"Rerum concordia discors." 109

[ ... This first fragment consists of bits & phrases that were recovered from the body of a poet
who tried to drown himself at the beach but found the water too cold to go in ... ]

aluminum foil
crisp against

doffed off The Furtherest
brooding at its dip

What's wrong with the World?

milk sunbathers
curdle under olive Sun

weeping its volatile violets
upon the shrivelled Worm
tangled in the liquid form

Earth crawling in th'hush of Absence
Silence at its xylophone

What's wrong...?
that sea monster

come (up) out of Always' nearby island
rippling up her teeth
through dolphins playing
the centrifugal's monumental


eyes bulging like reading lamps
ears furling
plugged to the robot tape-recorder

Life developing out from Form
forging gossamer

the foil sea [pun]
folds & folds

Th'Light's One Great Eye
snarling snails (in)
Beauty's inadequate embraces,

lobsters stitching The Infinite (with)

tongues licking The Heavens
from beneath     

What's wrong with the World?

waves folding &  
folding like thumbing through the pages

keeping aloft the bubbles of bronze

lips smacking busses
ugly into the open microphone O
passions pouring aluminum minnows

(from) eyes hiding like a brooding mother
amidst Melancholy's inconsolable monotone,

Was the wastebasket,

Wish without inclination,

Old Age's matted heart,

Pretense's secret colors,

Evil's artificial toads,

The Good's baby gibbons,

Youth's lucid silly,

the seas' doomed drunks,

the land's flawed dolphins:

a new-hatched Intelligence
sucking its thumb
Pati necesse est multa mortales mala--
all decked-out in my cynical tweeds

I look upon the tideless Eve

taming Distance's impassioned smiles,
building up Th'Brightness brick by brick

and find: a victory of sorts--finding Th'Years
have not worn it away (as rapidly as they have

me) and that Eternity can't
eat a wall out of this world
(as quickly as my flesh), notwithstanding that

... from tidbits of the brittle I have
renewed limbs forged within th'nights

--Of course you don't see them
being formed by hammers & by my loving too:

Your eyes only catch null leopards
after Answer's dyed swans
made of chrysanthemums
--You only see
The Afterwork my limbs have done:

Earless amidst the Past's peals & peals
You only hear th'Future's music
when it's tolled!

So blind are you--not to see
Love's arbitrary streaks,

the (so) timeless
at their work on miracles of

Wind's drugged bows
from the too democratic mouth
in its objective remarks

pathetic atop Time's ( themselves
th'mountains) parapets

Tomorrow cheating us
like some cheap adulterer:

What's wrong with the World?
What's wrong...?

Joy all its transmutations,

Grief its conjunctions:

rooting through th'roots below
above: sizzling medusas of the Sun

but, soft,

[Soliloquy]: To Whomever it
concerns (that Time) & Winds & Winds
& Time--behind--keep barging in!

(almost November's white maniacs

unremembered, Autumn's unmade
horror, the Summer's precise
dependence upon Spring, and

Th'Spring at its grope
like some abnormal Green (that

if we adapt poorly: it's our fault
entirely --For we are
mechanisms of Adaptation

and THERE is the thing
that measures our Successes & Failure

... and closer to us we find: First, foremost
--Lost! going from pinball machine to pinball
machine like some marble inside th'greater
machine caught plain in the pocket &

nicked by a train, cursing my luck,
blessing my Curse: I live
because I haven't died yet

making its music of eternity
until we get a jackpot & then

rattling the hodgepodge
pots of our man-making

through th'self-stumbling paths
we spend The First Ever jackpot
of our lives
trying to get to The Second--Wait! and

Goodbye: I have been called away this
morning reluctant to launch its stay

(your favorite like a foundation)
--the Muses of my many uses

--the ever always all-
craving Subconscious trampling through Time's
transformations, critical, incurable,

I must testify at My Own Trial
(the purpose of which is not Merely
to seek to find me Innocent
or Guilty, but To Find Me
--That, my boy, is punishment enough)

notwithstanding Himself th'compromise!

reeking principles like pimples
& sins & losing watermelons in th'Meanwhile
that extrapolated Target (th'purpose of which
running to its conclusion--Fixity,

the crucifixion sans resurrection)... I
tried to speak

What's wrong with the World?

--You know it, so wait!

But, don't let me go so soon
for my synthetic feelings (or yours)

O wait! O, I have tried! to move through
to my own synthesis, but you have interrupted me

The Moment you saw I was about to fall
into my Own Contradiction
( that

ceiling glittering above my Lack)

--about to contradict myself upon The Brink
of My Antithesis --O wait You World, just

wait, master rat of Destiny th'cat
locked into the intolerable landscape,

tried by The Unauthentic,
unequaled down the diminishing essentials
of life's silliest equivalences:

so ostentatious in th'terrains
so terrible! of the too transparent Apparents

& digging for Genesis
amongst the handmade trinkets
of Intellectual Byzantium

Pissarro's Peasant Girl Drinking Coffee
[ ... There was a fragment here, but it was stolen by a poet who would not
, although he could've just as easily resigned himself ... ]

What is wrong with th'World, with the World?
and et ceteras ... like
gentlemen stand our foundations of facts

like fountains--th'sirens like serpents
between the sounds & the sighs
whispering of pyramids our untapering prides:
th'mud-mountains desiccating in the unending
winds of miracles   

agog in the disengaging Althoughs

I have tried to speak --And yet somebody's
got a racket going somewhere

        ... where belly buttons
bulge & Cadillacs convert to th'contrivances
of Social Facade in the backgrounds
of God-burning the disparate Dawn

thinned in its very intensity
throughout the unimaginable ages condensed
to a mere contemplation

--too fatalistic is our fun
he ran a-muck (Did he make much
money with it?)
contained to
a cosmos of meaningless
occasions, "Our Rolls, James!"

in th'farandole rolling Seas of Sin
which is The Witch of Hewhohas-Hastaken,

a ride amidst unending ribbons of blahs
of bottles above their contents

--Hell without hesitation,

in th'care of The Chichona's
unrestored alternatives: sits like a sentence
the all-adjuring Judge   

         of that country
where O GodI'mPoor is spoken & God is

the rationale of The Rat:
November! (that fat cat)

some carrion Bird's
corona seen above The cordilleras--Higher than
Th'Human Eye can spit!

slashed to a ditch & dying

like some discovery is The
Dawn's nixing Sigh, O so decisive-
ly launching its thousands hunches

distilled into the Stillness
of our rarefied Day's reckless logics

stands: Th'Magic we understand
as trust undergoing All Pains

(for pure appearances) masters of the damn,
of Th'Humbling multiples O humanity,

ye well-constructed corruptions,
ye sizzling chilling Shadows

of all those grieving girls
the world's ages staging
inexplicable dances against The Ultimate Wall,

more often than less infrequently
ye preferred flies! the familiar's darlings

while The Wise Men of th'earth point to The Sun
(so blindly) as Culprit: the saraband of souls
looks further than there --always

footsteps through th'small--towards Certainty,
the too complex Complete, Sense sans solution,

lunging onwards like some Downfall
for th'too brilliant Dusk

of The Ghostly, predestined
Tragic--is the illusion

inside the dark subconscious caverns'
flickering lads joyously dancing The Lies
that link us all walls-around th'moonlight

in its mythical laughters,
the too brilliantly predestined Dusk:

I wish to know: What is wrong--?

all such inclinations their mistresses
perhaps... a Pledge?... maybe:

Just for the Hell of it
I'll make it to thirty --And then

commit suicide--But, no, of course not:
When thirty comes

... you have made so many pledges,
you have so many debts, upcoming appointments
& additional obligations... that if you do
(escape) Heaven, Hell, Cosmos & Coliseum,

Sun & Thinking itself

must tumble (ALL) to the rumble of
Huge Verse--You see how quaint it's
to make a rhyme
sound indispensable & sensible,

and yet Shakespeare imposes himself upon us
& Jane Multy & Johnny Much
buy up The World with their crummy (for them)
couple-a-thousands for THIS or THAT charity,

while all you and I can do is
go to Church on Sundays (to express our community
with Mankind, showing we are not above
participating in their most primitive superstitions),

yet we are always growing ever less
superstitious & so ever less willing
to attend ...            

