Deityblog

Tuesday, March 28, 2006 at 12:22 PM

no original thoughts today

just an excerpt from a poem that matches my mood:

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

-- T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Wednesday, March 22, 2006 at 7:20 AM

disputation

the computer screen is blinding me
soul-sucking, depleting energy, what is me
what is this spinning wheels dance of futility
groping towards infinity
mean-spirited roadhouses goading endlessly
inertia

curled up in a ball of fuck everything and run
done but half-baked in mediocrity
rhyming uselessly, whining profusely
enough

i am the musicmaker, the dreamer of dreams
now sent reeling into a grueling sleep of my own creation,
avoiding co-creation for creeping death
being eaten by a giant lizard

jerusalem, jerusalem, the answer to all my problems
except the problem, which is me, which can't be solved geographically
which must be worked out
or forgotten about as I realize how ridiculous self-observation masturbation can be
the opposite of fear is free
fuck running, embrace everything

so much I knew, it's been five years already
and now I see myself in other kids around me
stunted in growth, suck somewhere back that February
model un and fights with rabbis
thinking I was going crazy
crazy crazy craziness the chaos never felt so alive as then
struggling since to find a when, how why and where
do i dare disturb the universe, fuck it the universe is me and i'll disturb at will

I have these visions of creation as a microcosm is the macrocosm game of hopscotch
skipping all over the planet with ceaseless energy and spirit
all the time in the world to let them hear it
and hear it from them
internalize the messages I've left to float on the surface
let myself be penetrated so I can penetrate
channel Godliness and be able to create
stop complaining with fear about how much the world sucks
when I know that I can change but choose to watch reality tv
living vicariously through other peoples' dreams and self-possessed "integrity"

but this is not a lamentation, this is a disputation between who I am and who I've let myself be, and though it's all one I've forgotten what's at the core, that I could ask for more, that more actually exists, that God is real and not words on a page mumbled in daily motions I go through
"All my being shall cry out, God, who is like You?"
and in you, me, reaching You with this primal scream
the first of many, the first in too damn long
just remember to stay with it, this is no dream
and there are no rules, so
explode