You can’t say your work defines you,
It doesn’t
The excreta of human imagination is
The foundation of this society,
That is built and breathed,
On the utilities of work and working
Babies don’t like to work,
Hell, I don’t like to work
The whole thing’s a sham,
And we’re on like ants,
Going through it, daytime job,
And dreams at night,
And the same routine,
For years and years and years
And complain at the end of the whole thing,
Saying, dam, I wasted this life
And then you waste the next one,
Strange thing, being human, and worse, being social

Why do you think people write?
Writing doesn’t define you
Nothing does, nothing can
Writing’s just an action, born from inner emptiness,
And people go on and keep telling you,
That the stuff inside’s got to come out
There’s nothing inside, but emptiness
Even the confusion has no stuff to be made up of,
All of its just emptiness
And the words, are little notes of nonsense,
That dance out onto paper
Purposeless, for the entertainment of other people,
Lost like me, lost like the stars

Some people seek nothing,
But I, I want the whole dam world
You see, wanting the whole dam world,
Eventually makes you want none of it

I cannot see if you can see,
The sparkle that dances behind life’s movements
These things, these events, they’re meaningless,
But every woman who clothes herself in fine satin,
Those lovely curved angels in tight denim,
Who turn us on by ignoring us
The old women by the street who sell corn and nuts,
The thing about the weather, how it changes
All these things, there’s so much of it
I wonder if you’re able, to catch the magic in it
Most of it gets routine and rubbles us to boredom,
I guess that’s the challenge,
Seeing the magic, in this rubble of boredom
We can’t see the magic though,
Until we’re dead,
Until who we think we are,
Disappears into the endless void of the jeweled night sky
Until we forget time and reason,
And set our dreams aside to be lost into forgotten nonchalance
The price of wonder is the death of oneself
Or at least what one thinks of oneself

Seek ye not the fetters of time,
In the weary eyes of a beloved friend
Nor seek the dainty corners of nostalgia,
To which the hopes of man are confined
Beside the dreaming corpse of humanity,
Life lays down the norms of her movement
Through which wordless law perhaps we might,
See sensibility worked and showered upon us
No prayer or ritual will save this poet,
From the endless agony of his framed melancholy
All things of pleasure and good will come,
To naught and nothing before the end
Forgotten to words this memory shall,
Be gone and dead to a vainful past
All in vain, great world in vain,
Death brings to us the final holocaust

We don’t know much about time,
Except that it’s wrong, a conjuring,
A wrong conjuring, to understand,
The movement of light,
And the memories of few days,
Upon this green, green Earth
Time destroys us, the ideas of ourselves,
Time does not exist, and neither do we
And it’s funny, how I say that,
And you look on with beady eyes,
Believing me, or not

A thing of wonder cannot have purpose,
Neither can a poem, nor a good song
Anything that’s worth the candle,
Can have no purpose
Purpose destroys, distorts,
The very magic of existence,
Of wonderful things
Purpose, aim, ambition,
Things that point to some other point,
Away from now, behind, or forward
Anything that’s not now,
Is not worth the candle
Is not worth even construing or pondering for,
Life’s now, you see it, or you don’t
It’s all now, it starts off from now, it ends now
You can’t have it any other way,
The things you perceive, the music you dance to,
The women you kiss and make love to,
The dreams you conjure and the philosophies you use,
To understand your own dreams
It’s all now, you see it, or you don’t

Life’s not a gradual movement of meaningful things,
It’s a playful explosion taking form in the mind of a child
Everything honest is child-like, uncaring of perfection
What’s worth in life is what’s worth to children,
The scratches on the floor and the shapes of the clouds

I’m telling you, it’s now,
It’s all now,
You see it, or you don’t,
I can’t care much for that
It won’t matter if you do or don’t anyway,
Just don’t kill the other guy,
And unleash hell on the planet
It’s quite a beautiful place,
And eras older than you
I’d say it’s better if you see it,
Now,
You’d do a whole lot of splendorous magic,
For the whole lot of us all

I’m much for goodness and ecstatic things,
And I’d love to see the world smiling,
Every day, loving and caring
I like that sort of stuff, it feels sensible to me
But it isn’t happening through church charity,
Or faithful prayers, or philanthropy
You need to wake up child,
And understand that there’s no understanding
It’s all you, and you’re doing this thing,
And it’s all such a marvelous drama of magic and misery
And it’s great, you just have to see it,
That it’s all you
Cheers

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s