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iamnotapieceofyourpuzzle

Twisted spirals and intertwining masses of kinetic energy and superstrung strings.
Rabidly coalescing into the chaotic rhythm of existence,
crashing into each other and falling back into nothing.
A mere wind would disrupt this flow of chaotic insanity.

Nothing can be pulled from the mass. The mass is all, the mass is naught.
The importance of the mass is all we imbue it with.
Without the decision to give it form, it has none.
As it exists, it is nothing and everything at the same time.

Falling apart, twisting to the stars, crashing down again,
Leaving behind not even a sign of its existence,
Once it is gone none could even tell it was here
The mass falls into legend, into myth

For years the mass is mentioned, ever more skeptically
Did it ever exist? What was it? Why was it here?
What was so important about this swirling mass of primordial ooze?
Are we not, as a people, better off with our chaotic past behind?

----

We stop and pause in wake. We look across the sky.
We feel better about ourselves. We stop to scream.
We are kings of our domain, rulers of all.
All that we survey is ours, and none shall remain.

But you, why are you here? You are a figment, a remnant.
You do not fully exist in this world. This world is our own.
You intrude upon a place that you cannot comprehend.
This place is beyond you. Depart while you can,

Or you will become one of us.

---
Swirling, it comes back to us. Our creator, our god,
Formless and wondrous. Infinite and exquisite.
It is all we ever longed for, and all we ever wanted.
We raise our hands and ask for it to pour flame down upon us

Burn us up with unending might! Let us bathe in the torment we crave!
Singe us! Tare us asunder! Let nothing stand, let no one live!
From the smallest insect to the mightiest tree, destroy it all!
Return to oblivion! Return to dust! Return to nothingness!

We will be free! We will be free! Free from pain! Free from our bodies!
Free us from our minds! Free us from our temptations! Free us from our madness!
Free us from the screams we hear day and night! Free us from ourselves!
Free us from the desire to hurt and destroy!

May you be the destroyer so that we need not be killers ourselves!
This is fate. This is planned. This is destiny!
Our hour of death was foretold. Our destruction was ordained!
Falling and falling, deeper and deeper into our oblivion, our bodies fall.

There is nothing left for us here, and to here we return!
Again and again, we call upon the destroyer to help us fall,
For divine and cleansing fire is all that is needed for us to rest!
To rest! To rest. To rest…

Why must we need to rest? Why are so many things left undone?
Why are our lives so hollow? Why must we live here?

---
To lust and to rage,
Know that life is a stage
To bleed and to burn
Leave no stone left unturned
To hate and to kill,
And to follow our will

The dead of the moment are the damned of today!
All for you I pray, damned of yesterday.

---

Ramblings come to a close, the above were written moments ago as fast as my fingers could type. I don’t know how the above rambles read, but I vaguely ordered them like poems to create the illusion of order to my madness.

Respecting Friendship

I use my mind, I know not how, the image comes to view.
A pleasant picture evoking feelings, my breath it takes away.
It is not real, but based upon my rememberence of you.
I try so hard to keep it there, to help me through my day.

You have been there, in flesh and voice, a hand you offered me.
The little things you did just then to pull me from my pain.
A battered form, trembling, sobbing, grotesque for all to see.
Yet you remained to comfort, as a gently cleansing rain.

I see you also, smiling, laughing, the special way you do.
My pulse it quickens as I watch the happiness unfold.
My words fall out, tumbling wildly, they crash right into you.
No more the smile, no more the laugh, for I have been too bold.

Frantically retracting the truth I should have kept,
mired in my anxiety, my head begins to spin.
I sense the dread you harbor, for many nights I wept,
I long for just one chance to mend our friendship once again.

Tarnished, scattered, it's difficult to put the pieces back,
I ask for guidance, seek advice to delay the bitter end.
To my surprise, you reappear, no friendliness you lack,
An opportunity once more, for me to call you Friend?

My server cannot supply your site.
Sand
[email protected]

I thought I'd share some of my poetry. This first one is about when I went off my medication, which actually was one of the best choices I ever made. Unfortunately based on the feedback at allpoetry my references were too obscure:

It's been two months
since I let go of my tether
vaulted into tohu
dove into my own madness to redeem
the shattered vessels of my self.

It's been two months
since my world constricted
violent involution shook my inner baby
birthed the quiet stillness
that threatens the raging maelstrom.

