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Array
(
[sid] => 166866
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Bottomless
[time] => 2011-07-26 15:08:55
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The physical body will destroy itself on compulsion- a craving borne of fear, loud as jackhammer to hear, that cannot be silenced by willpower alone. Resistance only intensifies the itch, giving power where none is needed, because the fight is lost the moments it's declared. -Surrender- The yogi says to feed the demons. Instead of scrambling sideways on foot from gnashing teeth, pause in that terror and give thanks to the teacher. Climb delicately up its blood-stained lips, on which corpses of the fearful will surely rest, until the great abyss is reflected in widened pupils. The tongue that lept from right to left like a frog in search of flies has stopped its dance, preferring your demise. Crawl onto blackened moss and lay with ear to bumps until thu-thump...thu-thump...thu-thump plays a single beat. Unified, or doom-to-be-tied, this beast to a shining soul. Fear does not chase its prey from the corners of the universe, but from the confines of its very heart. A feeble run, nowhere to hide, the shelter moves but the storm's inside. Continue resting in this mouth, caressing ridges with soft hips while at peace with the silence. The demon will reveal its secrets to those patient enough to listen; will whisper truth in the whirlwind of screaming lies. Like a child bemoaning all that preaches and teaches, this energy yearns to tell a speech of its own. When in despair the most powerful words are the ones yet to be spoken, the ones that bring forth life. A woman stretches into a supine star on her demon's tongue, offering herself completely to the tormentor. The Wheel, as its called, has spun her through cycles ad infinitum, each one marked with the most beautiful views and the dirtiest crashes. Unable to see beyond the apex of the revolution, she hovers at the top believing it impossible to fall. "This time I've reached the flat horizon!" In ecstatic bliss she nears the dark curve and approaches it as powerlessly as canoe to waterfall. She holds her breath in vain desperation, but the air escapes as she falls...falls.......falls.............. With no Hopeful Parachute she paws aimlessly at the stars so far away. This freefall is no romantic act of faith, no plunge with cord attached- it's a groundless anxiety that forces pleas of mercy from the depths of the bravest. Gaining speed she begs for a hasty end, but cowardice or instinct keeps her head above her feet. If only she believed that raising her hands would reveal wings of power, this falling angel would return to heaven. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 176 [topic] => 62 [informant] => Cheshire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => spiritual )
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