And my driven hand shall slug up,
But, it shall never fall short.
We must be some crazy to survive;
Embrace thy fate – mean it.
The gallop continues.
The Centaur – The Psychologist
O, my allies, my most loving, most endearing, most close, most delicate, most slaking, most soothing brothers. Brothers written in time, brothers written in the sky, brothers written in the written, brothers, brothers, brothers, brothers down to the soul, brothers beyond mere earthly acquaintance, brothers beyond mere blood relation, brothers beyond sheer acquaintance. Brothers, o my brothers, I summon you…
It appears some of the collection was wrong. I may have misled you. They are not the answers we seek. Please, accept my sorrows for it. But then, if one does not try, one will not know. One will pass places and appear to have settled, only to be nettled and be itching to get up and leave. It was not. They were not for me, they did not have what was needed. But, for sure, we know…
And it shall be so –
Especially when one is different,
That even different won’t fit.
Many hills we will climb,
And many we will spurn.
The place is reached but, not;
It must be left for a new place.
The Alien Denizen
The Mountaineer
This is what we are. If it were not for that world of images, literature and icon mediating the worlds of illusion, dream and reality – that world of truth, knowledge and their representations – there would be nothing for me at all here. And I would pass away without a qualm at all.
Am I to blame for what I am?
This is that which I am.
I bear it with humble pride,
If you only knew how heavy it is
I must … bear it
That which I am
The Mystery Of Darkness
After all, I always said it, a monk I am, a monk till I’m a corpse. Will it be fateful, will it be fatal, will it be fitful or will it be painful? Only time tells these things, only time tells; even the eye that sees deep is cast blind by Time …
This is what we are.
It’s guesswork, in truth!
But, who are we to do different?
The place is big, Time is a master.
This we are…
Testers.
Students.
Researchers.
The man who will know himself never knows in advance. The man who will know at all never knows. He can never know. Does it mean we are tricksters, are we knaves, does it mean we are devils? This world of loyalties, norms, mores, complexes, religions, traditions, systems and extraverts. Would raze it all down if I had my way! But … my brothers, at centre, we are soft …
Therefore, let others bear their lovely fates, let others, yet, deceive themselves; let us bear our bushels, my beloved, innermost, brothers. Again I go, swiftly, back to testing.
If you don’t taste, if you don’t swim, you know not the water, you know not your fins and gills; and when the sea comes, how do you swim, won’t you fear to taste? A fish is drowned by his surrounding water but he scorns it, like a baby drowned in the womb, he scorns it, drinks, bathes, coughs and fights! Sheer destruction is easy, it’s for cowards; just conforming is sale, it’s for the spineless! A fish drinks, bathes, coughs and fights! Inhale all the world and rework it. This is my show, this is my world, this is my mind, this is my task, nobody else’s; will bother nobody else indiscriminately; all other objectives are secondary, sheer, mere, offshoots – by-products. Only by that does understanding come, for those of us who wish to understand and not just to impose or drag, crawl, through.
Sorry if any of your loved ones are offended by this, brothers, but, one must be true. Truth – the one thing that never backs down, backing all things. Let them say is what I say, let them say …
Fame and fortune are pleasant and useful but they matter little to me. Nobody tells me my worth. Call it solipsism, I don’t care: it is I, me – I am the judge. One
But, surely, it all turns out best.
Even in the illusion,
There were positives, surely;
In the end,
Everything resumes their proper sorting.
Coherence.
This Inner World.
This is quite the masculine missive.
Like the Seven Devils of Florence’s machine.
Letters 