I've married a whore
crowned myself messiah
annulled The Law
challenged the sultan to yield
spouted The Name
in an antinomian orgy of
chutzpah and emptiness.

Lao Tze tells me
the sage probes the depths
welcomes Gehinnom.

His blessing
: "ride your wild stallion"
frightens me.

I hide from him
in my walled garden crying
"water, water"
until I die

a tree blossoms
from my navel

and gives forth fruit.

_________________

This is a myth I wrote about man's asserting dominance over the rest of the world. It borrows from biblical phraseology (particularly as it's translated into English by Everett Fox,) UFO conspiracies and probably also from that episode of South Park with the grays and cows:

Ufo, Cow and Upright Monkey

Ufoh the Spinning Disc was lonely
Above a world of beasts. She
Called out to the grazer:

“Cow!” She called.
“My Light will fall upon you.
Come and enter my Womb.
If you come fearlessly you will
Rule the land, yes, rule!
And if you are filled with fear you will
Surely die."

And Cow said: “Moo!”

But Upright Monkey watched and listened from
Beneath the treetops.
And before the Light of Ufoh fell upon the grazer
He slew Cow with a rock and clung to his body.
And he was lifted above the clouds
Into the Womb of Ufoh.

“Now Cow,” said Ufoh.
“You are the most peaceloving
Of the beasts. And your voice
Is pleasing to me. Partake of my
Liver and you will share in my Knowledge."

But Cow was heavy upon the ground.
And Upright Monkey stole and devoured the liver.
Mad with overwhelming enlightenment,
He forced Himself through the Womb
Headfirst and fell.

Ths Spinning Disc Ufoh listened to the falling trees
And watched civilization climb to the clouds.

Still to this day Ufoh calls out to the cows
That they might free the world
From Man. But they remember their
Ancestor and rise to the call
Nervous and in fear.
And every one of them dies.

___________________

Lastly this is a fanfic I wrote about the Dubno Maggid. It's not really about him in the sense that the character in the story bares only slight resemblance to Jacob Kranz and the world around him bares only slight resemblance to the world he lived in. I was attempting to have it read like a poorly-dubbed kung fu movie. For a time I was thinking of using it as the basis for a full epic but I never did:

In the late morning on Shabbat Master Jacob Kranz was just finishing delivering his final mashal of the day to the men of Dubno and preparing to engage in an explanation of his story.
“… The nimshal is… the man who eats at the tables of kings feeding scraps to dogs is the dog himself, dining at the master’s table. But a swift hand will come down to smack the dog away for his insolence, as masters believe all dogs should eat off of the ground like the dogs they are! Accept the yoke of heaven or the king will do away with you and all of your kin!” He stroked his beard and slit his eyes. The men had fallen to the ground and were weeping.
“Dubno Maggid your Mussar is too powerful for us please spare us any more of it or we will surely lose our minds and die, screaming like women for a place to die.” Satisfied, he took his seat for the rest of Shacharit.
He went to his home, a small room with no luxuries. He had a dirt floor and a straw mattress. Being the day of rest, he decided to take a nap. This is the dream of the Dubno Maggid:

All is dark except for the painfully bright spot where Reb Jacob Kranz walks. There is a droning chant in the background of “ayayaah ayayaah ayayaah” as the Master makes his way through an ancient and powerfully mystical city called Safed, where he will meet the person who will tell him his purpose in life and how to live a more skillful life.

