It’s early in this state. Far too much manipulation. With grievous pain comes anguish. Never rob a man of his misery. Art is a conundrum. Art is human. By government of some craft, to know by consciousness the aches of others, wakeful realities—come from a reservoir, a somberness to it—when laughter has sullenness in its eyes. To push beyond presence, to acquire some skill in the undergoing. It’s been un-relational, distinct, at moments, too clear for comforts.
We might explore the exotic, become cursed, to adore misery. We might become synchronized, to die in fury, to remain impatient, unto agony and tears. In the anguish comes a whisper, a sky kiss, so much more to revere cultures. Dancing that way. Eating atmosphere. So uncured. So tragic. Hurt for it makes life. To feel consumed. To wonder what a feeling is. To have those properties. To insist on insistence. Such a strategist! Never as it is; never as it was; to have arts besprinkled from towns to cities—the curse in its blessing, dependent on temperament, she knew not! This is the pain. To need tragedy. To inscribe uneasiness—to hate while we call it love. Such a travesty inside. To know for sickness, and to bypass reality in exchange for vinegar.
From the mind, at points, from the gut. To need redemption, as embedded in roots, to worship for cleanness—those precise measures, the dying of palms, pierced in ecstasy—by candle, flaming essence, part alive. No true choice for the poet, the scoundrel. It seems to have a blessing to it. Someone sacrificed for it. Something built a part hedge around it. God seems to favor it. In spite of travesty & tales.
In deep wonder, such similar countenances, such quickness of thought, to glisten with heaviness chasing—hermetic heartbeats, upon a hearth, such harrowing exhibitions, such moments of consuming passion, to watch each other, never to trust each other, moving forward towards dusky skies. Dust trailing, moving so swiftly—stopping seems impossible, to reck emotion, to shatter feelings—if but to live, to locate an old inclination, faced by wants & desires, everything has become irrational.
