Level 7 - Loquacious
Join Date: Apr 2012
The Hunt for Narcissus
In perpetual pursuit of the here-and-now,
transfixed and locked in an endless peer
with the reflection of this reality,
studying the image of our diametric selves,
beaming envy across a seamless abyss.
spying and ruminating
conjuring and conspiring,
whispering about ourselves,
chasing our own ghosts into eternity,
sprinting in a still and spaceless sphere. . .
Diving into and
a fleeting mist of meaning
Bird-calling ourselves into the fog,
Stalking the echoes of our own footsteps
Sketching our own silhouettes for a clue. . .
Always a moment behind capturing the truth.
We’re merely. . .
Matter colliding with highly energized mind.
A self-strummed chord seeing multiplicitous visions of itself,
bewitched by the delusion of a doppelgänger,
enchanted by its own reverberations
A picture perfect hologram, jolted into abstract existence,
springing in and out, swinging on the spectrum of superimposition,
unified. . . disjointed. . . merged. . . then fractured,
A humming, taut compression, and a siphoning expansion. . .
rhythmic tidal breathing
forever yearning for the holy other. . .
Slithering against the inner serpentine walls
Of its own belly
Sliding thru the torus tube
Surfing the peristaltic waves
of some electromagnetic sensorium
A seed, spat from the pleroma,
Blossoming through all phases of life,
Consumed and Reintegrated Into the Primordial Goop,
All at once.
We are the string of monkeys being pulled
from the barrel
by our own hands.
Blind to the fact that our current bobbing in this oceanic net of being,
our buoyancy in this vat of vitality. . this moat of manifestation. .
the floating is all we need to focus on. . .
not the waves forming around us,
nor our own image forming on the tension of the surface.
Say hello to my frontal lobe.