       perched atop Shock
like some stuffed peacock pissing upon The Tide
of that ornament:

      ... Mortality
like an inflammation over our dried-up
(but) yet everlasting bones
of Judgment personified, deified,

ultimately rendered a joke, not so much
Subject, nor where it's at, or
where it came from, or will go towards,
nor its shape or size

but (as) the way it's put

Truth flounders upon The False se iudice nemo
nocens absolvitur nec de se suam
potest vitare sententiam
112, O ye Pride, pathological,

Any fixing's gotta be done...

ye wretched as the least roach,
ye love        
         like elegy,
yet Doom already upon its martyrdom
of worms pretending to be standing tall
as towers, but shuffling flocks

we think The Poem greatest
when it speaks The Truth (which is to say

if it speaks sadly while we were sad
or if it is but some joke
& we'd been feeling all along like laughing)

Then: everything moving monotonously
will be replaced by something faster

--Everything that explains:
by something more easily understood

--That calculates:
by something always much more accurate

--That judges:
by something/anything more capable of judgment

by far                     

        --That creates:
by just about anything more creative

--That costs:
by stuffs & stuffs cheaper
( sometimes ) &    

the result will be ...

A BETTER MAN than exists today
(and us, of course

Any fixing's gotta be done...
always), notions like pennies, dusk
declaring The Darkness cured

upon the acrid tangles (th'syntax)
of our troubled times

in the ameliorations of
either being left alone, or
lost amongst us all:

more wrong than radical,
more right than rational,

modern as Death   
for chucking Changes at every chance
from the shoulders of his Gift of Greatness,

Man! parting his Way through th'praises
of life (the crazies among the daisies

bruised almost to Oblivion
too abstract even to track)

though almost extinguished in the very try
I wonder, in the Night
--While in the confidence of the apparent day
I feel I am an animal no more worthy
(to life) than th'least heroic hare,

trying to differentiate things from things
within the self-combining Cosmos

looking through the invisible windows of the Day
for any extenuating tenderness
extending purpled over the panoramas
rolling eternal interpretations like balls

of Silence, mortal through th'halls of my thundering
humanity... so diffused an universe
that it leaves the Sun in th'throes
of Th'Infinitesimal    


            Yet in that darkness
universal there is a contemplation of Opinion
going almost beyond Death, almost into Truth

itself: that self-standing Light!

And reasoning out of this 360ø Awareness,

& seeing how Light itself lives without The Dark
of things, even as Death lives in
the very darkest stuffs of life) ... I wonder,
, "it is now the very witching time of Night
when churchyards yawn & Hell itself breathes out
contagion to the World:

Now could I drink hot blood
& do such bitter business
as The Day would quake to look on,"
in my dreams: I murdered the cockroaches!...
Or did I actually get out of bed at midnight?

Yet I did enjoy it, even though I was abhorred
at having to broom out their squashed Remains
(all those bitter corpses!)

in The Dawn after the battle, then was it [sic]
still Dark: And, I opened my eyes because I'd felt

a tickling down my leg--Was it leghair
returning into place? ... One always screams

at The realization! and writes
a truer Epitaph:     

       "... While I lived
I regretted nothing so much as

lacking yet more strength with which to hang on
to my whatevers (acquired)

& if there are any regrets
in Th'Grave... now my regret is
probably more fundamental (such as a lack of arms
to begin with)... Jumping from bed

the One Thing I did see (in The Darkness)
was that The Lights were OUT:

You know the feelings! that then come over a man
at that fundamental realization:

Do you believe in ghosts?

Is there a prowler downstairs?

Will they drop Th'Bomb?

Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile

        Becoming is the Present,
is The Truth, and

                 ... ( that
was the wake-up call ): "I am so tired now
I could go out & dance,"
he said

Nothing's assimilated God, nor is there anywhere
anything Perpetual Motion

--in spite of the fact that Chance doesn't exist
in this unendable universe down to The Least

You misunderstand me:
I am not saying THAT I DID NOT SAY
(you said I said it)...

[ ... Please pay attention: Is he saying that he now says what he did not say
then? ... Or, is he saying that he never said it? ... ]

And th'strange thing about his dancing is
that when I am that weary I like to
sleep upon the waves of the calmest ocean

although you cannot see how I could go 'swimming'
for rest--Stupid you! who cannot know
what I'm saying       

            ... unshelling
Th'Distance--this whole Universe
of yours, of mine, is but A Single Photon
in some unimaginably vaster World;

and WHAT CREATURE struck th'match
that created This tiny Cosmic Photon of ours

in what Dark? to check WHAT TIME

WHAT (too black a midnight of his)
in some confined, small room
--What does it matter!?! to us

... Was it ... God?     
Or, was it some more primitive nameless brute
who, ricochetting a rock off some chance
surface (mindless with the Joy of throwing)

then went His way, wordless, thoughtless
--never giving that Spark even the slightest
thought, and was eaten by some other beast

countless eternities after that feeble Spark's
photons (th'numberless universes of which ours is but one)

crashed aimless and silent for all eternity
against the photons of His nearby Sun!

... Does it matter? really? Does it matter
how long the trip from His match! of our making

to the nearest wall around God
sitting there checking what time
(the infinite moment) in the dark
Is it yet midnight?

while our scientists dream forth
Tell us, sir, do you know? Do you know
what is wrong with the world?

... the so inviolable
& all too human Laws of a physics
that governs even God! with a

meaningless match at midnight,
so completely unaware, mindless of black walls
only a few of God's inches away from it all:

walls framing the cubicle where God
serves out His sentence (for what petty crime,
I wonder), patiently      

         --He has the time,
He can even hope for an early parole

... But, how far & how long a trip for our
Photon?... Does it matter?...

Not at all: In that instantaneous! voyage
doth This immeasurable All of ours
wither & flowers and falls, burning calm & timeless,

teeming with all our hopes
at once, the better for being too mortal,

dreams that must be brought out of Midnight
--Saying (in all the newspapers) how

The Neutron Bomb is better because
it only destroys people ( not things, and
people is self-closed         

                ( Mankind
cannot be created or destroyed:
it only changes Form for the moment

--Thing may extend even beyond
Th'Inhuman around us

even into some incomprehensible God
His own self-justification)

      ... murder
does not touch Human Civilization
That which we've become:
which is what must be preserved at all costs)

I asked: Is Man that less important
than His works?
like some grade-school teacher
one Summer afternoon too languid to demand
an Answer,     

answering it myself: To Whom!?!
while corporate brains too clever to speak it out-loud
in a chuckle, think quietly:

"When was the last time we paid anything
for a man incapable of working...?" Such
is the culture of Man...

Something feeling as if it's climbing up my leg
--Leghair? & the lights suddenly return
as quickly as they went... always

to find Nothing you didn't already know was there.

But although you find yourself
so comfortably in bed... you don't dare
even breathe audibly (that the ghosts don't find you
by the sound, and you listen for the air-raid siren,

and for th'footsteps of the prowler
downstairs), wondering, always wondering

What is wrong with the World?

as you lie in bed ... How
planets dwindle to Decay,

all orbits come to end,

the stars devour themselves
and Universe grows old (until

all matter falls apart )
Aeternitas igitur est
interminabilis vitae tota
simul et perfecta possessio

and the name of beauty is dust/

drops precipitating from th'tearducts
of A Statue stranded haplessly

between The Pillar of The Cold
& that of Flames--Sadness!

and 118 I close my burning eyes
--Relief! (so brief) ... The book I'd held
thus ( open ) with all my strength
now's closed & the mere tears upon it
drown me!

