I AM ACCIPITRIDAE

ensorcelled by the mare
under orphic crepuscule
i stand

cold and cruel glacial winds
i confront courageously

wings those of a mighty bird
across my tattered scapulae
i spread

the magic of many gipseian moons
i behold

sonorous echoes across the vale
responding just like thunder
 to my ever proclamation :

    i am accipitridae !

THE PILLAR SAINT

statuesque pillar saint woebegone
in perpetual management of proprioception
lost in a gloaming psychedelic,
darkly vortexing

parching, thirsting to death,
lost to desultory indifference
in mysterious contemplation and adoration
of human excellence up there on the pillar

the golden blood of the saint downward running
pylons, downward pillars,   
vines of vermillion veins
fractally forming around them,
contorting around them,
growing about them weblike
spinal-cordially
like intelligence antenna
towards the starry sky

humming lullaby of endless night, susurring all around !

  a stature demure

  yet such beguiled, stupid flesh !

from Christly wounds cascading
black blood upon dead skulls supine on wettened grass below

composite of two older (ca 2015-2016) pieces

 PEELING THE LAYERS OF THE  
 NIHILISM ONION  

        meandering tributaries
        to the great subterranean ocean
        whose ends obscure into 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
   no apparent truth

   an existence
   so absurd and cruel
   and incomprehensible
      are we
      vomited forth into

    your hundred false dichotomies
    are all tentacles of the same colossal squid―
    the Cthulhu of human existentialism

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

   there are no shortcuts
   to hard, honest work

   we all aspire
   to nothing
   but the passion
   we feel
   as we feel

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

   and 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 is a packmule of meaning

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

      and by the way :

   without humans and their extraordinary
   spiritual properties, the world is valualy dead

the human is the only being in this world
potentially capable of transcending
the bestial levels of privation
and making manifest a higher form of consciousness

the human is the only being in this world
capable of existential assessment, religious thought
and the conceptualization of time and temporality

the human is the only being in this world
capable of sacrificing the present for the future

the human is the only being in this world
inclined to instinctual conscience and morality,
as well as unexplainable levels of evil and malevolence
foreign even to the beasts of our forests and seas !  

and the human is the only being of love and angst...

the human is the only being in this world
capable of turning worthless reality
into meaningful reality

 the human amounts to nothing but the actions she forms   
 out of the formlessness that is her passion raw

   the human finds what she loves and lets it destroy her !

the intrinsic worthlessness of all ideals, all petty hopes
and all good causes must be known !
the intrinsic worthlessness of every thought,
every good will and every strangled impulse
of compassion should be known beforehand,
so that we not fall into that bottomless, uproarious swirl
of idealism, hedonism, and utopia

   the human soul must “activate” the value of an action

   and we do so by actually acting out that action
   instead of merely idealizing it, bragging about it,
   talking about it, theorizing it―

   before an act has been acted out, it is ontologically null,  
   existentially theoretical, therefore nonexistent,
   therefore worthless...

   and that is the opening statement
   in the declaration of human freedom !

from "Zartosht"

the solar king decrees from the pulpit of Zoroastrian existentialism :

the aura of the human spirit is full of carbon subnitride and the enemy is a ghost made of sparks and faint lights

the radiant crown of Ahura Mazda emits an electrothermal heat five-hundred-thousand degrees hotter than the human heart

a new explanatory model and a religious underpinning to how we ought to explain the mechanisms of the fire tetrahedron has been sought but not found

Zartosht himself sought the wisdom of the mountain but came down therefrom a man transformed―a wolf and a fool one half each !

he had crossed the tetrahedron of fire !

his breath had become the vapor of balsam-wood and his flesh had turned into coal ! his body was covered in an oil of existence which forced him into refuge from human worlds because everywhere there are sparks

not yet may he become the fire of Ahura Mazda because he has not yet enough oxygen to nurture its flame in eternity

 

Wardoves

the forest yawns with its tongue waning towards the smiling moon, blazing sparks into fires across the firmament, revering the supreme silence of nordic night

i hear the twittering of wardoves, scouting from their primeval watchtowers

ancient eldritch sirens wail their songs moor-over,

while their ***** are hot and flaming,

boiling geothermally