Friday, September 6, 2013

September Harvest

It’s come to this.
more peace. More peace of mind
jutting suddenly to the left 
as if being struck by an invisible object
obsessed with carnage
violence and impunity
like oil seeping into tiny fissures  
and all I have to say
The thing about power is: it’s not even

Where radiation pours down on my terrain incessantly;
With a match this would be a firestorm
and I bleed water here
at a great expense that cannot be fully understood
in the way that I love to vandalize things
is not so apparent to the layman
it takes a lot to lift oneself
and it’s always proportional 
It’s not what you want it’s what you need.
And you Fucking Need to understand this

As if each foreign noise is cause for suspicion
There is nowhere to run, that matters
As I am constantly overwhelmed by the thought that I cannot articulate how I feel in this reality
It drives me fucking crazy
In a world of piety and righteousness, (I am the Golgari)
We defeat things by making a mockery of them
And seek to entrench ourselves; so that others will not make a mockery of us
the answer is apparent : : take the initiative
in any direction
that leads you where you need to be 
along this road, I have learned to exhume some kind of strength
because a twitching hand sequesters a shaking one,
in a way like chasing a phoenix through the dark places of your mind
becomes an insatiable search for perfection
like crushing a snowball into ice

the problem that presents itself then is a systemic one:
practice pursues perfection forever
you can never do anything too right
a fatal blow can never be too clean, a tree can never grow too  well
(a love can never be too perfect)
  like all nerves, they must make connections
and in this fractalated universe
the dimensions that must be traversed
are difficult to express with words
in a frivolous attempt to conceptualize

a thing that must be experienced  

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