... because the most perfect,
complete life is not the most encompassing
but that one which best explores its own limits

while The Hangman's ropeknot (made of Mockery's
unimportant laughters) sways! up & down
& all around

     --You lose your balance!
Dust & Dirt do not escape your lips

--which's taste is startling sweet!
so, wanting more, always: you incline forward

for the taste of (brief) Mortality!

and then all the ground escapes from under you
& dies away (screaming) upon the distance,

fallen: Thus do you reach those immortal skies
you were after & from there laugh!
at ... all those who laughed at you before

--You are The Universe! after all,
divorced from all significance,

swallowing the entire try, urgent
as any rogue, Exception to the basic,

Guilt upon its winking wake, thinking:

If there's any fixing's got to be done
Innocence the annihilation,

crammed into Because (that remorseless drink
debating/deliberating The Superstition of
Th'Essential ) ...

inoculated against those viruses
we make invisible with the name virtues,

implicit upon the conflict in its implication

that in the unending vastness of Primordial Chaos
some unimaginably infinitesimal chance/
randomly assembled momentary Thought (of Order)

congeals God into a creature of Law!

the delight that dulls us all
into our ordinary lives (except for

Beauty, left over) from the instant that made us
creatures of The Laws of physics,
Beauty remains always beyond our shackles:

something which we can frame only by
our nostalgia for Th'Impossible

--Because nothing is created, nothing ever destroyed:
Chaos fills the Cosmos infinitely up
to The Bounds of Law (at which instant
Order takes over th'universe)
and then Law holds down Chaos
... but one more among the numberless myriad

thoughts lost in th'tenuous
so-called Order of The all-encompassing
Brain (waiting to take over again

       ... at the decay
of Order):

You are The Universe!
and each cell of your body is a galaxy of Chance!

now there is Harmony quite in your being
(and yet always must you come to understand

--too late for recourse

--that The Most Startling Apperception
comes forth, firmly, when, suspended from The Fall

the Soul realizes its unbearable Position
& then places your frail mortal body

weighed by Certainty
upon unsustaining air! secretum
iter et fallentis semita vitae:
120 amongst
Such Wastes )

I'd almost forgot th'taste
(so sweet) of the Night's breeze--Vigor
tinctured me a hoary Haste

that threatened my youth a decrepiting rigor
prematurely, merely for the act
of savoring Th'Moment's hush

without acknowledging Truth, Fact
--And sometimes even sleep becomes a rush...

dreaming of Chance, personified, deified,

it's possible to imagine
Free Will wielding the formidable
matters of its own form! But,

had we th'means to accurately ascertain
every least factor that shapes our Decision
we would see how inescapable it all was

after all: Just as Chance doesn't exist
there is no Free Will --All there is
all there can ever be, is lack
of complete-knowledge (Ignorance extending
to Where We Do Not Know), or

Consciousness! our naked mortal flesh
making a dress of Conscience,

suffering th'staggering significances
we stumble over in the dark scenes of inversions

when we are most composed, placid
remembrances of The Strenuous Times,

thoughts of once being amid
tortuous places & stark climes,
dead futures' inertias --all induces that
silence-disturbing cough
that puts an end to All

Any fixing's got to be done, my friend
it's got to be done on us

the harmonies of that thought subdola cum
ridet placidi pellacia ponti
and th'Promontory beach
& those vacant waves become eternal
Struggle against Struggle reaching
the din of the numberless lashes loosened over the Soul

--So many suicides! for no reason
better than ONE (uniquely, singular) MOMENT
of being left solemnly, thoroughly alone
O vivamus, vivamus (moriendum est)

Moon choirs whitest melody
from Time to Time--th'sacred cow--I ruminate
over such waves, such blackened Sea,

inland--such distant palms which
(late) still waltz the breeze

And senseless Hate whets Wonder
at our strange Fate!... O Passions,

passions & more passions

besiege this Insignificant barbican of ours!
this paper Battlement attacked with flames!

while all Th'While inside lives
a ( nameless ) Adam deeply, somewhere, darkly
wishing its Fall! Why does it hold?

Is it Time's circular joke:
Do we exist only because we exist

upon (our) Mankind's Ultimate Moment?
never so much th'Dreamer trying to wake up
as the drowsy lingerer about to be mastered
by the Night... irretrievable

fighting The Universe, as its equal,
What is wrong with this World?

all: What is th'purpose to this life?
with the reply: "This sort of life,"

But, the key is not Resignation
always, those matters come too readily into it
--What makes this life?
There must be something other than,
something more than Rain, Dust & Sun
to what shapes Beauty's unfolding,

terrible and stark ... Or,
why must it endure? when
The Enemy may have come to liberate The Prisoner

asking, Is this life a fraud? Some dirty trick
of Irony--for we laugh laughing at ourselves
(weeping at the end)...
moriendum est, then:

O thou gods beyond stars
I have beheld an ugly, cruel & sinister Countenance

so close to mine, O so drowsy (drinking
of The Past not just a past

& of a future not The Future) I was then

that I was handing myself over
to Resignation, that for a moment not Moment
scrutiny of this self-portion in Me

drove me to incline my Self
forward too much into the love
of Life not my life, and ... Almost,

almost my lips met hers! Only that
maybe a god not God won't let us be
too easily let-off, or that we cannot trust enough

to make a home (not Home)

out of the hospitality God is trying to pass off on us
as Hospitality...
123 Unable to stand it

I stood, unknown, uncherished, all alone
upon The Overlook-ing cliff around which
whiffs of white clouds paused
to halo it within the breezes' sniff:

There saffron Morning Dreams over me closed

& wild! my hair th'winding currents streamed!

while my uplifted & extended hands
fore-shadowed th'down-there dales screaming

clemency! for: their own-self relevant lands!124

--There was I, O Immortal over earth!

where Heights, where Cliffs, where Crowns unowned by Man
--Unique upon existence!... where All, birth
& death, seemed 'things' (merely) which come & go
purged off for their inconsequence:

Gorged was I all in garlands--to Th'Sky!

a Rainbow row of mad Magnificence
descending & ascending just to glorify

ME in My Throne!... as for my convenience
subjects of a world not World paraded by

--When, suddenly

I discovered, standing proudly as a god
beside me! on the baseness of his ground:

a desert gnat (which was just nowhere-bound
standing on pride)... his lowly clod
crowned with the 'halos' of my kicked-up Dust
that dry & dirty circled his confined Domain
--so prigly claimed from Pride by that inaugust
tiny beast in filthy arrogant chicane

--I was filled with repugnance, and my foot
crushed him down instantly to his True hollowness

Infinite Hush!...              

         And it was just then,
in such After-Silence, that in most destitute
alarm! I raised my eyes with infinite distress

[ ... the following fragment comes from a poet who at last found happiness in
a part-time job (mostly taken up with sweeping in a funeral parlor) ... ]

--only to find flucti flacciscunt, silescunt
venti, mollitur mare 125 --I had come
to where there were: Three Tombstones standing

upon the very abyss of An Empty Word

'round where no Motion could be sensed
nor Hope longed for ... And I must've been
trying to reach into Things shouted
for The Deaf to hear (such as Truth! Beauty!
Doom! & the rest) but instead
a word not (just) Word passed over me
without a sound, although filled with all Sound,

as I read:

Who can witness
The whole
(not just
going beyond The Hole)

Who can hold out
his hand--not hold
his hand ( just ): and

Who has heard
the Ocean's footsteps

and asked wherefore goes
it & Why
Yet no more did I read (here)

impatient to read more

--all that There was

--And so I walked away quickly
almost out of breath,

to Th'Next-Most Immediate

Legend carved upon The Second stone
whatever, reading the following


O, a Rebirth's in order!

But you will encounter
trying to persuade some of them
first... to die:

And this one also read on, in The Silence,
but I chose not to read on here
too, there being a Third carved Tombstone
on a--head:

"Have many sons:

Some will turn out to be poets,
some will be Wisdom's ones

--Have many sons & some will even turn out
fools & idiots (like you)
and make you happy & proud...
While, too clever for this World, or all-
lucky: th'Bastards will drive you nuts--"

I buried my face in my hands & returned
to try to finish reading the First

"Reserve no reverence for Truth:

Investigate it, study it, kick it about,
lampoon it, weigh it, challenge it,
attack it--Never defend it:

Truth can only be verified for a time
like everything,

then we outgrow it--"

But I couldn't look it in the face
any more & so I rushed away,
back to the Second Tombstone,

which read:

"Do not wait until it is
definitely established that
the apple also hath a Soul
before you decide to bite it--"

Backwards I staggered and stumbled
over The Third:

"... the only Salvation for Man
lies in a feverish quest for Improvement
& not in any cool meditation over the status quo..."

