As soon as you locate truth it moves
and categories are the biggest of all veils.
Choosing a precise point comes down to
a value judgment. In life and in science.
There are two real precise points
and both are nihilistic –
death and everything that’s not.
Even in the totality of everything we know
is everything that is not.
Two precise points: only one can be chosen
which leads to the other.
Life is tragedy, even your happiness is founded upon it.
The life drive is the strongest drive, a will to power that consumes everything in it’s path.
The life drive and the sex drive run parallel to each other, sometimes converging, other times fighting each other for supremacy. The result, so far, is unbeknownst to us, we can only act in it’s guise.
The sex drive can give you happiness, and sometimes that happiness requires a victim for it to flower. One man’s happiness is another man’s sadness.
It has happened to me, the sad part and the end of a friendship over a girl.
Decades ago and I still feel it.
I cry everyday when I encounter greatness,
the ever so deep emotions of loss,
of people old and new and still gone,
and of time spent then and now. But
really I cry over the artistry of this meaningless life,
it’s beauty of formless smells, sounds and memory
and how it gives an indescribable
feeling of a place and time of younger days.
No more.
I cry everyday because now I’m sober, I
can’t block out realness any more of
the exquisite, pitched feelings of pity,
misanthropically expressed this tsunami of nervous
energy within me. This, I wouldn’t have any other way,
being close to me, being something other than me,
knowing there is value but not in what. Not
in life, I say, not in the other, but
in me….perchance.
I cry everyday because I am life, my tears
are real just like my body is real, it’s me.
The primacy of inner thinking is each of
ours, legitimate only if you can act it
out. Character is great, full of tragic possibilities,
the chance to be history maybe, yet the chance to
be you is even greater. Something worth
crying for, something worth fighting
for…something at least.
I cry everyday because of the impossibility
of wholeness, the impossible straight path is not
before us. No Faustian pact for me, I haven’t the
honesty for the devil, you see.
No prescription for the line of beauty, no scythe-like
eye watching from the control room,
no bony hand poking our pity. Nothing
is finished and never can be, it is ecstatic
transcendence, our fate for all thee.
It is a fact that
In fact I believe
That is factually correct
That is factually incorrect
In fact it’s this
In actual fact
Factually this is the situation
That is factually wrong
The facts are
The fact of the matter is
In fact
The fact is I
The facts are as follows
FACT
The fact is I said
In fact I said
These are the facts
This is a fact
I am in a position to provide facts
I am in no position to provide facts
What fact
Am I in fact
I missed that fact
Is it a fact
And that’s a fact
This is not a fact
The original post of this prose poem formatted the paragraphs wrong messing up the flow of the prose. I’ve made a PDF version which presents the poem as intended enabling the correct cadence of reading, and, hopefully increases your enjoyment!
It takes time to distance
far and low never in a
recordable instance
vast vast depths and
unknown faces laughing at all
the deaths
like balloons full of air
bang bang bang blows
over there
space is deeper than we know
it may be our instruments
that only grow
spinning wildly after incoming
each one warps and shadows
always becoming
frozen in a jewel
cannot move in time with the
dancing duel
the horizon has breadth
that we see as being
between birth and death
a hope for posterity
tangible and fattened
full of rotting verity
being honest is unbecoming
of a idea that doesn’t exist
no matter all our fucking running
The mountains, the seas
the sun and the moon,
nothing changes so it seems,
except everything changes
now and forever, even
the air that I breathe.
From this vantage many view points,
I can live this day, day by day
until my mountains are struck,
torn down and ravaged my emotions run
out and out further until
I am new again.
The Lion has done his work, destruction
and endings and entrails lie everywhere,
all roots trace back into nothingness
of meaning and source, of endless life’s
lived in disinterest and dead senses,
doomed to repeat.
Still emergence and appearance even
silence is all, the widest and broadest
view no contrast is too thick or too thin,
and then out of the silence comes a song,
a playful melody from long before
sung by a dancing child, unencumbered and free.
The child plays and creates,
building castles made of sand,
dancing and falling the child builds anew
until memory comes full circle and I
know I’ve been here before,
dancing in the eternal return of the same.
Opening the door they let me
in
my room I walk
Bed table TV locked in a
cabinet
mesh on the window.
Bathroom padded door there’s
no
seat on the toilet
Everything is welded
to
floor and wall.
No room for maniac to
wield
a table or throw a chair
The door closes behind me and I
see
peeping hole partially closed.
Bag drops to floor it’s the
only
thing that’s mobile and me
I fall on the bed.
–
Later I stand outside my
room
only in boxers I’m ushered back in
It’s well into the night
when
I get my first dose then sleep.
The morning comes round another
pill
still dreaming still sweating
My mind is calm I know that
all
this is what I have now.
A tour of the facilities
leads
to a functional kitchen
A spacious living room TV
between
programs showing adverts for alcohol.
Walk past table chairs and
settee
I see outside
But first the heavy door to
open
I do with a strain all over my face.
In the fresh air mind starts to
breathe
mesh like table and chairs
No smoking signs people sat
smoking
you can’t tame the beast.
Large sloping grass
leads
down to a fence
A tree centered surrounded by a
hole
my anxiety grows.
I’m inside/outside together at
once
people are looking
I fall down the hill and hit my bonce.
The positive the negative
each mistaking the other each
misused for a fraudulent benefit.
Something that’s all too literal something
that’s only actually a myth made up
something that is tailor-made for you by them.
It’s a trigger it sets you off it’s a trigger
for no god damned reason
trigger trigger trigger trigger trigger
rinse and repeat.
Don’t wear that you’ll trigger ‘em don’t
do that you’ll trigger ‘em
don’t trigger the herd you’ll frighten ‘em
Don’t say that to me I’ll be triggered
I’m trigger happy
trigger trigger trigger trigger trigger
rinse and repeat.
Trauma big or small no trauma at all
it’s the elemental trigger for them
used against you.
Don’t have one make it up as you go along
look at the news watch your peers
steal a trauma feel their trauma
Try not to laugh give good feedback look
at the the-rapist there’s your trauma
right there.
trigger trigger trigger trigger trigger
rinse and repeat.
So I lie here wide eyes
racing mind,
Another night insomnia.
The darkness of bedroom
oppressive,
Just like restlessness can’t stop thinking.
A million subjects
objects too racing,
Know it’s the AM hours have to be up early again.
My fucking head used to
sleep so well now it just prickles,
Like fusion.
No use just can’t sleep
turn the light on,
Tired eyes used to it living off memory alone.
Jesus Christ in hell why don’t I have any temazepam?
Go to toilet snoring next door
take a leak come back,
Think about masturbating it used to let me dream.
Put some music on maybe drop off
before the music ends,
It ends lie helpless staring at darkness.
It’s just so fucking ridiculous and I cry
how did this happen to me,
Another night insomnia.
Kevin Nebula 