A Goddamned Messianic Tragedy of the Heart

O, you were always my messiah.

The collapse of will and fate; that the knowing flame in our eyes foresaw the descent, the demise -- foresaw this in that our very knowledge was birthed of itself. A goddamned messianic tragedy of the heart. That despite all the animal magnetism, the enchantment, the inevitability, and desire -- that despite will and fate -- we, two ships, sailed valiantly onward in the night... sailed silently, passing, and drifting on immaculately, never to pass by again. Never to touch.

When the mind, the microcosmos, the world, and the cosmos all pled otherwise.

Self-denial turned denial toward you. So consumed. Two selves meant to be entwined, such that one self is the other. And so to self-sacrifice is to betray.

Self-denial turned denial toward you.

And so, I ran. From myself [from you]. Tore myself away, anguish, agony, love. And when I died, because I did, because a self cannot be torn in half, you resurrected me.

O, you were always my messiah -- the messiah of my heart... my lifeblood, my cherished, fallible, mortal, living, pulsing messiah.

I breathe you, as though you pump the bellows of my soul. Your beauty sustains me, ever enamored. The more I love you, the more I am resurrected; the more your messianic stare pierces me sorely, the more the sweet joins the bitter. The beauty I see in you I see in myself. The beauty in you is the beauty in me.
Selfless self love.

And though I stand alone, my lone self is all I need because you live on in me.

"Let There Be Streetlight!"

Deus ex machina: god from the machine!

The primeval, glorious being came thundering down & cried restitution, retribution & redemption [oh, dark redemption]; smoldering sunset eyes & black locks of funnel clouds & a deafening roar heard only as the silence of the cosmic dark. & its fingers spun webs of immortal perfection ensnaring all mortal souls at once -- its descent, of course, made upon a rickety, wooden machine lowering with creaky drunken swings. Pulled by a rope. A cheap throne of human construction.
God from the machine: the last human hope.

& the plot thickened & brimmed with promise & we praised & were enamored & dazed: resolution of our ideals incurred... The drama unfolded; an ancient Greek god, sent to rectify, rectify, rectify! A concept relentlessly resonating through time -- that our machine god would save the world, render humanity salvageable. & it was a beautiful work of fiction. Bestow upon me your truly potent righteousness, Deus!


But history repeats, repeats, repeats itself & what once failed & lingered only in the realm of fabricatedfiction... remained so. Ever faithful futility. The tragic flaw that rendered the plot device simultaneously a cheap fix & a brilliant vision.

For, what is power but failed in the face of spectacular abuse?


God from the machine: try in vain to save ourselves with artificial might & behold the atom bomb, polluted skies, & the corporatocracy! It cried "let there be light" & we echoed "let there be streetlight;" "let me save" & we echoed "we shall destroy."

Impotent human righteousness. God from the machine. Reality a parody of a comedy.

No, god is the machine -- as we reify & deify our almighty man-made prince of darkness, lord of doom. Worship, bow before our legendary, cataclysmic Fall. Wrought by the very potency that might have saved the world.

Diabolus Ex Machina!

The pocket watch inevitably slows to a stop with entropy...

The Story of a Million Faces

I've surrendered.

I've surrendered the to fact that I won't surrender; that no matter how futile, how inane & abysmal it gets, that no matter of fucking foolish & delusional & absurd... I can't surrender. I'll fucking love you.

It is fucking absurd. It's the most ruthlessly laughable tragicomedy you'll ever hear of. Heartbreak.
I applaud you, Almighty, that was a truly magnificent one. Really beautifully executed. Touching, really. Did you see how skillfully the dramatic irony was employed? She really believed him! She really did! She thought love would last forever!

Obdurate, blind, tragic.

I haven't been able to eat a full meal in days.

I'm alone.

& yet, I know I'm not alone. I know I'm no different; as insignificant as every other motherfucker out there who fell prey to those goddamned inescapable human tendencies, to the inevitable & doomed human drama, to [yes, yes, you guessed it] L-O-V-E. Blessed with the natural capacity for it.
This is insanity, my god.
My pain is the human story that has unfolded over&over&over for millennia, told & untold, remembered & lost, the story of a million faces. Beaten weary by the hand of time.
& it still reaches fresh, unfathomable depths, it still is the biggest. thing. in. the. world.

& it is incommunicable.


Is it denial if you know you're wrong? Wrong & defected & hopeless?
Is it denial if you can say "I'm in denial"?


& it will hang over me, the irrational hope. The years will go by, & I will live in triumphant dreams, find respite in the false oblivion, breathe the slaphappy delusions, until I will breathe no more.