Wednesday, August 27, 2003
at what point do you lose your soul? i think it must be gone before
you murder the young woman as she crosses the street, before you
rob the single mother of her grocery money to lose it at the
racetrack, before you pull a gun on the stranger whose car you
covet. so how did it get lost, and do you get it back? will
prison time redeem a soul if there is no remorse? are you
still culpable if you are psychopathic or schizophrenic and
essentially unable to know what you did is wrong, was wrong,
stays wrong? if your victim dies, what can you do to further
justice? and if you lost your soul before that are you going
to give a flying fuck before the end of your life?
do you still know right from wrong? what are the devices you
employ to sidestep your guilt? how long must you suffer before
you can love yourself again? and when you die, do you just die,
do you go to hell, have you proven yourself worthy of heaven?
if you lose your soul and commit a terrible crime is all the
rest of your life pretty much shit because of it, especially
if you are not held to account for your crime?
all i have are questions...and theories. answers...pretensed,
believed, not known.
Questions my companions, and cats.
We make art, not me.
Wonder saves my soul from atrophy,
Wonder buoys my brain and
Keeps it bobbing, alive on flux.
Flux and questions comprise the tide
ceaseless as any I have witnessed.
I stand on the sand and I'm rocking
Grief to sleep in my arms.
The world turns sideways;
I wonder on night. I've not managed
The black as well as the light,
Or the light as well as the black,
or the grey that leaks into
and out of the days like water -
Grey flows warm flux. Inevitable
as any tide, any sunrise,
any turtle in any sky.
Full of itself offered a medium.
See what can you do
Hand me a brush, we'll paint.
well actually that is not all i have. i still have my soul and puny and defensive and scaredycat as it is i think i'll keep it. it's me.
Who am i, what am i
A picture's worth
I stand on the sand, and I'm rocking grief to sleep in my arms.
Comments by: YACCS