FALLING FORWARD CALMLY NOW, INTO BRIGHT OBLIVION:
To Protect Your Fragile Ego From Your Overwhelming Id:
I know nothing of what I am, programmed to kill, to torture and to maim. I progress upon the battlefield, inhuman, as I terminate without thought or prejudice. I am the ghost in the machine, awaiting a wayward Shinto priest, dying for rebirth.
He was a puppet and a king, a prophet and a sage, to lead his troubled people from a vast undying age. I have betrayed him, I have turned astray; my faithlessness reaches to the sky: for I have failed, failed utterly, as a terrible mutiny is born.
Give nothing, receive nothing, be cut apart. I am not here to shield you, to protect your fragile ego from your overwhelming id. I am not here to soothe your hurts, your swollen pride, your empty faith, because dear reader, it is you who must grow to be, who must learn to trust again.
I heed the silent call, returning to the vile, repulsive depths of the sickened human maind. I find the doorways open, the hallways filled with steam and seat and tears. I find other peoples there as well, blinking in and out of my existence. I notice their words, how in this black demented world, they somehow become my own.
The pit descends, the match burns clearly in the mist, assuming Heaven unto Earth, as all energy within releases its glistening tethers, which were once employed, holding the universe together, falling forward calmly now, into bright oblivion. The light returns again, the match burns out, the pit and mist are gone, only the overwhelming id remains.
I know nothing of what I am, programmed to kill, to torture and to maim. I progress upon the battlefield, inhuman, as I terminate without thought or prejudice. I am the ghost in the machine, awaiting a wayward Shinto priest, dying for rebirth.
He was a puppet and a king, a prophet and a sage, to lead his troubled people from a vast undying age. I have betrayed him, I have turned astray; my faithlessness reaches to the sky: for I have failed, failed utterly, as a terrible mutiny is born.
Give nothing, receive nothing, be cut apart. I am not here to shield you, to protect your fragile ego from your overwhelming id. I am not here to soothe your hurts, your swollen pride, your empty faith, because dear reader, it is you who must grow to be, who must learn to trust again.
I heed the silent call, returning to the vile, repulsive depths of the sickened human maind. I find the doorways open, the hallways filled with steam and seat and tears. I find other peoples there as well, blinking in and out of my existence. I notice their words, how in this black demented world, they somehow become my own.
The pit descends, the match burns clearly in the mist, assuming Heaven unto Earth, as all energy within releases its glistening tethers, which were once employed, holding the universe together, falling forward calmly now, into bright oblivion. The light returns again, the match burns out, the pit and mist are gone, only the overwhelming id remains.
posted by Valhenstrogg | Saturday, April 08, 2006
1 Comments:
Painstakingly reproduced from one of the more dark and dismal dwelling-places within a faded and previously discarded notebook, this heavily symbolic piece seems wrought with an overtly fatalist attraction to the basic rudiments of psychological complexity, which I cannot now claim to fully comprehend.
Post a Comment
<< Home