“Wisdom comes through suffering.\ Trouble, with its memories of pain,\ Drips in our hearts as we try to sleep,\ So men against their will\ Learn to practice moderation” (Aeschylus, Agamemnon, l. 179).

Advertisements

“The images of madness are only dream and error, and if the sufferer who is blinded by them appeals to them, it is only to disappear with them in the annihilation to which they are fated” (Foucault, Madness and Civilization).

fantasies allied with moments

brown spotted
endless ripples
green pillar
beneath the sun
on a plate
on my fork
the caring
for someone else
or perhaps the suffering
the caring
for something
nothing absolute
but from my perspective
it’s their perspective
some thoughts
feelings
patterns
waves of interference
with each other
and everything else
different fantasies
allied with
different moments
the current one
an infinite desert red
eternity of sand
and a single pueblo house
overarched
by midnight sky
a single wife
of the earth
hair darker
than the earth
the current flicker
of monistic eternity.

post-9/11

it’s hard enough
to live
mindful
of personal decay
and eventual death
in this academic
stress culture
bubble
without
having
to worry about
awakening
to the agony
of sarin
smallpox
cyanide
or anthrax
in the air
or water,
walking down the street
waking up
is horrifyingly
unknowable
and uncontrollable
enough,
i fear that
i have not
the wherewithal
to do
mentally straining
school work
and still
keep the
mental knots
of self
untied enough
to handle
sudden death.

you have to be old…

you have to be old
to understand
the growing pains
of all all the time,
you have to decay
to understand
arising and abiding,
still all nothing
matters to only me
the thoughts
coming naturally brighter
than the sun
or more narcotic
softer violence
obsession with
mental layers
wandering
through mental worlds
to soften
the sudden violence
of the momentary
meaninglessness.