Which was another Contradiction!
Velazquez's Philip IV
& so I went on... to see if I would discover
how to go about finally discovering

the correct way of going about it,

but, there read only how,
the worst Rulers of all
have been The Philosopher Kings

(the most theological popes,
the most dedicated emperors, Alexander, Mao, Il Duce,
Stalin, Hitler, Shin Huand Ti & The Grand Inquisitors)

--Blessed be those nations whose rulers rule
but by/to their common men's

whose Kings love keeping
and do not so lustily aspire at  fathering

The Law--"Omnia fert aetas animum quoque: 127
although a door opened for me--today
& led from Way to way:

        I was There            
yesterday, & I am here Today--

      "Stay!" And
because I'd been asked, onwards I read...

... to observe Th'Evening sun set
in tranquility

     & quite forget
that you have ever traveled far
th'meads of love & fields of war

here watch the clouds, in maiden shame
of darkness, go!

        forget the blame,
forget the praise & the reproach
forget it all

       here but to poach
the vegetation of a slow
demising splendid Sunset's flow
where you may from your view observe
the fall to slumber of the herb

and, venerating such Sun,
contemplate but (stilled) World's yawn

... to fall asleep under a sky
beneath which Life would smile to die

adverse to nothing worse
than th'most measureless of Verse

fond of That Most Important thing:
some small bird's senseless blazoning--

[ ... The following fragment was recovered from a poet who would not accept ,
and preferred to resign himself ... ]

And yet, although there was more there
( although there's always more )
I could go on no more...

Let this be my epitaph
& beginning enough: "--I did
what I though I had to.
If I was wrong, I was mad."

Here All men's tours conclude
& no one dies in solitude

(may die of it, but dies with all
who out of loneliness here fall)...

amongst Death's un-struggling sardines

Always more, all this, This All
I wrote (& this wrote me).
I tried abiding it for all my years
but could not, finally.

I tried escaping it, but could not,
finally. I tried ignoring it
but finally, could not.

I tried facing up to it
but finally could not--not finally

--I could not and could not
(not finally):

               Love it, hate it,
praise it, damn it

        --Save me!

"Stop: Do not give yourself away!
It's not Resignation, but

O Save me!        

         I wrote
over the hard stone of my life
like some epitaph

"I did not understand"
and: when I could not & could not
not finally,

     then suddenly
I heard The Word, not just word,

and then no longer heard a word
no longer heard

no longer, no longer heard
making its music

as it dropped down Th'Mortal (slot
machine's) inevitable impossibilities

of Whomever-It-Concerns

in a Quest for The ultimate
(empty) Jackpot,

O, Resignation
upon which to survive that final Plunge

into the foil Sea folding & folding... [puns]

the depths of Man.

^{108} "Acceptance From Realization" is a pleonasm, since one can hardly accept but by a realization (that one must/should accept, or has accepted); and such realization invariably leads to (some sort of) acceptance of it. This odd title implies a directional emphasis: the exultation of the Mind over the instincts (the poem 'pretends to narrate' the life of an abstract --intellectual-- life force, rather than describe an emotional accommodation). There is a lot of motion in this poem (from place to place) and a good many actions are undertaken throughout (in time and space). "Acceptance From Realization" is also a hope and not a necessity. The opening structure attempts to recreate a sense of timeless origin (incorporating items both newfangled & eternal into its building blocks). Man always answers the great points of his world with a claim that his humanity is its equal (if the cosmos gives birth to Man, Man answers by himself giving birth to an image of himself as Omnipotence creating the cosmos --And why not, since we 'understand' the relationship in terms of parent and heir-- Inevitable, really: Absolute intellectual power corrupts absolutely).@

^{109} "Nature's harmony is discord." --Horace@

^{110} "Mortals must bear many ills." --Gnaeus Naevius.@

^{111} The fact that it is not pinball machines but slot machines that give a pay-off should not escape notice, as later on in the poem this becomes of the greatest importance. The 'jackpot' is here rather a questionable affair. "Guilt" always sticks closer with one longer than "innocence" --Or, Guilt personified. The outburst addressed to ... "To Whomever it concerns" becomes that much more poignant when one considers that there is no one else left to accept one's plea --after the (only) one who may accept it shows himself unwilling to do so. The word "racket" has many different meanings. The spirit of the piece tries to recall a suggestion of (not a precise recounting of) the Platonic metaphor for the real being somewhat like shadows on the walls of a cave: A very primitive explanation of the ideal nature of reality indeed (as it had to be at that point in human history when Plato, as poet, held sway over the dignity of a reality that should have been explained by science). These sections primarily recount various dreams (the embodiment of frailties, fears and aspirations).@

^{112} "No guilty man that judges himself is acquitted, nor can he escape his own sentence." ---Macrobius@

^{113} Hamlet Act 3, Scene 2@

^{114} "But Time's still on the move, Time that will not return..." --Virgil@

^{115} Chance cannot 'exist' because everything's determined by what has previously been. Even the 'chance' of a fortune-wheel has not properly anything to do with random chance and everything to do with the gamblers' inability to predict which number the exact push given (times a few other physical factors) it has all determined must of necessity come up --for the players cannot instantly calculate how much push was applied, the effects of gravity, drag, inertial & momentum, et al... lacking the pertinent data. If we cannot predict exactly which atom will decay (and when) it is not because atoms decay by random chance but because we cannot know everything about any one atom in particular to make the prediction accurate. This does not mean it's theoretically unpredictable. What we call Chance (personified "Free Will" & almost defied) is nothing less than our human inability to achieve absolute knowledge about it (call it ignorance by any other name, or uncertainty). In this sense we do not have a "free" will, either --Rather, we merely lack the 'absolute' knowledge to predict exactly what the (illusive) exercise of 'The Will' must be. You can manipulate the decision of someone so that 'apparently' his decision goes "against his will" (but all that's really been accomplished is the creation in him of a feeling that he is going against his own will --More fundamentally: You still cannot trace all the minutiae which created your own urge to affect his decision! From the beginning of thinking, down to its whatever conclusion: the one thing which plagues us & always will plague us until we somehow cease being humans and, I suspect, painfully metamorphose into machines (less biological mechanisms, of course, although all machines, even biological ones, are already mechanisms) is... lack of absolutely complete knowledge. Every aspect of existence poses a problem to the brain (which we can tackle, ignore, or worship --depending on who we are & where we come from in place & history). This being but a cosmic truth (one which also holds true outside the limits of human experience --not 'relevance' so as not to irk philosophers & scientists). it doesn't mean I am advocating one or the other extreme social movement or political tenet or religious or anti-religious belief: On the contrary! I am saying that all of us are ignorant (rather than knowledgeable) to a greater or lesser degree, so the preferable course is for every individual to have an equal voice (vote) in most questions/decisions: Hopefully this may prevent the ascendancy of The One Great Ignorance over all the other lesser ones: (Almost) Unqualified Democracy is my religion --Anybody who tells me that some citizen or another for whatever reasons (his prejudice) is unqualified to vote is uttering the greatest profanity my ears can hear: Let even the insane vote (as long as THEY are voting, and not merely being manipulated by others) for many entire societies have gone entirely insane --and, who knows, at such a crazy moment, maybe the crazies in such a society  might have counter-balanced it, had they been allowed to vote (for in a crazy society maybe they would have been the only ones sane). Let convicts vote: What section of society can trust that the other sections will look after their rights as well as do they themselves!? How young should a citizen be before he is allowed to vote? In a society where the act of voting is done in complete seclusion, that will never be easily answered to the satisfaction of everyone. From such statements as these come Stoicism & the rest. Well, what can we do? There are men grasping at straws everywhere, even the flimsiest of straws. The alternative is to say nothing at all, when there is always a civil need to speak out. Here there is an ongoing play of words between the ideal and its particular manifestations (and from here on).@

