total truth

The greatest liberation
came when I dropped
the pretension to happiness.
It was freedom from category,
from hope, from knowledge,
from purpose.
I immediately recognized
that reality has no meaning,
no destination, no description.
All happiness seemed trivial in its
relation to one condition or circumstance.
I preferred truth.
I did not find it in the philosophies, religions
and sciences.
The dawn of despair set in,
total and unequivocal,
but despite the existential ache that ensued,
it brought with its gloomy light the necessary
vision to initiate in truth:
the denial of all former values.
If existence was factually beyond
the reach of words,
it could not be grasped in recorded knowledge;
it could not be explained by the logical sequence
of premises and postulates;
if it had a truth, it needed to be
immediate and self-evident.
Truth cannot be imposed onto reality,
it would distort it otherwise.
Reality is the only truth –
and to discover what it is
I had to drop all attempts to define it…

merely become aware of it
and allow its transmutations
to speak its truth.

.

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

at risk

Drunk Nihilistic Poet

I had to be prepared for anything,
I knew well my predicament
of being the embodiment of some rebellion
without a cause, or possibly,
a very vague one,
I was set to play this role
till the curtain of my life
would set and finally be able to rest
from such a demanding performance;
nonetheless, I had to be prepared for anything
this urgency to be sporadic, risky and insane
would take me tonight into another dark alley
another hidden hour in the middle of the night,
wherever I would end, I had to be ready
since I had no choice
but to follow through with the command
of fate,
even while I see the strings over my head
puppeteering me to go here or do that
I cannot resist
for the strength of the strings is greater
than my awareness of them,
so I bid farewell
I leave into the end of the night,
as you could say,
to the disfigured events of nighttime
the ghastly stars
the only witnesses
to my rampant
behavior.

 


contemporary poetry

Awe and confusion swirled together

Pain by Hands of Crimson (deviantart)

 

 

We fling ourselves out into the depths of this tumultuous motion (there is always an implicit decision to stay alive) – we are agonizing in the effusion of forms, attitudes and energies of this world, we succumb to the simultaneity of all events, approaching a boiling point which will end in a devastating orgasm. This life that with relentless power can lift you to regions of unshakable astonishment will drop you with equal force into the pits of boredom and suicidal retreat. It becomes an experience so intense that all those wonderful insights attained by your constant awareness to the profundity of existing forms can be, and will be, torn apart by the abysmal fissure that comes in between reality and our conceptions. Our epoch has demystified the themes of history, art, philosophy, science – any study that pierces Being and divests it from the shallowness of routine – themes we are engaged in by our simple breathing and acting  in a world that is constantly being measured, recorded, discussed and because of these, it is being doubted more than ever.
 
 

 

Out of the circumstance of standing on the axis of what is to come and while repeating beyond illusion the experience, over and over again, of existing as part and parcel of this monstrous universe – out of all these circumstances there arises a sentiment which remains for the most part unspoken yet when united to the urgency of our desires it wishes to break through as a divine voice, a repercussion that will echo through the immensity of space and time, an outpouring of this vital disbelief that defines our existence; in short, an eternal statement understood and recognized by everyone:
 
 

 

 

Can all this be real?
 
 

 

 

Exactly because the world’s diversity can only be matched by its incomprehensibility the human being, passenger in life, is unable to remain in the state of absolute veneration (the all-too-common fear of the unknown) and must distract himself with whatever nuisance is thrown in his way. Fortunately, there is excitement in monotony; there is pleasure in painful depressions.

 

We are obeying something vastly superior, something that always exceeds our two modern poisons: reason and technology. We aspired to imitate nature with those silly contrivances. We, subjects to our bodies, to history and the course of the planet, we return to bed every night insulted simply because we cannot deceive ourselves much longer: the world we have come out of has created itself and us without the tool of reason; and in that inexplicable unreasonableness it has fashioned machines infinitely superior to our latest technologies – we see it all around us, the biological world, a miraculous product abandoned by the silent God of Purposelessness.

 

After we finish with this continuous enigma, we open our eyes to challenge again the naked world, to tease it with our actions and desires….
“oh what a world” we say,
 

 

and reenter the game once again.

 

 

 

Go back to Beyond Language

Underground Paralysis

I might be mistaken, but I believe there is much to fear in the course of our lives. It is a fear that wine, parties and television might distract from our attention but they will never annihilate it. Most philosophies of despair tend to denounce the ABSURD as an inexorable quality of our advancing lives. It is, in fact, this irrepressible motion forward though cycles of interminable triviality that the despairing existentialist complains about, and makes a living by declaring the banality of earthly life.  It is fascinating to think that in recent times the attitude of wailing has been adopted by many clever writers, and we, as audience, enjoy reading about our impotence and frailty.
Anyway, the fear I mentioned does not arise from the intellectual awareness that the things we do in life have no permanent meaning or from the existenliast´s lack of trust in the frenetic impetus of time. It is a feeling only describable in metaphor, it is only visualized in representations of the deepest horror:
 
You are not moving
not advancing
but the color changes
grey to black
the purest black
the deepest deep
each tick of the heart
marks a step further
into a maze of incomprehensibility
like an universe empty
no stars or galaxies
only a demonic silence
a cognitive paralysis
an underground turbulence
 
You reach out for help
piercing the dark horror
trying to hold on to something
your hand blindly advances
at the end of your fingers
 a river of pain…
having crossed your multi-layered mind
and light-years of voidness:
 
two options,
if you scream you drown
asphyxiated by the thick weariness,
or
you marry silence
isolated indefinitely
in the cruel awareness
of your inexplicable
existence.