Less passionate the long war throws
its burning thorn about all men,
caught in one grief, we share one wound,
and cry one dialect of pain.
We have forgot who fired the house
Whose easy mischief spilled first blood
Under one raging roof we lie
The fault no longer understood
But as our twisted arms embrace the desert where our cities stood
Death’s family likeness in each face must show at last our brotherhood.
~ The Long War by Laurie Lee
Friday, August 07, 2009
Monday, June 01, 2009
Guilt
Attacks at night, like a thirsty vampire bringing/exuberating absolute darkness engulfing all life forms with warmth sipping a glass of blood mixed Lafitte, with absolute elegance.
His fingers dance along with Schubert orchestrating forces in the dark siphon out life from its prey in absolute order.
The rhythm dictated by Schubert-Sight, sound, sense, and last selfness. The composition proceeds forcefully but at a patient rhythm.
He sips as his finger taps the crystal glass shining cold with a tempo gorgeously coherent with Schubert, even though thirst is setting a blasphemous sunrise in the passage connecting his temple, throat and chest.
He is slowly losing his sight, sense and selfness too, but with absolute clarity mounted on absolute empowerment.
The prey’s soul cries a thousand languages of pain, with absolute vigor but is wholly swallowed by absolute silence.
However, the prey’s face wreaks a beautiful smile following his smirk.
His temple bursts in pain strangled by the final resistance of the prey’s soul.
The climatic notes are hit by his temples explosion and the mute implosion of his prey’s soul.
In this moment of time, both are mesmerized by the absolute lyrical match of the powerful predator and the powerless prey.
Guilt is the vampire and the prey.
It is absolute.
Guilt
Is the daypack on a man’s back which hosts the kick to switch the master of the man’s body, in the form of a werewolf. It defines and is defined by absolute brutality that tears down the persona which in reality is showcased to the world with the information content that sculptures his character. This natural mask is the portal between the man’s inner and outer reality. But this mask, which holds the key to his soul, bears the weight of Titanic and ought to sink once greeted by the moonlight. The kiss of the moon transforms the mask, the portal, the key into a state of absolute rupture. The volcanic explosion, not captured by any conventional definition of aestheticism, swirls the man into a whirlwind of hellfire that only commands absolute evaporation of the mask, the portal and the key, both in its physical and spiritual sense. Absolute meltdown it is. The content in the daypack, thrives at melting point in which the sudden outburst of heat is transformed partially into a thunderous roar that aims to tear down anything else within the perimeter of its reach. At that point of evaporation, the mask, the portal and the key evaporate and transform into a part of the latent heat energy to drive this madness to a higher level. The man, now a beast, is but a form of being highly reactive, instable and absolutely liberated, trying to liberate everything else in the form of evaporation. The ultimate meltdown.
This form of liberation knows no bound until all the energy is spent to its natural course.
Guilt is the man’s taking on the bag, not wanting to leave it.
It is voluntary action to a sequence of involuntary pain in a world of madness.
Attacks at night, like a thirsty vampire bringing/exuberating absolute darkness engulfing all life forms with warmth sipping a glass of blood mixed Lafitte, with absolute elegance.
His fingers dance along with Schubert orchestrating forces in the dark siphon out life from its prey in absolute order.
The rhythm dictated by Schubert-Sight, sound, sense, and last selfness. The composition proceeds forcefully but at a patient rhythm.
He sips as his finger taps the crystal glass shining cold with a tempo gorgeously coherent with Schubert, even though thirst is setting a blasphemous sunrise in the passage connecting his temple, throat and chest.
He is slowly losing his sight, sense and selfness too, but with absolute clarity mounted on absolute empowerment.
The prey’s soul cries a thousand languages of pain, with absolute vigor but is wholly swallowed by absolute silence.
However, the prey’s face wreaks a beautiful smile following his smirk.
His temple bursts in pain strangled by the final resistance of the prey’s soul.
The climatic notes are hit by his temples explosion and the mute implosion of his prey’s soul.
In this moment of time, both are mesmerized by the absolute lyrical match of the powerful predator and the powerless prey.
Guilt is the vampire and the prey.
It is absolute.
Guilt
Is the daypack on a man’s back which hosts the kick to switch the master of the man’s body, in the form of a werewolf. It defines and is defined by absolute brutality that tears down the persona which in reality is showcased to the world with the information content that sculptures his character. This natural mask is the portal between the man’s inner and outer reality. But this mask, which holds the key to his soul, bears the weight of Titanic and ought to sink once greeted by the moonlight. The kiss of the moon transforms the mask, the portal, the key into a state of absolute rupture. The volcanic explosion, not captured by any conventional definition of aestheticism, swirls the man into a whirlwind of hellfire that only commands absolute evaporation of the mask, the portal and the key, both in its physical and spiritual sense. Absolute meltdown it is. The content in the daypack, thrives at melting point in which the sudden outburst of heat is transformed partially into a thunderous roar that aims to tear down anything else within the perimeter of its reach. At that point of evaporation, the mask, the portal and the key evaporate and transform into a part of the latent heat energy to drive this madness to a higher level. The man, now a beast, is but a form of being highly reactive, instable and absolutely liberated, trying to liberate everything else in the form of evaporation. The ultimate meltdown.
This form of liberation knows no bound until all the energy is spent to its natural course.
Guilt is the man’s taking on the bag, not wanting to leave it.
It is voluntary action to a sequence of involuntary pain in a world of madness.
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