Thursday, August 11, 2022

Bees I did not Know

Oh is it time to atone again?

Holy Octopus, Sacred Cephalopod. 

How at an early age I longed for distortion in music, found it comforting in its fullness, the way it restored something fundamental to the senses, as if raw were better, as if clouded were a better way to see the light. 

What are we learning and what are we doing with our learning. 

There is no end to the layers of the onion, no foundation or stopping point where you can say this: this this: this this.

Men who are skilled at apologies, the problem they are, and how I know this, and how sorry I am.

To whom or to what does the feeling appear?

My tongue in her vagina as far as it will reach, the blindnesses in us, the holy places, and the rapture when we reach them together.

The Man without Shoes realizes he was just deflecting attention from the pilgrimage which he can own now, gaze directly at now, and share now, thanks and praise, alleluia alleluia. 

Excesses we can only undo in dialogue.

Goddess of the Bees, I did not know how close to Her I was.

Perhaps the end has begun, perhaps there are forces at work that transcend our narrow band of perception and understanding. 

Writing in the side yard, thinking in sentences, same old dream, breezes moving pale wild morning glories back and forth along the south-facing wall of the last barn I will ever need.

What Jesus learned and how we are called to apply it in contexts he could not have imagined.

Having once begged both coffee and cigarettes from strangers, having once played for hours on Irish streets just to make enough money to buy fries with gravy for supper.

Please do not assume you know as much about me as _______ does, even she is relatively unenlightened.

Men who murder trees for a living, men who unfairly characterize other men as murderers just for making a living, and men who know - and live according to - an order that undoes this sentence.

The priest I am not, the lawyer I am not, the thief I am not, the lover I am not.

She accepts me broken, she lifts me in pieces above the altar I did not know was an altar (I thought it was a kitchen), and the Goddess she worships consumes me, goodbye.

Elephants mourn their dead: this is all we need to know to be saved and to save, stop making it harder than it has to be.

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