Poetry

[Dekalb_Blues]

"i was born for just one purpose: to die -
to kiss this strange reality good-bye.
....
i don't know how much longer i can wait -
could dying by my own hands be my fate?

(please note: i'm not suicidal. i just like writing darkish poems every now & then.)"

Viva il chiaroscuro, il tenebroso!  Und, Feiern die dunkelheit!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jbnueb2OI4o
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SudyHvtAPMY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgTNx50ehFY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLRPGfrxTxQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERfK6G_7SvY

I'm minded (via "tenebroso") of Charles Baudelaire (who was nothing if not "darkish" in his aesthetic!] and his mystico-synaesthesiacal "Correspondances" from his 1857 Fleurs du Mal [Flowers of Evil]-- in this scintillant poem he refers to echoing sounds swooningly mixing "dans une tenebreuse et profonde unite,/Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarte,/Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se repondent [in a dark and profound unity/Vast as the night or as the brilliance of noon--/So are commingled perfumes, sounds, and hues]."
http://www.fleursdumal.org/poem/103

There's something so deeply and paradoxically seductive to hypersensitive fragile mayfly mortals like us about the Full Stop to our Life Sentence that is grim death, "that undiscover'd country from whose bourne no traveler returns..." which on the one hand seems so grotesquely inimical to us, yet on the other somehow epitomizes the ne plus ultra of the Transcendent-- as closely linked as can be to our innermost heart's purest desire: to rejoin an ineffable Unity denied to us by our very incarnation in the austerities and obduracies of time/space, but of which we have an obscurely inarticulate but compelling memory, as of some barely-heard ever-fleeting whisper of impossibly beautiful music, "veil-tearing melodies"...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3pb1a--oSw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Wp6NG6W_CQ
http://www.sacred-songs.blogspot.com/200...ed_21.html

Again, Rumi: All day I think about it, then at night I say it.  Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?  I have no idea.  My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there.

The trick is to "die before one dies," as the ancient Sufi phrase metaphorically has it; to learn from those who know what's what (through their successful personal experience in such matters) how to effectively free one's ethereal interiority from one's mundane exteriority without necessarily croaking in the process (compare, e.g., an admittedly extreme case of such:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEacGiMO3K0 ) It hasn't helped in the clarification of such things over the years that this concept, bereft of its technical instrumentality within an expertly competent dynamic context of expedited guided evolution, has been amateurishly misappropriated by any number of rather fundamentalist and cultic groupings (not necessarily of any nominally "religious" or "spiritual" type) for the static purpose of merely maintaining, against all odds, the improbable narratives generated by actually unsustainable belief systems.  But hi ho, so it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut would say; one soldiers on in the direction of relative freedom, and finds Love where one finds it.
http://www.brainpickings.org/2012/11/26/...f-stories/

http://www.vimeo.com/25996242  An interesting example of what one could perceive as channeled material tailored to a popular artform, as part of a pragmatic effort in the diffusion of fairly alien culture.  See J. Southstar's appended comment comprising some pertinent lines from Rumi regarding our origins and the urgent felt need, in our capacity as Joni-Mitchellian billion-year-old carbon, to metaphorically get our sad diasporic golden-stardust asses back to the Garden pronto.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyotn-3qycM

Cheers!