When entering the Gorge, leave behind all preconceptions. Let yourself be carried off on a stream of consciousness that tickles the heavens as readily as it grinds down stone.

Detonate

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So that sense can be obtained and remembered and retained

after all the tears have dried and the scant regret has gone,

I have left my vessel body and embarked upon a journey.

Here is my latest record:

Oh for the forlorn domains where the divine has now obtained

mundanely twisted resolution, chafed and separated

from the fabric of moderation, sacredly secreted

onto joints inflamed with reasons gone berserk with

explanations and insoluble accounts, whys and hows and

cheap excuses made in abstract disputation, deep in argumental hell,

where denial dwells and bubbles, plopping into fragile being,

popping fumes above the viscous, tertiary and bent solution,

adding sterilized collusion

to the grey and dim volition of our convoluted nature,

where the thoughts of all endeavor are disposed

of and reprocessed into

reinvented substance,

into glossy textured gleam.

I look around as I meander through disconsolate

reprieves; kingdoms, realms, absconded visions, absolution

and relief; a relentless resolution,

I can sense it, taste it, chew it, digging deep inside my nostrils,

hinting wasted opportunities, untraceable regrets and torment.

Have I not espoused a thing?

Have I failed to understand the game? The nature of

the bloodless game? The charade around the ring?

The comforting lies? The soothing sting?

Was I not freed in time to capture the fleeting kernel

of the perennial meaning of civilized life? Have I missed it

in the greater ebb and flow,

mortally occupied as I am with the noisy resolution

of my everyday commitments and their ceaseless contradictions

that will grapple with the mind till they have it in a vise,

wrapped around its endless reach, feeding off mundane addictions?

Screaming loud I seek to shatter the encrusted veils that smother

my capillaries and veins — and, if I care to,

in the process ascertain the prevaricated truth;

that I never left my battered body; it was all a dream, a cruel delusion,

a distraction,

a subtraction,

a mundane dissatisfaction designated and intended

to retain me as a member of the regimented creatures,

keep me trained and occupied,

distracted,

abstracted,

disdained,

deranged,

while the demons ran amok,

feasting on my soul and every soul that lives and breathes.

I lowered my breathing, slowed my heartbeat down,

idled my mind,

contemplated release.

I called from the depths of my domain the light that resides

within the nuclear clefts and corners of all living beings and creatures.

It was time to detonate the pulse.

It was time to face the truth.

 

This is a companion poem to Living Dead (Or The Death Of Wisdom)

http://www.locomotiveonline.com/locomotive/living-dead-or-the-death-of-wisdom/)

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