More for the Beast
He never returns us whole,
when one has fostered in service to him,
when one has broken in service to him.
We’ve seen too much.
We’ve walked in too many worlds.
He never spits us back out into this world whole.
Half a soul
Half a heart
A broken body
And too little humanity to count
or too much.
Just like too much was burned up
or not enough.
And all the rest of one’s life is spent longing
For that searing fire
that purifies beyond purification
that renders beyond rendering
that makes us perfect conduits
for perfect fire
and bones too hollow
for even a hint of humanity
It is our humanity that does us in, every time.
This world seems so much shit and ash.
It is so hard to find transcendence here.
But there is this
and it is sometimes no small thing:
that desolation of being spat out
the revelation of one’s own lack
might just fix the soul for other spirits.
They all seem so very kind after all,
post one’s artistic manumission.
What’s a God or Two running through one’s head
when one has served a daimon who does not play at pain?
What unaccustomed freedom.
What fine, dark joy.
It is still not enough.
But it will do.
A Dancer’s Manifesto, 1986
If you don’t bleed
You’re not working hard enough.
If your body does not scream in pain
You have done nothing.
Smile too while you’re at it.
If you yield,
You are weak.
There’s life left in you yet.
One, two, three
Let’s see the bloody tracks marking those steps.
Let’s see that floor dyed red.
Get up and move.
Seek pain and it will guide you.
It will tell you what is true.
There’s no bull shit there.
You will never be enough.
That daimon is always hungry for more.
Marsyas got off easy.
Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
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