Love....
But
Love
In the dirt
With the worm
As silent witness-
God's Digestion
Content.
To Covet
And Fly/Cast.
Go Bye
A Cell
The problem with psychology is the suggest ability of the human mind which is very high. I see all these people walking around with i-pods, listening to their favorite music, and I think of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". I left my therapist because I think it is enough to be bi-polar. If I had stayed I'm sure that she would be having me with 12 multiple personalities and publishing a tell-all psychology book about their identities in the same vein as "Sybil". I wanted to fuck her of course, but she was married, so I left her. Maybe she could have even justified it in the name of science.
My clock is ticking down, all our clocks are. That is the terrifying thing about life. We are all night watchmen walking around it turning the key at all the high lights and low lights of out existence recording our moments for God to digest when we burn up in his love. Or sneak around it by going up his ass-hole, but God is nothing if not patient. Every dog has its day. Eventually the sun will turn into a "red" giant and cook the inner planets. Maybe we will have stopped wasting time killing ourselves and moved on by then, but I kind of doubt it. It is the tribal nature of man-kind to look at itself as us and the other.
"The Feast of the Harlequin" has to be one of my favorite short stories. Thomas Ligotti has to be the second coming of EAP. This poem is of course in his honor.
But
Love
In the dirt
With the worm
As silent witness-
God's Digestion
Content.
To Covet
And Fly/Cast.
Go Bye
A Cell
The problem with psychology is the suggest ability of the human mind which is very high. I see all these people walking around with i-pods, listening to their favorite music, and I think of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". I left my therapist because I think it is enough to be bi-polar. If I had stayed I'm sure that she would be having me with 12 multiple personalities and publishing a tell-all psychology book about their identities in the same vein as "Sybil". I wanted to fuck her of course, but she was married, so I left her. Maybe she could have even justified it in the name of science.
My clock is ticking down, all our clocks are. That is the terrifying thing about life. We are all night watchmen walking around it turning the key at all the high lights and low lights of out existence recording our moments for God to digest when we burn up in his love. Or sneak around it by going up his ass-hole, but God is nothing if not patient. Every dog has its day. Eventually the sun will turn into a "red" giant and cook the inner planets. Maybe we will have stopped wasting time killing ourselves and moved on by then, but I kind of doubt it. It is the tribal nature of man-kind to look at itself as us and the other.
"The Feast of the Harlequin" has to be one of my favorite short stories. Thomas Ligotti has to be the second coming of EAP. This poem is of course in his honor.
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