The roads are criss-crossed
Mud and dust
But very tidy
With wagons and horses
Some wonderful buildings, colonial-style
Sleepy as if from a century ago
Loading a boat with fruit and produce
For another town
Calm, small town
Very sane
I like it here
It`s very quiet
Except for the noises
Of occasional bikes
Or cars,
So extreme their roars!
Settled communities need a stranger,
A wanderer, someone who comes and surprises;
Thus it has always been,
Thus does the Moon refill Her light!
The human mind needs a display
Like fireworks of thought and feeling,
A Symphony of Anton Bruckner,
A Tone Poem of Richard Strauss,
Or, of course, and most supreme,
A Music Drama of Wagner:
The flashing spirits of strange despair,
The effulgent bursts of a riverflow,
The dark suns breaking lights
Of divine spectra and stupendous flames:
Why to flow on the Río Paraguay
Up to Corumbá, slowly amid flights
Of jabirus, macaws, roseate spoonbills,
Fantasies immense of the interior mind,
Playing with the dreams of Objective Nature,
The Pantanal of Carpincho and Mborevi.
O how can I tell
Of the yearning for thou
Grand river with island
Never satisfied
Why I desire
Not the mother but wrongly
The daughter of thou
In deep stupidity
O impossible being
Like an island in a river
Is all I can know,
Never am I full
Deep in emptiness
No belief in God,
I have my Pantheism
Feeling of the Divine
In all Nature and Being
But I hate Religion
There is no God
Sitting as a bearded fool
Dividing Spirit from Matter
Way up in the sky
Making me feel guilty
When life is difficult enough
Without such a fatuous fantasm
And why did He create
Everything so crazily
Human beings with such tendencies
Just so to say
You have Free Will, so all is your fault.
Any God of that kind
Would be a sadist
Creating such possibility of pain
Providing a Hell for those who fail
His lousey obstacles
Burning them in all Eternity
Because He created them thus
I would hate such a God
If He dared to exist
Which He doesn`t
When the body dies
So does the spirit
And all re-enters the Cosmic Whole
Whatever that may mean.
There is some transcendent Beauty
Some transcendent Spirit of Goodness
A feeling, a force, beyond understanding
In the Universe, a Divinity of Existence,
But not a God, or gods, or if there are
I hate them all, and I would prefer to suffer
In their hells, rather than try to find
Acceptance in their rottenness.
Only in your sweet arms
That I do not have now
Is bliss, but then I know
How Paradise was born.
As a child, I believed in God,
But then I learnt, when so deserted,
What an evil mirage it all was,
Dancing menacing tortures for a lost
Teenager, fuelled by nasty men
With power to poison me.
Therefore I wage war
Against all full-scale ideologies
That seek to impose upon the naive
What their imposers wish to see.
Just think for yourself, as Nietszche said,
Be a human being, lost and alone,
Walking high upon the clouds
Until all crashes you down
And accept, after your trivial moment
Bouncing in this sea of chaos,
That you will die, and disappear.
But hold your dignity, and believe
That what you do for what is good
Is real, because you know
In your own being, that it is,
And stuff all the garbage that flies around,
Trust only in yourself.
O gut it to your deep
Spasm beyond thought.
Does the beat continue?
To hell if it does not
Just die, and float away
Who cares, not even the frogs
That bark upon a drooping quagmire
Haggling with the fires,
Spit a poodle into the grange,
They are goofed up to their brains.
Because the hogs eat the spleens
Of tadpoles when they enter their teens
Jookies quip and splod a doop
Before the rain pooves a poop
And many a croupe plays its sting
Amid the various drowning rings
When hoopla is not more a grog
And none breathes, not even Bad Dog.
White splash free dog
Dog fish drip
Spat! Spit
I feel so bad
Sorry to everyone
Clocked like a crock to the ultimate dock
I spoop, a coglit drooper in stang
O let`s die, disperse
Into the other atoms
Half in love with Death
Or that Nightingale on Hampstead Heath
Leave regrets behind
And all inadequacies
All the mistakes of stalking on this earth
If there could be an Immaculate Conception
Why not an Immaculate Death?
Spat!
Not a splat is a fishcrook true!
Here I decline
And brig into brew
There is always a boogie in a glop-filled sphere
There perhaps I can dream anew
I cannot understand
Why he hated me so
From the moment of my unwilled birth
Plucked from a dark womb,
But it was my joy, too
To be so foreign to every sky
Never was I a pea in a pod
And that is something wonderful
Because you view the dawn in a special way
When you should never have been there at all
Those streaking drunken colours are pure
Madness, exploding beyond all normality
I have always heard those streams
Like holiness of mystic dreams
Whether I should or not, unsure
I sink like gold into every beauty
As my soul is sometimes on hard fire
Like a meteorite bursting through the sky,
I know not why, nor how, nor for what,
But I never sleep, but for these dreams.
When the world hurts too much,
I must learn to float away,
Why I am so, I do not know,
Perhaps it was all because I strayed.
But, from what, I cannot see
Clearly; that perfect path
Seems absurd in light of barbed
Wires that spread so totally.
In flayed flesh at times the stars
Shine cruelly upon the stones,
The deadening rocks that scream in flames,
The burrs of the desert, surrounding cactuses,
Spiking the air in desperate yearnings,
Bite with despairing mouths into the empty sky,
Where nothing lives, only cold winds fly.
Better not be born, throw your heart
In black pieces to the wolves who howl,
The river sucks all who sing
And all my foolish cells droop.