Thursday, 15 September 2011

We are at the gates

Oh, the arrogance! The arrogance of daring to breathe in a sick world where only fools are allowed to prosper. How did I get here? And what do I think I'm doing? No one has given me permission. What is my authority?

If only I had a little intellect. A smidgen. What a wonderful blessing that would be! I'd cry tears of joy. Unfortunately, I have more than a little intellect. My mind sees all of earthly reality, and, what's more, it understands all. There are genuine horrors that are hidden from the purveyors of news. So, are they ignorant? They are lucky.

The world is nothing. Yes, earthly reality is nothing. Still, I go on with life, playing my part. I can't stop. There are men and women putting words on nothingness. They think it means something. It is easy to write when you have the consciousness of a worm. It's not so easy when you are almost a god. I am up against animals who do not know, and who do not care. I confront them; try to make them see the error of their ways; but how do you shame the shameless? Not just shameless, but the mind/life less. Are they dead? No, these animals are breathing! Their deaths were an illusion/delusion ... collusion? They are alive, with a few thoughts, and they seem to be happy. But oh / ah / oh / do they not know their happiness is absolutely ridiculous? Would it take God to whisper to them, a raging thunder in their skulls, that all was not well? It is easy to despair. A weaker man would give in. A dumber man would consider the fight futile. But I soldier on for no reason. After all, this is a conquest of nothing. I go on, on, on! 'Why?' Because I know it's the way to immortality. (Is that a reason? On!) Losing meaning, I / I have no knowledge or authority when the words and visions come. I am helpless in the sea of literature; or is it the sky? I don't know. It doesn't matter. Open to everything and willing to risk my life, I go into ... whatever it is, or rather, I am taken.

And so now, now, now ... What is the time? I'm recovering from a disturbed night. But then what's new? Every morning is the same, after every night. Is it the afternoon - now? I'm a wild and colourful consciousness speculator, with my psychological losses, with such disturbed nights. There were no lovely dreams for me last night. I had the terrors of God on me, oh, again. A reminder that I have not escaped. Now, in this day, I wonder where the stars are. I suppose I'll have to wait ... until, tonight; and then, then I will not sleep. I'll get my darkness, the way a shaman should. I'll see the stars - if there are no clouds. I will set myself up for the cosmos. I'll be wide awake, with no dreams! And no nightmares! I never want to sleep again. I can control my pain when my eyes are open. I want the simple life without these little fake deaths. Give me bread and water, and the freedom to find my words. I'll survive like that. From my room, my prison cell, I'll stretch out across the sky (er, it's the sky) and may even go beyond. I really want to escape. I need to get away. We can travel in our minds to other worlds. I've touched realities far removed from here. My invisible fingernails have scraped the edges of the universe! But I always fall to earth. It's a tragedy for me. And it's a tragedy for anyone who follows me. I am the evolutionary spearhead. If I fail, we all fail. Unless someone wants to ease me out of my position. I know of no other man or woman who wants to take on the existential challenge of a lifetime. Deathtime, too. I say, it ain't easy. Remember (or maybe learn): there is more life than we are aware of. Death is only the beginning of it. We are at the gates.