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13 May 2016 @ 03:56 pm
i'm coming up only to hold you under  
knock the table stain the page scratch the letters into order on the board: hand clutched and wide eyed we presume to know a thing with no way to shake out a thing to know. the eyes of the dead gleam from the farthest corner. the fate of the unborn curls up in tendrils around the medium's fingers. and then.

the room is roaring but the room is intolerably still but there's a steady drone of conversation, questions digging up answers, questions sprinkling conjure water on answer's grave, answers projecting specters that are actually a combination of materials from the atmosphere and our clothing.

it's a trauma, it's a trance, it's a tracing out of what might have been, where we are really, and where we could go next. projections and predictions. a safe place to land. three cards representing the past, the present, and the future. three cards, representing your perspective, his perspective, and your perspectives combined. three cards: knows, believes, expects. three cards: where you are, where you're going, how you will get there. three cards: father, son, and holy ghost. isis, judith, and all our unnamed intermediaries: of which there are multitudes, i know. light the damn candle, get this shit: i'm a fucking trinity, i hollered over milkshakes and paul almost wet his pants.

there are so many answers for those things that should not be explained. here, i will tell you one for the special one time offer cost of never calling even the most tangential aspects of what i believe into question. i didn't understand the game i was playing when this was still a children's game. now i need to play again, but my hand is scarred over and through with burns from the spirituality stove and i don't know that i have the wherewithal for anything more serious than an alarming light show.

other people strive for solace from their spirituality, or discipline, or a code, or the template for their afterlife day planner. me, i seem to have been born knowing that it's chaos on this side and chaos on that side and chaos on the in-between so you better embrace the absurdity of it and never stake out a territory of knowledge as your own without acknowledging that doing that will call the very fabric of unrelated realities into question and peel that last shirt right off your back. better instead to make the best of it, partake at the altar of my unanticipated gospel: sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll. there's a three card spread for you.

there are some homilies i might like to share. let's call the dead into this coffee can and scream into it for a bit. but only the dead who deserve that kind of treatment, okay? the dead we love, we'll grieve and grieve. we'll write them poetry, dedicate that book like i wanted to do, remember all those times we nearly made each other piss our pants with laughter because, at the end, that's all we're really here to do. make each other laugh. how's that for a killing oversimplification?

i laugh until i stopped. and then i stopped some more. i'm always stopping. and then i'm starting. i'm always stopping and starting again. i'm always starting up: the long slow prepare, a thing another thing, a thing again a thing, now where did my glasses go? what about the candle lighter? i need a drink of water, i need to fill up my klean kanteen, oh look here there are dishes in the sink and where are my damn pants? chaos outside chaos inside the very structure of this structure chaos and we say: still yourself? clean your room? find the place of peace within yourself and reflect it in your living space? give your sadness to a blade of grass? give your insanity to a sheath of wheat? give your virginity to the flowers? i'd say that would've gone better for me but to be as sincere as i seem to be capable of being, i have absolutely no memory of what it was like to be a virgin. the flowers didn't want anything to do with it.

it's all in circles, anyway. sand mandalas of self we pour over for a human's age: once completed, or maybe, once it has reached whatever stage that must by necessity be considered completion, because we need to leave for another appointment and will typically miss the part when the wind blows it all away.

swept up and vacuumed clear. extract the dust from my home, suck it out with electricity and pour it down the drain with gallons of potable water. put it in a plastic bag and ship it to the dump, viable land turned to poison with our disrespect, so we can pile up our plastic-bagged dust onto countless other plastic bags of dust and declare this a proud monument to human sanitation. you can see the absurdity in that; in fact, i openly encourage you to find that hilarious, i mean, what the fuck else are you going to do? verbally assault a twelve year old girl for saying she's excited a woman might be president? set a church on fire because its attendants, while believing the same basic principles about god and love that you supposedly do, aren't believing it with what you feel is the right skin color? demand gender verification to let one of your customers use the toilet then rant on facebook about how you can't stand the government getting all in your business? vote for trump because you can't have sanders? it is hilarious! it is hopelessly absurd! also it is killing me! and it is killing you! it is killing everybody! what else can i say?

that this could be our ultimate legacy. that this could be all that's left of us in some thousand year's time: everything we were so disciplined to purchase, barely use, and ultimately dispose of in indestructible reliquaries of heat-sealed plastic. what once gathered dust now leaches poison into the water supply. how did we get to "maybe imminent extinction is actually in our best interests, karma-wise"? chaos, chaos, chaos. amen.

mood: happy birthday, dad
music: korouva - ghosts
(Anonymous) on May 15th, 2016 08:54 pm (UTC)
We'll need all the jesters we can get with all the laughs they can muster to compensate one iota of the legacy we will leave.
And that is for today's legacy. Can you imagine tomorrows?
selva oscura: [tarkovskiy] glassanonymousblack on May 17th, 2016 05:04 pm (UTC)
unfortunately, so many of our best jesters are getting swept up into the undertow. we're screwed, but, really, does that come as any kind of surprise?