Pig Is Dead
Pig has died within me. The last possessor of my sacred chalice that has hosted souls through their tempestuous perpetuity. Chalice home of the reckless and inconsiderate, now emptied every drop of foreign oils, foreign smells, foreign desires.
Squandering squanderers, molesters and tormentors, crafty criminals, mind bending rules, in this dimension having broken infinities barriers. Blocks of ice warmly kept within me, wrote their fantasies and destroyed mine. Blocks of ice disregarding and salivating over my capacity to exist within mortal being, but none of them wanted to die their immortality, the trade was mine to trade. Accepted because I knew not then that there was no self, and hoped in vain, that they would guide me to me. A denial of self interest of unexpected and unfathomable proportions. But now, some how they are all gone.
Gone a selfish dentist, gone a squirming child molester, gone a suffering poet, yes there are poets that have not suffered, agonizing more, distasteful sight, vanished a philosopher, least real of them all, disappeared a spiritually metaphorical physicist, emptied chalice, disappeared two monstrous demons, dark figures, black as black discernable through reddish fumes, came to gripe within me, went against my will, dug a grave and shoved me into it, dancing and cascading laughs as they did, fought my way out, gone I think, quiet ever since the pit; gone too is a lovable and heartless martini drinking monkey, gone, gone. Now it is just I, Chalice and there is no self.
One of them drank darkly roasted coffee, now gone, taste horridly like dirt from my dug grave, they gone, never really liked wine or hardier spirits, used them to deceive myself into silence and sleep, but now that too taste unpleasant as the unpleasant extraction it once was, same, marijuana once bought me happiness, only sours my saliva. All these changes lacking an adjustment period, Chalice emptied and preoccupied, stuffed with magna, Chalice a finely furnace, melted into the obscurity of the universe by to much heat, what truly burns must darken, all brightness enlightens future zeroness.
Chalice in hand, Chalice I am, and now emptied of all other souls that once inhabited me, I now feel blossoming existence, I feel myself dying.
RC
Squandering squanderers, molesters and tormentors, crafty criminals, mind bending rules, in this dimension having broken infinities barriers. Blocks of ice warmly kept within me, wrote their fantasies and destroyed mine. Blocks of ice disregarding and salivating over my capacity to exist within mortal being, but none of them wanted to die their immortality, the trade was mine to trade. Accepted because I knew not then that there was no self, and hoped in vain, that they would guide me to me. A denial of self interest of unexpected and unfathomable proportions. But now, some how they are all gone.
Gone a selfish dentist, gone a squirming child molester, gone a suffering poet, yes there are poets that have not suffered, agonizing more, distasteful sight, vanished a philosopher, least real of them all, disappeared a spiritually metaphorical physicist, emptied chalice, disappeared two monstrous demons, dark figures, black as black discernable through reddish fumes, came to gripe within me, went against my will, dug a grave and shoved me into it, dancing and cascading laughs as they did, fought my way out, gone I think, quiet ever since the pit; gone too is a lovable and heartless martini drinking monkey, gone, gone. Now it is just I, Chalice and there is no self.
One of them drank darkly roasted coffee, now gone, taste horridly like dirt from my dug grave, they gone, never really liked wine or hardier spirits, used them to deceive myself into silence and sleep, but now that too taste unpleasant as the unpleasant extraction it once was, same, marijuana once bought me happiness, only sours my saliva. All these changes lacking an adjustment period, Chalice emptied and preoccupied, stuffed with magna, Chalice a finely furnace, melted into the obscurity of the universe by to much heat, what truly burns must darken, all brightness enlightens future zeroness.
Chalice in hand, Chalice I am, and now emptied of all other souls that once inhabited me, I now feel blossoming existence, I feel myself dying.
RC
posted by Ricardo Correa at 10:49 PM
<< Home