Edge Lord

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The ghost is strong tonight. The spirit is awake. The world is pregnant with the dead and the unborn. A fire suddenly burns bright in my belly. I see a flame. A soul growing dry. —in this way, wise, it becomes, Heraclitus says. A voice says to let the hands motion (type) what the soul and its depths needs to express. Many unfathomed depths creak open. The ground trembles. From the fumes of Delphi come madness and vision intermixed; no different are we here. Step into the river; be swept away. You were doing no good standing there. A man learns the weight of his soul—tipping the scales this way and then that—mercurial in life, at peace only in death. What man dares speak into consciousness? Such an act brings the bright sun brought low. Perverse that man should know ! The ghost rhymes, did you know that? It’s not his fault. It’s his way, his nature and method of play. Vanity. Vanity. Vanity is one thing. But the knowledge of vanity is another. To bear the burden of knowing that one is d

In the dark, I wandered, Past walls of stone, some wet, others dry. Cavern and bricked labyrinth. Obsidian and lime. Carefully, I stepped. But recklessly I meandered. For long lost, I already was. But there, in the darkness, after many days, I found a heart, Redder than red. It was flesh. And it was blood.  And it was mineral. Encrusted with living ruby. Brilliant, even in the stygian hollow. There, it beats. 

Soul, If I told you that I loved you, would you believe me? I think a poet once said, "A man always loves his soul; he must." And I, perhaps for lack of an imagination, can't imagine a man who doesn't love his soul.  But I will that I would only ever say what I know is true—better that my actions take the place of my voice. My woven words are only worth their weight in gold.  And where are you now, Soul? Dancing among Plato's forms? Which virtue would you test the limits of next? I don't suppose you will settle for this century's dream. You would rather agonize yourself in a game, pitting the future with the past. But I've never been clever at games; I was a clutz on the field. Rather, let's walk uphill, together. 

Much of my pain and disappointment has stemmed from my expectation. I expected to receive much from the world on the account of who I am—whatever that may be. I saw people with wealth, and I thought I deserved that same wealth; when I saw that the path to wealth crossed decades and generations, I came to resent wealth and the wealthy for many of the wealthy did not need to cross the violent and vast river of trial-and-time.  I grew resentful, fearful, and hesitant as time passed—feeling as if I was trapped in a devious mechanism whose purpose was to drain my life and soul to sustain the livelihoods of those that stood on the shoulders of generations. I saw that I was a man living in the shadows of vampiric titans and kniving gods. I attempted to brush away this image as being the result of bruised and temporarily wounded ego, but my heart told me that this was the truth: the world is a tragic place for a tiny man who dares to look up with open eyes.  Regardless, I sense the need-and-ca

The substance has grown excessively hot.  It appears in the form of a red-hot metal orb. The orb calls to be quenched. I sense the need to pour  the-water-which-flows-along-conspicuous-paths  on the orb. This water is water that flows along conspicuous paths; it flows in the direction it deems appropriate, spreading like branches and roots against the spirit of gravity . The orb has been quenched. What happens next remains to unfold.