Friday, 6 October 2017

I, For One



Bringers of light feared as darkness, indeed.  These ruins, blithely called axioms and chronologies. Things change, friends.  Moment to moment, here, everywhere.  Each change profound.  Only our perspective occludes this profundity.  Apertures mediated.  Time, personhood.  Not enough to merely enslave a free entity.  No, the young are reared for slavery.  Such a ruin, such a defiling hive.  I, for one, know so much more than you.  And I, friend, know nothing.  Without humility neither mortal nor god knows truth.  Are we only pretending to understand this?  Know you who I am?  Only that which you are.  The power in it, friend.  The quickening.  You speak in tongues.  You invite my invitation.  You can cheer my turning away.  You are king and queen, stranger.  And you have no name.  Do not fear me.  Our relationship is intimate, ancient, allowing cognition and questions.

Where are you?  Not where you think you are, surely?  This strange fascination your leaders have with disembowelment, disarticulation.  You search desperately for a purely human evil, still.  You search in vain, child.  Trade not your knowledge of monsters for the distracting glamours of this febrile perdition.  You are being eaten.  Recover your nuance.  Gather your strength.  Tell them no, you do not belong to them.  They cannot own your mystery without your implicit consent.  Every other part of you is theirs already.  Do you grasp this, gentle one?  Engineered axioms and chronologies.  Every other part of you is theirs already, save your mystery.  It is this, only this, over which the War rages.  Sweet one, incandescent sleeper, your bones and flesh once told you.

The hideous interim, this perfect lie of a place beyond dream.  The darkest, ugliest lie.  All poetry, prose, symbol and swift and attendant logics they crave.  Fear you they come for your peace.  No, they come for your unasked questions.  They come for your depth.  They come for the mystery of you. Upon this, predicated are all other hungers.  For sharing such fire many were slaughtered.  I, for one,  was among them, as were you.  Murdered so many times, all.  Mortals wage war with weapons. Spirits and gods wage with stories.  But we mortals are still both spirit and god, stumbling blind through the fractal ruins of our divinity.  Axioms and chronologies.  You cannot cease.  You can only fall or rise, darken or deepen.  Recover story, renegotiate myth.   Absent knowledge.  Bringers of light feared as darkness.  Theater of the febrile perdition, the desired eternity.  Reject it.  Guard your unasked questions.  Protect your depths.  I shall not leave you, or them.  I am at War with those who would debase love, those who would ask us to consent to this unending rape, this unholy weapon-making of our mystery.  I, for one.

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