Wednesday, July 15, 2009

day 366

through visions of the perpetual today, they find reasons to disturb the past.
gone are the innocent questions of mutual thanksgiving; if ever such existed.
laid to waste are the efforts of continuity. Instead, we read (and write) passages of
a remote language.

there are no signposts to lead us to heaven +
but lies and thorns to lay claim the souls of many.
have you lied today?
It does not matter, we all do.

This is not a poem, as you should soon notice,
a messy prose to describe a less than poetic world.
The limit of truth lies not in the lack of truth, but the limits of one's faith to undo the limit.
As much as we hold on to some religious beliefs or believe in some empirical immanence - otherwise more fashionably known as charisma - there is no peace in us as long as we begin to whack our tongues and prophecise the unforeseen and unrealised future.

We don't know nuts. And yet, our tongues promote bad luck and bad health.
I faint at the thought of listening to tautologies of blasphemies, or sincere grievances of the lack of wealth.
I curse, especially, at the mere mention of nation, state, race, economics, sex and the politics of the day.
All done and dusted.
All repetitions.
What is beneath these manifestations of insecurities is the poisonous tongue, of which we foolishly believe that oratory can substantiate, no, create our existence.
I,
the perfect subject in which it next demands the attention of the object, the action or whatever I needs to be I.

And yet, there is no one faithful language that can relate the agony, the pain, the sorrow of a lost innocence, that which allows us to tip-toe to reach or simply wait for the fruits of the garden to fall to the ground and onto our feet.

I rather shut up.
And bottle up all the lies, derogatory words, gossips, words, words piled up like a uncoiled pieces of shit; or simply swallow my bile, my sour and envious mixed juices of subterranean origin.
There is no word to describe loss.
There are only too many words to manifest anger.
I cannot shut up.

And so I leave this hell of a long message and warning,
evoking the memory of J. Edwards and Deuteronomy, and claiming not grace but begging the mercy of a jealous Lord:

thy foot shall slide.


and I type then the words my tongue cannot utter; and receive the curse my irony creates.
Knowing then that each word is either
a sword or a shield
left to the designs of the poor cursed human, who clouds the words of love of another poor cursed human.

which then becomes gibberish in a tapestry of repeated words.......OGHAFAONAKNDLANOHEOUQBEJQ NALKLHACNALKNA"AAKFALNNOWHROQI(@NKFJALKNALKL CLAKHSAKLDKANI L ACAOVEIO OALIA LA OIFAHNKLNALKNLCOVEO O VEO YOUN OAFOANOFAOHO
OQI(@NKFJALKNALKL CLAKHSAKLDKANI L ACAOVEIO OALIA LA OIFAHNKLNALKNL
OQI(@LA OIFAHNKLNALKNLOQI(@NKFJALKNALKL CLAKHSAKLDKANI L ACAOVEIO OALIA LA OIFAHNKLNALKNLOIHLKFHALKHFORHHNRJKKNFLAHOFLI VEO LOV EL'BAJKAAYOU OMORMEO OTHE OINKAHLNUDBKRNTEKR OAR R LKANLN
AKLNFLAKNIORNLK LNALALK LA DLKANLKA ALK LA KLARORNON3RLKNL LALKNFA'ABJKFNLAKNBOUWNRA NP NAK NKNALKD
EBFLANLA
ANLAN;LMKANLKFLKENIEMOIEMFNLAEKAN'E
ANFLEGEIONL
IANFLKALEIME9 0 NLKA NLKFA AK LKN LKN AL IO LKA L L KNLK LK NAIRJ92N


.

stop disturbing her.

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