If we imagine the regime torturing
thousands. It becomes difficult to manage.
Essence in flying, trying to
complete one spectacular assignment, vying for immortality.
It will end horribly. We’ve willed
it this way.
Power as it breeds. Many dimensions
of probability. One mustn’t ignore it. This is humanity!
The gift loses its cache. This is
the motive. To take something—is to lose something. I am no better than the
ones I condemned.
The narration is long. The consequences
are psychical. We lose our grip. We suffer righteousness. We become intangible.
The skies must fear the earth, and
the earth must fear the skies; even then, one is unsatisfied; it becomes level
for level.
The occasion was the folly. The
revenge took place. But it felt good. It gave one life. So it persists
indefinitely.
In all of my getting, in all of the
struggle, I’ve picked up an immortal curse.
To sail seas in cities; if to die
thrice and resurrect; if to prove silence as a miracle; the force of the
reality, the cage of its freedom, the soul as unlocked.
No one listens we say. But one
knows, aside for others, just calculating the sciences, making assessments,
realizing something unique is rising higher.
I make no pledges, no assertions, I’ll
sing it, as it evolves—the dear pavement, those abstracts we can’t live
without, the ontology of religion, the metaphysics of colors—to live like
dying, to die like living, some creative curse, and the world is now happy,
elated, beside themselves!
