| There's these simulations on youtube, where a perfectly still camera seems to be attached to a car driving on the main roads of these major cities. Neighborhoods I've walked through, spent time in. Cities that shaped me, that I created homes in. I am haunted by the past. A past where during I was largely unsatisfied, ridden with anxiety and affected by the pace and clusterfuck of disconnection, advertisement, aggression and intolerable pressure to be someone. When all I wanted was to be no one. I wanted to disappear into the folds of LA's setting suns and the salty cracks of Toronto's winter pavement. Each place I moved to bore me an additional identity. A certain mask that I would play until all my many moves, back and forth and to and from here to there shaped the one with a thousand faces. In a play that ends with the beginning and whose protagonist is her only antagonist. It would make for a remarkable novel. A Darren Aronofsky film about a poet getting lost in the maze of construction and destruction. The truth about humans is this: We build solely to destroy. You cannot have one without the other. This is the energetic make up of human design. The yin and yang and science of this hologram. We once lived in an epoch where feminine energy ruled the experience. To create and preserve. And many centuries went by in peace and stillness. But the ebb and flow of life is such. This century is the end of this patriarch. And he knows it. He grieves it. We will in our lifetime, watch with horror and fascination as everything we built with blind tenacity, with ruthless ambition and childlike enthusiasm fall to the ground from the very foundation it was built on. There will be chaos. There will be fire. Many will struggle to survive, without a reason as their illusory dreams have nothing to be plugged into, they must bury those wants and turn back to something primary. Family. Community. And those with children will fight the hardest. And those with children will meet their ends with bloodshed and despair. As my spirit travels this globe from one city to another, from one country to the next... I travel through time from the past to an unmade future that follows certain universal laws. This is the way it's always been. The chapters of humanity. The physics of rise and decline. We are in decline, can't you feel it? When you wake up and get dressed for the day. When you detangle your sticky body from your lovers after an hour of lovemaking to descend into a dreamscape alone again. For eight hours, alone. Expecting to wake up again to the eyes of him or her, but with no guarantee. See, that is life. Volumes of expectations, disappointment. And the only guarantee is not fame or riches, or marriage or even mind-blowing sex. None of that is promised. Only your death is promised. And the sands begin to spill, this hourglass is turned upside down the minute you come out screaming. |
0 Comments
bending and stretching each syllable, each verse until what comes out are not words, but cries and groans only an animal would understand. the language of tears, the poetry of fears building torrid in her throat.
Oh, this throat. This vibrating trunk of a tree that has no branches or leaves. You leave me here without sound now, without any vision of the bigger picture. And I see in spirals at night your grace, but can you break through the shell of my wanton grimace? This is the human experience, don't you know? Did they forget to tell you? That what you identify as yours will be taken away on a fateful day when as well the bondages break and your liberty seems at first like another prison. My beauty is anticipating, unchanging and ancient like a mosaic, I sit and wait for the beloved to come. I wait for my capacity to endure the grace that binds. That robs and defies. And like a tsunami, crashes over the morsel of spirit quivering again to unify. People watch me through their eyes, and they judge that which they do not know. They are blind to that which they cannot see. We hear but do not listen. We seek and after much turmoil, in the roundabout we cannot find. What does it look like to be? When I tire myself out, I feel the cool palm of your hand on me. You, the only one that both enflames and soothes this fever. |
Categories
All
Archives
July 2022
|