|
when everyone you have ever loved is finally gone |
|
when everything you have ever wanted is finally done with |
|
when all of your nightmares are for a time obscured |
|
as by a shining brainless beacon |
|
or a blinding eclipse of the many terrible shapes of this world |
|
when you are calm and joyful |
|
and finally entirely alone |
|
then in a great new darkness |
|
you will finally execute your special plan |
|
one needs to have a plan someone said who was turned away into the shadows |
|
and who i had believed was sleeping or dead |
|
imagine he said all the flesh that is eaten |
|
the teeth tearing into it |
|
the tongue tasting its savor |
|
and the hunger for that taste |
|
now take away that flesh he said |
|
take away the teeth and the tongue |
|
the taste and the hunger |
|
take away everything as it is |
|
that was my plan |
|
my own special plan for this world |
|
i listened to these words and yet i did not wonder |
|
if this creature whom i had thought sleeping or dead would ever approach his vision |
|
even in his deepest dreams |
|
or his most lasting death |
|
because i had heard of such plans such visions |
|
and i knew they did not see far enough |
|
that what was demanded in a way of a plan |
|
needed to go beyond tongue and teeth and hunger and flesh |
|
beyond the bones and the very dust of bones and the wind that would come to blow the dust away |
|
and so i began to envision a darkness that was long before the dark of night |
|
and a strangely shining light |
|
that owed nothing to the light of day |
|
that day may seem like other days |
|
once more we feel the tiny legged trepidations |
|
once more we are mangled by a great grinding fear |
|
but that day will have no others after |
|
no more worlds like this will follow |
|
because i have a plan |
|
a very special plan |
|
no more worlds like this |
|
no more days like that |
|
there are but four ways to die |
|
a sardonic spirit might have said to me |
|
there is dying that occurs relatively suddenly |
|
there is dying that occurs relatively gradually |
|
there is dying that occurs relatively painlessly |
|
there is the death that is full of pain |
|
thus by various means they are combined |
|
the sudden and the gradual |
|
the painless and the painful |
|
to yield but four ways to die |
|
and there are no others |
|
even after the voice stopped speaking |
|
I listened for it to speak again |
|
after hours and day and years have passed |
|
I listened for some further words |
|
yet all I heard were the faintest echoes reminding me |
|
there are no others |
|
there are no others |
|
was it then that I began to conceive for this world a special plan? |
|
there are no means for escaping this world |
|
it penetrates even into your sleep |
|
and is his substance |
|
you are caught in your own dreaming |
|
where there is no space |
|
and a hell forever where there is no time |
|
you cant do nothing you aren't told to do |
|
there is no hope for escape from this dream |
|
that was never yours |
|
the very words you speak are only its very words |
|
and you talk like a traitor |
|
under its incessant torture |
|
there are many who have designs upon this world |
|
and dream of wild and vast reformations |
|
i have heard them talking in their sleep |
|
of elegant mutations |
|
and cunning annihilations |
|
i have heard them whispering in the corners of crooked houses |
|
and in the alleys and narrow back streets of this crooked creaking universe |
|
which they with their new designs were made straight and sound |
|
but each of these new and ill conceived designs |
|
is deranged in its heart |
|
for they see this world as if it were alone and original |
|
and not as only one of count with others |
|
whose nightmares all precede |
|
like a hideous garden grown from a single seed |
|
i have heard these dreamers talking in their sleep |
|
and i stand waiting for them |
|
as at the top of a darkened flight of stairs |
|
they know nothing of me |
|
and none of the secrets of my special plan |
|
while i know every crooked creaking step of theirs |
|
it was the voice of someone who was waiting in the shadows |
|
who was looking at the moon and waiting for me to turn the corner |
|
and enter a narrow street |
|
and stand with him in the dull glaze of moonlight |
|
then he said to me |
|
he whispered |
|
that my plan was misconceived |
|
that my special plan for this world was a terrible mistake |
|
because, he said, there is nothing to do and there is no where to go |
|
there is nothing to be and there is no one to know |
|
your plan is a mistake, he repeated |
|
this world is a mistake, i replied |
|
the children always followed him |
|
when they saw him hopping by |
|
a funny walk |
|
a funny man |
|
a funny funny funny man |
|
he made them laugh sometimes |
