HELLO, MONKEY...
In these hardening times of poverty and isolation, in this vast gaping space between the having and have nothing, between the you and me--there in the bed of lies--I often use Law and Order Marathons as others use Tibetan Lama chants or Sand Mandala naps, throat-singing Tantric, with remote in hand, through this epic, as well as any Rinpoche in Tahachapi or Tiflis...
I contemplate plates of non-existence in LA, with tasty morsels of ineffectual omniscience, still cleaning ancient metals with solvent and an old toothbrush--a slick side show trick, eyes closed...
I ponder epigenetic values while eating sugar fluctuants and sweet potato pie, as long days of preventing violence pass through an overwhelming pastiche of love and terror--a tawdry lackadaisia supreme...
Now, physical pain is my daily barometer and downfall, making me slow down like Greenaway snails on a Yerevan finger... Snide eruditions become bitter tears and venom, shooting into and from me, alone or in thighs, ashamed again to be proud among the living...
Tragic tales of woe, both real and imagined, amidst intel and confessions, from children and their parents...
Everyone's a criminal begging to get caught, to be punished and forgiven...
TV training making people do the most dreadful things...
My sentience and intelligence only hinder daily life, but in the field--operationally, as it were--they have been and are nonpareil...
Those times seem to be fewer and farther between, but in fact they are not...
They have increased, but are disguised as mundane happenstance--a banal peace that is not so peaceful...
The illusion of freedom is always harder to survive than its reality, especially for some of us--hyperconscious, hypersaturated, hyperbolic...
Now wounded, the great warrior limps, dragging his sagging belly and intellect, lumpen, along streets--an errant knee and lobes, a rogue medulla...
He wipes himself with sheets of theory and shards of glass, remembering again what it was to be...
One day we, too, shall take strolls and deep fuck along the great Pacific like some elusive dream of the indigenous, having glimpsed the great beyond in a haunting sweat lodge vision...
Fishing from the shore, casting long into the churning waves, with children as quiet and roiling as the pounding surf, we too shall know love and joy in the overwhelming fullness of that brimming quietude, in that shared solitude...
Fear and pettiness can only stop us from peace and greatness... but will make us grand consumers and will guarantee the physical destruction of the eternal within us, all for someone else's deadly greed...
Let us not be afraid of the great silence and calm--it is the humbling source of all beauty and true strength, of every kiss and caress, the libidinal shibboleth of creation, ensconced in a skeletalia so dreadfully feared...
Let us concede, that no one thing is true--let us instead surrender to the fact that everything is true... but only some things have any real meaning...
--akm
© Ara Mgrdichian
I contemplate plates of non-existence in LA, with tasty morsels of ineffectual omniscience, still cleaning ancient metals with solvent and an old toothbrush--a slick side show trick, eyes closed...
I ponder epigenetic values while eating sugar fluctuants and sweet potato pie, as long days of preventing violence pass through an overwhelming pastiche of love and terror--a tawdry lackadaisia supreme...
Now, physical pain is my daily barometer and downfall, making me slow down like Greenaway snails on a Yerevan finger... Snide eruditions become bitter tears and venom, shooting into and from me, alone or in thighs, ashamed again to be proud among the living...
Tragic tales of woe, both real and imagined, amidst intel and confessions, from children and their parents...
Everyone's a criminal begging to get caught, to be punished and forgiven...
TV training making people do the most dreadful things...
My sentience and intelligence only hinder daily life, but in the field--operationally, as it were--they have been and are nonpareil...
Those times seem to be fewer and farther between, but in fact they are not...
They have increased, but are disguised as mundane happenstance--a banal peace that is not so peaceful...
The illusion of freedom is always harder to survive than its reality, especially for some of us--hyperconscious, hypersaturated, hyperbolic...
Now wounded, the great warrior limps, dragging his sagging belly and intellect, lumpen, along streets--an errant knee and lobes, a rogue medulla...
He wipes himself with sheets of theory and shards of glass, remembering again what it was to be...
One day we, too, shall take strolls and deep fuck along the great Pacific like some elusive dream of the indigenous, having glimpsed the great beyond in a haunting sweat lodge vision...
Fishing from the shore, casting long into the churning waves, with children as quiet and roiling as the pounding surf, we too shall know love and joy in the overwhelming fullness of that brimming quietude, in that shared solitude...
Fear and pettiness can only stop us from peace and greatness... but will make us grand consumers and will guarantee the physical destruction of the eternal within us, all for someone else's deadly greed...
Let us not be afraid of the great silence and calm--it is the humbling source of all beauty and true strength, of every kiss and caress, the libidinal shibboleth of creation, ensconced in a skeletalia so dreadfully feared...
Let us concede, that no one thing is true--let us instead surrender to the fact that everything is true... but only some things have any real meaning...
--akm
© Ara Mgrdichian
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