Dubno Maggid: Uhhhh. Oh! Where am I?
HOLY ARI: Hey, kid! Over here!
Dubno Maggid: Wha… Who said that? I dunno this place is kinda givin me the creeps.
HOLY ARI: Hush up and come over here Master Kranz if you really want to know what your purpose is in life and why you were brought here in the first place a heh heh.
Dubno Maggid: Uh okay then. But how did you know my name and who are you anyway? Is this some kinda joke did the Maggid of Mezeritz put you up to this or something?
HOLY ARI: This is no joke Dubno Maggid. There are cosmic forces at work and this whole place could go to gehenna.
Dubno Maggid: Well what is this place?
HOLY ARI: We’re in Safed, dummy. A long time ago me and my buddies got fed up with all the crap in Golus and we came to the Holy Land. But it was the same nonsense there. So we dedicated ourselves to holy service and wouldn’t you know that after a few forty years of intense and esoteric mystical practices the entire city of Safed was elevated in its place to the world of yetzirah. So now nobody can get in or out, but we can call people here if they’re in a dreamstate by shifting their bodies to a different vibrational frequency. Got that?
Dubno Maggid: Oh that’s just a child’s fairy story. I stopped believing in Safed when I was 12.
HOLY ARI: You gotta be shittin me. Look around Junior! Heh heh. Welcome to Safed.
Dubno Maggid: So if I’m in Safed, then who are you?
HOLY ARI: …
Dubno Maggid …
HOLY ARI: I’m the HOLY ARI. They used to call me the Isaac Luria but then I got drunk and wrestled one of the celestial lions that roam the fields and I won and all my buddies started cheerin and the name stuck.
Dubno Maggid: They call me Dubno Maggid because I’m from Dubno and I’m the maggid there.
HOLY ARI: …
Dubno Maggid: …
HOLY ARI: Aw don’t get your tailfeathers in a knot. Someday they’ll call you the Dubno Maggid for being bigger than Elvis.
Dubno Maggid: Why?
HOLY ARI: Well I’m not supposed to tell you everything just yet but now I have to be really serious with you because there’s an evil the likes of which the world has never known and you’re the one the Blessed Holy One is counting on to lead the counter offensive.
Dubno Maggid: Where is this evil? I’ll vanquish it with my powerful Mussar and it will lose its mind and die screaming like a woman for a place to die! Yeah!
HOLY ARI: Not too fast kid you may think your Mussar is hot stuff in that backwater town of yours but it’s far too weak for this enemy. The husks are working together on this one.
Dubno Maggid: Mmmm. What am I facing?
HOLY ARI: It’s these pesky hasidim. The Maggid of Mezeritz has used Sitra Achra powers to brainwash all of the young yidn to leave their wives and follow his every command and it’s a real mess now. And he’s trying to revive the gilgul of the Besht as a Golem so he can harness his devastating amulet abilities. You have to act fast and I’m gonna train you.
Dubno Maggid: Hah! In your dreams HOLY ARI.
HOLY ARI: No in your dreams. A heh heh. You’re not going to wake up until you’re ready to take on the menace.
Dubno Maggid: Oh. Okay.
HOLY ARI: Now! Hit me with your strongest… Mussaaaaaaaaar!
Dubno Maggid: Hah! Get ready old man because you’ll be crying for mercy when I’m finished. Uh… There’s a dog. And he lives in the king’s palace. When the king is done eating, he throws the dog scraps. When the dog is done eating it takes a crap on the lawn, yeah, and then the worms eat the crap. The nimshal is: You, HOLY ARI, are the dog!
HOLY ARI: Did you just call me a dog?
Dubno Maggid: heheh. No. No. It’s a mashal. The dog is simply an element in the mashal used to gain interest and evoke emotion.
HOLY ARI: But you just said I’m the dog just a moment ago.
Dubno Maggid: The dog is the character in the story that reflects your role in the heirarchical structure between God and man.
HOLY ARI: That was not very impressive. You have failed in your use of Mussar.
Dubno Maggid: But hey that’s not right you didn’t let me do it right.
HOLY ARI: I told you to hit me with your strongest Mussar and you started blabbering about heirarchical somethingsomethings. Now let me show you the true power of Mussar. I call upon the presence of Eliyahu HaNavi to join with me praise God so that this weakling fool might know what a weakling fool he is. Muuu saaaaar Hah!

There is a lion that walks proudly through the fields as the sun is too swiftly setting. A chariot comes down from the heavens and the lion stands astride it. As he flies up above the surface of the earth he sees more and more of what is happening on the planet. He weeps. His tears fall from the heavens as pouring rain. But the people down below only see the rain. So he defecates and the s**t falls on one man and that is you Dubno Maggid, who now know everything you need to know to clean this mess up. If you do not clean this up, the s**t is going to continue to pile up, until the earth is covered in it. If you fail, all is lost.

Dubno Maggid: Wha huh? I’m not crying. You call that powerful all you did is tell a pretty story well go tell it to your wife.
HOLY ARI: This has a delayed reaction. Heh.
Dubno Maggid: Waaaah! No! Too much Mussar. You’re too strong for me, and you don’t even practice Mussar. How is it possible? How are you so powerful? How can this be?
HOLY ARI: You first must learn to become a vessel for the divine, Dubno Maggid. Stop telling Mussar. Let the Mussar tell through you.
Dubno Maggid: Oh, I got it now.
HOLY ARI: There is one other lesson you must learn in order to be ready to begin your quest. There are some souls you will meet on your journey and some you have met in past gilguls that you are infinitely compatible with. If you fuse with one of these bashertes you will increase the power of your mussar as it takes on the combined qualities of you and your basherte. You will know when you meet one of these people.
Dubno Maggid: Hey you’re one of them.
HOLY ARI: Very good Dubno Maggid. Now fuse with me and use your Mussar!
Dubno Maggid: Oh. Okay. I summon the spirit of the HOLY ARI to strengthen me as I deliver a crushing Musaaar! Muuu saaaaar Hah!

