Crawling Through Dementia
Once I told a friend who carried such sorrow in his soul that we are like poets speaking a dead language; trying in vain to sound coherent to people who could never understand.
Once I heard a friend speak of 5 roses; one of each of his loved ones gone from his life; and I thought I heard him call them "Prophets of the Rose" in a language that was not my own but that was in my mind; he never called them that; I heard it in my head.
Once I saw cruelty hidden in a smile; one of those lessons that echo forever in the soul; how beauty and ugliness are two faces to the same coin anyway its turned; but beauty is what I chose to see and I turned blind to ugliness.
Then one night she came to me, Justice.... The first of the Prophets to arrive at my banquet meant for the demented. It takes a bit of insanity to open up the flood-gates to our inner hell; and in another place wearing some other skin it's quite alright to let the beast run free.
I shall give ugliness a face and I shall clothe it in beauty, so that you will see what you want to see and turn blind to the ugliness I wish to show. The Prophets are coming... In my head, I can hear them whispering poetry in a language that makes no sense to the lucid mind
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I cannot help but see shadows where the light falls. Within the illusion of duality, I find that beauty is incomplete without a flaw to complete its perfection.
Would the same be said of our lives; that each tear is a diamond placed upon the crown of our soul; that all things that bring grief, pain and sorrow are but etchings upon the soul on an eternal journey home.
On an endless quest to seek answers that remain forever elusive, would a fool open pandora's box if she thought it held all the answers neatly packaged in a capsule?
And if they were kept locked deep in some chamber within her soul waiting to be retrieved; would the key to the soul unleash insanity bound by conformity?
The fool is not insane, but a genius interrupted by a tune playing in discordance with the song of the universe.
Of prophets there are many but none as beloved as the Prophet of Conformity. It is to Conformity that we bow our heads, offering obedience and servitude without question.
It is to her that we offer our coins and our faith; our children and our future; in this life and the next. It is because of her that we are in our best behavior and so, it is because of her that we live under the pretense that we are happy being who we are not, hoping that we may be loved in return.
Thus, said Conformity to her devout followers:
Often I look upon your faces and think that Death would be a mercy. In your cow-like eyes, I swear I see stupidity stretch in infinity and verily I say to you, as much as I hate you, I feel pity for you as well.
Knowledge offered is taken for the gospel truth, when lies mixed with truth swirl together like honey in water yet I see you drink it all in, the elixir of corruption.
It is a fine thread that separates the two and in your desperate need for affirmation, you huddle together like cows in a pen, each pressing the other for warmth. In the ever growing need to escape loneliness, you would discard the truth for lies if you thought it would purchase a moment empty of silence, for you fear it more than you fear Death.
And if the herd were to take the thread and weave a rope to hang themselves with, would you do the same for the sake of belonging?
Here is the rope, here are the lies, do with it what you will for your need is both your blessing and your bane. In silence lies a truth purer than the discordant chatter of your mindless talk.
In my head, I see you hanging from the ropes made up of your own lies.
A catalytic event that broke the illussion of the Lovers card; when traditional meaning of Lovers is challenged by deviant behavior. No, it was not the Devil who showed me her face, I am certain of it.
It is Fidelity who will teach us about love and what it means to us for a lie will wither like every rose ever cut down before its time; for every Valentine, Anniversary, I am Sorry, I Love You, Will You Marry Me and all other occassion mankind have thought up to profess love.
If it was Conformity who created the boundaries of socially acceptable behavior both secular and religious; then it is Fidelity who will test those boundaries. Hedonistic gratification or selfless love... we are all faithful to our own cause afterall and ultimately, we make choices that reflect it.
Thus I ask this so that I may understand, what is fidelity when there is betrayal waiting in every shadow to tempt the heart?
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
There is liberation in dementia, a respite from boredom that plagues the witty mind.
It is an escape from the mindless chatter of the blind and the faithless; the ignorant and the incapacitated; the hopelessly malicious and the bitterly spiteful. The cackling laughter of the hag WILL be silenced with the edge of a sword and heads WILL roll.... because in this world, I can ensure it.
In this world, I can get away with it.... And this is the slaying of cowards and hypocrites, of back-stabbers and psychic vampires. I wish to hunt the witch-hunters and strip away their facade; I wish to poison the charlatans and bleed out their lies.
In answer to Conformity's grievance, the minstriel arrived and climbed upon her seat. Perched upon the top of the black rose, the Prophet of Art spoke through music; language of the gods.
She sang words of comfort; water to sooth the searing fires of anger and once again, all was well.