TUMULTUARY

• inasmuch i am speechless
  inasumch i am speechless

  

  in each beginning
  gravity invites
  to dwell amongst the sand and stars
  to become like one another
  and pull at each of the opposites

  

  it was Abram, directed and removed
  at a wall in a desert
  where history had yet been proved
  to have been more than a line
  and like gravity,
  Abram now Abraham
  forsaken to climb

  once again a beginning
  

  
• i, who MADE THE MOUNTAIN
  i, who MADE
  THE MOUNTAIN
  
  
  
  
  

  bleeding into lakes
  God, a prairie makes
  fertile flush
  rivers gush
  and soon a mountain rises
  bleeding into lakes

  
• the curtain
  THE CURTAIN

  illusion, please comfort me,
  satisfy everything,
  i can live peacefully
  if you curtain the window
  that i had flung carelessly
  on the day i was sure
  that i had seen everything
  plainly in front of me
  heaven and hell were divided
  unevenly
  but there i saw certainty
  standing across the street
  crossing was heresy
  ‘if only’, i told myself,
  ‘i hadn’t seen anything.
  the curtain i’d drawn
  were a wall to stay stuck between’
  sure, i’d lose purpose
  and with it gain apathy
  but apposed to uncertainty
  purposeless living is
  sort of like being free
  where heaven and hell
  are divided by you and me

  
• ATTA SOL i
  

  ATTA SOL i

  what of nature then?
  if life borne of death let mystery end
  needles surround me and i am undone and yet called to begin
  what life have i yet to receive?
• memory gospel
  

  1 M E M O R Y G O S P E L

  ₁ I can’t begin to explain the first story that brought me here, into the middle of the desert, looking at stars.
  ₂ I can’t speak clearly anymore, there’s something holding my tongue and it’s taken control ever since.
  ₃ I speak in dissuasions as a permanent advocate to the devil.
  ₄ I’m untrusting and slowly withering away against the heat of the sun I’m stuck under.
  ₅ Who built this desert anyway?
  ₆ Who designed the sun, a hot fiery ball of rage?
  ₇ The closest star to me but somehow the least kindly.
  ₈ Unlike the distant stars
  ₉ which I so desire to be close to.
  

  I AM TOLD THE LIGHT OF THE SUN MAKES ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL

  ₁₀ There’s a certain hour of each day where you can just, and only just, look at it.
  ₁₁ So I tried.
  ₁₂ I looked right at the sun, right at it, right into its rays.
  ₁₃ I missed my moment and, in a flash, I didn’t see anything and lost everything.
  ₁₄ I lost my memory, I lost my sight, I lost hold of reason. But I felt. I felt everything slip out of my hands. From that moment all I could do was feel.
  ₁₅ The imprint of that flaming ball on the inside of my eyelids was enough for me to deduce what had happened. I had looked into creation and would never be able to see again.
  

  When you look at the sun for clarity you get what you came for.
  A black dot blur eclipsing the world before you.
  Forever.
  
  
  

  2 F E E L I N G S E N S E L E S S

  ₁ When I looked into creation, I lost sight but gained perspective. The world was the collective of my memories. If it had changed color, I wouldn’t know. History, in kind, became gravity.
  ₂ You can forget your memories, but you can’t erase the history that created them. ₃ History is kept alive and forgotten collectively and communally. ₄ For example: ff you forget, and you’re unimportant enough, you effectively erase a piece of history; however insignificant. Like a tree falling with nobody to hear it. ₅ As opposed to history, memory is selective. Because of this we can all collectively forget and with a little time added we can erase history’s conscious existence.
  ₆ I think that by existing you become apart of a contract that dictates the course of history as an observer and a bearer. I need to think silently and escape the collective, to keep my history alive.
  
  ₇ To get rid of the weight of this contract I go out into the desert to look at the far off stars
  
  

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• -, Tjú
  Tjú

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