Preferential Indifference

Preferential Indifference

I have looked past the curtain of the void and seen
the haze beyond what attempts to give shape to all
that has no definition. Without boundary hindrance
I can trespass there and seek out that which brought
forth from my own soul, the shroud that lay without
rather than within. I see the colourful cloaks about
each nameless would-be transient soldier, if cast off
were all such grappling, contaminating force-fields.

Calm before the storm; calamity of miscreant faithful
hosts at mayhem’s dawning. Follows leading sons, lo
claims no daughter would be worthy or proved whole.
Abused and forgotten symbiotic intangibility abandons
in search of another, what might prove to refute such
false prophetic yearning. Hope denied each time and
onward moving in a constant circle, rings of harrowing
cycles written out in sand and bone, circumstantially.

Why wouldst each categorise what shall not suffer such
suffocation; beasts of gnashing teeth and clawing digits?
Is there no shred of relish in the questions of the here,
the now and why that cannot serve you all to this end?
Err of humanity would be continuation of controlling
machinations in the names of glorified passive entities.
Pray, do these unconscious answer swiftly to heathen
brethren nailing feet to pedestals of unending grief?

Inalienable truths were etched upon the beating fists
within the cages of each hindered lonely, but reason
abandoned as the language was left in ruins, rotting
softly between the pages of memory, severed cruelly
at the hands of eternal prisoners through these acts
of choice by each and all that continued bowing at the
feet of indifference, of herded mindset congregation.
Warriors of apocalyptic storms shall vainly cry its name.

---Phoenix
5/24/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008

(Please contact the author with questions.)

In time, this time...?

In time, this time…?

If willed to you, were these strings…what would you have of her then?
Would you tie her up tight so you could parade her about like a horse?
Would you draw her round you like your paper-doll, marionette, a pet?
What manipulation tactics prove your best recourse for all her refusals?

When after all of these things transpire, as we all know they have, for she
is weakened; has become weak willed in old age though body be young.
What treachery is within the confines of the orbs within us she’ll not see?
Sorrow! What has she happened upon here in these swamps of tragedy?

If time heals all wounds; what will be left of her when time turns about?
If these wounds are all that remain of the creature origination that was…
why then would we want said time to heal us of these things we’re of?
How will we ever sing if all that remains is an undefinable outline in sand?

If she gave again, this soulless body, would you treat it to the same contempt?
That which does not kill us makes us wish we were still sealed in the vaults?
She will ask these invisible dwellers if they would give this back if option be.
Fear ties these knots about our solar plexuses, attaches these containments.

We would always be these broken hearts worn on the sleeves of our fathers.
We would have it no other way, as to try to force our souls to stand and fight
these moulds we are all forced to bare and then to share with our children.
These choices are made within, and the within is left in doubt and without.

These mothers never show the potential of our accomplishments; is barred
at the door by the same strings that attach between fearful mind and heart.
What is to become of her as she stands in the corner trying to remember it?
That song she thought she heard for just a moment in her childhood guise.

Walking dead continue their trek across great painted voids without sense.
No direction is laid out in line for the colony of ants to follow and get home.
We shackle each and every one of our brothers so that our children learn to
commit these treasons in our absence, so we feel we will live into forever.

There is no missing link or we would not find ourselves out here in this pit.
When great globes of anguish cast us off of the stonework we have raped,
will there be any memories of what we once thought to offer in our stead?
We shall be reduced to puzzles of dust, with none left to glory in our history.

---Phoenix
5/24/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008

(Please contact the author with questions.)

This Tiny Death

This Tiny Death

Let these two membranes terminally collide!
Let the souls beneath embrace, communicate;
silently speaking to each other as only souls may.
Let these auras mingle and acquiesce as these
vehicles join together to share their essences.
Such shameless dependence, this necessity for
experimental euphoria; each reunion unlike any
such encounter before, nor would be after this.

Intertwined within these brief moments may
these two, find peace and wisdom. Let psychic
bondage favour the tired and weary, let the
unconscious ferry onward the torch none would
commit to whilst enshrouded in the facsimile of
what truly lie beneath the soil of their beings.
No greater mystery to be offered than to delve
deeper into the eyes of the other, and together.

Outward consciousness fleeting; inward turns
the focus of the mind’s eye, controlling with it
synaptic currents, fibres of electricity, flowing
down, out, through, combining and separating.
Oh, to dwell within this moment, for an eternity
and to sleep thereafter, dreaming as if still within.
The mount’s peak within eyesight, within reach now,
and over, then would I fall off the edge, and pass on.

---phoenix
5/23/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
(Please contact the author with questions.)

