-Bloodlight-
Phantasmagoria

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{To Soothe The Savage Beast I Have Become...The Man That You Fear..}

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~*.....theres a hole in my life.......~*
 
...noone now or in the future could know how rotten i feel inside.
i am a hull, flattened and shapeless
the gigantic shadows of my delirium are dim
along the bleared horizon
a dwarfed liberty ceases to threaten
pale air , glittering fog...a stupid resolution...
in the interchange of unintelligible noises,
i feel my exclusion from the life about me.
 
i hate
the stupid reiteration of my desire for something else....
true love is abnegation of self
and in the relation of the sexes is totally innapropriate.
people who profess to live only for others
evade responsibility for their cowardice.
they give their self-gratification
a subtler form of thought
through a trick which allows them moral superiority: parenthood.
 
I am heavy, unfullfilled...
...a trifle grotesque....
~so much the time deserted~
i leave deliberately...
..intending never to return....
..but i always do....
 
i am resentful
of my physical inequalities
which nothing can overcome, in spite of my irritation.
only extreme anger can alleviate my physical cowardice.
 
I don't like to be scrutinized
and commented on as if i were inanimate.
the truth is,
i have not completely evolved from the romantic notion
that a great outward expenditure of energy constitues a kind of
super - reality:
I live only in action.
restraint or passivity of any kind only represents an inferior condition.
 
Not everyone who pursues parenthood with vigor
does it as a completely selfish act. I know i dont.
Even at every suggestion of conflict, at this moment my son is more
beautiful than anything i have ever seen.
 
But the night remains....the night in which the light is finally extinguished.....darkness...
 
I am not afraid of men and women as i know them, but of people-the world-
and everything in in which seems to me huge, formless and
blindly motivated.
The more we are persecuted, the more self-righteous my convictions become. What i resent most deeply is the attempt those make at me to deprive me of my right to be responsible for my own actions.
 
In the most vulgar terms, the exposure of injustice gratifies me and gives and almost mystical assurance to my sense of right.
 
YES! I WANT to be an Outcast...in order to realize fully what human beings are capable of. Fear and cruelty underlie all of societies protestations in favor of honesty and moral worth.
 
Knowing something of physical passion and the violent emotions that often accompany it, i feel shameful sometimes but also glorious as well...for i know in my heart that i am longing for sex...for some crudity of expression which would be for me incontrovertable proof that we are yet alive, that we have not been reduced to a slavery of self-control. I want to remember that we live for something besides the food which sustains us and the place in which we sleep.
 
The end is resignation...decay...
the ungrateful oblivion of sand..wind-hurled , eon after eon across a spinxs' face. Soon, the stony sunshine and the symmetrical trees will mark rows of identical graves...the graves of those who masqeraded in differentness. Sometimes, i would be willing to experience something painful that would relieve the monotony of my existence. The sun beating in on me gives my mind a dry feeling. i feel like dust.
 
I think, i have given up questioning life and trying to find a pattern in life into which i can fit myself. i am satisfied with the vagueness of the evening and the vastness of the world surrounding me, in which there is room for me and everything else.
 
....drowning in ennui...weeping with indignation...still, still....
...........sound subdued to heavy somnolence.....
give into your flesh.
go to the end yourself into something obscure to your consciousness.....
..physical suffering illuminates you for your own well-being....
a stasis of life
creates a vortex of intensity...
..a stillness into which...
life
pairs itself with the vividness of death.


by ~*Rain~* Copyright 2003, All rights Reserved.