everything, really, and why not? Once I attributed all being with deity, like when I was a child, too stupid to know that such is not the way of the world I was to live in, and then again, when I was on the verge of growing up, and was too stupid to realize again, that no, this is NOT the way of the world I live in, and then AGAIN, right before I wrote this blurb, when I was TOO STUPID to remember THIS IS NOT THE WAY OF THE WORLD I live in...
...but maybe if I were to meet YOU, one favored of God, permeated with all the real qualities--the Old qualities, the ones that had stood the test of time for so long before plastic boxes of light and bullshit, before wisdom got stuffed into those boxes pasteurized, homogenized, processed for the easy consumption of mouths eager for shape and distinction, before these diabetic thinkers, fattened off sacrificial ideas, colored the Truth trite and childish, like Honesty, Commitment, Compassion; before the monstrous Giants of Industry and Mammon stole their names, like Fidelity, Trust, Security; before Plato, Pied Piper of philosophy, secreted them away to places far from where man could touch them, right at God's feet, like an Indian gift, trampled for want of His notice, like Goodness, Beauty, Breadth--then maybe...MAYBE... but no, I won't, I wouldn't, couldn't dare, to approach you, I'm sure you would shine a little too brightly for me to look at you squarely, my pupils dilating to try to take in the vision of you, hungry for it, and my mind will growl, my lids salivate, and for politeness' sake, I would shut these eyes, keep them ascetic- for politeness' sake, for politeness' sake.
...when every song reminds me of Her, and every lyric sounds like words I could swear we've shared, and every note feels like something scribbled in passing on my consciousness, every minor reverberating like an elegy, every major striking like a sonnet, every off-beat building an epic ballad in the negative space of the music, every snare a trap into which I'll trip, light, fantastic, like dancing, maybe, no--flying, as only those bound by extra-quantum forces can, reiterating the movements of things they can only imagine, in here, in the distinctly quantum realm of our dreams, where we are all free radicals, Heisenbergian rebels, utterly liberated from space, time, and continua of any kind...
...and every filmed scene is a reenactment of the thoughts of myriad subjectivities, brought together, through brute force of will, or the gentle urging of persuasion, or the light, winking promise of commerce, so that life can be given to Idea, the same way We made God, or rather God made Us, or both, for no better reason than that we all enjoy it, for whatever reason we want, to whatever end, the way we all will laugh and cry and feel alive when we can catch a baby finding sentience, or a child finding Others, or an adolescent finding itself, or an adult finding the connection, or the dying, finding God...
...or when we enter into relationships ourselves with the dreams of others, daily, weekly, in short little bursts, making love to them, making war to them, cooking food to them, eating to them, holding each other to them, even neglecting others to them, turning to them, or even turning them off...
...so that we can make better friends, with the minds of others, meticulously drawn, every word we read a reflection of a microsecond deep in the temporal consciousness of another, somewhere, whom we may never meet, or talk to, or fuck, but who has given us so much of their time, so much of the stuff deep deep inside them, that every library begins to look like a temple to a million Gods, all blending into each other, becoming one, becoming The One, who is just a tiny part of a smaller part of a secret, silent aspect of the Trinity, which when drawn in three-dimensional space, looks more like a pyramid than it does the most miniature part of an orchestra...
...but when you think of it, the Trinity, and you are not being difficult, it is Jesus's face that is conjured up, and isn't that just the genius of the whole thing, that God has a face, a facet tangible to your emotions, whether in representation or what, and it is a nice face, a nice guy, but with that edge, and why shouldn't he be my hero, above all heroes, if only for the fact that he must be the most loved person ever in the history of the world, while at the same time being the one that pisses the most people off.