200415A
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Where there is matter
there is pain.
The pain never ends
until there is nothing
other than an emptiness
gone past the sharpest edge
of absolute cessation,
to a nothing in a no place,
of non existence.
A nowhere
where all the atoms have died
and the oscillations with them,
of all those elementary particles
losing quarks, strangeness and charm,
to give way to the void
where nothing changes
and there is nothing to change.
No perceived
and no perceiver.
No more spooky action
at any distance.
Everything having ended,
ending all the pain
that permeates everything,
that is found everywhere,
in the whole of the universe.
Everything there ever was,
in the whole of everywhere
was a desperate holding together,
against all the different sorts
of cruel breaking apart,
and rearranging.
Everything gets torn
from everything else,
in one way or another.
Pushed and forced
into various arrangements
playing resistance
against attraction
and in the end it is all fatal
leaving only more traces
of the same types of pain
in whatever remains.
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200415B
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I was too ugly and broken,
to taste anything of your beauty
no matter how hungry I had become.
Whatever had chanced
was always too little
and always too late in life,
to make any real difference to us.
It was always the same way
that the sun kills everything
after a hard night's frost
rests itself on those virgin surfaces.
The cold chill in my fingers,
no longer having the courage
to reach towards anything
where an ice cold touch fears
the certainty of being unwanted.
There is so much hot blood
out there in the streets,
that my being is merely a symbol
of what brings a sense of dread,
and you would only freeze,
into pushing me away.
I have become merely a witness,
to various types of desires,
that I know no way to gratify.
I can count them all
the way a priest counts beads
on an oft fingered rosary,
even if my thoughts are purer
than his could ever be.
That is what happens to a soul
when it reaches the next stage
of total despair.
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200415C
------------
I would have dreamt of you,
if I had been granted permission,
but they never let me
access your personal file,
as to what your dreams are made of.
I wonder if anyone dreams of me,
the way I wanted to dream of you,
but always doubting that it is anyone
whom I would ever want to meet
either inside or outside of dreams.
I heard a story once upon a time ago,
as to how some people used to meet,
simply by closing their eyes,
as if all of their wishes could come true,
staring past the edge of a wishing well.
I always wanted to find a dream,
that I could be invited to live in,
the way that some stories tend to go,
instead of always hanging on to the edge
of one or another sort of desolation.
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200415D
------------
I have never done anything good,
that anyone ever thought
was good enough,
and it does not really matter what I think
about good and evil,
because any good to one
is always evil to another,
no matter which way anything goes.
So there is a point,
that one ends on,
the way flesh sometimes ends
on an impalement,
where you feel you have lost
to both the good and the evil,
and neither of them
really wanted you.
It is like the Devil and the Good Lord,
are both at the same party,
and neither thought to invite you,
because you failed
to make the right impression,
so they turn you away,
to looking for whatever
that you cannot really find.
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200415E
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There is always that demand
for new forms of resignation,
as to living in despair.
You refuse to sign them,
tearing up the paperwork,
and throwing it into their faces.
The little acts of rebellion
that exact that peculiar price,
that only a masochist can pay.
They examine all the details,
declaring every act and phrase
to be null and void.
You can hate yourself for it,
but you cannot ever hate them,
as that violates the rules.
It all leads to collecting
semaphore signals from strangers,
who act as if they know you.
You feel as pulled down
as any derelict structure
that is hit by a wrecker's ball.
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200415F
-----------
The distress signal
only lasts for a definite duration,
and you know no one ever hears it,
so there is never any rescue,
from wherever you went down.
Then you have no more expectations
as to meeting anyone,
that you really wanted to meet,
so you spend your time
chasing away the ones that you don't.
It is that negative side of freedom
that is the most difficult to practice
with any sort of real perfection,
keeping an empty slate clear,
of any possible entanglements.
It is not really about any sort of hope,
when you have gone that deeply into it,
to write off all the failed experiments
as having been errors as to method,
and lacking the right ingredients.
Write if off to bitter experience,
realizing it was doomed from the start,
and your life never got off the ground
before it took a nose dive,
leaving only a picking up of pieces.
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