After a few brief glimpses of light, the unknown poet of the Third Galaxy now dives yet deeper into the darkness which tormented his soul -- in some obscure way I almost think that he enjoyed the misery of his dark visions!
That may sound like a harsh judgment, but, consider, in our wonderful real world, could such catastrophe as the unknown poet claims to see ever happen?
True, the sea levels rise even as the glaciers melt, the climate changes, weapons of ultimate mass destruction are in the hands of people certifiably insane, greed and criminal negligence rules the world -- but is there anything to get upset about? Of course not!
Who would dare to tell the tale_________________________________
of logical catastrophe and love for sale?
Or speak of bellies bitter with the gall of it,
as tongues are chewed and lips are frothed with foaming spit?
Flocks of birds alight to eat
the meat of kings and taxi-drivers in the street!
"DAMN! STOP THE HAND!" We shout!
(But, it was all of us who brought it all about!)
Would you care to dare to say a word,
complaining as the excellent compelling curse
blows its melancholy tones,
as sirens wail above her dry, cemented bones?
A-dream one drawn and dusty day,
a hundred millions and more times ten have passed away.
Having feared the Day Has Come,
they run and run and run, but still and yet – they run!
This word barf is little more than a none too subtle rerun of images found in Revulsions, 19: 17-18
It could also resemble the kind mass hysteria seen during the Tarantella of the Middle Ages, when people imagined themselves to be wading in blood as spiders crawled up their legs. The fact is, our "world picture" is little more than shared illusions having little or nothing to do with the reality of our common humanity. You think not? Then come with a better explanation for the endemic madness of the twentieth century which left hundreds of millions dead or maimed in both body and soul. And think: does the beginning of the 3rd millennium hold better promise?
As always, we'll cry, "NO!" and beg the Great Potato to "stop the hand" before it touches our illusions.
And yet, as always, we will continue to do those very things which bring the madness upon us. We are like people who wallow in shit and beg for the "Lord" to make us clean, but refuse to leave our pile of shit because that is where we keep our "precious doodads" and "thing-um-jigs".
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