Kether is one incredible bastard.

the ultimate bastard.

won't let you fail by an inch.

Won't let you get away with a luxury of cynicism or depression.

Won't let you kill yourself.

Won't let you sacrifice yourself for a cause.

Won't let you pass the torch to a better artist.

Won't let you get away with a pattern or a philosophy.

Will take guns right out of your hands and words right out of your
mouth and escapist despicable jobs right away from you.

And leave you. Naked. bleeding. With clouds of mosquitos around you
laughing. With the essence of ugliness raping the mind of your loved
one. With lies shouting and spitting into your soul. With anything.
That might get you. To rise. Again. And forge into battle.

There is a girl in here. A pretty girl. A very pretty girl, with eyes
like black pearls and soul like a consummate jewel. A girl whose eyes
look beyond tragedy, beyond despair, beyond ages. Into the heart of -
the universe. She sits on a lotus petal. A lady of Shalot. Her head is
laid back. Her alabaster skin glimmers in sunlight. Eyes of stars,
fire and earth. Eyes that consummate - everything. Piercing romantic
beauty that grasps. Everything. In her eyes. In her posture bestriding
the lake. In love that streams off of her. In cold and consummate
beauty that turns all passion to truth.

She is waiting. She is waiting for someone. To consummate. Everything.
And emerge from the water. To become worthy of - her. Understand her.
Accept her. And impale her with holy fire.

I have been fighting. Savagely. With swords and with knives. The ugly
disfigurements shapeless fish spermatozoa that went partway and became
unworthy. Hateful. Virulent. Savage. Disgusting. Life-negative.
Infesting in every aperture that might come along. Infesting and
breeding maggots. Infesting and breeding lies. Infesting into anything
that is. Untrue to the universe. And bloating it into tumors. To
connect with each other. And sink hooks. And consummate. The next
level. Of obstruction. To Kether. Another mind-strangling dogmatism,
another maturity, another society, another escape-from-reality,
another entombing relationship, another technology, another logic,
another philosophy another Damn Lie.

I am covered with slime. I have them inside me. They hurt her. They
hurt me. But I fly. I rise. I continue. I rip through philosophies
like fire through drapes. I rip through psyches like drano through
sewers. I scream and I burst every clod of obstruction in
consciousness like a japanese sculpture in the Chicago Museum of Art.
I am fire. I have forbidden myself anything else. Until she is there.
On a lotus petal bestriding the lake. And I am this [] close to being
of her.

I am this [] close to being of her. I am this [] close to being a ve
ry
good writer. I am always this [] close to being - something. The
problem is the between the [ and the ]. I rise like a hurricane oh yes
I do. I balance like Zarathurstra's acrobat over a marketplace taking
arrows. I bestride every mentality that is thrown my
way. But as I find myself there at completion paradigm shifts. . And
something gets timid. Something gets weak. So I look inside. And I
tear out a hook. And I scream savagely and uncontrollably. And I fall.
To climb Again the next morning.

I've lost everything. But that doesn't mean much; they were lies. I've
lost my mind several times over. But that doesn't matter either; those
minds stunk with congestion. I've become utterly porous and full of
debris. But that is just temporary, part of the job. I can't stop.
Each time I stop they get into me. Which wouldn't be so XXXXing bad.
Except if they're in me they also get to her. And that. Is not.
Acceptable.

Each time I stop I fall. So I stay. In motion. Climbing to Kether. And
know that nothing less. Will suffice. But to come to the lotus petal.
And look into these incredible eyes. And be as gentle and wild and
clear as an animal. That has burst. Through the cages. Of the
civilization. To arrive. At the completion. Of his. Divine. Destiny.
And take her, the consummate being of the civilization, into his arms.
And carry her through the clouds. And say, We are here. We are truth.
We are completeness. We are humanity.

[REPOST from 2000]

Ilya Shambat.

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