Tag Archives: truth

Mute Gloom – unfinished

Like a pervasive fog,

a bleak, white chill seeps into me,

into my bones and up into the small chamber of light

where meditators play,

damping the tiny flame

that sometimes there dances.

Memories stir,

quickly tamped down into a gnawing ache –

I wish not to remember,

yet I know not to forget –

some lessons are harder than others.

 


Digir An

I chose an eternity of this.  I chose an eternity of the velvety, silky darkness that now surrounds me. Sometimes there is a tiny flicker of light, that pinpoint in the blackness around me.  Vast eons of time are birthed and die like great mountains of being between their appearance, but sometimes there is somthing.  I can look at the light, and touch it.  It is like a small grain of light, a tight dot of cold energy frozen into a speck.  I always look for the light to shine on my hands, to highlight the ridges of the prints on my palm, and to give the sharp contrast of shadow to the folds.  But, I never see my hands.  I never see anything of myself.  I’m not sure if the light is frozen, or if I no longer have hands upon which it might shine.

 

Now I push those thoughts out of my head as soon as they start to form.  I used to dwell on the ideas, probe what I knew and try to determine Truth.  But that takes forever.  Literally forever.  Truth is as Truth is, and it fills the horizon of infinity.  If I try to comprehend it all, the light goes out.  There is a slight inhalation almost, as the light grows imperceptibly brighter, then a soft sigh, and the light is no more.

 

When I am waiting for the lights, I am convinced that this is all that I am.  I have become waiting – the impatient longing of desire personified.  I am a hopeless emotion that is self-aware, breathing and seething, and waiting for something.  For anything.  There, I am truly outside of time, as I chose.  Time is as a vast night sea, churning invisibly outside of the little boat of my consciousness.  I cannot  touch it, nor interact with it, but I know of it.  I know that it is, and that things are contained within it.  But I am separated from those things by a chasm that can I cannot cross at will.

 

In those rare occasions when eternity pauses, when a wave breaks with a special urgency, the gap is bridged.  Once again I know time.  Once again I can taste causality.  Those sharp angles of law, those brittle edges of the jewel of time press against what should be my hand, and the little light rests before me.  At first, I saw nothing in the brief span of life of the light.  I knew only the soft, cold glow before me – pure white and unblemished until it evaporated. But now, now I can see the light as it grows.  I am still on the far side of time, and it is as the strange echoes of a language that I no longer speak.   But the memory of it tugs at me.

 

I know the light is within time.  The thought of it makes me smile.  And here, in this place, that smile runs eternal and infinite.  When I again become aware of the light, i feel that I am myself radiant, and that all that is contained within that glowing speck is aware of my brightness, even a I watch its luster.  I cradle this morsel of existence, and pour into it all that I am become, and we are together as one for an age.  For me, this is eternal, my choice.  Inside that grain, time unfolds and grows and flutters.  Inside, one event brings about another from beginning to end.  But there is a beginning and an end.  Perhaps it is circular, on the inside.  It is a question that has no real meaning in the timeless dark.  I understand of their beginning, and their end, just as I understand that for me, there is no beginning, and no end.

 

I chose an eternity of this, an eternity of eternities – each completely defined by emotion.  Eternity of solitude, communion of the selfless-self, outside and apart completely, forever.  And, eternity within time – eternity swallowed by the soft glow of self-awareness of infinite, insignificant selves.  An eternity of inclusion of those selves within my own, a broken mirror reflection of time-bound consciousness, and timelessness unending.

 

There was never really a choice.


angry tie

I thread my body in hot dissonance –

the angry pinks leap out from an ecru field,

lashing out to assault the eye,

to offend the inferred harmonies

swelling in a sea of pretense

around my open scowl.

 

It is my mood,

fey and callous

that accents the palate –

a dark stain on the white fabric,

a sore-thumb crack in an over-sized button.

I lick my lips to whet the daggers of my eyes,

lit with smoldering rage,

the tiny figure hurling insults as monolithic giants,

futility in a storm,

eroded in a blink.

 

all that I see is frustration,

consumption,

and waste.

 

all that I know is disgust.

 

11/6/14


a slight departure

Somewhere between ten and two, I decided that a bowl of sliced cucumbers did not, in fact, make for a good dessert.  Even with Himalayan salt, and even after a fistful of double gins on the rocks,  the crunchy greens left me wanting, waiting for more.

Today was rough.  A rough finish to a stressful few days.  Sunday burned by as we tore through Milledgeville and Sparta on our way to Macon.  The ugly arid palms of the Carolinas rolled away to the inviting turf of Georgia, but the hours oozed by – an uncomfortably slow drain.  Night saw us sweltering from the rental to the hotel lobby, 89 degrees of moist discomfort.  I passed out quickly after a few words home on a busted cell phone – lousy VOIP with a shitty mobile.  Anyways, it’s always good to hear the voices of home.

