Thursday, April 28, 2011


I remember Professor Vaughn would often say,
It is odd that they do not recognize in me
what they have followed reverently for centuries,
namely a simple translation of buddhism's central
tenet, that all life is suffering, for I would often say,
and took it as a hologram for the kit and kaboodle
of my work: As far as ideas go in the universe, "life"
was never a particularly "good" one.

And barring this simple recognition, he would further
plurse and himphthel, "Complexity is itself simple, for what
possible purpose (...) [does it go].. It is no wonder, the Sumerians called
their temples Ziggurats, or waiting rooms".

Blasted, and useless, this unprecious beaker
awaits its masterpiece conclusion: exact size, shape,
and constitution, how uplifting...

And the one thing which made it rich, it's superlative uniqueness
was found cast out in the gutter by every tradition.

I too, shall build my house on the rock of avarice, since mind
or lie alike give forth in bountiful parasite:

What fuel is there to read against an actual knowledge of the truth?

Only love.
like that for a retarded child
who blows bubbles in the starlight
and feels only the lips
and wetly blathering.

Every Angel fears the Innocence in Idiocy.