« Twelve 1-2 Punches »

1.
Form isn't a manifestation of essence.
It’s an oscillation of essence.
Essence oscillates
between This and That.
2
This isn’t a poem.
Nor is it prose.
1.
Let’s invent a difference.
A new difference.
A difference that no one has yet invented…
How about between you and you?
2.
So, you’d be so different that if your consciousness itself had a twin,
It wouldn’t be able to tell it from self!
1.
I got a cloud dreaming of a cloud.
I got a trick dreaming of a trick.
I got me dreaming of me.
2.
“An illusion that exists is no illusion” I wrote somewhere.
Did I?
1.
You had a character arc, right?
I remember you came in with it, didn’t you?
You had that nice beginning,
Then, there was that thing – you know what I’m talking about!
And then there was this.
2.
This is your character arc.
Are you following it?
1.
Essence dances dancing all by itself.
2.
For centuries we believed in the idea of future.
Then we stopped.
1.
Politics are won to the extent to which a party
Convinces its electorate that there is no future, that there is only now.
2.
Elect to elect.
Choose to choose.
Be to be.
1.
I dared. I really have.
I shot the arrow of my consciousness into the so-called future.
It never came back.
2.
Time is a boomerang.
It works circles around nothing.
1.
Trust no echo to tell you the story of the future of sound.
Trust not the one reading this.
2.
Dis-identify from this very you that you think you are.
A bigger fiction hasn’t walked the face of this earth.
That’s a fact!
1.
“I am failing you!”
Martyr-ego wins every lose-lose scenario.
Are you a martyr?
Are you me?
2.
Sweeping up questions like autumn leaves,
Logic sighs, and, exasperated with all this nonsense, leaves.
Logic is never a martyr.
1.
I brought you emptiness.
You said “It’s mine.”
It is.
That’s why I brought you emptiness.
2.
Here:
1.
I stand like a circle
My essence-arms wrapped around nothing.
Not knowing why.
A moon.
2.
I am.
1.
It preoccupies all form with search for its own essence.
Like the hub of the wheel It stands
Amidst the leg-breaking dance of mind-spokes.
Bewildered and terrified by what it has spun out of mere nothing.
2.
Where are you in all this?
1.
Lava bubbles up the spine,
Morrow turning to ash.
Death grows.
2.
In us all.
And so does life!
1.
I stopped them.
They’ve gone too far!
All these trillions of neurons that unionized into an illusion of self.
I stopped them.
Dead cold.
2.
Like this!
With a K.O.

pavel somov