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pluralhere is sit
now in Santiago
once more
sipping bourbon
decent stuff
which took some effort
to obtain
its is eight years old
and compared to my usual
it is sufficient
but unsatisfying
it is often said that
people choose their drink
as they choose their loves
if that is so
then it says
very peculiar
and most likely
unflattering things
about me
in theory
i prefer my drink
as
old and mature
as i can find it
in practice
those which i consume
have only the maturity and
distinction of
far fewer years
i prefer
another analogy
one chooses ones
drink
like one chooses ones sin
a cheap liquor
is like a petty theft
or an easy seduction
simple
easy to enjoy
to recognize the immediate
personal gain
a well aged liquor
is far more complex
requires a sacrifice of self
a commitment
an effort to appreciate
its splendor
its character
to a rube
vested in nothing
a cheap drink holds far more
satisfaction
for he seeks only the pleasure
of intoxication
and places little value
on the process of getting there
alcohol is door
a way out
a way to escape
same is true of
the petty thief
and the sleazy seducer
both have only their eyes
upon the prize
the method and process
are irrelevant
in life
the destination is fixed
anticlimactic even
whether we be
rich or poor
famous or mired in the depths of obscurity
death comes to us all
in the end
neither our friends
our loved ones
or our treasures can accompany us
our enemies can not make it worse
all the power in the world
cannot make it better
death remains
that leaves the question
if the end is determined
unchanging
what is the point?
to the person fixated
on the result
the answer is rather frightening
this is why
we humans have invented god
in our own image
created a heaven and hell
that we may live forever
and
have a result to pursue
each following their own
predilections
neither heaven nor hell
tempt me with their
lures and promises
for to me
each is a hell
with only flavors
differentiating them
who cares whether the chocolate
is
milk
or
dark
when one despises chocolate
and i do
in their complicity
i despise both
lord and savior
devil and betrayer
that one sits upon
a golden throne
and the other
upon brimstone
makes little difference
to my seething disgust
and for me?
what is the point
for one such as i
should i value
the process above all else
knowing that
the end result
is fixed
immutable
and
repugnant
some cynical
twisted and sardonic part of me
says
yes
it looks in the mirror
and says
you already do
look at yourself
no
set aside those
pretty illusions
petty delusions
and see thy self
you value the process
already above the result
eating a fine meal is delightful
but cooking an exquisite one
is pure bliss
the orgasm is powerful
but satisfaction comes from
the act
the sequence of touch
sensation
sensual desire
restraint
diving into the depths
of another
melding their flesh
with my own
teasing
touching
fucking
the orgasm
is not the play
nor the plot
or even the goal
but
simply that bell
which summons the lights
to shine over intermission
a signal that
coffee and cake
await
a cigarette
and perhaps
a drink
blissful rest
in anothers arms
till the next act
arises and
the cycle begins anew
the process
the process
for me
i must adore the process
for the result
of life
i despise
it was once said to me
"it is not death i fear
that comes to us all
it is the dying part
i am terrified of"
death comes to us all
wraps us in her velvet arms
and
in that singular instant
whisks us all away
so i must reflect
life is about the process
the journey
not about getting there
"the problem with
living life in the fast lane,
is that you reach the destination,
far to quickly"
now come sinners
one and all
let me adore you
i wish i could say
i came upon these thoughts
perhaps one could even say revelations
in
an enlightened moment
a moment of inspiration
to seek out a better way of living
a better life
ah would it be so
but to me
what is this quintessence of dust?
these thoughts
come
shrouded in darkness
in despair
and shatter
what poor remnants remain
of my
black revenant heart
now in Santiago
once more
sipping bourbon
decent stuff
which took some effort
to obtain
its is eight years old
and compared to my usual
it is sufficient
but unsatisfying
it is often said that
people choose their drink
as they choose their loves
if that is so
then it says
very peculiar
and most likely
unflattering things
about me
in theory
i prefer my drink
as
old and mature
as i can find it
in practice
those which i consume
have only the maturity and
distinction of
far fewer years
i prefer
another analogy
one chooses ones
drink
like one chooses ones sin
a cheap liquor
is like a petty theft
or an easy seduction
simple
easy to enjoy
to recognize the immediate
personal gain
a well aged liquor
is far more complex
requires a sacrifice of self
a commitment
an effort to appreciate
its splendor
its character
to a rube
vested in nothing
a cheap drink holds far more
satisfaction
for he seeks only the pleasure
of intoxication
and places little value
on the process of getting there
alcohol is door
a way out
a way to escape
same is true of
the petty thief
and the sleazy seducer
both have only their eyes
upon the prize
the method and process
are irrelevant
in life
the destination is fixed
anticlimactic even
whether we be
rich or poor
famous or mired in the depths of obscurity
death comes to us all
in the end
neither our friends
our loved ones
or our treasures can accompany us
our enemies can not make it worse
all the power in the world
cannot make it better
death remains
that leaves the question
if the end is determined
unchanging
what is the point?
to the person fixated
on the result
the answer is rather frightening
this is why
we humans have invented god
in our own image
created a heaven and hell
that we may live forever
and
have a result to pursue
each following their own
predilections
neither heaven nor hell
tempt me with their
lures and promises
for to me
each is a hell
with only flavors
differentiating them
who cares whether the chocolate
is
milk
or
dark
when one despises chocolate
and i do
in their complicity
i despise both
lord and savior
devil and betrayer
that one sits upon
a golden throne
and the other
upon brimstone
makes little difference
to my seething disgust
and for me?
what is the point
for one such as i
should i value
the process above all else
knowing that
the end result
is fixed
immutable
and
repugnant
some cynical
twisted and sardonic part of me
says
yes
it looks in the mirror
and says
you already do
look at yourself
no
set aside those
pretty illusions
petty delusions
and see thy self
you value the process
already above the result
eating a fine meal is delightful
but cooking an exquisite one
is pure bliss
the orgasm is powerful
but satisfaction comes from
the act
the sequence of touch
sensation
sensual desire
restraint
diving into the depths
of another
melding their flesh
with my own
teasing
touching
fucking
the orgasm
is not the play
nor the plot
or even the goal
but
simply that bell
which summons the lights
to shine over intermission
a signal that
coffee and cake
await
a cigarette
and perhaps
a drink
blissful rest
in anothers arms
till the next act
arises and
the cycle begins anew
the process
the process
for me
i must adore the process
for the result
of life
i despise
it was once said to me
"it is not death i fear
that comes to us all
it is the dying part
i am terrified of"
death comes to us all
wraps us in her velvet arms
and
in that singular instant
whisks us all away
so i must reflect
life is about the process
the journey
not about getting there
"the problem with
living life in the fast lane,
is that you reach the destination,
far to quickly"
now come sinners
one and all
let me adore you
i wish i could say
i came upon these thoughts
perhaps one could even say revelations
in
an enlightened moment
a moment of inspiration
to seek out a better way of living
a better life
ah would it be so
but to me
what is this quintessence of dust?
these thoughts
come
shrouded in darkness
in despair
and shatter
what poor remnants remain
of my
black revenant heart
