Echo, Pt. 1

“Whenever there is action, and hence activity and force, there must be substance, and in this substance alone the seat of that fertile source of appearances must be sought.” He let out the amazing truth.

At that moment gay-colored birds of all sorts began warbling in the trees and with their merry and varied songs appeared to be greeting and welcoming the fresh-dawning day, which already at the gates and on the balconies of the east was revealing its beautiful face as it shook out from its hair an infinite number of liquid pearls. Bathed in this gentle moisture, the grass seemed to shed a pearly spray, the willows distilled a savory manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks murmured, the woods were glad, and the meadows put on their finest raiment.

“What is the difference between correctness and truth, or is there any?” Like the vague torsos of fabulous athletes, huge fleshy clouds lolled on the blue air above their heads.

“Truth is universal. It does not belong to me, it belongs to all; it possesses me, I do not possess it. The soul of wit may become the very body of untruth. However elegant and memorable, brevity can never, in the nature of things, do justice to all the facts of a complex situation. Absolute concreteness, completion, existence as a totality belong then to the free and fundamental desire which is the unique person.”

There was something just so awful in the old man’s utterance. He was like a man pursued, but pursued by enemies he does not wish to see, lest they should seem more hostile even than he had supposed, and he himself be made to feel guiltier and even more helplessly alone. Well, an answer was expected. He was waiting. Yes or no. Join the party, inject a meaning into life, choose to be a man, to act and to believe. That would be salvation.

“No, you wouldn’t like to believe me. The causes of illusions are not pretty to discover. They’re either vicious or tragic. This one is both. Mainly vicious. And it’s not a gag. But we won’t go into that now. Are you satisfied now, friend John?”

Movement 1.1

Aspartame dreams play drama subterfuge and
Inconsequential familiarity displays animalistic alienation

as a figure disperses its field of vision
so do I dopple my environment

love and pain are cousins in war
fighting for opposite sides
but coming to the same conclusions
in a collision with double helix resolutions

as only frogs can tell
dusk is better for calls of lust

Once in an azure moon do I crave immolation
fires burn too dim
the pop and sizzle of fresh carcass
entices even the most humanistic portions

Twice has Death knocked on my cast-iron gate
only once have I acknowledged his persistence
maybe a third will be his day?

Red as arterial blood
caresses disdain and weeps northern light
a shade deeper and the world is shrouded in
a blanket of velvet

If pornography signifies addiction
and worldly immersion
then what is making love on camera?