What a way to live one's life, in a cabin made of wood; never to be governed by: "I have to! I must! I should!" To set one's sights on the day's needs as one's only master, and not be told, "you move too slow, you must live life faster." To start the day by a cue from rays of the rising sun. To end the day when the day ends, not only just've begun.
I sit on a green grass riverside, watching brown waters flow. Some karst monoliths stand behind in which scrubby shrubs grow. I feel my mind could be swept on down to the sprawling sea, while my body would stay behind asleep with back to tree. And panic and freedom both rise - untethered from earth's hold. As I see the future and the past blended at the threshold. And space, like time, has no meaning -- just an amorphous blob. I awaken gasping spastically, my pulse in a wild throb.
The scholar sits, contemplating the world's perfect order, but finds that "perfect" is a stretch. "It's close to the border between Disorder and Chaos. mere miles from the junction of Great Malady and Mayhem deep within Dysfunction."
The timeline 's tilted; time runs away, speeding ever faster. As March charges headlong to May, time has lost its master. All that I can say, for today is there's still an arrow. It doesn't jump from future to past, but flies like a sparrow. But don't blame me if tomorrow you wake up yesterday, and the cars on the interstate are rolling the wrong way.
I met a ram in Madurai, 'twas tethered to a pole. Though really it almost met me, taking its cyclic stroll. The ram's target was my keister, but its rope was too short. Saved by the narrowest margin; my path I did abort. The moral of this tale is clear. If you're in Madurai, give tethered rams the widest berth, or kiss your ass goodbye.
A caterpillar scurried on at such a rapid pace, but I forget which way it went because it lacked a face. It looked the same this way as that - bereft of front and back. And how'd it know which way to go? It must have had a knack.
I'm banished from the world I know, and cast into darkness. And I sit within a lonely room, accepting starkness. The plain and empty walls and floors have nothing left to say. I'll venture any way I want, but must remain a stray. I'm not expecting sympathy. I know that hour is gone. I only want it to be known I've wandered all along.
A prayer was made at the altar -- a prayer no one could hear. A sacrifice had been promised of someone all held dear. But not one soul would take the knife, and do the wicked deed: to take that life, an unearned life and speak the evil creed. They dragged the victim to the rim of an old volcano. Just one kick would be all it took; still, they all said, "Hell no!" What kind of beastly deity could fault them for failing? The kind whose sense of right and wrong is fucked beyond ailing.
Sitting on cold, volcanic rock upon a stormy shore, Watching waves crash, hearing naught but wind, and crying for more in a scream that cannot be heard over nature's harsh din as I feel the snap of gusty wind, through cloth so thin that it can't hold back nature's force to draw the heat from bone, and, feeling under this black sky, I am now all alone.
I fell into a deep dreamhole amid the broad daylight, and tumbled and tumbled, stumbling out in the dark of night. I lost so many hours of life where reflections shimmer. I could not breathe, nor could I float - I, the swimless swimmer. I dropped, lost in those reflections. They were my mind's great curse, luring me to a shimmer space that I could not traverse.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 