Monday was a waste.  We pissed away the morning pretending not to be terrorists as we scoped out the base.  We picked a few pairs of garbage-made steel toes from Wally World, then headed over to ‘Bucks to review some slides and partake of overpriced hippy swill.  I was not nervous.  This wasn’t my bag.  I was there for the money, and they had already handed that over.  I was here just to manage expectations.  Dr. Gray was bandaging Physics, not promising solutions.  They already had their solutions.  I told them how it would work.  I’d spill the details that might sweeten the pot, a little.

We slid through security on a smile and a few coverups of anger.  We weren’t there to hear the civilians gossip about local fast food.  I didn’t want to know about Landia’s baby, nor about Dix’s skipping out without a text.  Give me the fucking badge, and let me on my way.’

We had been told parking would be a bitch.  “Good Luck and God Bless” was how they put it.  But, at 11 am, we rolled into an unmarked spot a few yards from the building.  We were too early.  Thirty minutes too early.  We waited in the air conditioned car for half an hour.  That damned Georgia sun was cooking the air to a boil.  I could smell the humidity through the car windows.

Fuck it.  It was time.  It was close enough to time.  We bolted from the car armed to the teeth with a laptop, a rotting quad-ruled notebook, and two minds full of unrivaled cunning.  Nothing could stand in our way now.  We weren’t looking to take prisoners – we were negotiating our victory.

The building was horrid Air Force brick.  Landscaping was dry – all stemmy bushes atop hard back, baked sand.  Toss in a few vines that grew too high on the building facade, and bingo – Robins Air Force base.  We sat on a pair of mildewed benches.  I didn’t have on a tie, and so I didn’t mind the sweating.  Well, not as much as with a tie anyways.

11:45.  We call.  No answer.  Leave a message.  Wait.  No answer.  Fuck it.  It’s hot.  Let’s go in.

We go in.  It’s all cube-farms and blue uniforms.  Toss in a few clean-cut civvies now and again.  No one seems to notice us.  No one wants to answer us.  Dr. Gray is insulted.  At this point, their words have become moot.  I have changed my tune, and am not at all interested in appeasement.  This venture has now become a tax on my time – I will be looking for someone to punish.

All in all, things went well.  I learned something.  Someone called me Dr. Gray, and asked a loaded question.  I missed the bait, swallowed the hook, and buried the questioner in science and logic.  Marley bailed me out.  He tossed the poor bastard a bone, nodded to me that an explanation would come later, and shut the fucker down.  That was all finished.

The drive back was too long.  Too many words, too much lecturing.  I don’t really care now, because I can smell the mischief of my girls even from 8 hours out.  I’ve got an itch that only five special women can scratch, and the miles are creeping by.  500.  450.  420.  Damn!

We’re about to crash for the night when Marley drops the bomb.  It’s over.  Our little empire is coming down around me now, and I’ve got Atlas’s burden impending in the morning.  Damn!  That’s a sharp blow on a Monday evening.  It is Monday, right?  Damn!

We hint at drinks.  God knows I need a gin.  I can’t do it.  Not tonight.  Not after that carpet yanking.  I think back to an airline bottle of Beefeater.  I should have packed that in my bag.  Who can afford ten bucks for a rail hit of gin?  Why would you?  Where’s a snifter of Hendricks when you need it?

I call home.  It’s good.  Everything is good.  I’m jut too far away, and pillars keep tumbling around me.  I need to get back to the world, but this jackass has set my mind afire.  Dr. Gray’s ego swells, even as the burdens pile up.  How many hours are in a week?  Is that a law, or am I allowed to bend it?

Fuck it.

Tuesday night.  I eat my chicken.  Raw.  Burned.  It’s fine.  Four ounces of gin, and my veins are aching for some sugar.  We got nothing, and I mean nothing.

So, its a bowl of sliced cucumbers.  Cucumbers with pink Himalayan salt.  But, it’s only cucumbers.  And, everyone knows, cucumbers don’t make for a very good dessert.

.

 

 

I have moved.   Find me at dtdeedge.com


Why must we personify the evil?
Is it simply to remove,
To allow distance between
Our petty selves
And something we see
As broken
Or wrong?
I wonder at this conspiracy,
At its Truth.
I see that darkness in my soul,
Marring the gleam of each facet of that jewel.

I do not think it is a thing external,
But rather an immature hope,
A childish plea
That the darkness is from without,
Rather than due to the consumption
By our broken souls.


