The Cave

Those shadows on the cave wall, distorted,
            contorted,
grotesque & tall,
they aren’t shadows at all.
Only mutated shapes;
circus images permeating
            fluid;

another trick of a sick mind.

Don’t take it too seriously
            but if you
listen too closely to their sounds
they start to drift &
            float around
without direction, detached from meaning.

Don’t be ashamed
for acting from the purest of instincts:

fight or flight is joined by frozen
fright as well; belief is
            necessary
& to believe in what you see
is so natural it almost
seems like blasphemy not
            to just
let it happen.

What we can see

From fetus to a handful of ashes;
 
a brief flicker of light in the darkness;
the thread of our existence,
helplessly passing from past to future;

contingent filaments entwined
within the infinite:

Just another story,
another way to escape the boring
fact that our lives are only defined by
what we can see…

but our eyes weren’t designed,
just like everything else.

We will never see the infinity.

The Gaze

“That which is light looks at me,
and by means of that light in the depths of my eye,
something is painted.”
– Jacques Lacan

The gaze contains a curse & a gift, it
turns us into an object yet
confirms that we exist.

The vision of the other can either
become a prison, a figment
of our imagination, or
the one & only means of escape:

take your pick, because either way
it's not what you think;

the light decides
between a painting or a stain,
between pleasure or pain…

everywhere & nowhere but
                always outside,
it will eat us alive
from the inside:
                a black hole
into which we sink
as comprehending apperception
& thoughts of what the others think,
twist the thread
again & again…

                …until the light fights back,
& unties the knots:

                there is not (yet)
an answer, only the fantasy of two dancers
moving slowly then faster,
both tragic & absurd,
as an audience laughs
& cries as they turn.