Sunday, January 9, 2011

Inertia Again

Blog post # 149:

Mysteries Of Such Repentance

A Yolk Absolved


I needed to post these two latest pictures above together, since one is yellowish on a purplish background, and one is purplish on a yellowish background.

Which reminds me...

Which color is my cat's favorite?



And what did I do when I wrote the joke above?


(Yes, I'm mature.)


Two poems, written yesterday and today:


Unrevealed is every answer,
is every riddle's
Absolution. Unrevealed is
every consistent truth,
Despite the repression of
entirety, despite the
Relinquishment of life's solitude.
Yes, denied is
Every mystery's wickedness,
is every puzzle's shape.
And unseen are all colors
of our apathy. For,
These apparent revelations are
false and inaccurately
Selfish. Yes, these theorems
are only the axioms
Of logic's blatant absurdities.
Within this cosmos
That we attempted to examine,
we are fools; we
Are just demeaned by
our own injustices.
Oh, never are we
knowledgeable as to any
Reality or temptation. Ha.
We will only be
Those idiots of our obscuration.
We will only
Remain negated in our
conjectures and
Their congruence.
We will never yet
Find the ugliness to be
exacting. Yes, our
Science is damning;
and our mathematics is
Erroneous; and our philosophies
are each childish
And superstitious. And
we are always wronged by
Every assumption, are wronged
by every bigotry
We never repent, by every
empirical discourse
That still equals
its certain invisibility.


Within The One Egg

Magnificent within the one egg,
solitude envelops
This lone bird, a bird not yet
expressed, not yet
Diminished. Its darkness is
lit brightly by hunger.
And its anger is
counterintuitive, ha. Within
This singularity composed of
only agony, the
Bird is afloat but unturning.
It rests introvertedly
Against its umbilical --
that strand of lines.
And it feasts on an
ambivalent yolk. Yes,
Of yellow and temptation,
the syrup becomes such
Substance, becomes the
salve for the single fowl
Alone inside its own depiction.
For, this cocoon
Is quite the calcified ellipsoid,
surely. However,
These fluids swallow
all reality and
Make it into inertia.
This oily selfishness
Courses into the
bird's abdomen, then
Transforms that avian grub
as every saltiness does.
Yes, magnificently within
the one egg,
The animal is to be infinite,
is to be metamorphic.
And it grasps upon
its coming extraction from
Its transcendence.
It grasps upon its
solitude fulfilling
In such magnification,
in such desired development,
Such development unto
that absolution, unto that
Emptiness remembered
via its destined infancy.



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