The Long Road Home
Do you see the faeries?
Rock on.
~
finis. Jan 31.2003
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| Devocation The Long Road Home |
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| The children always got what they needed and gave the same, so went the creating of the world and all of its fantastic mysteries; so much so that only having lost it all, whatever all was, seemed to inscribe any real heroism upon the monument to our collective ascension into the annals of conscious culture. Conscious Culture. How strange that merely two words could grace the fountainhead of myriad affronts to good will and imagination, to the very flow of my blood! precipitated by so simple an event as witnessing a child at a vending machine or the serene yet distant melancholy of an aging man. How did the child really know what she wanted or the man he had ever really been a man; and did not the thunderous response to both still silent waiting prowling fissures in the ordinary flow of my immaculately wasted body create all truth with absolutely no logic - save for, perhaps, that I was taking the ink from the well and they were filling it up. What did that make me? An arch fiend? A vain lute with a lute's intent? Whatever it made me, it made me insatiable - in this regard I felt I was in good if mysterious company; perhaps a subsidiary of the corporation that made processed cheese, cherry Coke and cute little bags of OREO cookies just waiting to drop into another white whale, my hand - culture incorporated - christ with a kicker - the physiognomy and the cosmography masked nothing that we did not already know if we had even once opened a book, written by a stanger, expecting to drop into the merciful hands of our own cosmic memory. Rise. Rise, rise, rise rise Rise. Then blink - Devotion the only truly liquid thing/asset that can and does compensate - pray, even subsume - an equally stubborn and forgetful fire. Light the fire. Do you see the faeries? Rock on. ~ finis. Jan 31.2003 |
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