The Seeming Void
Let me begin with an image.
A nervous beautiful, blonde, brunette, dainty, red lipped, light hair bound, Ballerina. On a tight rope
Now let us, the audience, step back.
Observe the tight rope.
One end tied to the neck of
An ape, choking the brilliant beast.
And the other is well fastened just beyond sight.
All that we can see is the silhouette.
It frightens me to describe this man?
This silhouette is the shade darker than the Void around us.
Take all of your petty father figures and Sampson’s and tie them, tightly, into him.
He is the diamond of your subconscious
He is with and without
The Void, just as the Void is
Within and without him.
Pink Ballerina, suspended
Silver, illuminated beast, breathless
Shadow of us, Mankin, the horror, the horror
And a rope.
Now look at the rope,
Look closer, please I implore you.
Look at its fiber.
Oh my yes indeed.
No its not the Lilliputians
Its I, You, We, Us, mankind.
Grasping and kicking our way.
Billions of elbows smash trillions of teeth
Billions of faces wince as the boot crushes down.
Culture.
A writhing rope, filled with hopes and dreams and nightmares.
Children dreaming of dragons
Women dreaming of the terror in the hall.
Men dreaming valkaries as they leap from windows to their translucent arms.
Suicide, leftovers, city halls, dice on the pavement, pathological seraphim’s, saints, Zarathustra, endless hope and the heavy troops of rain from the mankins brow twisting the rope tighter, closer to him.
What will you do when the beast sags and is dragged, taught, limp, to the Mankin.
When the ballerina slips and the cradle falls.
Is it more courageous and lying to cup the heart of darkness, or suppress it
Have you left your heart in darkness.
