An aria stakes its space, silence dissipates,
sung high, sung low, any melodious flow still takes to the winds.
The solo soul knows he holds, that breath within.
A single seed or scion, life forces disperse,
in genesis, in senescence, any sense still harks to symbiosis.
The self divides, multiplies, all from one locus.
Like water and ice, two states of one being,
neither forever nor fleeting, but one sum of shared meaning.
I am of a lone star sun god, a galactic spark that lit all.
Ushered in an upper echelon
atop a pyramid built amidst fire and haze,
I emerge older, fatter, gladder,
bladder lackened,
plugged in the system,
a sensible cubicle, a fixed rubics cube.
The meme gene and its screen between us,
we are moulded and told
1 plus 1 is two,
two plus two is five dimes -how it chimes on the hour you spent
swiping ka-ching on that Mercedes Benze
to validate a quote of status quo,
I have stripped bare, for much less than this.
24 hour solitary confinement,
silent solipsistic bliss,
a heist on the hive, zeitgeist for the wise,
deciding the colour of my child’s eyes,
his measure of
disposition, ammunition, superstition.
A premonition of the demolition of human condition,
as I sing along to another pop song.
What fortune’s fate is at stake
when this thick and heavy gloss across a host of different ghosts
does glow.
Here in your peripheral vision,
a collision of untold souls
each a piece laced in belief racing to speak a story of eons ago,
the one of a small grace note in this unfinished symphony
in which I am prophet and plot,
the root of the eye in a heart,
the whole in your neck at the base of your spine,
born of proverbial, perennial, umbilical cords cut by the blade of my scythe.
This fabric weaved by a myriad of minds wired with buttons,
I push them.
Spoken Word at http://jakarta.urbanesia.com/events/the-zeitgeist-global-media-festival
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