THE SEA OF NIGHT

In sleep I would swim
Through a surf of memory.
Small thoughts brush against my skin
Like startled fleeing fish.
Coral crags share my passages -
Large concepts which are the mountains
Of the planet of my mind.
Dim blue threats make lazy turns
In the murk of unfamiliarity
Where clarity melds into the shadows
Of uncertainty. Distant hates
And ephemeric loves play warm and cold intricates
Against the sunken seascapes
That fade in and out of my perceptions.
Morning sunlight flashes undulating surfaces
To camouflage the secrets of the night.

This is a short piece I wrote on memory. I have a nearly eidetic memory, so this piece reflects the struggles it can present, rather than the benefits most people espouse.

Seal yourself away, hide deep in the sand. Pain, frustration caused by memories carved in your brain; faces, places, people, voices, all as raw and full as the day they came into your life. Pain that stings no matter how old it is, and happiness with no sell-by date. A double edged sword that needs to wrapped in thick tape to blunt the blows. It is the curse of a strong memory, good for recalling facts, bad for recalling emotions. Each pain is like a stab wound that never mends, a deep sore left to ferment and rot, something you try to cover with bandages, gauze, anything, but it still makes itself known. It still throbs under the dressings, still bleeds and oozes pus. A horrible thing to look at, a thing to turn your eye away from, but something that also follows your vision, much like spots left by staring into the sun. This is because it is carved behind the eyes; how can one blind oneself to something that isn't actually there? Something that only resides in the hall of the mind, and not in the foyer of reality. How can one chase away ghosts of a past long dead? Flailing fists at them, finding only air and negative space. Such is the pain of one whose mind is like a photocopier, a video camera and a magnetic tape. Old thoughts never die, and new thoughts take up permanent residence. This mind knows nothing of leasing or renting, only firmly entrenched homes for each experience, foundations rooted deep in the synapses of the brain, rooted deep in the psyche. There are no summer homes here.

I wrote this a couple of years ago. I almost never write poetry, and usually i write in spanish. But that time inspiration came and it was in English.

Delusional

Neither pain nor glory,
just an empty box
full of bitter memories.
No tracks of greatness.
No lasting footprint.
In the twisted hallways
of my own madness.
Ineffable echoes crowding
the emptiness of the tunnel. The paintings on the walls
stare at me...
or they don't?

The sound of the chains
keeps me aware
all night long.
Those empty hollows
burn the flesh
as an ironic behaviour
bound by the blindness
of their sick ambitions.
-Caro Data Vermibus-

As a nightly shade,
as a spark in the daylight.
Caught in a parade
of walking masks
moving along my path,
In the colorful dance
of this musical masquerade.
But sooner or later
will the clock chime for last time.
Eins!
Zwei!
Drei!
Vier!
Fünf!
Sechs!
Sieben!
Acht!
Neun!
Zenh!
Elf!
Zwölf...!
DREIZEHN!

The sweet warmth
of a candle light.
The vindictive smiles
wander around me.
In the dark forest
where the tree branches
tangle everywere.
Forming a giant maze
where spirits are drawn
down into the abyss.

The pendulum swings
once and again,
as it always has,
as it always will.
The sound of a sick melody
grows louder everytime
as a suffocated scream
as an endless elegy
within the chambers of the mind.

The rusted anchor once again is broken
allowing the ship of my dreams
to drift into turbulent waters
engulfed by the mist.
Wolves are howling in the dock
while the thunderstorm
fades their cry away.

The fog reveals
the scary expectations
of those small crates.
Where hopes are deprived
and dreams turn into twisted protraits.
Which are hanged
along the great halls,
the great halls of human fears.

Doors and Tunnels

...the stretch from beginning to end is presumably long involving both time and distance.
The beginning is not even a vague memory.
The end is incomprehensible.
What fills the gap in between is constant, yet changing; often willfully directed from within, but many times influenced by inside and outside forces not in our control.
Like walking through a lengthy tunnel; sometimes well-lit, sometimes dark and foreboding.

