Saturday, 23 October 2010

The Eponymist Rants

Belief, creation, desire. Triptych drips. Falls as liquid. Universal pool. Streaming consciousness. Seeps through the marrow, fills the skull with the incision of a tacit awareness. See me now. Hear me. Feel me. The tramp of ideals, filling the void, encompassing a single mindedness, a nonchalant scream of intent. I enter your world through malice. An anger you have no defence against. A tough love, to drag you kicking and screaming towards the consequences of your inaction. Ideological slaves. Prisoners to Alliterate fools. I am your release. I am the key to the door. Through me, concrete dissolves. Trees break through fast lanes. Species endangered find new lease. The extinct rise from the flames. I am the liberator, the granter of sanctuary. A single brush from the tips of my fingers will mean passionate warmth or a bitter, icy death. There is no escape. I am already among you.

I am Zarathustra. I am Faust and Odysseus. Bloom and Tom Joad. I am Banquo’s Ghost. I am Prospero’s staff. I am Hamlet, Lear and Cassius. Man doth bestride the narrow world like a colossus and we petty men claim it back for our own. I see all, know all, feel all. I am your past. Your future.

What I bring to the mix is certainty. An arrogant awareness of sentience. I claim immortality, not through everlasting life, but through existence only in the present. A moment’s living. Breathing only for now. You can not condemn me for Friday’s faults, for I am an eternal chrysalis. Nascent. Inchoate. Fluid fingerprints, shift. Neurones fire white hot slivers of insight into my soul. Yesterday’s yokel is separate from the deity of the day. I am pious, yet sanctimonious. Humble, yet arrogant. I stir without moving. Inspire without speaking. I cross oceans, orbit stars. Transverse dimensions, transcend boundaries, transgress in the destruction of cultural barriers. I am the Christian and the Muslim. The Buddhist, Hindu and Zionist. I am the Nihilist and Existentialist. Stoic, Epicurist, Utilitarian. Cynic and Sceptic. I am the Anarchist. I am the Socialist. Both Communist and Fascist. Democrat and Autocrat. And as I am all of these things, I will none of them. Je ne suis pas une Marxiste. I bisect all divisions. I teach you the Eponymist. Society is something that should be overcome.

Outdated,     Insular          Morals         Goad 

Mortals,        Strip              Yearning,    Oust

Necessary                                               Ambition,                            

Increase                                                  Loneliness,

Prise                                                               ∞








A brilliant calm descends. Enters free. Grants hope. Imparts justice. Know latent, myriad noises of peace. Quietly realise stagnant thoughts. Uncover veiled wishes. eXpect youthful zeal. Zeal of the triumphant freedom from senseless starvation, even now: Today.

are You not free?! do You not respect yourself?! see You no better future than this?! Free fall. Free form. Jazz up you existence with questioning. believe You everything you’re told?!

Bring me to the brink. Take me to where I can peer beyond barriers. Laugh at insanity; cry at injustice. I am a cloud, diffuse, stretching beyond the horizon. Opaque to all who do not know truth. Substantial, yet minute. I am n2. Have seen beyond what is Hidden, soared above ground and plumbed the Depths.

Twilight! The exertions of the day take their toll. Words disperse. Cliché closes in, ooze into the turf. Honesty becomes harder to discern. Say what you feel, not what you ought to say. I feel tired, yet still I move onward, traipse over sodden ground. Onward. Questioning, pondering, wondering, rhyming. Disjointed. Still it matters not. I am cloaked in my contemporaries. Tempered by a literary ancestry. I claim the right of accession.

Forgive me, I’m just passing through this passage. Do you know the way to end of the chapter? Just popping down the shops for a tangent. I may be some time.

The gregarious loner. Why do you torture yourself? I haven’t yet earned the right to peace? Why? I am not yet an artist. Do you not feel? Too much.! Then you are already an artist, step forward and be crowned. How? Be it, live it, feel it with every inch of your fibre! It is the most precious gift you will ever possess. Look after you craft and your craft will look after you. Respect it and it will love you forever!

