Regardless of what you may do,
the grim reaper will be back for you.
You will wake from deepest sleep,
your soul now rising from the deep
to uncover what is "true".
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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You are, am I? Occult stirrings provoke our flight. The monster under the bed? Or perhaps the one in it? Or maybe it's just the dirty laundry piled high under the chute? Mountains of rags, or more? Our genesis in darkness. Probing light both illuminates and blinds. Quick, cover your eyes! Did love summon us forth brother? Strange alchemy no doubt. What's the basic motivation? Lust? Confusion? Fear? Self-loathing our refuge? Gnostic rebellion our creed. Forgetful spirits attired in base red clay. Caress my crimson folds no more. Lest my hands be stained forever. They will not wash away. Separated, we imagine discovery, revelation, catharsis, masturbatory revolution. Hurtling into the distance, beyond the event horizon. We shall not pass this way again. We trek from one Oasis to another. Are we there yet? It seems we have each come so far. Yet, our intercourse is interrupted time and again with retrograde awakenings and projected demise. Parched, am I drinking sand? Two steps forward, one step back. Is this how we dance today? Limited perceptions accompanied by cognitive vaccilations. Who leads? My heart still beats. Syncopated Deceptions. Who navigates? Did I clumsily step on your foot? Your toes you say? How can we heal? Does it matter? Life becomes Death becomes Life again. We fade, wither and return to cool darkness, a familiar place. Paradise. Ever forgetful, we sprout forth again, reaching for The Light in trepidation. There is no fear in truth. I Am, Are You?
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