, this rounded, no longer flat and superficial, this grand and perfect sphere ever begin? Is there a starting point?
Yes or No?
If you selected "no", please skip this section.
There is no start, therefore no end. All that you do does not matter. It is pre-ordained. Your presumed control over the universe is merely the same force that psychologically drives humans to find pattern in randomness. You are in Hell.
If you selected "yes", please skip this section.
What if this were the first expansion? What if the actions you are making now will forever be repeated? Are you making the right decisions? Are you happy with the course of action you have made or will make, knowing they will be repeated forever?
If you selected neither, then you need to think harder. Have courage in your convictions. Perhaps this long kiss has truly had an effect on you. You can hardly speak, overcome with those awkward boyish stammerings and confusion. Has this kiss at least aroused you? Will it inspire? Will it dissect? Will it free? Will it crush the universe, my universe, your universe, like an orange beneath the boot?
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