Stillness
Part One To Those Who Think and Move
Here it is.
Here is your life,
The Technicolor swirl.
Youre standing in it, youre moving with it,
At least youre trying to, as it moves around you;
Its moving faster than you and its like an acid trip.
No Marijuana,
No Artane-induced psychosis,
No MDMA,
No Amphetamine,
No peyote,
No amyl nitrite; just the ketamine simulation of reality.
No matrix here, nothing to be seen nor told
which you cant already fathom;
Providing you have the wits.
This motor-****er has been slowed down,
This motherfucker doesnt know where to look.
So he looks to himself helping discover something beautiful.
Instead he discovers himself.
Have you found yourself?
Have you found Jesus?
No, and Im not looking!
Moloch to the sky,
Moloch to the end,
Let it burn.
Moloch, not the literal,
Moloch of the feeling;
Feelings to the contextual;
Context is the ride,
And the ride is life.
Life,
Cant we liven it up?
I want,
To break it up,
To smash it into pieces,
Not to analyse.
Not to rebuild.
Not for vengeance.
Not for you.
Not for the remedial.
Not for catharticism.
Not for the sake of destruction,
nor the fires of Moloch.
Not for my darling Ginsberg.
For the sake of feeling itself,
Living.
Give me convenience or give me death, scream the capitalists;
Kill the poor, echo the poor, mocking the rich with their taunt.
Life, its not effervescent,
Its not bubbling,
Its not moving.
Its contained,
Contained to a mind,
Contained from others who wouldnt understand,
Contained to a body,
Contained to a house,
Contained to a vessel,
Contained to a planet,
Stained in my mind.
Stained in my mouth.
The foul word, as classed by whom?
Here it is.
Here is the language,
The soft **** you cling tightly to in your hand,
In your mouth and at your keyboard.
At your party.
Were not moving but the tracks are getting longer,
The journey getting farther,
No movement since the last,
No recollection for the past,
No thought for the future.
This is life,
This is immediacy,
Accomplishing for the immediate,
Then death.
Drink all the oil you want;
It only poisons.
This man has no thought,
cept masturbatory self-congratulations.
This man is bleeding oil,
Hes nearly empty inside.
This man is immortality and nothing, he is life and contradiction.
Hes summation and beginning,
So he dejects introspection, wanting to know other than himself,
He looks outside,
And sees himself,
Bulldozing mountains of himself into shallow graves,
Screaming blood and fury at himself for not being a humanist,
Thumping his fist for the cause, till it bleeds and the cause is dead.
He sees himself die,
Killing himself.
Have you found him yet?
Have you recognized his face?
No you havent; when will you recognize yourself?
Will you see yourself in the light of day?
No, because youre not looking.
Bollocks, beams the cry
Bollocks, scream the men. This is not enough; give me more than I deserve.
Shovelling coal, they try to make the train move.
Bollocks to the station,
Bollocks to the blade, Im stepping off,
Bollocks to the journey, Ive had enough.
Bollocks to your mission, youre not going forward,
Just swirling ever earthward.
Earthward youre sinking down.
Happy now?
Progression is your aim,
Possession is your crown,
Sloppy **** your metal.
Greed what brings you down,
Happy in your downfall!
Justice to the few,
Power to the rightful,
Insight to the peaceful,
Blessings to the conservationist,
Gag to the conversationist,
Silence to the pointless.
All I hear is silence,
So Im stepping off the platform;
My intention not to move after the action,
Ipso facto my intention to be stationary.
Let the train sink,
Im concrete.
Inactive not pro-active.
Doing nothing does nothing reads the proverb;
Exactly, I think;
Let the stupid wipe themselves out,
As they ride life and die early.
Restrained to their minds,
Restrained to repetition,
Restrained to mortality.
Ideas and words live on, but only for a second if theyre even spoken.
Restrained by their bodies.
Restrained by their group,
Restrained in their might,
Restrained by their busted fists.
My hands intact I use them to my own accord,
And satisfy myself and others;
I break only the inconsequential and only out of accident or favour.
I dont care for progression,
But acceptance;
Of not self,
Of not external,
Of not fabricated,
Of not another,
But acceptance of futility,
Expectances of stupidity,
and to shun the poorly taught ideas.
I embrace the act of thinking, not the act of acting.
I want not contentment,
I want not complacency,
I want not,
But to die after life;
Not immortality,
Not the chase for frivolity,
Not forever life,
Not forever remembrance.
I ask nothing,
Not even that which I am given.
I remain grateful for observation,
And my second of life,
My opportunity to stand aside and be persecuted.
Your opportunity,
To see,
To hear,
To be a non-participant,
A conscientious objector.
This is life and its your gift,
This is life. Its for observation not destruction,
Dont destroy the garden, its your gift.
Moloch to the stupid,
Thought to the slow,
Stillness to the speeding,
Contemplation to the active,
Companionship to the lonely,
Blindness to those whove seen too much and want to see no more.
This is life;
Dont try to push it forward.
Accept.
Part Two To The Inactive
You.
You were young,
You heard the communists speak,
And you listened.
You were young,
You watched fathers bleed and learnt.
You were young,
You watched your boats leak,
And learnt how to swim.
You were young,
You watched others fight and learnt to run.
You were young,
You were victimized for your sensitivity and learnt to read not brawl.
