nightmare follows

what is love

MAIAM

meandering tributaries to the great subterranean ocean
whose ends are obscured forever,
are we all.

in continual, sempiternal becoming
without ends, without fixed courses,
are we like rivers
whirling with the waters
of disquiet.




a world with no purpose
no meaning
nor truth,
and an existence
so absurd, and cruel,
and incomprehensible
are we
vomitted forth into.

rape, murder, dominance, oppression,
utopia, democracy, egalitarianism
genocide and solidarity
are all extensions, and results,
of the same whelming force.

saluted are those
who entrust their passions
to no one
but themselves:
from your own alienation and angst
you must act
and from your own actions
you shall die
with the prospect of unconditional happiness
as an unattainable idea
smeared like dirt
under the heel of your boot.

we all aspire
to nothing
but the passion
we feel
when we feel.

we all amount
to nothing
but the actions
we form
out of the formlessness
that is our passion.





passion
is the only signpost
with worth:
find what you love
and let it destroy you;
it has been said before.
what else could one do?

a passion is something worth
suffering for;
thus, in extension,
suffering bear meaning.

he who fears suffering
fear also life,
and in the storm of that insight,
we carve ourselves a totem.

the intrinsic worthlessness of all action
every thought, and every impulse of compassion
should be known beforehand,
so that we not fall into
the bottomless and uproarious swirl
of idealism, hedonism, and utopia.

he who fails to understand
the communal and ecumenical values
that bind together
the human family
will be revelated
the final vision;
that of god
weeping like a changeling
in a strait-jacket
with his eyes fixed
on the becoming horizon
of a tomorrow
blooming with the death and darkness
of true freedom.