« Hotel Asterisk »

Been here before, just not like This.
What is this place?
Could it be consciousness itself, Unadulterated by mind?
Such horror, such bliss, mirror-stream itself, evenly split, no eddies…

Of course, not!
A speck of phenomenologically dirty dust – this point of view, that is, - still remains.
I - nothing itself - but a reporter.

Tonight
we (reporters) dine – on emptiness – at Hotel Asterisk*/*****,
Unattended by the corpses of all we’ve literally and metaphorically consumed.

So be it, forever and ever,
To the roaming strum of a Tsygan** guitar,
Until we find some metric to quantify this Unqualifiable This
Until then, pokeda***, Baron Ungern****!

*see the stars below
**Tsygan - Russian for gypsy;
***Pokeda- Russian slang for “see ya!”
****research Baron Ungern von Sternberg on your own, but better yet, accept the Unknown, consciously, like the stardust*/***** that you are
*****Asterisk – isn’t that Greek for “star” or something like that?!