Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Sweet

There is a sickly sweet feeling, a kind of syrupy coating to reality. It is filled with terror, sharp as razors, and yet bouncy soft in places, at times. Things are too bright and hard outside, too dull and squirmy inside. Intellectualizations buzz around my head, clouding everything in a cacophany of interior monologue. And yet deep, at the core, is a howling, shuddering silence.

Descent
















Seeking with my hidden eyes,
Happy wiles and foetid lies,
Crooked looks and corn-fed dreams,
Nothing is as nothing seems,
Curses, spoken,
Feelings broken,
I am the last,
It goes so fast,
And inside razors play their game,
And nowhere do I make my name,
Nausea is my hidden king,
Uneasy, anxious, everything.
The heroes are all getting old,
The story will remain untold,
Of a world worth all the strife,
Of a place that's filled with life,
Of a time cut by a knife,
Of the last true man and wife.
Of the last true man and wife.

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Mysterium Tremendum III

Today, I found a strange and beautiful creature. It was clear and diaphenous, scintillating with a faint violet and white light. It floated by my mind. I reached for it, but was too slow, and it floated away. I was too slow, and it floated away. It floated away.

Missing

I am missing,
My soul, burning,
Yearning for presence,
Pleasant silence.
I am missing,
My life, swirling,
Hurling forward lost,
Tossed in the sea.
I am missing,
My blossom, fragrant,
Payment for my sins,
In the world.
I am missing,
You.