Handel, You Bastard!

Handel, You Bastard!

Unearth me. Without the salt of words that you borrowed from the people of yesterday, who sold you the poisonous idea of right and wrong. The blood that flows from the fingertips of honest poets is not accounted for by the gatekeeper of flattery. It is neither allowed to flow into the hearts of the wicked to change their ways nor make an entry into the castles of the perfectly positioned to help their eyes see a reality that transcends the sparkle of the gold they have collected from their legal endeavors within the fences of their doubtful morality.

As the final mourn of Handel’s left toe rings through the pink hallways of my manhood, I come to strip apart the falsity of my present envy. My envy for the men clothed in soft leather, with words that sound like milk spilling from the breasts of half-clad goddesses, watering the soil of humanity’s shit-situation and bringing flowers out into a sunlight that does not exist. I envy these men. And my envy is justified by my inability to be dishonest in the light of English Literature’s demise. Let them have their way, these men I envy. Let them suckle at the breasts of these perfect goddesses, and garden their pastures and grow fruit that will feed their hearts to enlightenment. Then what? Boring breasts. Boring fruit. There is more solace in the epilogue of Handel’s madness and the heat of Beethoven’s orgasms that, to my absolute delight, seem to carry no other meaning than their very selves.

I seem to have sold my penchant for strange and distasteful metaphor throughout the evolution of my severed public poetic self through the last few months. I’m unlocked now. Somehow, the real me seems to have found a way through the clouded sunshine of summer to find the foot rug of autumn to sell its apology of an existence to. And to you as well.

Distasteful metaphor is the calculative entity that determines man’s sanity. If all seems to be sunshine and honey, vagina and bunnies, nothing would make sense anymore. We need distaste in this world, don’t you think? A certain sensation of contempt for the erected edifices of human ideality. Such a distaste can only lead us deeper into the mystery of our un-intended existences. I’m not trying tragedy for an avenue of creativity my love. I’m a photographer, who uses words instead of light. Look at my work, won’t you? I might not be your perfect doomsday man, but at least, I seem to capture enough tragedy to give you the best perspective to life.

The last sound of midnight’s violin will tear your skin apart to reveal your raw, tender heart. You haven’t let anyone touch it, have you? Seeking your cowardly shelter beneath the dry-straw roof of yesterday’s broken delights, you’ve shelled your raw aliveness in a steely cage made of cheap pop music, golden dreams of the afterlife, and an endless addiction to the scents of the weekend. Let it out! Your raw heart darling, let it out. It wants to be touched. Nothing can hurt a creature that has never soaked in the slavery of touch before. Let it out.

Your raw heart, let it out. The intensity of hurt is designed to help you wake up to life again. It is like a scissor used to unveil the most delightful present you have waited for your entire life.

Let it out.

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Here Comes the Music

Here Comes the Music

Time feels like a soft fabric, sewed with great care,
Molded into fundamental existence
I watch it slip through my wicked perceptions through day and night,
Through my many calculations and intonations
Through my fiery kisses thrown at the grains of reality,
That find their way through holes in society
Much wine, much laughter, ah, the sweet delights,
Of waking life, of open eyes and sober dancing

Can I drop the waking awareness of myself?
Can I drop myself?
Drop my deadly awareness of you, my notions of you,
Her and him, I, you, them, us, all these slipping dreams
How can I come and dance at your doorstep,
Without a mind for a soul to hold onto
The sweet delights of escaping piano sounds color the space,
The space around me to birth something new
I cannot put forth anymore song that is your story,
A story of your past, of our history
No more music that will stink of nostalgia,
And be beaded in fading, faulty, old décor
Ah! How we dance! Look, its ecstasy knocking at your heart,
She’s come seeking fervently for a lover
And you, a busy snake meandering through yesterday’s dreams,
Sell your heart to sorrow instead

Come look with me into the gaps of creation,
Into the friendly darkness of the void
Come find yourself with me, come, I am
Let us go naked into the sunshine of the lord,
Seeking nothing yet being it all
Being the fabric, the very source of this all,
Of this great endless tale of waving light