^{116} Mankind only changes its collective mind not just merely for a time but also even more often still but 'for the moment.' By 1978...1981, when this poem was typed into a computer file the neutron bomb had become a better symbol for this purpose (use)... where previously I had used a biological warfare image. [This is one of the last 'corrections' made to these poems.] ... It has become difficult to justify the troubles we take for the sake of being, given a cosmic point of view --Of course, perhaps Man should not (as an earth-bound animal) properly have a cosmic point of view at all; but that is of little comfort to us now: We're stuck with our level of cultural evolution! The thing we must deal with is how to go about integrating such a cosmic overview into our justification of being (in so narrow a finite existence). It WAS so much easier when all we needed (to justify our being) were earth-bound items and concerns... family, tribe (Nationalism certainly went out with a BANG this century [1985, when I never could have predicted Bosnia et al]), gods (going out in a whimper [I also failed to predict the world's return of to a more spiritual life]). The point throughout is: Has the sanctity of the individual finally achieved the status of an end in itself?... This page carries that point to one of its logical extremes. Poetry (fortunately for the sake of art; and unfortunately, as in the case of Plato, for Western civilization, which took his poems as documents of mystic truth), Poetry must ofttimes travel to some glorious extreme (never assume a poem is moving towards some truth, or logical, or even reasonable conclusion).@

^{117} "Eternity is the full possession of the whole of life everlasting, at once & altogether" (in itself). --Boethius. e.g. The most complete life is not the longest-lasting but the most fully-lived (as the best art is not the most 'complete' --or inclusive-- but the most perfect(ly) art... a misinterpretation of which moved a number of so-called artists to mistake mere impact for greatness, unfortunately (as this has been the bane of 20th Century art)..@

^{118} Exodus 33:22 is, "And it shall come to pass, while my glory passes by, that I will put you in a cliff of the rock, and cover you with my hand while I pass by..." (Exodus 33:21 is, "And The Lord said, Behold, there is a place by me," etc. referring to the 'hospitality' mentioned.) Then, for "descending & ascending" see Genesis 28:12@

^{119} same as [118] above@

^{120} "A quiet journey in the untrodden paths (middle) of life." --Horace@

^{121} "When the calm sea shows her false, alluring smile." --Lucretius@

^{122} "Let's live --we are dying." var. of "We are dying, let's drink" (to that) --Seneca (Elder)@

^{123} People have such a mistaken idea about evolution! (The fact is that no species evolves unless it NEEDs to evolve and not because it somehow 'gets it into its genes' to evolve.) This is why one looks at the fossil record and sees there that species both remain the same for considerable periods of time (sharks & crocodiles) and 'evolve' in relatively short spurts --that's when they either evolve or become extinct (which is really the same thing, only the newly-evolved species inherits the name of the pre-evolved one via our ignorant approach to this occurrence).The most spectacular example of this was unleashed upon the world by man himself (when we poured out an ocean of antibiotics over every bacterium that had cozied up to us over the aeons --the results of which have been that all the bacteria we had grown up with have now evolved almost overnight into new species which are not only unaffected by our antibiotics but even thrive best in their presence). Obviously the only thing about us that is still evolving is human civilization (because there are obviously any number of pressures on it to evolve). There are few pressures on organism man himself now to evolve --Quite the contrary it is more reasonable to believe that we are de-evolving, since evolutionary pressures on us to evolve in the direction we had preciously been evolving have practically ceased (e.g. we no longer need to evolve better eyes because of eyeglasses; and, in fact, it can even be argued that we no longer need eyes at all because of seeing-eye dogs and other factors... and this is just as true for almost every bit and piece of us, including our brains, unfortunately). You can pretty much see where evolution will leave the human species unless we suddenly institute a cold-blooded program for manually setting a new evolutionary course for human evolution (and I am not advocating such an arbitrary program, nor, I should hope, would any humanely-inclined or conscientious human being--although if ever we stumble across older species of intelligent extraterrestrial life life it's more than probable that this sort of thing has been part of their history): Remember what a truly great thing it is that there is no God to point out 'a' way for evolution to follow (but only dead-ends to drive it in some other direction); for it is probably this unparalleled miracle which makes life not only the glorious thing it is but perhaps possible at all (since, being free from having to travel one and only one inescapable path, life therefore is free to explore any and all of them, one of which certainly led to us): It's likely we too will develop the science to make it possible for us to keep our genes in the evolutionary derby. Even so we will bump against the almost insurmountable wall of trying to decide which traits are really an improvement and which are just popular cosmetic. More muscles, being able to jump higher, being able to multiply faster in our heads, photographic memory? I cannot say any of these would truly improve our humanity, but other people might... and the reins of power almost always fall to the most powerful hands, not the wisest minds.@

^{124} There is no way to associate the image I create here to its meaning without the process of association somehow making it trite: God (Fate) plays the pinball machine of existence, say, and Man is one of the puckish balls! But think not of God as some Ideal man (or even 'the idea of' man taken to its logical conclusion, or, more traditionally, to its glorious extreme. Rather, think of the word (God) as standing in for the principle that "there is no Chance," just as (there is no Man, but a number of individuals): What we then get is Man mirroring God and God mirroring Man in order to express a more complete metaphor than might be arrived at from merely using one or the other (not to mention the "desert gnat" in the equation). The 'transfiguration' that cuts through the latin quote makes of our protagonist one of those balls in the cosmic pinball machine. Here again I shall quote from the Bible (out of which our culture derives so many essential symbols): John 1:1 thru 5, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not." Finally: John 1:10, "He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not." Man bounces from tombstone to tombstone for the rest of eternity (literally, the question of 'our inevitable, eventual evolution into gods' is highly improbable even if theoretically not excludable). The urge that motivates our 'brief' journeys from tombstones to tombstones is always reasonable, logical, understandable. We always seek more knowledge, we always go after one or another truth (unfortunately, as the 'truth' is always the easiest & most effective means by which to enslave a people). [And, no, it's no slip-up to include humor among our fundamental finds.] We can bounce around & bounce around again & again --we can go on & on like this-- for as long as we have to (just three tombstones because I found it comfortable to think of the little human ball bouncing off three bars than off an infinite number of them --I'm sure the reader will as well). There is no limit to the things we can bounce off of (from the silliest & most trifling to the most world-shaking & profound). The point is that the being doing the bouncing does not suspect he is playing such a confined (mortal) role: In other words, The Principle That There Is No Chance (or God, in addition, not as a result) is not at all apparent in the ordinary course of events (no matter if, in the end, it's still obvious). [The Big Bang, even after all our substantiating discoveries, may also prove only too obvious though not entirely all it appeared.] The latin quote takes us back to the first moments of Creation: the Sea that gave us life here becoming more & more appeased ... hardly the sea of creation any longer, a sea almost made for sailing. Our protagonist finally ends up where he began. But not in death (for we do not really begin from death --only romantically so)... he ends up in a transfiguration (even as that's where he began).@

^{125} "Waves grow gentler, winds abate, Sea is appeased." --Marcus Pacuvius@

^{126} The instant God is proven to exist Faith is undone. Faith and God behave as if they were merely two different names for the same 'state of being' (and thus they cannot occupy the same 'place' at once): I know there is no God --in fact I can go even further and state unequivocally that there could NEVER have been a God--and yet I still believe in Him. Why should this be so? Two possible reasons (there always seem to be at least two possible reasons for everything)... The one biological: Our brains are wired to accept whatever cultural prejudices we grow up with, regardless of the evidence. The second theological: God simply wants things the way they are. I look in my soul and see there that I believe in God even though I know for a fact God does not exist: Were I to lie about this, for whatever reason, the only thing such a lie would really accomplish would be to undo my honesty.  And so I conclude that for Faith to be empowered in a man as strongly as it is in me that man must first be able to prove (at least to himself) that there is no God.  (The honest 'God-fearing' person ALWAYS 'has his doubts' BUT if ever a man tells you that he KNOWS there is a God ... that man is a less than honest man --so hold on to your wallet).

