So Long, So Lonely
So long, so lonely. Such a lonely road. It never ends. It goes on and on. Brings me hither and thither. Yet nowhere. I am where I began (inside). Is there destination? Purpose? Is it all in vain? Vanity? Inanity? I can not believe it so. I can not believe it not. Its all a lie: this folly, this reason. Nothing to it but madness to see, to devour. An ending without a beginning. A spiral without a center. It closes in, indefinitely, indefinably. The words are magick but the meaning is a curse. The soul is lost. Worse for the despair? Or the hope that yet lingers? Forget not Pandora's box - that brood of evil. And where is my Pandora to suck my heart and soul away? I need them no longer. At least not want. The devil's tool kit: a box of soap and a razor. Wherefore comes this meaning? This mischief? Why do I want to be dedicated to a God that I can not believe in and can not sanctify myself to? But its there: I keep on thinking Nazarene. Where-to-fore do I get such sympathy? The long hair is aesthetic - so I insist, but still. It would be so much easier to consecrate myself to a devil I don't believe in. There'd be no question of purity, ethics, morality. But no, I am doomed to be a spiritual atheist. A sanyassi to vain to beg, too ambiguous and amoral to preach. There is just the journey left - that long lonely road. Dust along the roadside and in the air, clouds my vision, my path, my way. I go without rhyme or reason. Just a stumbling, drunken with sobriety and foolish with my wisdom. Do I loath or lust the life of a normal man?
Questions, questions, always questions. No answers, only tombstones. Tombstones of paths not taken. Buried in the dust, in the confusion. As dead from indecision as from calculated nihilism. I waiver only in the taking. Let not such misery haunt me forever. There is no sense to this folly. A willful will-less-ness. Trapped in darkness and blinded by light. The hum in the air shows its wrongfulness, my waywardness. Torn to shreds on a blanket on inequity, the sound permeates screams from the dead man walking down the street calling to me for all the friends I left behind. Dead to the future. Dead to the past. There is nothing. Not now. Not then. Not ever. It makes no sense to me, this absurd dwelling on a lack of meaning, when I can not believe in any potential reason to fill the void. Why can't I damn because and let it die with the dogs of reason? Zombies haunt me. Ever and always to this day they haunt me, refuse to be buried. I understand: verily, but not happily. Tis a curse I tell you. A blessing of the left hand path. Better a razor to the wrist than to the chin, but better to spill water than blood. Both are sacred, but one matters more than the other? How so when nothing is holy? Tis all full of holes - my mind. Swiss cheese. Melt it upon tuna and have a good lunch. I'll bid ado and try to have a good night.
This page was prepared by Brian Matthew Kessler of Nowhere@All