Monday, November 22, 2010

Salad Daze Archives Unit 4 { 2004 }

Oeufs a la Nietzsche Redux

Now, in the season of my darkest & most relentless misery, hear - my laughter!

None of these burdens amount to more than a numeral on a chart - once one has known enough, & has dared to learn enough. The fabled transcendance of mystic beliefs is yet another pretty clown in motley once one tastes the true wellspring, cold clear & pure!

Each new tragedy greets me like another persona in the grandiose & hilarious farce, bowing formally & casting its silk gauntlet of doom & contempt over my cheek, sickening parody of a lover's touch, yet with the power of my heritage & my spirit it is all null & void, a torment of trivia that I had seen marching to meet my life years in advance. More & worse comes - until surely I will laugh even longer!

Is this virtue or perversion, that I know the wild comedy that hides winking at me, even in this summer of agony & tears - & that I love it as truly as ever a gent loved his damsel? Not mere insight, but a truth that the living meat of my body proves, daily - this is the real moral of my life's berserk & baroque fable. Now, as a new realm of knowledge unfurls to me its flags, I meet it, wailing the lament of those who know - yet in my heart do I not hear - a giggle?

Each of my new selves has held this mystery to me like a violently writhing Orchid - & I bless & thank the enigma that confuses me so!

Look - a strange shadow rises over the horizon, a new adventure calls to the free of spirit, no mere siren but a theme beyond music's own spectrum - come, come! Here too is beauty's true chorus, strong, wild & priceless - dare to lift your best voice to it anew!

Now, do I not find in these days of darkness & torment - my convalescence? Ah, but from where else could I discover my Dawning?

Was not my wild journey to this hour a mere prelude? With every new Aeon, another & more cruel set of laws is brought to bear - for freedom also delights in itself where it has had enslavement to - misplace!

Listen - there is a new & alien aesthetic that rumbles like thunder in its strange quickening - the noontide of its nativity draws nigh, & we all placidly doze on like sated drunkards, heedless of the imminent detonation that this birth will produce. Our history is our most delicious irony, a limerick limned in children's blood, presented for the ungentle talons of academics - is it any wonder our society is so skilled at "reinventing" itself, with such a vast & impressive love - for spritual crime?

I am a mere herald of the sacred lexicon that is being forged on the anvil of time, whispering like a pretty girl in my too-ticklish ear - ha, ha!

"Beloved child of a mad age, you can yet find me so endearing, when you know how I love to see the sparks dance in your helpless soul as you harvest - your tempering! If I cannot yet destroy you, I can still make of you - my bell! Here is your glorious education - what? Do I dream awake?

"You can give thanks - now? Even the gods must grow dizzy & gasp at such brazen rebellion, even while they guffaw!

"This is your trial, rare & divine :

"Not to learn what you most passionately yearn to discover, but that which you most dreaded to find!"

O whimsical future-daughter, you too are a naïve beauty, for all your nascent wisdom - for my true trial has not even begun!

Then & only then will my scales - slumber!

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