We are the fathers of tomorrow,
The children of yesterday, beholding old dreams,
Seeking ancient archaic desires in the wilderness of illusions,
The illusions of different lives, several lives
And how we seek, with throbbing blood pumps and shining eyes
With innocent despair and mindless wanting
Ah, the sweet adventure of it all
The pain, the seething pangs of existence,
And its subtle yet glorious delights
How can we not see the whole cosmic joke?
As it unveils its tremendous humor,
Before our waking eyes,
Before our yearning non-existent selves
Before the dust, the fleeting dust that we are
In dust here I see the beatific vision
From dust I am, to dust I am,
And I am

Some symphonies never began, and they never end
Some take the grooviest turns and some persist,
Forever feeding the unspeakable magic of the universe
Look, there’s great music out there kindling our wisdom,
Great sound, great vision, there’s something glorious happening here
But we aren’t seeing it! We’re lost to clear glass and mirroring windows
We’re lost to hazy dreams of meager delights
We don’t really want everything do we?
If we did, we’d have it all
We don’t want enough, we don’t seek enough,
We’re lukewarm soldiers in destiny’s war
We haven’t the slightest idea of what this life really is,
Not the slightest idea of what we ourselves are
Foolish folk given such tremendous gifts,
I don’t see how these many men walk,
Six feet under into their cozy homes,
Without ever having realized the real spark of it all

Ah! Life, it’s too sweet to taste and too delightful to behold,
And yet! We are it sweet beloved,
We are it all
Aren’t it such a magnificent thing?
Ah! This magic, isn’t it wonderful?
Let’s strum our guitars sweet beloved,
Bring out the grandest pianos into the deserts of our society
Humanity needs no saving, it needs good music

I have heard salvation, but never seen it,
I have let it taste my blood in deep sound,
Kiss and lick my heart in silence,
The soul has ears but no eyes,
The truest of things exist with eyes closed
The deepest feelings, the most magical moments,
Close those eyes my love
Feel that invisible breeze reaching your insides,
Salvation is here. It wasn’t anywhere else, ever
And now it comes as wine in crystal glasses,
Before our eyes. To be drunk in splendor,
And enjoyed, as the sun sets,
For a trillionth time

Artwork: Garden of Delights by Toonikun

Music from the Void

Music from the Void

I often think that the nature of love, or perhaps it would be better to say that the nature of the concept of love that is used in our society is based entirely on the understanding of self-desire and self-fullness. While most of us are unaware of this simple fact, the operation of love, and the perception of it are propelled by self-fullness.

When we say to someone, it would be great if you would do this, and we propose that idea justifying it by our conviction that we propose it because we feel it is best for the beloved, we forget that is only in our self-interests that we make such propositions.

We find very few instances in our society in which people set aside their selves in order to commit an action. If we remove the sentimental quality we associate with love, we see that we are free to love more genuinely and in ways that are more original and effective. The sentimental quality associated with love is what deteriorates the understanding and expression of it. Sentiment is a kind of gravity that aims to alter the external experience of life in order to make it fall in line with the inner desires for experience.

The initiation of understanding is in the acceptance of our innate selfishness. In compliance with the moral code of society in general, it is considered to be a rather distasteful thing to be selfish or self-full. If we bring ourselves down to the very bindings of nature, we see that selfishness is an encoded aspect of behavior that is necessary to the survival of the organism. We denied this very basic aspect of survival and created a delusional opposite called selflessness through which the principle of selfishness has been unconsciously propagated, fuelled, and made to thrive.

Every human being or most human beings prefer to fall in line with the norms of the social family. As a result, we see cues and cues of individuals striving permanently to destroy their individuality and arrive at a situation in which they can be a cog or a simple screw in the vast matrix of social structure. On further observation, we come to observe a very simple but paradoxical aspect of human behavior. We strive for social acceptance in order to understand our roles as individuals but in doing so we burn and destroy the energy that actually supports our individuality. You’ll come across very few ‘individuals’ in this world. Most folk walking around are collected chunks of ideas who happen to breathe and move.