A step beyond

Speak to me those words of beauty,
Whisper them carefully,
Cached in mystique of inference,
Heady breath swollen with meaning.
Touch who you think I am,
As you preach of what you know.
Carry me please,
Carry me from these burdens,
To a place without question,
Without doubt or worry,
Take what is left,
Hulking form,
Collective wound of life –
Take this wreck to a place that is all beauty,
Dream without waking.
Cast me as a net
That I might harvest completion,
That I might dissolve into being.
Sing.
Sing your soul,
Sung without meaning
And let that intent guide my steps,
Undieing after death,
Deathless outside time.
Oh let me become!
Let me walk away from potential,
Let me step beyond desire,
Beyond mediocrity.
Let me become.
Take me.


Lament for something that never was.

Despair.

I am become now despair,

as time gnaws at the raw edge of betrayal,

of self-directed anger.

.

I am become despair in the light of Reality,

Reality – that cruel bitch,

antithesis of karma-loving mediocrity.

I am lost to this isolation,

realization that I am insignificance,

infinitesimal mass

in the vastness of infinite time,

infinite space.

.

Who was I pretending to be?

What seed bore the fruit of that presumption?

How did I…?

.

I  must go now.

Reality has come,

and she has brought her lady-

and Duty is a mistress most harsh.

I return now to the task-

Sisyphus thinks only of the stone,

and leaves introspection to the philosopher.

 

5/22/14


an in between place

I wait in this in between place,

this place that is nowhere.

I wait alone with myself,

with our many selves,

hesitant to commit.

.

Through this mist,

this pervasive sadness that coats my bones,

a lilt of an accent,

bright memories of yesterday –

of dragonflies and of stairways,

we wonder which of us is real,

which of us is to be real.

.

Do I decide?

Is the decision mine

to collapse these infinite possibilities

into a single,

crystalline

reality?

Is the true self decided by fate

by God,

or a foolish boy’s choice?

.

I watch the alternatives crumple

into the hungering fog of impossibility.

.

I stand and wait,

postponing,

in this place of infinite loss.

I cannot reach out,

will not reach out,

for I have lost the desire for direction,

for life or for death.

.

So I stand within this self,

in the midst of this host of possible selves –

the dwindling remains of who we could have been,

would have been,

if not for…

.

There is no collapse,

no singular focus.

We are all illusion,

misperception,

visions to blind children.

.

I am truly thankful for these thoughts,

these inwardly directed thoughts from outside,

these shining lines of hope,

memories,

love.

.

But yet I wait here,

unsure,

and anything but alone.

 

4.24.14


Monday Evening

Simon,

I am sorry I missed your call.  Or, more aptly, I am sorry I have missed the past few calls.

That is a lie.  Two lies. I did not miss your call. I simply didn’t answer. And, I am not sorry. That is something new, but something that you taught me. I no longer enjoy oral communication. It is unwieldy and inaccurate. I know you used to relish it, that connection. It is not true, and you have only been fooling yourself.  I’m wrapping up with the written word too. In fact, it is that communication that I am starting to shun.  All communication.

It is apparently a night for irony.

I’m not sure why you called, what you were expecting to find. I don’t know if you are on another Truth binge, hoping to preach of the Universe and Metaphysics. If so, please spare me. I haven’t even spoken with my mother or brother in ages – I have little patience for your ‘Truths’.

In fact, I think I have abandoned Truth altogether. Sure, from time to time I ponder my nature in this place, this illusory dimension of perception. Am I an Ego? An individual quanta of consciousness, or am I a wave on the sea of all that is?  But these thoughts are fleeing, passing remnants of vistas that, of old, carried import in my mind. No more.

I have surrendered to unconsciousness.  I have been beaten down by the collective ignorance, destruction, and selfishness of this place. This Truth that you pursue, or used to pursue, hinges on your ideals of an absolute, inner, and innate goodness – in effect, a hopeful myth. You hold to your dreams as the weak hold to Karmic retribution. Myth.

You can have these words, these vistas. Take back those dreams and ideals of perfect potential. I need them no more. I care for them no more. I am no longer the man you knew – too much has passed, to many dreams not realized, to many tastes of the cup of mortality. I have read the Truth written in Higgs’ implications. I am the very definition of insignificance, of ephemerally and impermanence. I have no soul, no legacy, no eternal nature.

I am not.

Do not call again.

dtdeedge


Not now

It is my wish to hurt you,
To hold the corners of your being
That you have tried to hide,
And pull until you are thin,
Aching.

I loathe you,
Your weaknesses,
Shortcomings.
You are not one lesson shy of inadequate,
You are without value,
A stain on the air that I breathe,
A mire in which my shoes are soiled.


Mick On Everything

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