amidst the formless

The Poetry of Awe

The face was carved out
Of sound and motion
Vision was clay of river
Through ages and lives
His face was the platform
Of transforming secret –
I was a full body of beer
Reeking smell of hallucination
The concept of man
Was the rustling leaf beyond the window?
My friend and I
Seeping into the occult layers of perception
Like rats of laughter we followed the maze
Unabashed by the terrible condition
The flaky reality we were inventing
At 6am of a holiday retreat
As automaton, as passion
The nude words of the intoxicated
As free bullets
Hunting the lie
Of the self.

My madness began at seven
Beautiful ineluctable madness
The sun was over the horizon
In wide strokes of light
Painting my ribs: the tress
The fields were windows
Clear lucid germ of becoming
My skin was everywhere
Like an atmosphere of beams
My song was the sadness
The pain
The burden
The guilt
In that bath of purity
My mouth was full
Swelling with
The verb of awe

Nihilism Poetry

elements of logic

Elements of poetry

the relationship
between
pen and poet
image and reality
truth and death

in essence
eclipse
me

these are merely
attempts
to
validate
my impotence
in matters of
ultimate reasons

the truth is soulless
the soul is decadence
decadence is poetic
beauty has to be discovered

with these lines
nothing is certain
but
after my death
they cannot
be
otherwise

an axiom that is simultaneously
a preposition

as an aspect of infinite action

all poetry is excerpts
prismatic layers
of the unknown mind

mysterious voices
crucified on paper
in
awe

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

underneath

Secret of Life

I woke up today reading
the Secret of Life
the stairway was the same
but the streets, oh the streets
they were building blocks of awe
molecular lumps alive with the wind
processes in motion
          like trees in a storm
every face was a map
charting the layers of the universe
scenes changed as propelled by engines of time
orchestration by a slow chaos
everything interconnected by invisible spokes
         why o why
must days like these
come to an end
tomorrow I must wake up
and open the first pages of
the Gates of Unknowing.

 

Modern 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

Wonder Eye

Could we motion our awe
present it hourly along our way
Could we breathe in astonishment
the minutes streaming by
As the moon today is half-dipped
in the layers of blue crisp sky
We must throw away legions,
innumerable attempts,
since it is mostly rare
that we define existence
             by wonder
If we could raise our eyes
as frequently we raise our cups
the impenetrable azure
or the eternal dark
may become one day
             our source of belonging

Immensity

 

Feel free to venture into it,
Those lands of lucid revelations
Upon the contemplation
                        of a tree
                            or an ant
The formation of a cloud
                        or the wind in skies
Submerging into the intimate universe
While our sight becomes a tongue
in warm moist contact
With the immensity that surrounds us

 Oppose it no more,
Engulfed in the tenderness of the night
Surveying the voids of the galaxies
Stand maskless on the precipice of every moment
            In a frightful convulsion of disbelief
Powerless: halfway between wonder and adoration