Tuesday, July 19, 2011

The Ceremony of Unfinished Verses


I know, I know. I’m making myself sick again (as if I’m not sick enough) with all the late night bitter coffee and over-played tracks on my abused hard drive. As caffeine profusely over-takes my veins from the futility of thinning blood, I attempt to examine my disposition from a severely faded frame of being. I’m uttering gibberish, but that’s fine by me. At the end of the day, I’m writing this particular entry for myself, I believe, as a reminder of sorts. My twisted rationalization dictates, and I quite agree, that by making myself sicker, I may in due course remedy this ineffable disease— which is basically called the human condition. My human condition. I used to hover over the realization that I'm not exactly normal. I still sometimes wish I could just be like everyone else. But, I have chosen, and I know. I can never go back now. I will no longer tread the conventional road to existence.


So, what the hell am I gathering? Let me ask you: How does one try to salvage memories after loss? I don’t even understand why I feel the need to save memories. As if these memories will mean anything when I one day burst into flames and turn to ash.


Loss, premeditated or otherwise, the latter is the common misfortune. We can never really be prepared for something we always thought wouldn't change. Even people who deliberately try to lose something didn't foresee the need for it, until. O, well. Fuck Nietzsche and his eternal return bull-crap theory. I refuse to succumb to the probability that my life will continue to endure cataclysm, I am tired of having change as the only constant object there is to comfort me in this short seemingly imploding life of mine.


Below are strings of words. Incomplete verses. I have to write them down before this mad entity ceases to possess me, before these words escape me. They frighten me. They dishearten me. They make me feel alive. Though they do not mean anything coherent today, like in dreams, I will always know what they mean even when I read them again in the future, the world over, one day. Whatever the mind loses, the heart always houses. Forgetfulness is simply an illusion of lightness. Because to forget does not mean liberation; it doesn’t signify letting go.

It does not follow…


1.
To move like water is a graceful blessing bestowed upon birth. Mastering this movement entails suffering, attempting to acquire it is a lifetime feat herald with desolation and wretchedness.


2.
Our hands will always have their way: they dare to say what these muffled lips utter not.


3.
The gecko on the ceiling intently stares at light’s milky fluorescence
It’s fond of movement and illuminated things, his head rushes
With blood, his world remains upside down. Meanwhile, darkness grows
Older. I drank coffee as the black ants swirled in caffeine suicide.


4.

The 12:10 O’clock Prayer


You died sullenly
No source of life flowed
From your heart so selfish
And an ocean of pity opened up
To my whole world

O fountain of disdain,
Immeasurable divine heresy
Covers the whole world’s eyes
And empties our souls upon waking

O blood and water which flowed out
From the heart of discontent,
As a fountain of delusion for us,
Who will trust in you?

O, lowly god
Lonely mighty one
You lonely immortal one
Have mercy on us
And the whole world,
Laments.

Lowly god
Lonely mighty one
Lonely immortal one
Have mercy on us
And the whole world,
Laments.

Lowly god
Lonely mighty one
Lonely immortal one
Have mercy on us
And the whole world,
Laments.

Give me reason, king of mercy
Deliver the dying
From eternal fright and misery
And I will trust in you.

No comments:

Post a Comment