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letra de theologue - anton

[verse]
i am beyond god or jesus
allah or hebrew prophets of peace
like muhammed’s sweet little daughter fatimah
in quranic speech or imam ali ibn abi talib
or islamic ‘tawhid’ or mahatma gandhi
or deep upanishadic feats, the mahabharata or the bhagavad gita
or ra from egypt’s theology
of atum/hermes and thoth receiving anagogic retreats
of platonic readings of geometry
or doctrines from chaldean prophecies
when the ka is released apophotically
beyond the scene of trauma and grief
squalor and weakness thought to be all a dream
but not to the greek aristotle who seemed to want to reach eudomonia’s needs;
augustines manichaeanism, guenon and e-vola and
the fall from eve who was deceived lead off to eat
what was not to be gnawed by the t–th;
it birthed consciousness, seeing, concepts and reason
the all and ayin and the garden of eden

i fall to my knees and wander the seas
and talk to the creator of all that we see, maker of laws and ousia
the numerology of shem hamephorash kabbalically, the ein sof mystery
socrates’ philosophies and hypotheses and paradoxical ideas
(why is it after every pause i must breathe?)
sephiroth’s of the tree of knowledge that seeds the blossoming of good and evil
gnostic creatures taught in treatises, archons and demons oppositely to aeonic beings
genres of people caught and impeded in atomically embryonic fetuses
(dark memories but gods within me)
the constant of c: the light spark has been weakened
by biology that causes us to breed unconsciously without want or need
just constant resp-wning, evolving the species
into an awful obscene toxic and meaningless
long lives of feeling ill, distraught suffering
bondage and weeping is all that we think from the lost and deceased loss and disease
(the volumes increased) i’m not a believer
but i am beyond the smallness of the bees to the tallest of trees
beyond the largeness of fields or andromedas reach
hannukahs or ramadans fasts or the feasts
the manadalic screens in coral reefs
beyond the forests and creeks that put you into a groggy sleep
stopping the dominance of insomnias squeeze
beyond the normalcy of ‘pardon me’s, honesty
the renaissance uffizi, the carvings of bernini and leonardo vinci
(and the ponds and the streams)
and all the art thats been conceived in the halls and cathedrals
beyond mantras repeated with tantric dialogues between shakti and shiva
(a place where opposites meet)
is this all a ponzi scheme of darwins theory of entropic decompositioning
a diabolical scheme of rotting in the grease at impossible heat
unclean smog causes no oxygen to breathe
am i in water or feces?
is it wrong to be cautious in times as melancholic as these?
what does wrong even mean?
do all my tears drip down longingly along my cheek?
will something stop this hollowness revolving around the heart of me?
thomas aquinas and thomist beliefs
apostles and creeds whether john or pauline
all exhausted debris; colonies of all that we seek
guatama’s heaps are five skandhas:
rupa, vedana, sanna, sankhara, vijnana in pali
this is the departure from clinging
to the advaita vedanta’s or sri’s or swami’s
or kant’s or fichte’s
this cosmos is bleak awash in the bleeding
if its bodily its not for me, but why do they bottle me into a body?
locked in a coffin, sacrophagus mausoleums
is nirvana equal to samsara? please
are these nonsense distinctions? someone talk to me
is this all a dream?
god, please
from the veins blood, i run from the substrates of
the clay, dust, some gray water and mud-stained crust
i am one with creation
the suns rays above the terrains wants and the pavement for hundreds of acres
i flood plains but i am not of this plane
untamed, hushed name, blushed face ’cause it culls great l-st
the one with nature great mother of uppercase love
the one that you face when youre under the rain in a lovers embrace
and combust into flames in the jungle in pain in the cover of shade in the umbra of day’s dusk
i am the structure thats made of a subtle sensation, the fundamentation of sudden temptation
the contemplation of all that we state when the core of us says, ‘what?’

[outro]
questions we utter in isolation
floral colors in bright paintbrushes
is it something that i make up
or the substance of my make-up

knightlyst of the cataract
formlessness of the eye
coalescing into light
(gone gone gone gone)

in spectres of gyres and coinage of nero to pay
in the stained glass
and slivers of informed
the inner
the hazed black
the inspector of the fire
the troy’s end of heros of great
(know self)

catalyst to katabasis lost within the shards that are broken
the omens of collection
envisioning what is lost
the fragments that are lost in the distance

all the alchemical symbols

ancient sadness
wading in ponds adrift
in the one weeps
the one weeps
on the crux of itself

- anton

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