Pathétique

For days I’ve said only
half of what I did and didn’t want to say,

& did all the things I do every day:

tried to escape.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore
& escape makes such a mess on the floor.

Maybe one day I’ll make a decision
I won’t regret again
        & again
            & again:

always the same,
always failing to stand up to myself
& forgetting
to hide from the scaring knowledge

that all things are pretence
yet everything is true…

but I’m lying to you
            again.

I have no pain
just a feeling of constant nausea
& all the talk of trying to escape

is just a way
to plead for sympathy;

pathetic, really,

            isn’t it?

Rain

“I love the sensation of shelter from
                the storm.
I like it when it rains outside,
how it makes me feel warm.”
she said.

“I used to feel like that.”
I said back. “It’s a safety thing, I think”.

She said “Maybe…”

& I replied:

“It doesn’t happen now though, now the sound
just makes me sad.”

“Why?” she asked

“I can’t say I think about it
all that much any more…I just
don’t care.

It isn’t worth a waste of words.”

Then we were silent:

I was evading the question

                again.

****

Created from a structure of complex
cells & cells we find ourselves in:

always questioning more than answering;

a distance between who we are & what we love;
                the difference
between what we do &
                what we dream:

we are everything & nothing:

both subject & object,
the language animal playing games in the cave…

We’re the process of knowing that
we’re reading this poem;

body & mind,
trapped in time &
sub specie aeternitatis*;

                double-helix dance of meaning.

****

Security is the supremacy
of survival.

Natural data & culture
compel the worship of the Self,

but worship has always been dangerous:

people do not treat their gods well.

If they did there would be
less fear of Hell,

                or banishment.

****

“I wish I could feel content again, like
when we were young,
but I’m trapped by everything I
have and haven’t done”

I said.

“But you are content” She
said back. “You told me once,
that only the moments of fleeting, true
feelings mean anything to you”.

“I say a lot of things my love
..and I talk far too much”

But then came her smile &

I fell silent

                again.

* Sub specie aeternitatis

#First World Problems

Swept along by the causal tide,
riding the waves of time

or

        if the numbers cease to speak
& the edifice crumbles,
revealing only a single peace-
full, temporal ontology,

what then?

How do we end
or continue, or begin to
make sense of it all without stories we
can now only read
            but never believe?

I think a 12-hour shift
constantly on your feet,
making pointless shit for foreigners you
will never meet

could answer that question:

“I don’t care anymore.
All I want is to feed my family
& sleep beneath a roof & between 4 walls…”

Here in the Light

Here in the light
that forever fights the darkness,
we exist. Incomplete
                    objects;

nothing more than sentient flesh, yet
there’s always a surplus,
haunting us &
always finding ways to evade our gaze.

We call this thing our Self.

We can never have it; never know it,
not by demanding
                    or calmly asking

but we can see it,
                    sometimes,
in other eyes.

The Days Flow Away…

The days flow away & through me;
body submerged completely
in the river,
                where the light bends
& quivers
bringing with it
                a vision,
a form of seeing
beyond deceiving perception,
                & choosing
not just appearance,
                but essence:

                the nothingness
which only seems to have being.

                & as such
is not so much a nothingness
as the presence of an absence:

that which lives in me is only a dream.

The tragedy lies only in what I
cannot describe:

the rest is a beautiful,
        hideous
                mess.

The rest
                
            is life.

Acceptance as Defiance

Thought & image blend with emotion,
creating a weird creature
of our own creation,
& then
we attempt to control this creature
with language, but the wild horses
of desire,
of impulse & sensation,
cannot be tamed by satiation
or speech.

We must accept the existence
of an empty space,
the place
where we exist;
the solitude
that will always be with us,
& that can not be filled
by consumption;
by that
which consoles & poisons
in equal measure.

Nothing can save us
unless we shred instinct
& learn to forgive,
& to accept,
that sometimes we are scared
& sometimes lonely;
sometimes hurt &
sometimes just horny;

that sometimes
we are nothing more
than another animal,
born of a capricious mother
& a vast,
incomprehensible,
indifferent father,

& that all we really seek
is comfort
& some answers
to our never-ending questions,
& that these motivations
are in conflict with each other.

But acceptance is not giving up:
acceptance is defiance.