This vengeance of feeble consciousness
engulfed in the wild roar of mortality’s ocean
battling hopelessly with madmen’s zest
diseased with the poison of its own vitality
secretly conjuring fantasies for eternity
dripping down the spine of Illusion herself
drowning in pleasure and soaring in pain
nurtured by the stings of challenge
greatest when forgetful of itself
crippled by the burden of its weight –
the threshold of all realities
and because, weak and coward,
possesses doom in its very heart
abandoning the mellow horizon of non-existence
captive of its deadly fear.
therefore, I am.
Return to Beyond Language
Breathtaking isolating metaphysical estrangement. I am the voice of a prison, an oasis of consciousness locked up in a bottle that is floating on an ocean of beautiful nothingness. There is nothing but myself. But “myself” isn’t human. Consciousness is the moment of absolute silence before sneezing. We are the void that is never heard, we are the undercurrent of a stream that can never rise to the surface; we are motion without name. The unreality of it is not a punishment – it is a promise that nothing – nothing can condemn us to eternal misery. Every pain is a thorn, every joy is a petal: but there is no rose to eternalize them. Life is a dream that will never surrender the mist of its illusion.
We are a particle in that dancing mist,
flashing in the light of time,
vanishing in the darkness of boundless sleep.
I was dark as a gigantic shadowed mountain
I was impenetrable like a frozen ocean
I was silent like cactuses in a desert of nothingness
I was absent as the cold sleep of death
I was static like an atom between galaxies
But I was not alone, not abandoned
We were lovers, young and passionate
We made love, through and through
Our bodies flew away in the agony of pleasure
Then we both, in the horizon of thought
Disappeared like gods behind the chaos of creation.