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Like most of what I write, I have absolutely no clue as to what the hell this is. It was writen on paper (unusual) under the influence if listening to to much Bauhaus and Peter Murphy. If those names confuse you, Bauahaus was/if the first indie-goth band. peter Murphy is/was the lead singer. he went solo for a while, and if now back with the band and on tour. And coming to Montreal! Woot!
-----Ducking in, dancing through, touching the silence that reaches through the minds of the mad. Has death itself become one of the toys of creation? A bone puppet grinning at skeletal joke through the cold night which spawn the hot noon. Hot noon, a roasting of mind and flesh under the relentless sun. Find the shelter, find the shade until the skeleton grins again and you dance in circles; ever for a meaning, for a circle is life itself, and to dance the circle is to dance knowledge is it not? But once you have gone once nothing reveals itself. Twice around and only the mad rhythm of your heart speaks to you. Of course you may learn nothing from the circle. You started once, that is the problem. A circle never starts and you remember the time you first set your feet upon the path. Still you dance, and dance, and dance, hoping to forget the beginning, hoping to forget that you were ever once not of the circle (and still aren't and never will be as one cannot become of the circle, only be of the circle), hoping to learn the secret then forget the learning (the secret defies learning. You can't learn it, you can only know it).
Then, the skeleton weeps again and you despair and break the circle (how can you break the circle? A betrayal of all you yearn for) seeking shelter once more among the rocks and gravel.
I expect more comments than last entry scream <cracks whip>
 Nihilistic Seraph · Fri Aug 19, 2005 @ 07:11pm · 6 Comments |
