Wednesday, January 30, 2008

canine querl - 2nd dream

my legs are nimble and bursting sweat
the moon illuminates this dirt road well
and for the present, I am triumphant, electric
but I can sense that you are near
and all becomes clear, a re-occurrence
you are trotting at full speed
a merging form from darkness
chase my will down, do what you must
amiss to see otherwise
soon fear will wash over me
soon will it end in sudden vigour
and all transposable becomes silent
your assault came so sudden
a climatic symphonic reel
through your anger, I sensed no sensibility
the onslaught a shattered plunder
must I fall to my knees and burn?
this ideal chronicle epitome?
surrender not willingly
i feel the warmth of your chin
as cogent anger turns a mere grin
docile have you become
gripping your coarse fur-lining
releasing all callous animosity, a formidable judge
earning this bleak sense of trust
between enemies of a parallel rival, say you
how this parabol has changed
for better or for worse
in this Whole or the next
As we stare, contempt in a seamless gaze
in hopes of shinning honourably
at the rates of knots

mirror doll/mirror android

Why dolls? Why are humans so fascinated with dolls? What is a doll? Well quite simply, it’s the art of replicating humans. And perhaps the greatest fundamental flaw is accompanied by breathing souls into dolls. Who'd want to do that? The definition of a truly beautiful doll is a living, breathing body devoid of a soul. An unyielding corpse, tiptoeing on the brink of collapse. The human is no match for a doll, in its form, its elegance in motion, its very being. The inadequacies of human awareness become the inadequacies of life's reality. Perfection is possible only for those without consciousness, or perhaps endowed with infinite consciousness. In other words, for dolls and for gods. Actually, there’s one mode of existence commensurate with dolls and deities. Animals. For example, skylarks are suffused with a profound, instinctive joy. A joy we humans driven by self-consciousness, can never know. For those of us who lust after knowledge, it is a condition more elusive than godhood. And this conundrum compelled humans to fabricate dolls that are inanimately dead. And what of this idea of death? Without knowing life, how can we know death? That is what Confucius says. It is a rare human who knows death. Most meet death unprepared, armed only with ignorant familiarity. In other words, people die simply because it is inevitable. But is death not a precondition of life for a doll? If so, would it’s inception address the following:

“The deceased hereby proclaims that on this day of this month, I have attained my own celebrated death.”

Truly disturbing, isn't it? I really understand. The doubt is whether a creature that certainly appears to be alive, really is. Alternatively, the doubt that a lifeless object might actually live. That's why dolls haunt us. They are modeled on humans. They are, in fact, nothing but human. They make us face the terror of being reduced to simple mechanisms and matter. In other words, the fear that, fundamentally, all humans belong to the void.

Further, science, seeking to unlock the secret of life, brought about this terror. The notion that nature is calculable inevitably leads to the conclusion that humans too, are reducible to basic, mechanical parts. The human body is a machine which winds its own springs. It is the living image of perpetual motion. In this age, the twin technologies of robotics and electronic neurology resurrected the 18th century theory of man as machine. And now that computers have enabled externalized memory, humans have pursued self-mechanization aggressively, to expand the limits of their own functions. Determined to leave behind Darwinian natural selection, this human determination to beat evolutionary odds also reveals the desire to transcend the very quest for perfection that gave it birth. The mirage of life equipped with perfect hardware engendered this nightmare. God's everlasting geometry if you will.

"Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it. I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Monday, January 21, 2008

the silent Mary

Whisper silent pleas to your mother Mary’s
My breath is vague, your fragrance artificial
Heads twist while the moon tells us otherwise
Drawing closer for me to drown you.

Bound your hands, pay the penalty of curiosity
Open-minded in this temporary reason
It spreads you wide open and lets the insects in
Like a thousand say, an intergrading spiral
Viral, clear of all independence

Engage in this syphilis
And sigh to these whining cries of discomfort, but
You’ve seen so many places; you’ve had so many faces
Lower your guard and let this grudge shine through
I have been inside you; I know what it feels like

My pleasure is your disease
An Aretino lust sonnet
Down inside, my fear is shameless, naked
Your back is turning and if you were nimble

The warning would have abetted
Sinking deeper into a dream
Of inconsequence and nuisance
We are a function of an illicit exploit
Tied together by curiosity

And this notion of harmony is your emotion, and content
Don’t be so vain...