Amfortas Agonistes.

What’s the Point
of all my Investigation?
Of my Struggles?
Intellectual Pursuits, never ending, because All is One.
Related.
Integral.
Thank Goddess for Wife…
But, what about my Mind?
I long to be Understood.
And to be Corrected.
Engaged on my terms.
Folks only hear the bits they want to hear.
Especially Men…at least the specimens I encounter.
I prefer the Kitchen, and the company of Womyn.
Lust doesn’t negate the Intellectual,
that Feature is merely incidental…indeed,
the first flows from the last.
It is entirely Rational…
Unfortunate, that We still consider Womyn as Property
as Baby Factories.
And relegate to Impossible,
the possibility of Platonism.
Even(especially!!) the Lustful Sort.
Now that I am Broken,
Hopelessly Marred,
Now that I can no longer Fuck, save under the most extreme conditions,
am I , therefore, less Threatening?

I doubt it.
It’s still a Man’s World,
despite our Advances, and therefore based on Terror, in it’s former sense.
The (quite arbitrary) Rules, and Structures,
are based on Fear and Greed, and Possession.
A cloak, to elude the Uncertainty of Change, that is the most Salient Feature of Universe.
Unthinking, as Habit of Thought.
I am a Bonobo , among the more warlike Chimps.
Our unacknowledged Puritanism effectuates a Reverse Darwinism.
We descend…
Clinging to various fantasies of a less Threatening Past.
Clinging, fanatically, to God’s corpse…Unwilling to Boldly Create our own Meaning…
Our own Epistemology.
Unwilling to plant Roses, in God’s lifeless eyes.
All of our Politics reflects this…
this Unconscious Fear of Thought
and Lust.
The Little Hammer taps our knee,
and We hem ourselves in, to hide from the Universe…
Social Constructs,
Taboos,
Terrorised by the Vastyness…
We burrow in deep.
Struggle to Ignore the Heavens above,
now that we know, in our deepest level, that they are Empty…
and that We are Alone.

Tedious.
Boring.
To always be required to explain the explanations.
Sisyphean…rolling downhill to
Despair.
The sad fate of Philosophers and Poets…
Perhaps I’ll be Understood when I’m Dead.

Anachronism.
A thing without Time.
As punishment for some past-life infraction,likely Imagined,
I find myself swirling in an Eddy.
In our Rightward Swing…
My retrograde motion, contrary,
If inconsequential,
to the general direction of the Stream.
Waiting for the Exhaustion that will inevitably come…
I’ve been waiting for my entire life for the current to shift,
Watching the Leading Lights(sic)
whip the Sheep into frenzy,
piling stone after stone, believing sincerely that they are
Ensuring Permanence of Direction…Arresting Change.
Unconsciously, instead, making all but Certain the birth of an Oxbow…
Stag-Nation……A Civilisation, already dead,
But Unaware of it.
God’s grave becomes crowded…
What a conundrum!
I wait, less than Patiently, for someone to notice the Novelty of a new Course…
How Exciting!, I muse…
But there is only the FEAR.
There are many Eddies, I admit…but the one I’m turning in,
I find preferable…Less Violence, you see.
It is as yet Unknown which will entice the Stream…
This is the “Marketplace of Ideas”, I guess.
It is how Rivers change their course,
By Accident.