krow

The ruins-
I walk around them 100 years before.
Civilization's tall buildings,
crumbling ruins yet to rise.

I stagger around the city
in the magick dusk/dawn of everytime.
The matches in my pocket,
I feel them crackle with anticipation.

The concrete rivers flow beneath my feet.
The steel and glass jungle whispers its secrets to me.
I am man, straightening her back and walking upright.
I reclaim my territory, my hunting grounds.
I dissolve their images of desire, replacing them with my own.
I desire only to be human--only human.

I crumple up my domesticity
and use it as tinder for my matches.

more hunter gatherer than ever before

I stop and remember where I want to be--in some place that makes more sense.  I left my dysfunctional family to find a dysfunctional culture, and I realized I had not left anything, really.  I've taken some steps.  And it's felt good.

I lost the map, or I never had it, or I dream about it, or I'm making it up as I go along.  That part doesn't really matter.  I keep nudging myself, remembering that this world of slavery is not made by humans.  It's made by ideas.  It's a cunning trap we've set-quite impressive--but I still want out.  I feel determined.

I left home and found that I didn't know who I was.  I placed myself in relation to the culture around me.  I wasn't me; more like I was me as a reaction to this culture.  That's a challenging thing to shake off.  It's not just my daze; it's reinforced by the rest of us.

I've made a bazillion mistakes, and I've stuck my foot in my mouth endless times.  Still, I'll take my own judgment over what anyone else is trying to sell me.  I don't want to join your crew.  I feel up to the challenge of learning from mistakes, or maybe I'd rather just call them experiences.  I stopped believing in right and wrong, and now I seem to find myself in my own footsteps. 

So, what are we doing?  I'd like to know.  Some days I feel pretty good about things, and other days, I wonder why in the hell we ever left Egypt, struggling to find the promised land in the desert.  We eat manna off the ground, and sometimes we get together and raise up a golden calf here or there.  I know it's a rough road across this desert, but I refuse to be bored to death, my soul slowly sucked out with each action I take to slog stones up the Empire's altar of choice.  This is what makes me a slave.  I am determined to escape.

I know I am in a garden of eden.  I reinforce these ideas in my daily life as much as I can.  Some days, that is not much.  Some days, it is.

I see this forbidden future so clearly at times.  It is world of our own making.  It's all the joy and sorrow of learning from our experiences.  It's being honest with ourselves, and perceiving without judgment of experience already in place.  It's becoming a child in a sense of wonder, and also accepting the consequences we can't always foresee.  It sings to me of freedom, inside this gilded cage that look too much like prison bars.

"I think it's probably going to go on getting more and more different everywhere, because you don't just drop out of cities, you know, you drop into somewhere else, more deeply and completely than you've ever been anywhere before."  --Paul Johnson