Tu eres una Mariposa

Tu eres una Mariposa

briefly glimpsed as you shape shift.
barely visible, the tiny changes in
your colour, your poise, your presence.
ever onward, never linger, never giving
anything so much as the time of day.
you wander in, out, in, out and would
never think to consider the world beyond;
beyond the fragile borders of your flesh.
maybe once, but once and ne’er thereafter.
why then, be so much significance assigned?
reminder of forgotten ghosts, worlds, lives?
vicariously to ride upon your simple wing?
not so; yet still I contemplate, ponder that
which would be curious, were it not yours.
were you not there to flit, to flicker between
rows of stones and flowers, were I not allowed
to remain a silent witness, sideline passenger;
questionably madness, disinterest in the whole.
such a tiny thing, but painful when absent
and still so painful be it to observe you, still
silently standing by, never involved, invisible.
truth is often mistakable depending on where
you are positioned in the moment of said sight.
with that comes a question, begging to be decried.
is it truly your fickle nature, or is it mine?

---phoenix
5/23/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008

(Please contact the author with questions.)

Endless Thankless

Endless Thankless

Justify yourself, selfish, self-centred swine!
Unknown; nameless; no one; nothing;
quantify what you’ve offered unto the “all”!
Tiny doppelgangers wear your sneering face,
all milling round you at waist height?
Do you not see those gears, how they’re
grinding just beneath the delicate surface,
mimicking each harshness, each ugliness?
Pity for them, I harbour sadness as I trace,
ever forward, their lot on this coil.
You blind them quickly so that when
choice is proffered, quickly would it fade.
I see! You feel accomplished loosing
devils, DEMONS upon this fragile soil.
And what of them then, speculations…
or all those that would multiply thereafter?
Status quo; you bequeath your mother
one hundred further generations’ filth
laid out in line then, in your stead.
How dare you, as you dared presumed
too much in your complex, whilst
with permissions lacking, did you rely
upon the premise of your own existence.
As this world would cast you onward,
cast, too this light; harsh reality upon you,
have I spat upon the ground at your feet.
Mother bestowed you wondrous treasure;
nature, wisdom, creation of the blank slate,
and gave you nothing to her, but your ego;
in return, no worthy gift other than these--
thankless contributions of your SELF!

---phoenix
5/22/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
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Dive Beneath

Dive Beneath

Mangled linens twisted round me
as if hands, I FEEL HANDS upon my flesh.
Rippled edges of the world before me,
why can’t I see you…see clearly that
which you dangle before my eyes?
Running down this unfamiliar corridor
and yet I know now what it is I search.
Open door, silent strangled screaming
and somehow I know I’m not here.

I cry out your name, cry out to anyone

and yet I know that no one can come.
Terror, unbecoming, no sound escapes.
Peeking beyond the edge of the curtain...
falling off the ledge of existence and
know, in landing, I’ll never wake from this.
Membrane cushion, I sink through skin
into the grey beyond, and deeper down,
down, down, into the pit...tunnel vision.

I see dawn approaching and I wander forth
in search of comfort, security it would offer.
Centre of the clouds, I’ve wandered into
these heavens, and beyond lay darkness.
Pool of chaos, engulfing me, erasing me,
yet remains my inward consciousness.
Single gossamer thread remains between.
I am of this, this thickened intangibility.
I am not of this, having left behind my skin.

The vehicle of my existence knows not
what horrors remain inside that vortex.
That coiling ribbon, slender line between
the lucid and those detachably deranged.
I walk among two fields of vision, pulled
and pushed by each, and each again; again.
If closed these portals lead to everywhere,
and when open they lead only here…to this.
I must choose which path, and choosing end.

---phoenix
5/21/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
(Please contact the author with questions.)

Libel (formerly untitled)

Libel

I’ve answered my own question…
the time has come to shut the voices out,
as I knew it eventually would come to this.
the company of others, hindrance be it;
the price is to be gutted, fish out of water,
too high, and my soul can’t lose another shred
I’ve paid too dearly so far and, so far still
the balance never seeming to rescind.
what other answer than this? NONE!

Never seen me from the outset,
no one, no one, no one to paint me here.
all there is, the face that I’ve tried to shape
to be my own…falters easily every time.
strings get cut and paper ashes fall away
revealing the wasted efforts beneath.
lie, lie, lie over and over again and to
believe one’s own farce is to give up.
I did this, I gave away my treasures.

NO MORE…I will keep my soul inside me
and let the blood flow outward once more.
the river, ignorantly tracing through these
wasted years, I’ve wasted years and yet
I still found you, my love…I found it here
where it was all along but silenced by
invited infidels and though I knew it, I
did not know, I never realised I’d still left
my self in the past, but I’m here now.

---phoenix
5/20/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008(Please contact the author with questions.)

