Litkicks Message Board Archive

Initiator of Incandescence

The predictability of reality
is a metaphor for control
and it feels good.

It’s like riding a wave
that comes from inside
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspmy chest
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspmy heart
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspmy lungs.

It’s no more a bubble dream that bursts
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspas soon as I open my eyes.
It’s no more an empty disillusion.

Finally I’m a man made out of pages of books of
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspscience
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsppolitics
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspphilosophy,
a man made out
of white pages and black ink
jumbled up together
to form arms and legs
as those belonging to a suprahuman
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspimmortal
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspevolutionist automaton.

Still, there
I see a smiling fleshy human face
enveloped in a stiff paper body and extremities
set alight by a hyperreal prankster:
Initiator of Incandescence.

--
V.A. Apr 2 2003