As the minutes pass, pulling me ever closer to another stint of harrowing clarity, I dip my still traumatised snout into the russian fire water, add a sprinkle of greenery to my smoke, don headphones and implore Keny Arkana to roar through my ears…
My reading of my own humanity, is far from ideal. I see widespread unwitting apathy, shown daily towards everything that should matter the most. By which I mean-
our own hearts,
our own capacity to dance, prance and seek mischief and adventure and the unknown,
our own position in a realm wherein everyone is dealing in falsehoods, our governments, to whom we pay taxes, are supporting mass murder, rape and pillage of the earth and sky and ocean.
Whilst my own instincts and energy have always focused almost exclusively – when the soil moves, and reveals connected roots in the soul garden – on true romance, I am older now, a wilier wannabe wolf, though still a fox. And I have different ideas of what is Right, what is admirable and worthy of my love.
Absent of any of that romantic brilliance from the astral gutters blinding my eyes, I see everything. Though have come to feel less. When many moons ago, to find walking talking zombies would have caused me some unease, prompted me to seek out my most meaningful people and roar and rage and despair at the horror. That time has passed. The pip squeaking is futile, though perhaps now and then produces or rather returns from delving into my own abyss to behold…a splendid line of poetry. Yet to what end? And it is this which I focus upon far more than ever before. To what end?
We have become soulless.
Other than those whose heads and hearts turn to the breeze,
who don’t check facebook and twitter every other minute,
who mean every word they share with the world,
who love their Woman as their Queen,
who pour their essence into loving animals and saving the environment,
and those who stand up against the ever rising tide of mass herding aka sterilisation of the spirit and not just howl in the magical glare of the full moon in defiance, but demand rebellion whilst pointing their fangs at The Enemy.
We want more expensive materials to wear and bigger cars more than we want to feel as close to any other soul as the rain feels to the clouds, the air, then the earth.
We want acceptance and praise as a loud and shiny bauble of a manufactured crowd more than we want to sing to the sparrows.
We add our virtual voice to the Left Wing social media mantra with more volume and interest than when we speak to ourselves.