The Ocean Dreams Of Gull Crying Dawns

When I listen to Beethoven's 7th symphony I imagine a roman emperor restlessly pacing the halls of the senate at night with the burdens of the state upon his mind. 

I want to dance to music no other mortal can hear. The madness of Finnagans Wake filtered through synthesizers and impossible instruments. I want to be as dangerous as a multiplicity of scalpel cuts. I want my eyes to gleam like a razor that catches the light before killing. 

My love for you is a ravenous beast. I am frenzied with the impossibility of its totality. I weep not with sadness but longing. 

I drop rage into the ocean because I love drowners. 

I scarce believe the frugality of such an untold opulence. 

I rage a caress of tenderness when you hold my hand.

I bear the stigmata not of Christ but the guilty but I bear it with the same devotion. 

I am frightened that everything I experience is insincere but I know by measures of suffering that I am real and that love is real. For suffering I am truly grateful because by it I know love is sincere. 

Salvador Dali flung himself down staircases like Beethoven played a crescendo. 

I keep provoking death like a little kid sticking their tongue out at a respectable person. 

I burn my candle to darkness and another appears brighter than the last.

The imagination is a blind man groping around a room for a naked girl.

Give me your poverty I am hungry. 

Honesty can't be exercised without incarceration or death.

I trust in the pirouettes of doubt.

The universe is a ballet dancer graceful beyond measure toppling off the stage.

The sadness of innocence because I have crushed so much. May it never end. May I end it. 

Come witness this Christ appalling as he weeps with the madness of maths and impossible things that can never be. All the smokey fawns of gentle sunsets and the disemboweled carcasses that hum so intensely with flies.

I truly want the happiness of everything. To use a historical figurative, I want the Nazis to be happy doing just what they did as I want the happiness of their victims. That's why I rage head first into the wall of impossibility because I want a solution to the impossible. I crave psychosis despite the intense suffering because in madness upon its magnificent and terrible thresholds I grow a covering of wisdom.

Take my hand and follow me as I follow you leading the way to the nowhere which is wherever. 

Religions did not create mysteries but the mysteries did create religions. 

The dignity of evil, a dark spreading of an infinite peacock fan.

The statesman hidden from the state.

Read my screaming and know the love of kindness for yourself. 

Humility gave bread to the obesity of bliss.

I intoxicate myself just by being. 

Wealth, all the wealth if conceivable of a populated universe is worthless against one smile of happiness from my true love. Fleeting as a wisp of smoke, transient as the murmuring breeze from a butterfly's wings.

Herald the dawn for the night ancient with insomnia and the dementia of fear has finally ended. 

Come into me everything good and evil. Ancient and young. Anarchy in totality is balance and harmony. 

The futility in asking and receiving is only futile when you see too far ahead. 

Moments are infinite when you only have blood to get wet with.

A hard swollen fat black spider hissing. Our terror of eachother is mutual but continually overlooked. 

Pessimism is a beautiful object smashing on the floor from a great height. The fragments finally find themselves in love but labyrinths take time to negotiate. 

Limos your crapulence and withered haggard voice feel like well loved leather or smooth driftwood fragrant and comforting. 

The silence of being deaf still reveals so much when you speak. 

Waste me in the poetry of rapids and raging rivers. Waste me in the varnish of weeping storms. Waste me like the agonised addict throwing all his fixes over a bridge. Waste me because I can never satisfy you. 

The edifices all burn and their is poetry among the ashes. 

Nero smirked when he wrote legal perversity. 

Wild is the sun kissing me on the lips. Wild is the moon parting my hair. Wild is nature biting necks just to win my affection. Wild is the forest where every bird and animal is familiar to me as the city I live in. Wild is desire luminescent with unpredictability. Wild is the stillness that disappears everything. 

Sex of silence and sacred movements. 

I eat the cake of life and leave only more cake. 

The only thing expression can't express is expression. 

"Are you interested in beauty or just it's representation?" paraphrasing a quote from the movie Russian Ark. 

 

Options diverge into singularities as civilisations become dimly lit cul-de-sacs.

I see our love a flash of lightening that never disapates. My voice the thunder thundering in harmony with the speed and velocity of light. 

Strange how exotic the familiar can become with the distance of long ago. 

Pandemics are as necessary to nature as tilling is to agriculture. 

I want to inhale forever when I smell your fetid sex. 

Royalty has little to do with material wealth that is just a beggar's crutch. But it is instead a state of mind, a dignity of morals that has nothing to do with the right and wrong of the mass. 

I stare into staring and see only seeing. 

I am being tempered and tried in the furnace of suffering and when I am complete I will shine like gold. 

Every sun takes the night with it. 

The ocean rises with the turmoil of man. 

Critsisms that contain the truth can hurt like salt to a wound. 

Harsh words received are diluted in the truth of wisdom. 

Weakness is not an abundance of emotions but a resilience to learn. 

If you hurt because of falsities and you adapt yourself to avoid them. Then perhaps you are missing the point. 

Sensitivity to pain does not a coward make unless combined with the inability to learn. 

Feminine beauty that is limitless in lawlessness is truly a beauty to behold. 

The error completes perfection. 

What is it like to feel and yet not feel? Freedom? 

Women tend to use concealed daggers and poisons men their fists. 

What weaknesses in people breed mockery and sarcasm? 

Self awareness can be a painful process their are many failings and shadows. 

 

AphorismsFragmentsLimos

◄ Antonio Porchia

Gospels Of Satan (work in progress) ►

Comments

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Brian Maryon

Thu 27th Feb 2020 16:35

Rarely used bravado - big in solitary habitats

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