MonoDiaLogs

00.00

-That spot of a dark red light, is it...

-My blood. My life running away from its window.

-But the light –

-Only illusions of this damned mansion... I can’t remember where...

-Where?

-Nowhere. I can’t find it.

-Maybe you’re looking at the wrong light. You’re looking only at that stupid, dark red, WRONG light...

-It’s my blood, I thought... I thought I’ll never see it and yet...

-You can’t see, you are-

-Blind. How did this happen? If I only could remember where...

-Sssh. The flames. They are around... waiting, I can see them glancing-

-At my eyes. Maybe that is the reason I am...

-Blind. Blink. You’re eyes are wounded. I can’t see your...

-Tears. Why? I think I’m lost. I don’t know... when I've last time entered...

-Through a door? You’ve been going along these walls for ages... Do you...

-I see.

-No.

-I remember seeing once. But only walls. I never really... saw anything else.

-You always have ...

- ...been blind.

-And now the light.

-The dark red light. Do you think I should...

-Follow it.

-But the flames...

-Your eyes are wounded anyway.

-My tears. Where...

-Follow it.

-I’m afraid I might loose my eyes forever. The light – I thought ... I thought it is my blood – the life I was looking ...

-For? For what? You can’t look, you’re not even able to see... But...

-How did I get here? Where was the door? I remember...

-Going through the flames might bring you to the next...

-Door. But I see only walls... And I’m sure that beyond the next door... there too, will be...

-Only walls. Your eyes can’t see anything but walls. They are...

-Wounded. I know that I had them once, my tears. If only I could remember where...

-Close your eyes, child.

-It’s late.

-For you.

-To go through the flames?

-You already did. Now it’s too late.

-For?

-You.

-I see.

-No...

-I’m already beyond the second door...

-And still walls.

-But the flames are now everywhere... I really need my...

-Tears; let your eyes rest, close them.

-I need my eyelids...

-You’re blind anyway.

-And still walls. Only walls... and flames... and my reflection in them.

-Only illusions of this dark mansion. You are blind. Now close your eyes...

© 2010 Lith Ium

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Universe in Black and Blue

He set a blue flame in a rhyme:

A cradle full of fire,

To, once upon, a frozen time,

All dark clocks will aspire.

He set it; slowly crawling up

The blue flame, blue enchanting-

And pouring darkness in the cup,

He said: "... for you, my darling..."

She never thought it could be black,

Illusions were so blue...

And lost between the Tick and Tack,

Her eyes were loosing hue.

Her blood so blue, her eyes now dark

Black, empty, fading. Colorless.

Her mind just walking in the park

In blue and black. MonochromeEndless.

© 2010 Lith Ium

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Message

Your world is filled with doubting letters,

They build the poems that you seek

To be your soul, blushing unique,

In pictures dark, one candle matters.

Your mind, an altar of white marble:

The angel carves black thoughts in it.

By nonsense - demons will outwit

With sensuality so subtle...

And you are dancing, silent dreaming,

Of every whisper sounding right.

A last message, to my delight:

The reader lost defines the meaning.

© 2010 Lith Ium

Monday, May 31, 2010

The Face of Happiness

Happiness is a sound, beyond music and reason,

Beyond words, so numb, - it is like a season

Of a bipolar being, swinging on waves

Of shadows and lights, within caves.

Happiness is a demon, I hate it, I admit.

And often I dream on, trying to outwit

It's web of lies and delusion and sound,

Thus I run away and hope not to be found.

Happiness has a face with round, empty eyes,

And with its bodyless body, it floats above skies,

Like a kite crawling and stealing the light,

From the sun. And you're left with the night.

Happiness is confusion with a hypnotic stare,

It is like the fusion of an abstract affair

With the concrete of thought - or of sin,

It is scary, it's terror and darkness within!

o.O

© 2010 Lith Ium

Saturday, May 8, 2010

The Face of Doubt

A third time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd

Each one the face a moment whiles to me ... "

"Ode of Indolence", J. Keats

...


Doubt has three faces, each equal, doubting
Equality. And each one chanting,
The story of the other's err.


And see their eyes, they are now haunting,
In questions infinite, are taunting
The mind these faces sadly share.


One floats above, a seeking shadow
Of principals - it doubts the 'real'.


One sinks below, in oceans hollow,
It feels, then stops, then doubts to feel.


One in the middle - writes on a memo,
The pros and cons and seeks a seal,
From infinite and back to zero
Forever doubting it will heal.


Doubt has three faces, each one a mirror:
The Weak, the Strong - between the Lost.
Sometimes they're far, but sometimes closer.
Three faces - meadows, fire, frost.



© 2010 Lith Ium

Thursday, April 22, 2010

The End Of The World

If we are to Start, why not with an Ending? After all, everything we do is related to the End of Some-Thing. The End of Working-Hours, the End of a Project, the End of the Day. The End is eagerly expected, since the End is the Point. When "End" comes, we, as Homo Endicons, may relieved start ... waiting for another End.

And what can be MORE of an END than the *End of The Word*. THE End. The End of all Endings.

So, "you" see, it shall now lie in our infinite empathy and tolerance to understand the Others (yes, there are always the "Others"), when they frantically, fearfully and dramatically predict, "again and as always", the End of The World.

Eschatology - that part of teo-philosophy that tells you how the Universe, and other, more antropomorphized Forces will play "kick the can" with you - reassures our Others that they're inner, emotional desire of an End (... and with it, of a Point, of course) is an objective reality. There are Signs everywhere. And if something goes wrong - that is, if an Ending-of-the-World does not End with an Ending ... there is always mathematics there, to be blamed.

"We" people, are after all, made of numbers [lets blame the mailman / we are numbers / on your frame / the voices in the other end]*. We, people, are not perfect. Ergo, to conclude the syllogism, Numbers are not perfect.

Besides, Numbers never *End*. Awful critters.

If Theudas was wrong, or Ben Zakkai, Rabbi Jose ... or all the other Rabbis and Messengers of our dear End have failed, it is only the fault of Mathematics. Or the Fault of "Reality" - why won't it End?! We summoned "its" death over 200 times ( and counting : http://www.bible.ca/pre-date-setters.htm ).

Does Reality not Realise it is NOT WANTED?

"It's pretty late, you know, and End will soon be comming for a visit. I really wished you could stay a while longer, but I understand you have now other problems to solve(hopefully far, far, faaar away from Terra!). So long, Reality!" [Diplomatic smile fades with every step Reality takes towards the Abyss.]

***

Furthermore, this Pre-Post-Apocalyptic Memes are delicious. They give us the Hope of being able to live or be relieved of - all our psychoses. In the desolate desert that will strech itself into the infinite horizons of poisoned air, we shall remember the Great War, and finally be free, and alone, and lonely. As we ever were, only now, with an "objective" cause.

* "Division of Laura Lee" Band - "We are Numbers"

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Late In November ... We Shall Wonder ...

The Consent

~ by Howard Nemerov







Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
That stand along the walk drop all their leaves
In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind
But as though to time alone: the golden and
green


Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday
Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.
What signal from the stars? What senses took it
in?


What in those wooden motives so decided
To strike their leaves, to down their leaves,
Rebellion or surrender? And if this
Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt?
What use to learn the lessons taught by time,
If a star at any time may tell us: Now.




We close the eyes before heaven, and are flabbergasted by the darkness. We seek the sounds, and picture them as answers, and draw them outside time ... to fit within a rhyme.

Monday, October 12, 2009