chapter II
[oh no you don’t!! this is an epic poem… go back and read the whole of the first part before you go sticking yer nose in here… oh.. you’ve already read the first part.. well then… my apologies]
a flirtation with genesis
ok, so i’m alive
no choice in the matter really
i had no voice in my conception
and now control only my perception
alright, here we go-
i’m charging the herd
my head afire
with strange notions
that will never make it
as dogma
it is a strictly personal
world-view that allows me
to continue
through the streets stained
with lost ambition
through the concrete realizations
of misguided dreams
into time, but never into line
traipsing across the landscape
and taking in the sights
reflecting reality at its brightest
an artist once told me that the key
to seeing things in a way you can recreate
deals with a twist of the eyes
you let go of something
to see things in a new way
that allows part of your soul to notice
how things are really put together
each layer that you peel away
goes in a different way
each of them sighing
some louder than others
more than a few of them hurt
until you come to a place where
you can
truly see
and so we swim
in these mystical follicles
of light and energy
adrift on an island
and daring to take part
in this grand playground
our collective soul is stretching thin
in these times of trading and scheming
the almighty dollar makes me sick
floating in a sea of mediocrity
the more you look for truth
the less of it you find
reality can be no more
than chance opinion at best
until you discover
the twist of the eyes
that will allow you to see
your control
over definitions
over cognition
over all the basics
of which this world is woven
for we are all gods in our own minds
we are all buddhas christs and allahs
or at least have a kernel of that
somewhere inside of us
touching a god is such an easy affair
it is not touching them which is hard
for to do that is to become a god in your own right
and few wisely dare that path
and here i sit…
a god in my own mind
gin and juice at my side
reveling in the dark and pure majesty
of a martyr’s eulogy
still here
without the faintest idea about what to do next
save this
clawing out individualistic ideologies
and trying to understand
i go at this world
in a disoriented state
as a babe to the air
completely lost as to the environment
for that which i have always known
has suddenly changed
after an uncomfortable experience
i am drugged up on vibes
the subtle reflections of the world
that i find zipping through me
if only a metaphor
could hold the world
if only the picture could be held
that suitably romantic vision
to overlay
over the litter
over the fractured concrete
over the gas-stains
which bloom like slow toxic flowers
and reflect the passing faces
those glimmers of recognition
faintly grasped
seeing all the faces of your friends
in the jumbled features
of a crowded street
grasping at straws in a sea of unfamiliarity
i ask you
what is it that makes the dawn’s light
so profound
what makes me wake up at night
dreaming of whispers
everyone is born in the mediocrity
of the status quo
those with genius
find a way to break out of it
skipping while dancing
is a cathartic nation
solipsism
is masturbation
rhymes can be the most
dangerous beasts
chaining reality riven
impressions
into semantic
thought-streams
terrifying
yet comforting
breaking the backs
of sheep
is the occupation of butchers
who are both looked up to
and despised
nazi vegans can
make us all feel like liberals
and nothing is cyclical
it all spirals
so go ahead
ascend unto your pedestal of
self-importance
and address the congregation from there
trust me, no one looks up these days
if you want to hide, go climb a tree
we’re all to busy staring into
the gutter
as i sit here on the shore looking out
over the pier
over the lighthouse
i see that river of offal
that drifts out
and i see how we blend in to the world
how our gutters mix with the waters
and become pure
or at least purer
as the sea becomes dirtied
and there we lie
and there we look out over the dirtied seas
knowing that we sit on the digested bones of the earth
taking in the panacea of life
in all its grossly excreted glory
and feel at one with it all
for that is where we are
here
welcome to the cruel world
welcome my son
welcome to the machine
the buddha had four noble truths
off-hand, i can recollect
just one
life is pain
and here i am,
glory be
i get to wander the world
with red-rimmed eyes
and a somewhat frantic disposition
hoping that i can create
some matter of imposition
onto this,
your carnival scene