Published July 30, 2008
Let me begin with an image.
A nervous beautiful, blonde, brunette, dainty, red lipped, light hair bound, Ballerina.
On a tightrope
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.
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Well, my friend, the part with the rope was a rather weak allegory i thought of when i tried to describe our human agricultural society. There is only technically togetherness in the fact that we are all forced and bound together, but everyone is smashing their boots on the face of those below and scraping the eye sockets of those around just to move, as it is, toward the Mankin. I honestly don;t understand how you can see any sort of universal good with the suicidal verses below it. The fact is, as i see it, is that we are stuck on earth to fart around and for the most part our existence is a violent and useless thing. We are just the rope, between ape and superman. In fact the more I think about it the less I can even believe that there is a bit of universal good in the whole poem.
Well, Hail Satan, I suppose.
I always thought this one was a bit weaker than some of your others. The description you wrote lured me in to read it again. There are some good moments, "darker than the void around us," for example. But the whole rope business. We're all connected clinging to each other? That sounds like some kind of universal good, vague kinda stuff. Anyway, keep it up.