The Extent of Void

The extent of Void

With the harsh shadow of cataclysmic undertones
I set my sights forward and walk the edge of the void.
No questions can truly be answered by anyone
other than ones self with any certainty of being.
I must step further, where eyes have seen not clearly.
If only to find the reflection of my self staring back
into the depths of my own soul for the first time,
and must not blink, for to do so would be to miss it.

Within that void lay the centre of all things, and all
are too great and too small without change of
perspective or character or definition of any sort.
To focus is to unfocus and accept all things as they are.
To do so is to surrender what opinions one has formed
and to finally see the truth of that which is searched.
To what end will this laden question connect me to
these things I feel in the recesses of my consciousness?

I must not lose myself, or I will not understand but I
must lose my self in order to feel its breadth upon me.
Fear makes fools of us all in the grand scheme of this,
this unending search through the toils of the unknown;
the sea of the collective unconscious, the soul of all things.
I must not be fooled. I must hear the song and breathe it
like the first sweet breath of birth, the dawn of life itself.
I must not fear the loss of physical existence, to this end.

I will connect this thread and follow it to my own destiny.
I will muster this strength from the depths of my being
and channel it upward, through stomach, plexus, and heart,
through throat and into the unseen eye within each of us.
From my own crown, and onward still, until I feel them
and join them there until I drown within the sea of creation.
Only then will the journey of this life end for a time and with
it I receive the knowledge of all existence, the only way left.

---Phoenix
5/18-19/2008

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
(Please contact the author with questions.)

have you ever felt the depression coming?

have you ever heard something that suddenly, it hit you how forboding and sad it really was? the other half has been loading my iPod up with various songs that he and i both love and it finally hit me...there's this band that you've never heard of, gwenmars. the song is "she hung the moon" ...notice the past tense. it's about being madly in love with someone and losing them. the reason for the loss is rather ambiguous but i realised today how forboding/forshadowing it makes me feel when i hear it. it's a beautiful song and i love it a lot, but i realise that every single time i hear it i feel the same way in the back of my head. depressed and cramped for time.

i suppose i'm probably mildly paranoid due to nearby circumstances but still...i'm scared to death of losing all the things that i've finally acheived in my life, however meager because they are what gives me shape. i suppose this intraspective makes sense when i consider my current project, however feable it may be. for those of you who could use a good laugh...i'm working on a sort of fairytale but it's more aimed at adults situationally...i'm not sure why i thought this was a good idea...i started it 4 years ago and never went back to it. i have to subject myself to a million crappy memories and recall a million crappy days so that might just be the root of the evil that has descended upon my mind...i don't know though...maybe not.

i've always been prone to rounds of depression but i hide it...no one wants to fucking hear it anyway and that's all good. who wants to be having a decent day and then be brought down for reasons that aren't their own? the less i discuss it, the less it effects the day to day with others. it is rather embarassing when i consider it...why the hell can't i just be a happy little twat like the rest of the sheeple? i suppose it's the curse of trying to be deeper than a petrie dish...HA!

i've been discussing my short comings where my writing is concerned with my best friend a lot lately. he's such a sweetheart about it, trying to make me stay positive and being encouraging and the like. that must be quite a feat!!! i certainly try to believe and be hopeful too, but i also still have that desperate fear that it's all for naught. it wouldn't surprise me, seeing as how i can't walk through an office supply store without buying a new notebook...i figure this is probably going to turn out to be a pipe-dream! i can hope otherwise, but hope in one hand and spit in the other and i'll bet you'll have to wash the other hand off first...

it isn't surprising really...i have a hard time hanging on to the things that mean the most to me, which is how i got into this mess. i let other people infringe upon that part of me when i let them take over my life...i fell out of practise and now that my life and my mind belong to me again the hinges are all rusty and the air is stale. it's like cracking open a ship that's been afloat for 25 years and finally run ashore...cobwebs and dust and the faint feeling like something used to inhabit this place.

wow...have you met my friend mel? o'dramatic i believe is the last name...ha!

i feel so terrible sitting here feeling sorry for myself when there are people out there with real problems to work through. what the hell good am i to them? in a word...naught!!!

here's an illustration for you, if you care to listen any further...when i started this thing (how long ago...look it up, it's pathetic) i intended to at least write once a week or so...and in the grand scheme of the cosmos, i believe this is my 10th post...WOW...not much to get excited about there. there are crappy day time talk show hosts that write more often than i do!!!

well, piss on it for now. i've ranted and moaned and complained enough to make myself vomit from the senselessness of it so i bid you all farewell and a promise to try to write more often since i've recently found out that some of you weirdos read this pointless thing.

peace.

phoenix

. If. you. know this. i love you. do you understand? Do you see what this could be yet?

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