The proof against God is really inescapable and quite self-evident:  In a real sense the world is merely unpredictable, not 'ruled by Chance.' {sic} The only place where 'random' Chance 'exists' is in the human mind.  And this is only because Mind trips over its definition of random chance:  'Chance' as the possibility not already inherent in what led up to it (whatever 'it' may be) obviously cannot exist (the only thing that does exist is our limited ability to see the connection):  If to exist Existence first has to have a beginning then it can never come into existence.

Possibility as {magic/God} vs Probability {cause/effect}:  At no point could God be thinking of creating His Miracle as a reaction to some real-world need (God could not be a thinking God for the simple reason that it would reduce God to a mere mechanism by which Cause manifests Effect): God would surprise even God (who, supposedly... innovates, at least our God).  Wherever so crude a prelude as Probability is present (or even so subtle a probability as Possibility) Miracle is undone...  The Possibility of it could never be inherent in what led up to it (or it is not a miracle). And a God trapped between Cause and Effect is but a super Ego.

A God thinking about just what sort of miracle is needed, how such a needed miracle should be brought about, et cetera, is obviously being driven by the Miracle (call it "Reality" , "Existence" driving God... rather than God driving "Reality" by His Miracles).  And if we cannot make any distinction between {that which is God} and {that which is not God}, then there is no need to give God any further thought.

Objections to the Big Bang Theory (which is now more theology than science) start where it begins to seem to deny eternity (since eternity is existence itself by another name): The escape clause would be if the Big Bang is 'Big' only in our own limited provincial minds and is "in reality" but a petty local phenomenon of limited effect in the scheme of things. {1992}  Say, 'our' (call it) 'human universe' is but a quark in the (call it) 'God universe' (and our quarks are universes to their contents, ad infinitum):

I do not propose that our 'human universe' (Big Bang) is anything other than one in the endless sequence of universes (rather than, specifically, say, the second, or third, etc., where presently we arrogantly propose it --Big Bang-- to be not just one but the one and only).

The first thing we notice when we look at such subatomic 'universes' is that they are made up of ever more and more fundamental particles (and that a number of these particles are exceedingly short-lived in relation to our 'human' sense of time). Furthering this analogy of an endless sequence of universes, it is not unreasonable then to imagine that --a-- God, looking into our 'human universe' might discover that a number of its fundamental particles (say, galaxies to us) are also extremely short-lived [although the very fact that the two are different universes demand that their component particles obey different laws of physics].

The point is that in relation to his own 'Godly' sense of time our --human-- universe (Big Bang) itself might be nothing more than the briefest of subatomic particles (one which, along with a huge number of other similar momentary subatomic particles --Big Bang(s) all around us--constitute a 'God-subatomic-particle' in the 'God universe' whose 'matter' is made up of these --God Atoms-- super subatomic conglomerations).

An equally immense number of these 'god-universes' could then be the subatomic 'cloud of particles' from which all 'super-god universes' are constructed ad infinitum on top of each other... as all these 'universes' made up of {universes of universes} growing on top of each other together constitute the whole of existence without end or beginning.

And if Einstein was anywhere 'round-about' right, then Existence might indeed be as 'closed' as a serpent swallowing its tail (if it turns out that the top-level universe is the bottom-level universe as well).

In this way, the evolution of matter--right out of Nothingness -- might start to make sense because even nothingness itself infinitely shifted (shifting back and forth) may eventually amount to something --Whereas the idea that there is but one universe (and His Name is Big Bang) crashes against the astronomically absurd odds of its existence somewhere within an eternity (with a beginning and an end);  or... why here and not there would have to fit into a reasonable chronology: Big Bang does not address the crucial question of the creation of matter (The Beginning itself), it merely attempts to explain away a local --obvious-- phenomenon, which I fear may be (and we, thereby) a lot more 'local' than we imagine!

[This has astronomically significant implications for us, as you will see, although not for much else outside us.]

The fundamental question of astrophysics is why there is matter (or how it came about). Any science that does not directly address this question is just beating about the bush.

There is only one quality which is shared by all elements of existence (even by nothingness itself), and it cannot be described in any way other than by its location (even if only within, or in relation to itself): Motion.  If we discover motion --in any way or form whatsoever-- well below absolute zero (though it will have to be a theoretical discovery), then Motion may become the crucial element of existence (and thereby the linchpin of the Unified Field Theory).

"The Religion of The Universe."        

If a man lives in an orchard where mostly apple trees grow, the temptation to think that the meaning of life involves mostly apples is overwhelming.  You and I can see it's a fallacy because we do not live in that apple orchard.

But we do live in a kind of apple orchard nonetheless; and it is just as hard for us to resist thinking that the meaning of life involves mostly whatever apple-like 'things' happen to be growing where we find ourselves. But if existence has a meaning (outside just the meaning it has to us) that meaning is probably to be found at the most fundamental reaches of reality... at the level of the subatomic and at the level of the supra-universal.

When one considers it in an objective fashion, the universe looks like a 'mostly' hollow echo (echoing within itself). Is it an eternally, always identically repeating echo? Or does it forever cycle through--however slightly or exceedingly-- different cycles?

I believe scientists will eventually come up with the matter needed for the universe to collapse into itself, for otherwise the universe would have either dimmed long before 'now' or it would be up to its gills in God(s)... God-like beings.

What gives energy to each mostly hollow echo is probably the sum of all the other mostly hollow echoes it is the sum of.

But what might put an end to the endlessly repeating echo? What about another --intersecting-- echo:  If two universes intercept, what results?  I do not know if such a thing might be possible. But all subatomic particles (if matter is energy) decay.

Think now of an incline at the top of which there is a trap door holding back two balls which are released down two intersecting channels of identical lengths:

Obviously if the two balls are always released at the same exact moment (every time) they shall always meet at the spot their channels intersect no matter how many times you try this.

If the scientists of today are correct, and the pre-Big Bang Singularity is absolutely uniform throughout, meaning that every time it explodes (to become our universe) it does so exactly and identically the same (every single time), how could our existence then NOT echo exactly and identically every time?

I do not now know of any mechanism that would prevent it (outside of Hopeful Wishing, or God reaching in and snatching a ball out of its channel).

The number of balls is irrelevant, the number of channels is irrelevant:  As long as all the 'balls' (quarks, strawberry hiccups, or whatever basic sub-atomic family of particles shoot out of the Singularity at Big Bang), as long as all the 'balls' start off at the same time, from the same place, and with the same energy, there is no factor (known to me) which can prevent the universe from replicating the same configuration (of balls, quarks, or whatever) each and every time it explodes  (unless 'our' Singularity is affected by 'other' nearby Singularities)...

I believe there are classes of 'singularities' in the same way as there are classes of subatomic particles, by the way. I know that there have been attempts by serious scientists to establish, in their own minds, that random chance does break the absolute chain of cause and effect;  but all human experiments lack absolute and complete knowledge of all the elements that are going into them (especially Time, in this case, which humans assume 'exists' and therefore take as one always constant cause with an always predictable effect). But even from our earliest human history, when we acknowledged 'everything in its own time' to Einstein's own 'acknowledgement of the 'relativity' of Time (which he had to include in his view of Reality because even now, wherever you may be, Time means something to you and something else to every photon by which you're reading this)...  mankind has ultimately always had to bow to Reality as it is, rather than as we would like to make it fit into whatever our idea of it may be.

Our human lives, even the entire history of life on this planet, as lengthy as they seem to us, are yet spent like momentary sparks in the eternal night that is the lifetime of our universe --Before anything else, therefore, we must rid ourselves of trying to apply our idea of 'time' to Reality, because it makes it hard for us to consider our consciousness of the passing of time as the truly brief factor it probably is in the overall scheme of things.

