Dionysus Follies

I knew (whatever that may evoke) you’d reach out in selective silence, so the siren blows, so all goes, a continuance, but I thought non-existence, regarding us, for the relationship was desired, perhaps a relapse of feeling, thought, but I am aware, always was, of the discrepancies, the contradictions in logic, sheer reason, so I respond to a wall of silence. Good, for I’d rather explore alone. I am prolific, profound, prodigious, on the search of perfection, calm, in balance.

Light, I am, power, confidence, passion, withheld evaluative emotions, god, god in practice, purpose, strength, calm, calculated, the self, a summation of the collective whole, unconscious, subconscious, Pisces, the type, the desired, the other, a flame, active will, memory, motion, the microcosm as expressed, the below, within, without, as above, peace, the clinging and clanging of fetters, the removal, cast aside, but oh three times no!, collected, wise, giving, removed, continent, just with mercy, magnanimous, aesthetically mindful, and sexy, of course.

The limit remains our conceptual shortfall of grasping the intangible infinite.

Time, the commodity we easily sell, trade and exchange, and yet, it’s worth appears incomprehensible, and we speak so highly of it as though it’s lost, spent, but paradoxically I look into your eyes, from across the room, oh yes, for we both know only I can save you, but the boredom rolls out of your lips as you convince yourself you’re stuck, forced, the obligatory bind of the past, such great fetters of the present here and now.

A casual stroll through the asylum and I couldn’t help but entertain the notion: the limits of faith and belief, the obstinate short-comings of a generation, belief binds, defines, creates a structure where, and I dare not forcefully assert, there may be none, an incomprehensible backdrop, splattered like a pollock canvas. oh, a mere metaphor, to presume a connection with concept at the limit of language, for times prove the friviolous gesture that we call language and yet we go about with the song and dance.

So, as any story goes, I saw you, a phantasm, a manifestation of my thought, and you appear, or I before you, in full, simple corporeal bodies, and thankfully I’ve learned to love myself.

A conjunction between, ego, mind, philosophy, and soon the unconscious, and did I mention my energy is within an orb?

You made a fateful choice, we all do, not to assume moral culpability. I continue, progression, without resentment.

“I want to shine, with full light, brighter than he on high, a blasphemous remark, but recall a thunderous hurl slain Kronos, a son’s revolt.”

A text: a love of a new, journey, a factual transcendence, life. We sit, stand, sand I applaud your efforts. You look into these eyes, as I am told a deep gaze, tears fall, and I notice your pain. I saw it before you spoke, noticed fifteen minutes ago at a time you said you’d arrive, but I lost faith in the frivolous. You say, “I’m fine” but let’s stop the moment step beyond the lies. I asked, nobly, “you’ll move on, and I’ll be alone, and yet from the dark I will gain peace, a piece of myself, but that’s not here.” you laughed, a mask.
I want to wipe the tear, but my presence is unwelcome, and well, ” I have to go.” oh, but still you linger.
We laugh, a Librarian charm, o an ode to the ascendent, my words charm, and I could have had you there, this moment just as any other, but I pass. I dream of more, not to imply that you’re not a purpose, but we both know you embrace the reality, you embody the essence of the muse, and I needed to let you go.

“I’ll outlast you”

And here between man and woman doubt surfaced.

And by sheer will, or boredom I achieved.

“damn, I’m sorry I could satisfy.”

What a reaction. I laud, applaud, and begin the soft chuckle.

“o, my dear, my past, my reality, the unconscious is my plague, and I fail to connect to humanity and life. Earlier I saw the rabble dance, a longing for a hug. Ha! And once I lived in resent. I suffer the god complex. Yet, here I triumphed, I controlled the moment from the second I willed, that instance where I thought you, my conception.”

Down a hill

and out of my cave I came

on a lonely winter’s day.

My love of aesthetics, beauty,

a dastardly curiosity for the ugly,

sublime, all of which I will to be mine.

Possession, oh wait, I thought solipsism died.

Wittgenstein slowly puts down the knife.

Bacchus…

A slow, rhythmic dance in the woods,

a festival, a circle of corporeal bodies,

on a dear and near lyre I play, with each longing,

striving, I seek all the feminine who flutter,

clumsy, and surprisingly I begin to stutter.

Searching, plowing, casting memories to the surface.

Is this the anima? Or does she seek, project, will the animus?

I look back at a long shadow, an ode to my perverse unconscious.

Discard, purge, and lament the ego, oh forget my will.

Can a plebeian bastard ever will?

What can be made of all representation?

So, I thought of you the other day. Y

Yesterday, tomorrow, or even today?

Wait, twas this moment, the here, the now,

for no need for an over ‘there.’

A discourse begins, the fated pair, a divine couple,

horus begot from isis, a longing, my striving, a reunion with the sacred female.

Down the hill I walk upon a meandering path.

Wait, cast doubt?

All vice I praise as virtue,

in all reason one finds reason to doubt.

The obvious resounds in the unobserved, the irrational,

and continually I walk.

I am not at home with man, but I found a friend.

In the moon I share my deepest fear, and with every tear

I never veer, nevermore, my work, my pregnancy must fulfill its sinister course.

Structure, O illusionist, such a muse!

I long for the arbitrary, the inexcusable, the intangible,

and here my sentences, as well my words flag.

If there is a god, then how could I, oh the great and the full, not be a god?

The answer: therefore, there are no gods.

It’s always best to learn to forget, then you always get the best of your blunders.

Oh the irony, of forgetting to perform the scholarly task of citing a phrase on forgetfulness.

Remember, tell the people there is but one god,

tell the people god is good,

tell the people that god is pure,

tell the people that god forgives,

and make them dream of the otherworldly,

and then, only then, they may forget,

suppress, once on a stroll with a young man,

a sinner, a man of weak, a microcosm of all that is rabble,

here he shared his faith,

his longing for another life, a quick retort,

“once in heaven god will provide a mansion,

so I learn to live with all of this life,” the terrible

lonely, cruel, evil ravenous misery, oh nausea,

your dark mendacious spell, in sum, all that is

this life!

And please, you man of “reasons,” of science,

ignore Kant’s suggestion, his proposition,

that thought, a notion, a concept does not

presuppose the predicate.

Wait?

Why seek misery?

I seek joy, the expansive, the acceptance, the longing for all of this life.

My words flow like wine.

Down the hill I reached a pleasant valley, a river full of life, and soon I began to tire.

Let’s agree to fill in the rest.