chasing soap bubbles in a fool's paradise

chasing soap bubbles in a fool’s paradise

 

 

we--who have descended from loins

of hunters, gatherers, fishermen, tillers of earth--

have been corralled like domesticated cattle

in this brutal farm of blood-letting not of our design nor desire;

here we trade hours of earthly experience, our sacred wealth,

in return for notes of indebtedness, tokens

to exchange for crumbs and transient trinkets.

 

 

a priestly class guards knowledge from the unwashed profane and know

 

stone by brick their cultivated land of milk and honey . . .

we beasts of burden are their bees of industry,

we buzz inanely in the grand beekeeper’s hive

cut off from the source we have lost ability to survive

outside hardened arteries of control and have grown

so dependent upon this matrix for sustenance that we ken no other mode.

 

 

educare:  to lead out as from ignorance becomes
aducare:  to lead into a leveling of purpose and darkness of the cave

 

where we remain chained down apart from each other,

only to fixate on flat shadows dancing cold stone;

we learn what the illumined ones programmed before us,

we the pavlovian operators of insect mounds maintain the sticky web.

scientists became priests and science religion

as we were bound once again under a new game

bestowed upon us by grand architects of the pyramid.

 

 

what meets the eye is but a thin veil, a veneer,

 

a hieroglyphic language of symbology and synthesis.

because of strength in numbers we must be divided

by myth of race and nationhood when in truth

we are from families, clan, and tribes now scattered over continents;

so novus ordo seclorum is a refashioning of the same, now third wave,

a service--or servus in latin for slave--economy with its intricately woven fabric

of geometric debt;  this twilight zone we inhabit arose as a smoldering phoenix

from ashes of past projects of mass human bondage,

said to be mandated by unseen gods guiding infinity of heavens.

 

 

to economize the servile police themselves via intricacies of indoctrination,

 

while the flow of money mimics physical laws of electricity hence currency;

these are silent weapons for quiet wars.

on the battlefield we preen like colorfully plumed birds

before a still pool where we drown over and over like narcissus;

and as rats attracted to glittering objects we covet and hoard

then scamper off like otters to circuses of entertainment

which vastly distract as we glut on moldy bread and putrid flesh not fit for scabby dogs;

past civilizations fell for lack of these.

 

 

now in this brave new world--where new man and new woman

 

have been in vitro manufactured by so-called technicians

whom we trust like children do their parents--

we don’t mine for knowledge in order to unleash inborn power

but rather chase soap bubbles in the wind

which burst upon our gentlest touch.

(is it any wonder that we’re lost?)

 

 

8 april 2009

 

Reviews

[Pax Analog]

Wow. A new level of eloquence in this poem. Definitely a Matrix mood. And that sci-fi blockbuster was recapitulated Gnosticism laced w/postmodern virtual theory, so arguably the most important commercial success in recent memory.

See, that's just it. There is not only the PREDICTABLE pattern of reductionistic subhuman powers -- there are also the UNPREDICTABLE shifts in history, as if psycho-cultural evolution ITSELF just got tired of waiting for "us." Like, remember the Berlin Wall? Reagan didn't knock it down, it seemingly just got tired of being there! Hell, the effin' freakazoid Michael Jackson may have had as much to do with it as anything else. Despite his alien sleaziness, when he was King of Pop, his Thriller album had more of the globe dancing. You can't maintain grey grim Orwellian fascism indefinitely among a people who WILL DANCE. So even corporate pop will produce mass rhythms antithetical to cold enchainment. Irony. Iron and irony.

So, it's the wiggle-room we have we need to embrace and expand. Despite appearances, NOBODY REALLY KNOWS ANYTHING -- and that's our saving grace.

When we're busy tearing down what doesn't work, even conceptually, let's not forget what DOES work. That blade of grass that grows through stone, LIFE ITSELF, that even death does not stop.

In the ineffable NOW is all the transformative power.