Sunday, August 14, 2011

Deliverance from Ourselves



The truck called Change came your way and veered off the track. You weren’t merely shocked, awed as well. It would’ve hit you and changed you forever. You left a deep sigh of relief that it didn’t. You shun a smallish change like thinking left in your life, why would you welcome a biggish change in the shape of a ten-wheeler.

It’s like finding something to have rocky of a foundation after you took that something to have had rock of a foundation. Talking of certainties in life and to talk of uncertainties in broad strokes, you’d come off tad meager by the time you’ve traversed through that tunnel of duality to the light at the end of it. You, your proverbial tunnel and the light at the end of it all, are they for real.

The kid who opened his veins just so he could tell you it is (or it isn’t) never lived to tell the tale. To stand there impassive and watch the venous shooting, how very adult of you! It’s as though he never was. One moment there he is, the next – there, but gone, never to return.

Séance like mature ejaculation was fun. It was so, for me more so because you had that stir-crazy expression about your face. She, I, you and glossolalia, all for real. The fabled Illuminati would’ve witnessed John the Baptist’s tongue on fire. Babel, Babel, we babbled. We were almost there, post apocalypse.

Who gives a hoot about old gods? Prometheus unbound, Krishna muted, Atlas shrugged, Telemachus sneezed, Screwtape unwrote, Lucifer repented. Ways paved to mushroom cloud gods, machine and cyber gods. They live in your universe of a head like bees in hive forever shifting perception. You see headlights going on and off. You’ve grown deft enough to call them illusions. Look where it got us.

In a moment will be your initiation. Drums, strings and keys and what not will go off, voices will sing in tongues including gibberish, and for a timeless moment you shall be immersed in sounds so ethereal and images so haunting. That will be all?

Her mouth would run like a perennial gutter you’d wish she’s rather bespelled in an eternal kiss that ends the run while you also wish the kisser to be anyone else but you because the kiss – a blessing, is only too sure to entail from her side an innate curse – the sporadic bites.

You wish for once you the he were a she because then they couldn’t grab yours divinely’s longish beard and break your symbolic neck. The faithful are Raptured. Those sneaky little hooligans are gone once and for all. In other words, the devils by many other names are twice dead. We’re here, we’ve survived the End. This here is the raw material for an un-brave new world. You wince, you’re afraid. You feel it’s overmuch. You have second thoughts about laying the foundation. You don’t want to ruin it, not all over again.

Like my old man had at one point said. Lust is one thing, love is another. Pure and impure, simply it’s both. And like unchecked buggery irreparably damaging, I must add. Between heaven and hell there’s a wet place. In the spiritual quicksand by your wasteland, you’re in it never sunk forever sinking. You scream for all of us. Deliver us from ourselves! I have second thoughts about the switch at my fingertip. I want to and don’t want to bring about the clouds of mushroom.



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