The Quest

The quest for rightness. The quest to accumulate. It is the currency of power. The sun, the explosion, the internal censor within that seeks explosion.
We drop bombs out of rightness. Invade out of certainty. All the while, one part of the brain needs to believe. Lie after lie. Everything is absorbed like nutrients for the unconscious. We will believe anything, we are selfish. We are singular machines with the desire only to survive. This is what believes the lies. This is what understands superiority, this is what takes the fallacies of what is given. We invade. The world explodes. Machines die. How certain must one be to take gun and leave for war? How certain must someone be to arrest and shoot another?
We come, with the certainty of the sun. Never dying. Never ending. Any questions are burned up with the heat of the fire and with the burning core of delusion. The illusion is a circle, complete and impenetrable. The flag is our eye, the colors of our blindness. We quest after your blood, your resources, the trees, the air in which you breathe. We are the takers, the accumulators. We need more. Always more. We expand with your contraction, grow as you pale. Your exhale is our inhalation, our sprout, one more explosion, one more kernel of power.
Understanding is perfect, simple, believable. Force comes from the sky, from the point of a gun, from the threat of extinction. Power comes with your death, with your blood, with the repeating lie. Accumulation is our need. To grow and grow and grow. There will never be enough, not for this machine, not for this force, not for this great striving.
This is what we know. This is the west. This is the need to travel forward.
Our sun, beautiful sun, give us more so that we can take!
Power comes with the explosion, with another blast of force. The flag is the symbol of our desire. The beating wind the far-off sound of a war drum. The exploding fire our rapid hearts. Your death is our growth. Your release is our expansion.
Energy. The building. The transfer. The movement to and from.
This is our quest. We know it by other names, but this is what we seek. Like quick rapid fire…the lines move, the words change, the actions turn like dancers. New people, new lines, a new game. But the quest is always the same, we are the accumulators.
We seek your energy.
We seek your blood.

Infantilized

They are our fathers. They are the quick hand that will slap. The quick word. Any behavior that is out of place. They are The Name of the Father. And we, we are their unloved children. They look for the wayward. The strange car, the colored hair. What have we been up to today? What will they catch? Our fingers sticky with jelly? They look, and they find.
They are the men with unlimited power. The power of the bullet, the license to kill, maim and hurt. It is part of the job. It is part of the power. It is the power. They are the wielders of force. The mighty slap that will send us back in line.
We are the society of eternal childhood. The culture of the church, the culture of the flock, the followers. We need the structure. We need something to fall into, something to believe in, something to follow. This is a country of laziness, and because of the inability of the mind to work for itself, we need them to provide our outline.
We need others to explain and punish. We keep these ropes. We help them tie them. We are the sheep, fully mobile, but not awake.
Fathers in blue. They look for their wayward sons. Without a glimmer of mother, without a speck of softness, they punish the misbehavior. They punish the realm of the chaotic. They need lines. They make lines, they want lines.
The palate is black and white. The lines are thick and black and there is either right or wrong. There is no room for the blurry vision of a new dream. Life must be lived within the bars.
The territory is marked and clear and not even a toe should venture into the limits beyond the known world of sight and lines and simple color.
Do not shout back, do not cry. There will always be more steel. More bars. More swift action against the streaming world of the chaotic.
They watch. They do not miss. Your vision was illegal. Your march was wrong. Your hopes naïve. Your actions unconscionable.
They hold it all on their hips. Power requires only a second’s thought. Force is what they hold. This is what they have. Brute. Steel. With rightness wedged between.
Stay within the bars. It is safe. It is known. It is right. The world has been clearly defined. There are boundaries, step outside and there are no rules.
Power must maintain order.

The Contradiction

The small little bug landed on my shoulder. It was red and black and looked like something from a nightmare that has yet to get to the darkest pit, yet to leave me tumbling through the air, tasting death as it comes, yet to shock me into wakefulness. It was the news, the stories of rape in the Congo and the dark-as-night-skinned women who adorn their bodies in the colors of rainbows, yet know, with full body awareness, of the brutalizers. It was the pack of seven men that took her down, that ripped into her after taking the breath from her husband, and as bad as it sounds, a part of it, even after several hours and countless other thoughts, it still filled me with the flush of sexual excitement. I had moved to turn down the radio, my brain had recognized her story as something bad, something I would never wish upon myself or another, yet the thought of it, the fantasy, the show of power and domination and the forced submission and the tears and the sexual release the men must have felt by pushing themselves into a woman who had no more tears left, it was that which started the ticking pulse and the search for other images just as brutal and those two realities, the inability to even hear her full story and the vibrational fantasy it invariably created, those two truths despised each other. They were magnets of the same charge. They were shame. They were contradiction.
Modern American women don’t think like that, they don’t like that, they don’t want that, they condemn that…and I do, yet I don’t, yet I do, but I don’t.
And the two colored moths flew around my shoulders, teasing the bare white of my skin with their buzzing and fanatical wing beating. And I wouldn’t want it to happen, but I like it. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, but I want to see it. To be held down, forced open, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I want to run away. And when it does happen, the small, more harmless variety, I feel like I could follow him to the ends of the earth. I can see myself, wearing torn white rags, stepping across the red horizon as the even redder planets loom like hot air balloons just a short arms reach away. I can feel each step over rough edged gravel and those shiny swords that wait in the distance. I have not reached them yet, but I have seen their cousins in the smaller ponds and they have cut me deep, very deep, and somehow, with bloody feet and salty cheeks, I made it past them and over the barren hillsides. And at the ends of the earth, perhaps only an arms reach away, but necessitating a lifetime of travel, he waits in the crystal castle with a goblet full of foul tasting life and eyes that could warm the night sky if given a chance. The wings flap like a soft lullaby and their colors have become my coat of arms.

God

A fast moving comet streaks across the vast stretch of space. No one on earth has noticed its journey, for it moves faster than any technology can detect.
It passes other colliding stars and collapsing solar systems.
It simply moves.
Acceleration for its own purpose.
There are no thoughts or reasons on this journey.
There is no mind.
Just force….cause…movement….effect…movement…movement. In time, standing still…and moving… simultaneously… its force gathers.

The shattering fireball grows large, larger than the imaginable and begins to fragment, spewing pieces of electric fury are cast in all directions. Beyond the realm of colorful description, far from the linguistic limitations of size, the smaller pieces continue to speed.
One breaks though the physical barrier, a new force pushing itself into multiple dimensions.