Poetry set II - PURGING

" IT IS SAID AMONG MEN THAT THE WORD HELL DERIVETH FROM THE WORD "HELAN", TO HELE OR CONCEAL, IN THE TONGUE OF ANGLO-SAXONS. THAT IS, IT IS THE CONCEALED PLACE, WHICH SINCE ALL THINGS ARE IN THINE OWN SELF, IS THE UNCONSCIOUS."
Taken from Aleister Crowleys' "Magick in Theory and Practice", originally from Liber CXI (Aleph)

PURGING

Knowing one loving nose every morning
And knowing exhaustion and repercussion every afternoon
Knowing the lack of sleep every evening and paralyses every night
with masks and clowns and absent doors
Knowing not wanting - nothing really
Knowing grief - poisoned seas, hot concrete, dirty snow
Knowing discretion - avoiding being seen, heard or felt by those available
Knowing when to hide, but not where to
Knowing who to hide from and still, knowing love towards the putrid
Knowing one's goodbyes - the loving nose breathed out into my arm
Goodbyes again - bosses don't want us to live, love
I'll be back, or you'll be near
Knowing separation without knowing divorce
Goodbyes again - we will be together soon, chose your stay
Knowing lucks of choice and still not knowing when the lice would go
Knowing your love poems and sustaining my breath not to slobber
Knowing the move
and the newness
and the silky feeling of new air
Knowing the words without understanding the language
Knowing the hate without recognizing the desert of those skins
Knowing the language, without knowing the vengeance
Knowing the growth, but not knowing the love to it
Knowing goodbyes again - different this time
Knowing the fall, the split cracks, the pulse
Meeting nurses, speaking other languages
Knowing goodbyes- silent and still
Knowing cigarettes in a bathroom and trembling handwriting
Knowing recovery - slow and starved to half-weight
Knowing the growth from the loss.

Knowing the love and seeing the growth it fetched to the winds
Knowing "see you" pronounced with no faith
Knowing a bird and following it from your gut to your heart
Knowing the mute and the muteness and follow them also
Knowing not knowing and fear and the absence of words for a pray
Knowing "I'm loved, but do I want it this way at this time?"
Knowing away, wishing away all the "luck"
Knowing round-round, but slightly aside and confused
Not knowing one's time and fearing it'd never come clean
Knowing what's not, but when who and how stand still and knock through the top
Knowing I'll live til 908
with stories to tell and patience inside and all over the top
Knowing I'll learn, how to eat - when to cry and why breath
Learning why me, how come like this and what to conceive.

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he stood there like a little girl - trembling finger on the buzzer
knowing he was unwanted, hoping that playing amnesiac would save his lying ass again
greatly convinced (and, funnily, greatly convincing) of his innocence and lack of luck
sad little fucker and, at the same time, poor unloved little boy
scared of dying alone smelling of cat piss -the cats he tries to, but is unable of loving
i do think he cringes his teeth, with glass eyes, trying to imagine what there is for him and seeing "etc."
because there is no enough when tactile numbers are in question
and there is no love if all you want is to be praised
and these outer blessings have been always shot in direction of those who will never belong to you

we forget so many things,
like when our biome suffers serious alterations, we grasp onto survival

like when one meets someone who seems to validate ones existence, (s)he dismisses all the crippling doubtful confusing misery that one has been for moments, days or months.

And how all of what we are changes every time we are not what we knew
Isn't that us? Or is it just that we are not a set of timers and coffee+cig
combinations?
Who are you when in abstract?
What's shit and why? And what is your antidote for it?

They say everybody wants to rule the world, I say DNA is a parasite
(I didn't say that originally, someone in Thee Psychick Bible did)
And as soon as you get introduced to an imbalance it gets clearer

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Present voice for a tale of the past,
the expectation and the unpreditability gap
If there is anything to be said at all,
you are and are not everything around
you have accomplished time
We met before we knew each other
Or have we?
No, there is no exchange. We are neutral oneness,
even though whenever I go back it's no different.
Don't illude yourself, there won't be a repetition,
unless we find it by chance.

I convicingly sit down
It's time to write, to dismiss the apparent daily steps to success
to ground the urge to run, to feel the chaos energy bumping into my lymphatic vessels

All the dirt boils up to the top.

Always.

I sit down again, 12 hours later.
The sun has been long gone and I don't feel comfortable with leaving this sequence unfinished.
Or rather, suspended.
I am seated, although, not as confident as before - it's time for bed and i don't want it to take long, so I leave part of the body weight on my toes.

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Been writing terribly, guess been waiting for somebody to appreciate
Gotta write heroically, honestly
A cripple in recovery, let us start from here
Incredibly boring party this has been
Let us start with fun, let us start walking
Later on, let us look around and fill the air with our wondering
Then be reminded that we are all - the violence and the love
And then, let the violent be loved, for they are lack of compassion,
they are afraid
I was afraid - I love the distance now, I love the panoramic view

Am I alone?absolutely not. Can I still feel lonely, I guess it's part of the cure
A sensible dude said "I hope I'll fuck this up", I hope so too
Incredibly boring this party has been, let fuck some up