You were young,
And facilitated a personal preparation for a fight to come.
You were young,
When you made mistakes and learnt of another road.
You watched the food disappear quickly and learnt to ration,
Careful not careless you watched from the sidelines.
Quiet,
You became withdrawn.
Private,
you became alone.
Alone,
You wished to run with the crowd to sweat and laugh,
Then you watched them fall from exhaustion.
You were young,
and you had energy,
And used it to learn with vigour,
To run alone.
You were young,
So you taught yourself to train.
You were young,
When you **** in your pants then learnt the toilet.
You were young,
When you learnt to live with humiliation.
Young,
when you took the first step.
Young,
You started to glow.
Young you were needy,
Needy to absorb.
Young,
You swung back and forth snatching up breath,
Breath,
Back and forth.
Idea,
Back and forth,
In and out breath,
In and out idea.
Young,
you learnt to listen.
Young,
You learnt to walk instead of run.
Young,
you were young when you learnt,
do you remember?
Part Three For the Old and Inactive, by choice and not by
You,
You were old.
You were old,
When you learnt to stand instead of walk.
You were old,
when realization and truth came.
You were old,
when you learnt to not be bitter.
You were old,
When you watched your family die.
You were old,
When you watched your friends die.
You were old,
As you watched yourself die.
You were old,
when you learnt to forget.
You were old,
when you learnt not to learn,
but absorb.
Absorb,
Accept
Absorb,
Back and forth,
Accept back and forth.
Breath,
In.
Absorb,
In.
Accept,
In.
Forget,
Out.
Hate,
Out.
Compassion,
Ration.
Old,
You started to grow.
Internal,
You started to grow.
Old,
You stood still.
Old,
You held your breath.
Movement,
You stopped trying to push.
Old,
You started to expand.
Old,
You started to understand.
Young,
You shot from the hip.
Old,
You bit your lip.
Old,
Push for ability gave way to onset of reality.
Young,
You hated the tide, but moved with it.
Old,
You climbed out of the salt.
Old,
You went bald and accepted the Auld.
Immobile in your youth,
You failed to realize your gifts,
Confined to thought,
Locked in reflection.
Unstable in yourself,
You dreamt of balance,
Confined to pattern,
Locked in repetition.
Through lack of choice,
You saw with clarity,
Sooner than others.
With time you became grateful,
That you couldnt
Run the race.
That you couldnt
Taste the oil,
Nor drink the toxin.
Learning propaganda,
Confined to wheelchairs,
Locked in thought,
You learnt to dissect
And analyze.
Young when you saw the truth,
Auld when you forgot it.
Auld when you forgot cultures and barriers.
Young,
You rejected your name.
Auld, you forgot your name,
Auld, you became peaceful,
Dead, you become pieces.
You treasured the gift.
I treasure the gift.
Here it is,
This is life,
And it wants you to expand.
Dont push forward,
I wont.
Because theres no point to the end.
The spear is blunt,
Were incapable of a lift,
Only capable of falling with force.
Unless you stand still.
Moloch to movement,
Bollocks to Ginsberg and his peers,
Moloch to the past,
Bollocks to the movement,
Moloch to the word,
Im shutting up.
Footnote to Stillness
Inflicted, directed, reflected, insurrected and bow-legged.
The thought can be weak, but the effect strong.
Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot!
You happy little grot!
Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot!
Let the lot rot.
We love the rot!
After all the thought and consideration;
And countless mind revelations,
Weve earned the rot.
Let it rot,
Let the maggots eat the decaying deity;
Festering, feasting,
Decomposition of flesh material!
Maternal, meticulous, loving, gushing with movement!
The ground takes us back.
Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!
The words were hot, the thought new,
Now its all rot.
Say goodbye to that you knew,
Goodbye to the few who knew you.
Time comes to a turn and the pessimists putrid prediction,
Moves steadily in your direction.
Inflicted, directed, reflected, insurrected and bow-legged.
We come to a fall,
a fall from thought and worry.
Gratefully mortality yields,
and frees you of thought.
Grateful! Grateful! Grateful!
Grateful! Grateful! Grateful!
For the rot, grateful!
For the moment, grateful!
For the white-hot notion, grateful!
The decay and emancipation of a thought, grateful!
The casket, grateful!
The ground, grateful!
The body, null and void!
The worms, grateful!
The Earth, grateful for the process!
Natural order, punched but grateful!
Resurrected, resented, cross-infected,
Intravenously fed it.
The body can reject the system,
The social order,
Opposed to the natural decisive direction.
Not something one is born into.
But an offered, like death,
A choice is always given, to a selection.
Resurrected, thought always find shape,
Best when in the form of grace,
Not a vice-like embrace.
No pushing,
No violence, nothing consequential,
No resentment,
No lack of reflection.
You can take the path that believes in the casket,
To live for enjoyment,
and for observation.
Grateful! Grateful! Grateful! Grateful!
Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot!
The old masters rot!
The apprentices rot!
The buildings rot!
Their gold will rot,
And so will you;
So be happy gentle grot.
Bow-legged and shy,
Pimply and pubescent you saw the rot,
and gave-way, wisely.
Haggard and decrepit,
Festering without movement,
Warmth and home was found in the rot.
The soil,
The body,
All rot.
Anyone :?: 
