4976. FOR GOD'S SAKE LET THE LEMMINGS GO

FOR GOD'S SAKE LET

THE LEMMINGS GO

My computerized fake list of idiots grows  -  they have names

like Eldridge Montrose. The misanthrope who stands at the

mirror is not me. I enter where no others go, and that black

mirror takes me in. Should I ever return, I do not know.

-

Now, in icicle raiment and bright with desire, there is no one

around  me. No longer a demeaning quality to my face or 

mind. I want to coat this big-room floor with a wax and a 

dynamite clear. Children are eating cookies, leaving crumbs

at the window's sill. A woman has lit a candle, beseeching 

something for a something else. I did a leap over the pantry

just to get to the door. 

-

If I were a scribe in a tenth century cell, I'd be looking

down at something seen below. Not through glass,

exactly  -  more like something opaque, a density of

 mind, another reality entire. Since I am inclined to

accept chance when it comes my way, I think of

nothing as being awry. I accept my own 'All' of

this life  -  the swings, the arrows, the slings. All

defiant in defeat, I still in place remain. I

love the double entendre.

-

An individual with a compelling task finds himself 

often involved in ideas and actions for which he is

no longer responsible. Being motivated no longer by

caprice or arrogance, he finds himself driven instead

by a dire necessity, one which he himself cannot

comprehend. It comes down upon him with a

savage fatefulness. This man (a sometimes me)

driven by a daimon, steps beyond the limits and

enters, for himself, the untrodden, untreadable

regions  -  air there is thin. Light there is thinner.

-

It's not like heads-up in the land of the living, but

more like a heads-down in the land of the dead;

and let us all mourn together.