Just from what I have read of these experiments --as well as the Quantum explanations --I can easily imagine that in each and every universal cycle at identical moments in each cycle these same scientists are probably always getting the same results and joyfully proclaiming over and over again throughout the eternity of identically repeating cycles that they have indeed broken the chain of cause and effect (get it through your head: 'chance' , 'innovation' , 'miracles' do not exist).

Be that as it may, if through some mechanism unknown to me, the pre-Big Bang Singularity is not absolutely perfectly uniform, then all bets are off and every cycle may indeed be unique throughout the eternity of cycles:

Of course, the theologian in me proposes that even in an identically repeating universe our unique, special, individual lives repeat until we get it 'right' (but this Hinduism-like view is just too easily dismissed:

If your parents had gotten it 'right' you might not 'be' at all; and it doesn't even have to be that your mother was raped, either).

Think how exact the circumstances of your own existence are... your parents had to have sex at an exact moment so the spermatozoid that became you impregnates your mother's egg; then think how unforgivingly exact the mating of your grandparents had to be before that; and of their eight parents, their sixteen parents, their thirty-two parents, their sixty-four parents, their hundred and twenty-eight parents (and that's but eight generations).

Imagine then a million generations and you see that either your life repeats identically --without even one photon's worth of difference from Big Bang to YOU --or it could never repeat at all.

Likewise, the science fiction writer in me proposes that the entire 'universe of lives' will keep 'going back' every time (even after everybody gets it 'right') to repeat all the way from Big Bang up to the moment somebody gets it wrong.

Then it repeats again and again however many times it takes for that one screw-up to get it 'right,' and so on and so on from then on until EVERYBODY gets it 'right' (but this delusion crashes on the same rocky coast as the religious one).

Life and Death:                                   

Because our consciousness does not 'exist' from the instant we die until we are born again (the moment we again become conscious of our "existence" in childhood --meaning: we are not 'aware' of any 'time' having passed at all from death to birth), for us 'death' does not really exist;  and no matter how much 'time' may intervene, we always jump 'as in an instant' from the point of our deaths (after which the universe expands as far as it's going to, contracts, and then explodes again) to the point at which our births again intercept it  (and then again continues expanding after our 'deaths' until it collapses into the Singularity and again Big Bangs up to the instant we are re-born again over and over); therefore we are not so much born as eternally-reborn, only we don't know this.

If we did know (deja vu) it would mean that something, however tenuous, had survived from the previous cycle (which would affect this one): Then our lives could not repeat because YOU are not the focus of existence (and long before YOU somebody else would have changed --corrected-- the world which --uncorrected-- led to YOU).

Even if the individual cycles twist into unique separate cycles (because The pre-Big Bang Singularity is re-created and/or explodes differently each time), but the results of each of those explosions (universes) twist in such a way that eventually they wind back repeating ours... then, again, it matters not how many cycles stand between ours and its return because for us (The Dead) 'time' does not 'exist' and all the intervening 'time,' no matter how much of it, is meaningless:

As far as it concerns us, existence would still be identically eternally repeating our lives in an always identically repeating existence --it's just that it would repeat with more complexity.

Existence as a momentary (bubble) storehouse of eternity's energy (or bottleneck):

Most important of all, does this mechanism mirror (explains) the method by which matter 'exists?'

Is matter itself also but a mostly hollow echo of itself summed up in terms of all the other mostly hollow echoes (quarks or whathaveyou) within it? (A vindicated Steady State universe.)

Because Time does not 'exist' (but is just a method developed by the human mind to understand that motion which the mind cannot fit in with conventional 'direction'), it very well could:  For if 'time' is not an item of existence like every other item of existence (always having the same more-or-less predictable effect on things), then even a mostly hollow echo of itself could matter (this is not science but personal conjecture, of course), given an existence which is timeless enough to give it existence, e.g. take it all in.

'Time' is always the crucial component which energizes this idea: If Time 'existed' (outside the human brain) there could NEVER be enough Time because existence would 'communicate' across and throughout itself and hold itself in check  (that is, every part of existence would 'keep time' with every other part).

But if Time is exclusively an organic algorithm inside the human brain and the only thing that really 'exists' is Motion, then the speed, length, duration of Time are all meaningless to existence, and everything (no matter how much time it requires to exist), everything is possible:

Say, the sum total of all that has been (Time) on a scale of a billion... where the first few 'instants' after the Big Bang take up 999,999,999 (or more --for you can think of this huge span as the grey area of human uncertainty, or, of sheer Quantum Ignorance), and the rest of it (what we think of as all the Time since Big Bang) but 1 (or less --for you can think of this momentary span as that which we are pretty sure we understand or that which might eventually become open to our understanding):

Because in the final analysis the result of Big Bang (which is really nothing more than an overflow over the pre-Big Bang Singularity's advent horizon)... 'our universe' from Big Bang to its ultimate collapse is but the charred and flickering ashes of its remains.

And, within that grey 'Quantum' area of (our) Ignorance... what possibilities then can one deny existence?!

Then again, say our Universe, from Big Bang to its ultimate expansion and eventual ultimate collapse again into the pre-Big Bang Singularity takes 50 billion years (or a hundred, or 20,000, take your pick): Those are but human years, and what if the universe is really cycling once per every God Second, or a billion times per every God Second... then our human universe might take on the appearance (to God) of a rock-solid, stable quark (or whatever is the current most basic sub-atomic 'ball' etc.).

In which case, if every cycle is identical and the Singularity is absolutely uniform, I don't know how it would be possible for the cycles of our existence not to be identical... something which 'condemns' us to repeat every instant of our lives exactly (until the 'decay' of the Universal Quark... photon, or whatever).

If, in the overall scheme of things, the explosion, expansion and collapse of our repeating universe is happening so 'quickly' that some cycles actually leave behind intangible residuals, ghosts, of themselves --then they certainly cannot be in any way, manner or form very substantial residuals, otherwise they would put an end to the notion of an always identically-repeating cycle  (even the slightest item of existence left behind from the previous cycle would be enough to create unique cycles every time).

But I believe that even a string dancing before a fan will repeat its every last twist and turn to the last of it throughout eternity. The personal philosophical implications of all this for us are, of course, beyond measure: What all this means is that we may very probably be literally repeating our lives (down to the least minutiae of them) over and over time without end.

In which case, the only reasonable deduction one can make is that we must try to make every moment of our lives not only as meaningful as possible but as pleasant as possible, and not just for us but for everybody else around us (since we will share an eternity with 'them' in all re-occurrences of such moments): We must take the least number of risks (which, if they go wrong, may damn us beyond imagining).

And then hope for the best, I suppose; or try with all our might to create an environment about us as pleasant and harmonious as we can since every moment we shape is not just merely a moment that comes and goes never to return again but one which we will enjoy, or regret, for all eternity!

Think how precious this makes every moment of our lives: Every last single brief moment is really absolutely meaningful. The fact is that the one truly determinant factor which dictates whether our moments are happy ones or terrible ones is already predetermined:  Napoleon will always gamble an empire for Russia and die a miserable lonely prisoner poisoned by his jailers.

People who are not exposed to the possibility that this theory may be true, or who dismiss it when exposed to it, will never appreciate the immense gravity of what it means to them and therefore will continue to forever trap themselves in forever repeating moments which are needlessly painful to them (and to those around them)... perhaps even going out of their way to put such horrible moments 'behind them' without realizing that what they are really doing is setting them (fixing them) into the pattern of their eternal lives without end!

Life then is even more sacred than we could have possibly EVER imagined, for the value and preciousness of human life, as well as of all life, is therefore multiplied world without end!

Think, for this brief moment here, of the stillborn baby, of the newly-hatched sickly creature that is devoured by the ants just as it's coming out of its shell, and of those whose entire experience is contained in a lifetime of suffering!

That is the luck of the draw, certainly. But, consider as well, how even one single brief moment of felicity can spell an entire eternity of happiness: You can but regret what has gone before, or you can write the life of that child who is about to be re-born and become you (in the next cycle): But smile NOW, and you assure that a smile will be waiting for him/her when this moment comes around again.

