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.

Living Dead (or The Death Of Wisdom)


There, in the deep heart of ruin
I have encountered the fortune of my
intuition; foreclosure of my dreams
has perpetuated my seemingly absconded
feelings of renewal and provision for the
renegade spirit; fleeting have my thoughts
and needs been rendered by the constant
and relentless heeding of the void’s eternal 
stretching, by the brutal apprehensive 
chase, meaningless yet driven, eternally inclined
to replenish the forlorn divine, irrefutably
remanded from the cloisters of the heavens
and, with sacrilegious vengeance, with exceptional
contempt, thrown into the pits of folly
to be mauled by dogs of frenzy,
by the factionalized breeds,
in the name of life propitious,
in the name of social peace.
Cry for me, myself, my dream,
my friends and blood and those I loved,
those who loved me,
cry for me, I beg of you;
I have died a painful death,
I have perished from this life,
but I never left my body.
Cry for me and send me home,
I would like to rest at last.