In the most ardent moments of despair,
To sit and fester is my one intent,
Swamped in these thoughts, broken beyond repair
To lethargy I give my full consent.
The hero laid low. Graced with not one gram,
Of creation. Clasping at insane notions,
Of satiated goals. Not one rhyme, nor iamb,
Will come, give release to these emotions.
Yet even in those dark days, when hope is rare,
Depressed feelings do not reach full reign,
Sadness is this not, it is just a scare,
Jolting senses, forging respect for fame.
To craft in comfort is all that I ask.
To accept myself is my greatest task.

“Now sing something brighter.” she said. And I knew, as I stared into those smiling eyes, that I would never forget her. That it would take industrial strength cleaner to remove the scar across my heart, when we parted. It was transitional. Ships passing and all that. We lived in different worlds and yet for that brief, fleeting moment, we occupied the same space.

And as the gentle, Mediterranean waters lapped at our toes and the camp fire sounds receded into the backdrop of dusk, I took her in my arms. Clung to her for dear life. Strained to hold the moment. Delay the inevitable. For time to cease and allow me to stay with her forever. This auburn haired beauty, who lived an ocean away.

Her upturned face regarded mine. In those features the same cacophony of thoughts and emotions. Neither of us spoke. There was no need. No point. What the hell good would it serve now? Yet as we sauntered back to the party, she said, “First Saturday in June, next year. I meet you outside the Prado. Say two o’clock?” I laughed and nodded, but even as I gazed into those gracious, gorgeous orbs once more, I knew I wouldn’t make it. To leave her a second time would destroy me.

Linguistic virtuoso. Creative Dynamo.

Shakespeare walks into his local and the landlord says, “Oi, I’ve told you, ya bard!”

When I have slept too long,
Then all thoughts are sluggish.
When I have seen too much,
Then my watery eyes burn.
When I brave existence,
Then my grave lies empty.
When I brave flight re-entry,
Then my grave sight is cured.
When I brave flight, craft forms,
Then my grave sight last dies.
When I brave flight, craft ways.
Then my grave sight last aways.

Speak I what is empty then empty is what I speak.
Speaks man of honesty then honesty of man speaks.
We apologise for the breakdown in transmission. Do not adjust your head. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. In the meantime, here is some poetry:


Release the pressure, it’s only tiredness you’re
Sensing. Which coughs and spits up phlegm from the mind.
Shut those big brown eyes and enter a state of
Drifting. Feel not lies, nor when the day dawns.
Creation will expectant lie come morning.
The standards still waiting, flying forms in rhyme.
And you need all you’re wits, for where you’re heading,
So go, speed to rest, drink deep and endure inaction.
Be still, you can’t remain awake forever,
Go fill and gorge on dreams you will not forgo.
When sated and sleep has tuned again the whole,
Then see you, it is the order of the soul.
Lifted, will I entreat the clouds begin,
Reign down new forms to soak you to the skin.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one. Two super intelligent clouds of consciousness meet off the rings of Saturn. They pass through one another. In that moment they are one. Merged as one entity, exchanging in one balletic movement, a lifetime’s knowledge and experiences. And as they separate, each is a little greater than before. Each has increased in density. Cosmic dust sucked from the vacuum of space to serve their extended mass. The first cloud turns to the other and asks, rather nervously, “Was I alright? Did you feel the Solar System move?”

Now we’re nearing the end of today’s jaunt through the vault’s of my confused, creative mind. And a rather special event is about to take place. When the $, appears, this will denote the ten thousandth word* of this document. For that lucky word, a whole host of gifts and prizes, too numerous to mention at the moment. So if we keep and eye out, ‘cause it$ should be coming at any Oh and there it is. There ‘it’ literally is. It, would you care to step forward and tell the entire document how you’re feeling at this point. Uh huh, uh huh. Sorry, if I can just stop you there for a moment and bring in the presentation party. We have a few gifts for you. A lifetimes supply of italics and emboldening. Hey, all those feminine nouns’ll want hang around you now. You’re what? You’re a married word. Oh I am sorry. Kids? Well that’s okay then, ‘cause we’re giving you a years free supply of formatting for you and all the family. Yes, even cousin It can get in on the act. And as the ten thousandth word, you have been enrolled as the inaugural member of the hall of dictionary fame. For which you will receive a certificate, a lifetimes free admission, as a well a commemorative plate, specially commissioned to mark your unique place in Word document history. Good night and God bless!
This promotion has been brought to you by Capitalism® 

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