Think then how important it is not to blunder into perverse, degenerate moments, or moments of evil or pain, or suffering, whether one's own or someone else's (for you must then bear witness to such moments throughout eternity).

Practically every major world religion and philosophy revolves around the notion that the greatest good is doing good to others and that the greatest happiness lies in making others happy (so it's possible that the human brain has from the earliest moments of its evolutionary existence deduced from its everyday experiences the true nature of our repeating universe even to its most basic and fundamental levels).

It is therefore especially important to have hopes, great hopes, and beautiful hopes most of all (not hope of revenge or of conquest, etc.), because hopes do go on and on, ensuring the filling up of one's life with as much felicity as possible--for it is not the ends but the means that are important.

In an always identically repeating universe prison IS "cruel and unusual punishment;" better caning. Better a good quick (however painful) pinch than a prolonged battering of a child (the justice of which deed is always mixed up in the child's mind with bitter suspicions that the parent enjoyed punishing him/her much too much).

And better, in an always identically repeating universe, better a billion times birth control than abortion, better a billion times again abortion than to condemn to an eternity of suffering a child who cannot have even one brief moment of happiness (that child will never be able to ask for deliverance, and the only deliverance he or she can hope for is one provided by those in whose trust his or her precious life is placed).

These statements are not made to advance any social agenda, but simply reflect the way things look to me (and I put them here because it's unlikely to make it necessary for me to have to defend them against anyone who might take them as challenges to his or her own cherished prejudices).

Still I do have great uneasiness over the possibility that these brief observations on my part might be turned into the usual sort of monstrous and maniacal applied philosophy with which whole nations are enslaved (I shudder to think they may become the instrument of unimaginable human suffering in the future): I can think of a thousand ways this might happen!

But though I may be tempted to tear up these pages, the truth is that these are such obvious conclusions (and already permeate the marketplace of ideas) that I have no doubts they must by now also be in a lot of other people's thoughts:

I would be the last person to claim I have come up with an innovation in this world (for that would be a self-evident 'miracle').

What I believe is that we have been destined from the beginning to discover that the pre-Big Bang Singularity is really a true Oneness and forces the universe to begin with all its 'balls' behind the one same 'trap door' over and over again.

A human being can always be wrong, of course (because not only do we poor humans not know what we do not know, the human condition sometimes keep us from even suspecting that we do not know).

But the journey is always shorter from being wrong to being right than from a lie to the truth.

Why is it important to know the true nature of our universe --even, apparently, at all cost?

Well, let's say we must enter a room (the inside of which we know almost nothing about): If the question is whether the lightbulb inside it is lit or not... then it hardly matters who is right and who is wrong and you can enter at your leisure.

But if the question is whether there's a lion in there, then it's important to know. And it is important to know whether we are putting ourselves in Heaven or in Hell, why, and how...

By the way, this 'revelation' is from 1994, while the text of these poems is pre-1974. So my poems reflect a state of mind that focused on existence as essentially accidental on a personal level (that is, not so much a cosmic accident as a personal one --specifically, an existence in which an individual human life is literally an accident of 'time' with no value in and of itself beyond itself, or, in terms of the human experience, to no one outside one's family, country... if the country needed it).

If nothing else, the fear of death is certainly unwarranted in a repeating universe, because most of us will 'instantly' re-awaken in our childhood to our earliest sense of self-existence with a whole new lifetime to look forward to.

And even if in hind sight we now know how terrible it has been up to now, we will not know that then and so we will again enjoy an eternity of sweet hopes (if nothing else).

And NOW the opportunity to write a happy ending to our lives is placed in our own hands by this knowledge:

The greatest act of charity within our means is to give someone even a single experience of happiness. Certainly the worst horror we can inflict is to 'help' others prolong their misery (and I am thinking of almost God-like programs like the Sunshine Foundation especially)... because were there to be a few precious moments of joy even in the lives of those who suffer so much (and not just happiness but also even the mere hope of it) such moments might prove to be enough in and of themselves to make life worthwhile --Those precious moments, however few and brief, will themselves re-occur throughout eternity, so a measure of felicity will always be (waiting) in store even for those who suffer beyond measure... because in an eternity (here, of worthwhile moments) even the least portion of eternity is itself eternal; and summed up as only we human beings can sum up such things: Paradise.

We do so many things through sheer ignorance which we later regret! (And if it but saves one single regret, then it's well worth knowing what the true nature of existence is.)

As far as my own life is concerned...  before I had any inkling of the repeating nature of our universe I used to look back on my life and see only the negative things, the bad moments (it almost made me glad I would one day forever leave all this never to see or think of it again).  But looking back on my life now, in light of this knowledge I can hardly believe how lucky I've been  --What wonderful moments there have been in my life:  I shall again write all these poems (and a thousand more like them not included here), poems which may be difficult for others to understand but were a sheer joy to write;  I shall again see my grandparents --And, oh, the meals, the laughs, the love I have experienced in my life are all without end!

The music I have heard! The numberless times I have shared in the simple wonder and ecstasy of being alive --even in the most out-of-the-way and insignificant corners of this world! The birthdays my mother celebrated for me! The tastes I've tasted! The scents and flavors of living! The truths I've stumbled across in the wonderful hours upon hours I have given to reading --practically all the great books of the best authors of so many cultures and ages!

To discover Shakespeare AND Beethoven all at the same time all over again!

Even a rainy day in Miami when I was reading a book of poems on a shaded bus bench is a memory right out of Paradise for me.  Unlike Solon I can say that I have had a happy life... because now I know that I have lived and died and will live again --and I may only be half way through my life as I write this! {1994}

Now even the most awful moments pale in comparison to the best of them and I can only marvel at how lucky I have been to have loved and been loved (if not by everyone or even most of the time, then long enough by enough someones): All the people I have loved and lost I will see again --And even the people whom I thought I'd never be able to rid myself of... I now know they will annoy me but for a short time and then vanish away at last almost even from memory to make room for all those others who will follow after them, and who will come to heal me.

Our lives are our souls then, in a true religious sense.  And, concerning our neighbors from other planets who may be technologically advanced enough to visit us (but also culturally advanced enough to understand the nature of the universe): they will never bother to come to our planet --so you can be fairly sure that whatever aliens do show up here will be as culturally barbaric as Napoleon at Moscow or Cortez in Mexico (no matter how technologically advanced)  and then I hope we will still have the means to wage a scorched earth struggle for our piece of the universe, as well as for our eternal souls (with nuclear weapon, no doubt).

For me, after my death twenty-something years of my life will not go by before the kids are again born into my life and we again take off on all the wonderful adventures we shared as miraculously as if I had known all this twenty years ago and had planned so much happiness into my eternal life --I can hardly wait just thinking about it.

And yet... will feelings like these spur a rash of suicides (among those people who also can't wait to 'go back' again because their present lives are lacking in joy)?

I really can't predict that. So I will add this proviso: Life is neither good nor bad (there's a lot of good in it, and there's in it a lot of bad things as well):

Think! Knowledge is still the only thing human beings have to at least try to make the best of it:

For those of us who know what the nature of the universe may be it is quite literally possible to write our own lives even now just simply by enjoying life from now on:

This knowledge guarantees that no matter how terrible the previous cycle has written our lives up to this instant, we can yet make ourselves come to an inevitably happy ending. (Even if it's all still the luck of the draw, merely having this knowledge already makes winners of those who have it.)

Strive therefore to do everything you do (no matter whether it is because you want to do it or that you are being forced to do it)... as an act of joy.  And under no circumstances cheat yourself  of the possibility, however remote you may now view it, that somehow in some unpredictable future there may yet be in store for you one precious moment which will be the greatest tragedy of all to have missed (to have thrown it away beforehand), because once you lose your 'chance' at it --the only 'chance' that exists--there is simply no compensating for its loss ever again. {Edited 1995}

^{127} "Time bears all away, even Memory itself." --Virgil@