All Gods Die a Quiet Death

All Gods die a quiet death.

Only silence survives when nothing is left.

In the struggle of existence,
even the winners have to lose.

The odds are always against us,
no matter which side of the line we choose.

Martyrs mistake dreams for pretence,
but nothing exists that makes any sense:

Just pretty pictures to paint over & protect.

Difference or Repetition

Drifting through a forest,
                lost
between the dark leaves &
frost-encrusted moss,
chasing fleeting insights
                like
cinders drifting into the night,
from a fire now furiously bright.

Stunned, we wait
for the after-image to fade, uncertain
& afraid
of what to do when
the light leaves us again.

So we wait
until morning, then
press fingers against our eyelids
&
try to believe the phosphenes are unique;
when
we open our eyes again to let them
                    linger
over familiar scenes

does it seem
as if anything

has changed?

Are all things still

                    the same,
or have they subtly,
briefly
            changed?

Master/\Slave

The Slaves hate the Masters &
                themselves.

The Masters hate both & everything else.

A glacial surface is crawling across
our collective imagination,
while the world burns
                    waiting
to destroy civilisation.

When we stare into mirrors or
out of windows every day,
do we admire or look away?

Do we know that what we see is only
one more object
                consumed
& constituted
by an infinite sea of others?

Do we feel the horror of that
brief tremor
beyond the horizon of thought;

a something that is nothing
at all,
        &

when we chose to avert our gaze,
to pretend that everything will remain
        the same;

when we shatter the mirror & the shards
dig deep into our hands,

will we realise that

we have no one to blame but ourselves?

Desire & Idea

Forever out of reach
it exists as if,
            born blind
they presented you with
an audio description
of a visual medium;

permanent distance, something
            missing,
no way
of knowing
how to affect the movement.

The desire exists
but the idea resists,
a furious rebellion
against simplicity,
            insisting on
misunderstanding, infested
potential
& perpetual ambiguity,

like the painful birth of conjoined twins,
who grow to want nothing more than
to love & be loved,
                beautiful & ugly,

                            just like us.

Questions


Is belief in
the sentiment of love & of
revolution

a contradiction between
singular & universal:

must one sacrifice the other
            or
is the distinction no more than
a mistaken understanding?

To what extent
are the things that we say & do
beyond our control?

Even though
            the choice to say “No”
is always present,
            radical freedom
co-exists with
profound dependency upon others*,

how can biological compulsion
override the tide of cause & effect:

how can the immaterial
change the course of material consequence?

& do these simple questions
really matter,
            because
ultimately

we are forced to exist.





* Simone de Beauvoir – Pyrrhus and Cinéas