|
he made them laugh oh yes he did |
|
he did he did he did he did |
|
oh how he made them roll |
|
one day he took them to a place |
|
he knew a special place |
|
and told them things about this world |
|
this funny funny funny world |
|
which made them laugh sometimes |
|
he made them laugh oh yes he did |
|
he did he did he did he did |
|
oh how he made them roll |
|
then the funny man who made them laugh |
|
sometimes he did |
|
revealed to them his special plan |
|
his very special funny plan |
|
knowing they would understand |
|
and maybe laugh sometimes |
|
he made them laugh |
|
oh yes he did |
|
he did he did he did he did |
|
their eyes grew wide beneath there lids |
|
and how he made them roll |
|
i first learned the facts from a lunatic |
|
in a dark and quiet room that smelled of stale time and space |
|
there are no people |
|
nothing at all like that |
|
the human phenomenon is but the sum of densely coiled layers of illusion |
|
each of which winds itself upon the supreme insanity |
|
but there are persons of any kind |
|
when all that can be is mindless mirrors |
|
laughing and screaming as they parade about |
|
in an endless dream |
|
but when i asked the lunatic what it was |
|
it swore itself within these mirrors |
|
as they marched endlessly in stale time and space |
|
he only looked and smiled |
|
then he laughed and screamed |
|
and in his black and empty eyes |
|
i saw for a moment as in a mirror |
|
a form the shade of divinity |
|
in flight from its stale infinity |
|
of time and space and the worst of all |
|
of this world dreams |
|
my special plan for the laughter |
|
and the screams |
|
we went to see some little show |
|
that was staged in an old shed |
|
past the edge of town |
|
and in its beginnings all seemed well |
|
the miniature curtain stage glowed in the darkness |
|
while those dolls bounced along on their strings before our eyes |
|
and in its beginnings all seemed well |
|
but then there came a suttle turning point which some have noticed |
|
and i was one |
|
who quietly left the show |
|
no i did not |
|
because i could see where things were going |
|
as the antics of those dolls grew strange |
|
and the fragile strings grew taut |
|
with their tiny pullings, tiny limbs |
|
the others around me became appalled |
|
and turned away and abandoned the show |
|
that was staged in an old shed |
|
past the edge of town |
|
but i wanted to witness what could never be |
|
i wanted to see what could not be seen |
|
the moment of consummate disaster |
|
when puppets turn to face the puppet master |
|
it was twilight and i stood in a grayish haze of the vast empty building |
|
when the silence was enriched by a reverberant voice |
|
all the things of this world it said |
|
are of but one essence |
|
for which there are no words |
|
this is the greater part which has no beginning or end |
|
and the one essence of this world for which there can be no words |
|
is that all the things of this world |
|
this is the lesser part which had a beginning and shall have an end |
|
and for which words were conceived solely to speak of |
|
the tiny broken beings of this world it said |
|
the beginnings and endings of this world it said |
|
for which words were conceived solely to speak of |
|
now remove these words and what remains it asks me |
|
as i stood in the twilight of that vast empty building |
|
but i did not answer |
|
the question echoed over and over |
|
but i remained silent until the echoes died |
|
and as twilight passed into the evening i felt my |
|
special plan for which there are no words |
|
moving towards a greater darkness |
|
there are some who have no voices |
|
or none that will ever speak |
|
because of the things they know about this world |
|
and the things they feel about this world |
|
because the thoughts that fill a brain |
|
that is a damaged brain |
|
because the pain that fills a body |
|
that is a damaged body |
|
exists in other worlds |
|
countless other worlds |
|
each of which stands alone in an infinite empty blackness |
|
for which no words are being conceived |
|
and where no voices are able to speak |
|
when a brain is filled only with damaged thoughts |
|
when a damaged body is filled only with pain |
|
and stands alone in a world surrounded by infinite empty blackness |
|
and exists in a world for which there is no special plan |
|
when everyone you have ever loved is finally gone |
|
when everything you have ever wanted is finally done with |
|
when all of your nightmares are for a time obscured |
|
as by a shining brainless beacon |
|
or a blinding eclipse of the many terrible shapes of this world |
|
when you are calm and joyful |
|
and finally entirely alone |
|
then in a great new darkness |
|
you will finally execute your special plan |
