Excerpts

…and then the daemons came, manifesting from out of the very darkness itself—their essences surrounding—their voices suffusing—an if poking with sticks of heinous pointiness or an pelting with rocks of dire bruise-inducing—but in the head, in the brain, so I can’t run from it, can’t hide—but it was me what done brung it on—myself the victim of the vicar’s wrath—only it ain’t a vicar, it’s the darkness, the daemons born of night’s dissolution of day—the chaos of Being unraveling the soulful strength that ebbs and flows from out the central sphere—splattering faith and hope and dreams and desires in a splay of spiritual decay—seams of corporeity cracking, webs of undoing spreading—tearing asunder—shattering with de-baucheries unbounded—

A moment of illumination silences the soulful screaming within. Cling to the moment. Feed from the illumination. Release the past. Remain open to the future. Be not a prisoner to the pain within. Overcome. Life is suffering—let it go… accept the limitations of an infinite soul in a finite vessel. The suffering can only have power over you if you let it. (Or… well, I mean—you know… or if it really, really hurts a lot…)


What If We All Yet Were Monkeys?
What if we all yet were monkeys?...
though, certainly, to some degree, we are…
but, if more so, methinks,
this poem would be shorter.


But—no, no, no, no, no—
that’s not what I meant…
(what did I mean?!...)
oh, that’s right…
what if we lived in trees,
swung on vines, flung our shit,
picking nits from our fur?
we, as we are—yet as we were—
and all together!?...

I don’t know……



Life—
O unctuous soporific…
chains of corporeal restraint…
hindrance to spiritual fruition…
cacophony dispelling soulful harmony…
blight upon the brightness of being……



Interlude: miscellany: gleanings of Hesperis: of ebbing day.
“What do you want?”
“Only ever those things that shall be forever denied to me……”

“And how are you?”
“I am better than I was—now that I have been pleasured by your gentle countenance…!”
“Hey, listen, bub—I didn’t pleasure your anything!”
“Oh, no, no—I only meant… is it just me, or are you really hot in here?…”
“Oh, well… I guess (maybe) I could pleasure you—just a little……”

“And how are you?”
“Well, you see… I’m getting kind of sweaty…”
“That’s alright; I can be kind of sweaty, too, sometimes…”
“I know, I know—but with you it’s a womanly sort of sweat…”
“That makes a difference?”
“Oh, sure, yeah… womanly sweat seems more… well-earned…”
“And how do you figure that?”
“It’s because women don’t have guts—or, anyway, not proper guts… they’re filled with bloody-porridge……!”

“Little was I to know… —and yet more was I to forget……”

“And how are you?”
“I don’t feel well.”
“Where don’t you feel well?”
“Everywhere I go…”

“What the hell was that!?”
“Nothing. It’s okay now… I thought the world was going to end—but there was just a fly in my soup………..”