anti_

I keep attempting to fly into the future & end up rushing headlong into a horror that seizes me it it's jaws. And then when I look around after I recognize the folly of my desires, I find that I have isolated myself again. So I fly backwards, homewards into my base instinct, and even there I come back to you.

The first time I turned my eye to see you, to try to see into you, with desire & longing in my heart, how did it turn out for me? Why were you so alarmed? I had to laugh at myself! Never have I seen such a complex, fascinating and frightening sight. My heart swelled, my body trembled and I laughed & laughed. This is what the future is made of thought I.

So here I sit furious at my astonishment. Is this the present-day me? I shine my light in my deepest corners says I. Ha! As if I were surrounded by fifty mirrors, which flatter color and distort light as I repeat the same follies! Amazed that I can wear no better mask than present-day me. Is this my own face? Who could recognize that? Etched all over with the injuries of my past, and these scars also wrought over with new damages. Thus have I concealed myself from myself. Even having thought I'd stripped myself of veils and wrappers, and paints and gestures, I find this scar tissue. I am a scarred mask that once saw you naked, and without paint; and I flew away. Live in love says I, rebuke fear says I... ha!

The bitterness of my bowels this day is that I can neither endure you bare or hidden. All that is imaginable in the future, and whatever makes the soul shiver, is more desirable and familiar than this "reality." I cry to myself, "I am whole, real, without fear or superstition!", and I puff myself up with there fantasies. How was I able to believe, these pictures that could never been believed?

So now I chastise myself for belief itself, and this disillusionment of all thought. Untrustworthy do I call these eyes. All time and experience against my spirit and dreams. What can be more real than this lack of awareness? Fruitless is my belief.

However he who has to create, has always had his presaging dreams and astral premonitions, and believed in believing! Half-open doors are my doom, at which I salivate and burst in to. I must remember this reality: "Everything deserveth to perish." Alas, I stand before me, failed & hungry. I wonder how many of you have shared this feeling? Yet I am still laughable, in my present-day me, especially when I marvel at myself, and woe unto me if I could not laugh at that marveling too, and had instead to swallow all that repugnant lamenting whole. As I laugh I make myself lighter. Having to carry what is heavy AND what matters, is too much of a load for this day.

I shall not on your account become heavier to myself. Also not from you, shall my great weariness arise. I have ascended with my longing, but nowhere have I found a home: unsettled am I in all cities, and at all gates. Alien to me, this mockery, in my present-day me.

So to whom of late my heart impelled me, I strive to love your undiscovered & most remote, that is what I quest for.