The Pretext of Tolerance
March 23, 2016 § Leave a comment
Pure in their chains of disdain,
Judgement’s Whores sit above discriminating
and decree warped ideas
of justice,
of fair,
of honor,
of righteousness,
that are proceeded by the
prefix “self” and include some sort of
disillusionment.
The faux sincerity they
walk around with, on their
sleeves of course, is justified
by misquote here and a
raunchy translation there.
Never once considering the
slightest possibility that their
actions are humanly unjust.
Sanctimonious in ritual,
hypocritical in breath,
they maintain a semblance of honor
and morality, if only in their
anesthetized hearts.
(unscrupulous)
it isn’t that they all
are corrupt or dishonest.
they are weak, have
no voice of their own
to listen to, let alone
use in a constructive
fashion. It is not that
once they had scruples
and lost them in a
bad game of poker. They
never possessed them
in the first place.
They have always been
an “un”, a “non”.
The acme they seek and
work so hard for is
only pointed down,
deeper and deeper into
a darkness where
humanity is unrecognizable
and the beasts that
are about, are as familiar
as the family dog.
Relentless in their exclusion,
they are reduction in life.
Branding first impressions
and impossible stereotypes
with the giant and capital
letters of the sins they deem monsters.
Less becomes intolerable,
a standard that only
applies to others.
(monomania)
a compulsion, bordering on
a fetish for the pure;
malice for anyone or
anything tossed into
the coffer labeled
“other”. The Violence of their
abhorrence makes braggarts
out of them all, creating a
blur of separation in
human morality :: all of which
violates the very code they
profess to live by.
(what will we find in the texts on Tolerance?)
certainly no version of acceptance. Those two,
tolerance and acceptance, they don’t
live well together. There’s no heartfelt
anything. It’s just more cool,
cold as ice because no effort needs
to be made where “tolerance” is the goal
we aim for.
The Spectrum of Red
March 22, 2016 § Leave a comment
Where I have lived,
the open space of desire is Red.
The desert laid out before me,
a human figure, in suggestions
of Red,
of rose,
of pink,
of scarlet,
of magenta,
of salmon,
of flesh.
The pigments are bathing in light,
delicious light,
delectable light.
The pallete of erosion is hues of Red,
is running Red water, Red river,
my own blood flowing with the current;
my devotion cascades Red.
This landscape can be Read,
flight of words,
flight of feathers,
Red-winged Blackbirds are flocking
to the river in Spring. Perched on
cattails, they squawk and squawk;
in the sun’s light, they glisten.
Native tongues.
Adopted tongues.
I want to converse in the language of the
desert, to translate this landscape
of Red into an expression of heat that
quickens the heart and gives courage
to silence, the silence that screams.
I yearn to master the language of Red,
its dialect of obsession.
Red cries out for the body.
Open the veins and they bleed Red.
Red is hot with rage,
too hot to touch,
a burn of the hand, quick to destroy.
I know my anger as lightning,
its searing power capable
of blistering skin. The reactionary
stance of Red lacks wisdom.
It hurts more than heals.
To fathom Red is to witness devastation.
She’s back………Spectacular!
March 22, 2016 § 2 Comments
It has been years, I am embarrassed to say. It is all okay. I shall continue again!
Enjoy.
The Reflection Pool 