Yet,
always within our view, brighter than the lights, brighter than the darkeness,
is the opening at the far end. We walk towards that end, one step after another.

Imagine, a dark tunnel filled to capacity with all manner of people
walking the same path towards the same end.
Bodies brushing against each other, stranger connecting with stranger; feeling the mass as it presses in from all sides, sometimes impeding your progress, sometimes lifting you up, taking the effort away as you are carried forward.

Along the way,
there are doors; old, dirty, and full of warnings but with no indication of what might lie beyond.
From time-to-time, strangers move towards these doors only to be turned back.
Other times you see them open as the person exits through.
There are times when the crushing and control of the crowd cause you to
look hard at the doors as you pass them.
You contemplate pushing your way towards them, ignoring those around you, even the ones with whom you have been traveling so closely for so long.

If the crowd is too strong or your resolve is weak, you only have a moment for a backwards glance and to feel the tug of regret for not pushing harder,
as you are carried along with the masses.
Soon the feeling passes as you re-direct your gaze forward again.
The urge to carry onward with this migration seems innate, uncontrollable, perhaps even stronger this time. But, in the periphery of your sight and mind, remain the doors.

There are no words here to satisfy the queries concerning how this journey will end.
Even if I possessed the answers to those questions, I would be hesitant to corrupt your mind with a single version to something that remains in flux; dependent on forces too innumerable and too chaotic for any human to predict.
This is your burden,
your journey,
your life...

enough

enough! i scream
in my head.
i'm done with this!
i can't take any more...

enough! i cry
in my heart.
why do i keep on with this?
i can't take any more...

enough! i say
to myself.
why don't i just let it go?
i don't need you any more...

enough...(i whisper
so you can't hear.)
i wish you would go away...
but i still need you, my friend.

do you think you could
spare a minute for me?
could you come and visit,
just sit with me?
i'm lonely, i'm sad, i'm hurt, i'm mad.
i just need someone here,
someone who understands;
someone to listen when no one else will.
so do you think you could
spare a minute for me?
i don't need you to stay
for an awful long time.
just long enough to say "hi,
how are you doing?"
i don't always want to talk.
just knowing you're there
is often enough.
knowing someone cares
means more than enough.
it means i'm not alone.
so do you think you could
spare a minute for me?

Like a bird with a broken wing
(that cannot fly
back to the nest
that it tried,
with such valiant intent to escape)
would sing
"I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then"

http://www.wrongplanet.net/postp1026539.html#1026539

Link to four poems that I wrote.

Goldie

Hush now, Goldie
Your lover’s dead
They found him on the riverbed
His blood mixed with the water
His brains burbling out
His eyes rolled back in his handsome head
Hush now, Goldie
Don’t you cry
You’ll get your revenge
In the sweet by-and-by
You’ll drive a spike
Through his head
And leave him by the riverbed

A Footprint on the Wall (April 1, 2007)

The office is untidy, papers all over this room
Four walls the definitive nature of this tomb
Her smile too tight, body thinness sharp and pointed
The atmosphere stunted, time jumbled and disjointed
My eyes travel to the right, the wall hanging over there
A picture of a humanoid footprint, and so I stare
At the black background. The foot is gray and lined
Too large, and the age of its owner is not defined.
All five of its toes are positioned just so
Where the rest of its body is, I really don't know.
I look at her questioningly, her eyes glance down low.
Then she recovers, and her smile begged me yet not to go.

A memory washes over this interview scene.
The force of a tsunami, and the wall's now a screen.
I am not allowed to look up at that which is not forgotten anymore
When the time is ended, she shows me the door.
On the way out I make my eyes take a quick glance
To memorize that portrait, just the slightest chance.
Then we walk to a new beginning, and if it be true
A footprint on the wall was the only path that I knew.

Footnote:Because I am a visual literalist, I was told I should not write. But I have learned figurative language and this is the result. I have written many poems. My kids like them and maybe, just maybe I will publish them, along with my philosophical ramblings. Thanks for reading.

(a little one, its lyrics but I really like the hidden complexity of the message)


Screams of passion,
though we're not yet to be.
Past the point of no return.

Now its soul.

Forever gone.
Somehow, never alone.
The only one.
Was always alone.
Rotten to the bone.
Its all gone. Left alone.

Now its soul.