Immersed with the muse WE ARE CULTURALLY CANNIBALISED

Immersed with the muse WE ARE CULTURALLY CANNIBALISED

Mirror in February

The day dawns with scent of must and rain,
Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air.
Under the fading lamp, half dressed – my brain
Idling on some compulsive fantasy-
I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare,
Riveted by a dark exhausted eye,
A dry downturning mouth.

It seems again that it is time to learn,
To which, for the time being, I return.
In this untiring, crumbling place of growth
Now plainly in the mirror of my soul
I read that I have looked my last on youth
And little more; for they are not made whole
That reach the age of Christ.

Below my window the awakening trees,
Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced
Suffering their brute necessities,
And how should the flesh not quail that span for span
Is mutilated more? In slow distaste
I fold my towel with what grace I can,
Not young and not renewable, but man.

Maybe it’s Sophocles

Maybe it’s Sophocles

THE ELAPHOS KERYNITIS (or Cerynitian Hind) was a golden-Maybe it's Sophocleshorned deer sacred to the goddess Artemis. Some say the deer was a gift from the Nymph Taygete and was one of five, the other four drawing the chariot of the goddess.

Herakles was sent to fetch it as one of his twelve labours. After chasing the swift animal for a full year he finally captured it on Mount Artemision in Arkadia. When the goddess Artemis complained at the treatment of her animal, whose horn the hero had broken off in the struggle, he persuaded her to let him borrow it for the completion of his Labour.

The hind may have been assigned a Constellation like the other beasts of Herakles’ labours.

Ouranos and Gaia had twelve sons and six daughters. He locked the eldest of these–the giant Kyklopes (Cyclopes) and Hekatonkheires (Hecatoncheires)–away inside the belly of Earth. Gaia suffered immense pain and persuaded her Titan sons to rebel. Four of these positioned themselves at the corners of the world, ready to grasp their father as he descended to lie with Earth, while the fifth, Kronos (Cronus), took his place in the centre and there castrated Ouranos with an adamantine sickle. The sky-god’s blood fell upon the earth, producing the avenging Erinyes and the Gigantes (Giants).

Ouranos prophesied the fall of the Titanes and the punishments they would suffer for their crimes–a prophecy brought to fruition by Zeus who deposed the five brothers and cast them into the pit of Tartaros.

Ouranos does not appear in early Greek art but Egyptian depictions of their sky-goddess Nut demonstrate how he was imagined–as a gigantic, star-spangled man with long arms and legs, resting on all fours, with his finger-tips in the far east, his toes in the far west, and his arching body raised to form the dome of the sky. In the Roman era he was often depicted as Aion, god of eternal time, in the form of a man holding the zodiac-wheel, standing above the reclining Gaia (Earth).

 

The

Mind is

benardete's paradox
benardete’s paradox

Running

Ahead but

barriers

Block its

Path

Thinking

Overcomplicates

thought

Logic

Rationality

Are forces

Beyond

Compare

Let go

Give in

surrender

Untie the

Knots

Feel

The

paradox

 

 

Lek Paradox

Lek paradox

It takes wisdom

For this operating

System to work

destructive

And impulsive

The flames grab

At her

veil

The universe adjusts

Systematically

Hotter and hotter

Burned to a

crisp

She looks through

The embers

Seeing him

Touching

The hem

Rising in his

Glory

Waiting for the

Attacks

Ripped apart

There is

No going

Back

Another

paradox

 

 

 

 

Hedgehog Dilemma

h-hog-photo-one-two-images

Is up up or is it down

Depends on how you look at it

Perspective

Is

your own

Like those that come under

the mantle of care

and

curiosity

The burrowers

they dig

in

Don’t share

Never

Ever

Share

you will

Be left

in a state of

Disrepair

They just can’t leave you

Alone

They mimic a

cultured

sawft sawfft

Voice

And a kind kind

Eye

They squeeze

with triggers

drops

more

drops

Be careful

In the end

they will slit your

Throat

That’s the

Paradox

tears just keep on falling lotus flower

Her combed skin creased and stretched over the topography of her face. Vacant and exposed I see her kneel, her rib cage sucked in deep with despair. She tried in vein to make the oxygen seep through the orifices, she couldn’t. I sat behind her and pulled until the limbs were rooted and spread, stop! Stop! She cried I can’t breathe. Don’t fight it you are here.

Easing her into the hall and laying her down in rigour mortis then pulling her jumper up I gently knead around her mother connection. Slow and deep.  This uncut cord is engulfing the life out of her. Everting to recreation.

Desperately trying to limn into a foetal position the body looks for succour.

Pulling up and away, shaking the tears come. Why! Why? Jesus help me! Letting her move to her own moribund desires she rolls into the anhedonic ball.

In this apostasy state I grab the wool from the shelf. Garbling gnostic utterances I bind her into a skein.

It is thick and soft, comforting, washed raw wool she smells the earth. Breathe in: deep… Imagine you are this yarn, each strand and fibre pulled and knitted. The dropped stitches, the twists and turns, the under and over’s no two yarns are the same. No two hand knitted garments are the same.

Massaging her head I reach for the atlas bone and pull up- a perdurable manoeuvre that never fails to quell the demiurge wrangling with the mind and body.

She closes her eyes and rests then sleeps.

I unwind the wool and stretch her autochthonous extremities fully. Fetching a cover. She is cocooned in a heated blanket only to wake later to another noumenon.

 

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