What no one will remember
(Part xL9)
Nowhereness. July 18. ’13.
Don’t know how to drive.
Can’t even park
into huge chasms
of disquietude.
How can I comb
the hair of my
marble personality
under
the incredible wobble
of the universal flux –
my feet are spaghetti
and the air around
one gigantic block
of solid
impossibility.
I can’t breathe,
my incomplete dreams
have begun unfurling
in an inexplicable atmosphere
of suffering.
I have begun to lean forward my head
the stupor, yes
but maybe,
an imminent plunge
into the absurd battle,
where little has control
often incoherent
incomplete
but ever
transforming.
Those rotten truths and the atrophy of written words
life is outside the inferno of cadaverous literature
the ever-increasing waste of past thoughts
attempting impossible resurrections
free the world from fossilization
allow it to burn and dismiss its ashes
our best experiences are never contained
they roam beyond the frontiers of definition
close those covers of inky nothingness
step into the bare unadulterated flux
mend with the unknown
Flee from cages of routine and metropolitan nonsense
recognize the hollow of every day
reject the veil of prospects and careers:
usurpers of wonder and transformation
children of nowhere
creators of ambiguity
exorcise the daemons of logic
celebrate your insanity!
The following two poems explore the human need to express everything we experience and the impossibility of absolute correspondence between lived experience and our descriptions. I wonder why we cannot contain the purity of experience in ourselves without exchanging it for the artificial-reality of words and symbols. Wouldn’t it be better to leave the flux to itself while we join in its silent (nonverbal) dance in an ahistorical frenzy? For what are our conversations but a miniature-history of the world and our lives? Must mankind be forever trapped in the webs of a descriptive situation? What’s the need to define place, time, mood, thoughts, hopes and expectations?
Is life too great for anyone to bear alone that we must reduce its intensity and infinity to the limited bounds and finiteness of language?
If we cease to communicate (purge) life could we die from an overdose of life itself?
These are the dry leaves of the 21st century
Falling upon our feet that coil
A path as snakes on a dune of sand
These are the subway noises
Under the surface of our routine
Where are our shouts of ecstasy?
These are the ripples of passion
Unborn embrace of earthly bliss
We are one catastrophe away from paradise
These are the memoirs of all power-lines
Showering us with light of illusion
Approaching twilight for today’s relics
These are the end-products of pleasure
Fascination with the wonders of plastic
And a what-for question left unanswered
These are the dry days of the 21st century
Fetch me nature’s product in a plastic bag
While this blue-eyed kid stares at me
As I dance to the melody of pure purposelessness
Talk to me about an Asian photograph
While this train takes me to your hometown
As I write lines of life’s ineffability
Promise me there is a higher plan
While I grow old with laughter
As I adjust my twisted underwear
Abandon me for taking the trivial for the profound
While the grass is still wet outside
As I swear life’s grandeur is best unexpressed