sometimes my heart feels broken
by the avoidance of the cracks of perfection
but by my constant tutoring and coerced adhesion
to a smoothness that is deemed, fit and proper…
shrouded and glared by an apotheosis of tears
rather than an apotheosis of blood, sweat and spirituality
— my teachings from religion squandered by the petty
fashions of a society neither democratic in a minority
nor major in its humanistic promises — the orthodox pulpit
has been now occupied by vulpine commerce, manufactured agnosticism,
manufactured gnosticism, and manufactured awareness and manufactured
subconsciousness concentrated by an artificial orbit by a mental probe
which preoccupies you in Jamais vu and Prosopagnosia or Fregoli delusion
as easily as one matches oil with a match flicker; immolation and Sati by a consumer
demon that plagues the moors and rain forests of a dialogic individual.
the virtues of a society and its ethical bond make Shylock shirk
for even a fleshy pound cannot secure the torments of an eviscerated persona;
there were promises that abnegation is the liberty of self — no it was not religion or
spirit who taught me this faux-cursive — it was social hegemonic anxiety in its dress of
piety that told me so. If you are away from the herd you are the wolf or the boy
who cries wolf — no one chastises the boy’s boredom or loneliness; though fibbing
is wrong is not ennui wronger? I am just an economic index, a social index, a census —
my body and mind and sex censored and clipped by a stool pigeon on some GDP rat race
to God knows where? I knew that life, here and hereafter, has to be full and green and ripe
—- but, what is this “ripeness”? When I am told to go after Frederic Jameson’s Postmodernism than communicate, pray and/or study am I not as vacant as the policy of freedom that tortures Free Speech and decorum without, as a person clearly stated, an agency of my own, a privacy, propriety, property, proficiency and practices that are my own?
each ideology popular in this era feels dry as the carcass of consumerism — I saw that I was afraid to tell who I was ,for a Muslim is to exploited and hurt like muslin; kept only as an objectification but not any skill or talented principles of Soul and Thought and Life. It is hard to be coloured too when Whiteness and Fairness is the metaphor of absolute salvation, absolving, solutions, clarity and ablution; even if White is beautiful as the clouds the clouds
that are rainy are a bit coloured thus can we only say one is good and the other bad? Can a Manachaeistic or Cartesian lifestyle really only elaborate all that this world keeps in its belly and breath? Binary matter only matters when it can be cyclically contextualized and understood deeply as not only oppositional and complementary but rather in some cases two roads leading to the same river or tree for we incorporate a “Yggdrasil” as a metaphor for a branched leveling and connotative deduction of a world both suspended in space but also engaged with it.
the world being flat may have just been layman tongue for a ground waiting for plants to grow and seeds to be sown and plucked and discovered. In a world subtracting metaphysics and multiplying the material the greenhouse is flat is layman tongue.
I have said many things. I have done a cathartic crying or weeping if you may say to avoid alliteration fallacy or fondness. I am a scribe to myself as each person is to themselves — so even if history erased the journals-memoirs the psycho-emotional historiography will eliminate its own manufactured extinction. ▬