Returning to love, or let’s call that thing love for now. I’ve seen that though children have no idea of what love is, they seem to be the only folks capable of it in the world. Does this mean that the idealization or the objectification of love is what distances us from it? What if we’ve always been in love? And there came along this day when we were told that it is a good thing to love and we began to strive for it and in doing so distanced ourselves from it? You see when I say love you must burn the entire sentimentality that is associated with it. People avoid love talk because they hate sentiment. They also fail to understand that sentiment has nothing to do with love. Words carry great power, and power goes both toward the light and the darkness, understanding and ignorance. Love is just a word, if you can find out what it points to you might see more for yourself. Let’s say for now that love is that thing which is the most innate desire of every individual.

When you ask a man what he desires, you get very simple answers, answers such as a new job, or a fantastic college education, or a woman, or some delusional idea of spiritual gratification which is nothing but an idea. Nobody knows what they want. Nobody understands what want is in the first place. Have you ever really asked yourself what you really desire? If you do, it would be really hard to nail it down to the one thing you really want in life. If you’re really honest with yourself, I don’t know if you’ll find anything that you really want. It’s funny how we spend most of our lives chasing pleasures and when we sit down to find what we really want, honestly, we find nothing at all. You might choose to tell yourself that what you really want is money, that that is your most honest answer. Whether we say it’s materialistic or a low desire or anything of that sort, you say that’s the most honest answer you’ve got. And then you spend your years, in honesty, chasing this desire and bringing it to fruition on a regular basis. You might probably stumble upon this day when you meet an even more honest answer, boredom. You’ve gotten all the money in the world possible and expressed that wealth in the most fantastical ways imaginable and then you meet this moment in which you feel you’re done with money. What next? I don’t know.

The human mind is an operation that thrives on excuses to escape momentary perceptions of reality. It loves to project the alchemy of energies into scales of time, and time is dream stuff. Alchemy of energy here means the transformation of raw will into material manifestations, or subtle movements in energy fields. Whatever it is, it basically is the manifestation of will into the perceptible world. Why do we have dreams? We have dreams because we block this manifestation and allow it to remain swirling about in a very low energy plane. We do not allow the will to move through to higher dimensions of manifestation. And hence, we end up living lives of repression, spitefulness, confusion, and dread. Most of our lives are lived in dream and if you deny that very simple fact, you’re either from a different species or blatantly cheating yourself. The human story is complex dream stuff.

So getting down to the crux of this very un-cosmic issue, we see that resistance to life movement is basically nothing but us. The fact that we think we exist. There is a paradoxical idea that lives in human society. It would be a paradox to say it itself. There is an idea that lives in the human mind, an idea that the mind itself exists and the understanding of this idea destroys the idea itself. Mind is dream stuff. When you ask me why I say so, I wouldn’t have an answer for you. You and I operate within a dream. And it becomes very difficult for a dream to become aware of itself, for that simply means the dream would end, and we don’t want ourselves to end.

Always in the logical universe, we say that to every problem there should be a solution. There is no solution to a problem such as this. We are thoughts that move about in a universal matrix. These thoughts are constructed with energy and they change on a regular basis. Change is perceived by each thought as its own death and each thought is unaware that death in this case is only a re-structuring of the energy system. We can get into the whole business of desire and the transcendence of it but all that jabber for the last few thousand years has only proved the idiocy of the whole operation. You cannot transcend desire. You are the desire of the universe. There’s no point in the talk of transcending yourself.

So how do we tackle this issue? We can’t. We simply see it for what it is and begin dancing to the music that erupts from the conflict gaps of creation. The things that make the universe spin are the things words cannot bring to expression. We cannot build edifices to explain the mystery that runs the show. Somehow though, we’ve been blessed with the ability to dance at our confusion. Maybe that was meant to be the climax all along, to learn to dance in the chains of our suffering and laugh at the madness of our hearts.

Words will forever fail, and we will for at least a while try to change this very inevitable fate of verbalism. There will come a day when the children of men will trade music with the heavens without sound. On that day I will meet you in the skies and share a whisky with you, and we can tell each other of our new plans for a new world.

Image – The White Void, the Cold Steel by Myrdah