Prelude to Storms

Overcast skies, clouds dancing about

In random syncopation; what was once a

Calming breeze transforms to a Howl…

And soon the rains will come—as if to

Wash away the muck, and purify those spirits

Most unclean…

But even as powerful as the Tempest is, it too

Must pass away—taking with it much of what stood

In its Wake, but some things even the Tempest

Cannot remove, and although stains appear to be

Washed away, they remain—a temporal phantom,

That lingering sting, screaming in your waking mind…

Through those silent moments when past asserts

Its presence and the veil of distracting worlds

Cease to be…

--The Sad Man (Fathom 9)

Makeshift Aphorisms...

• There IS no measure to the depth of my longing for you, Woman Unknown--no obstacle can oppose me; no hindrance can impede me; I have crossed oceans of time to prostrate before your feet. I know very well the possibility of my meeting Death before ever knowing you in this life...But until I feel you in my arms, Death will know me not, and The Sun shall I darken until the Dawn of your smile returns to my eyes...

• Let us join together as two celestial beings, interlocked in cosmic passion; i becoming you--you becoming me--us becoming We...Let our love making create worlds and galaxies anew; Draw me into your singularity crushing me a thousand times beneath the weight of passion that I may be reborn in a star-burst. Let our children know us as the constellation Eroticus, two lovers consumed in the passion of phoenix fire.

• You ask what is on my mind. I will tell you: Making love on the rings of Saturn--slow---passionate--yet, ravenous love; a love-making that will turn our bodies inside-out, revealing our most intimates of intimates. I wish to nibble upon her lips, teasing with a slight bite; tasting honey dripping upon her bosom... Well, You did ask me what was on my mind...

• I am walking in the garden of my discontent, at that moment where both moon and sun gaze into one another's eyes for the last time--night falls upon the world, and the embrace of loneliness descends upon my soul as a cold chill.

• Liberate' mei; amo exe abyssus...--Save me, my love--from hell.

• He awoke to the tune of birds chirping a sad melody—the song was all too familiar; the skies were a grayish-blue, the earth soaked by tears of heaven, the Tempest through the night laid waste to the garden of possibilities where the deepest of longings spring forth; the heart of the gardener is heavy now—for his work must begin anew

• ...after all is said and done, I am alone...Love is the exalter, the liberator, that which imprisons, the betrayer--and ultimately...the destroyer. Blessed are those who endure such scorn...for theirs' are the gifts of Wisdom.
  
  The journey becomes no easier...

• Indeed...life is absurd, sometimes; and matters of the heart will rip you from your reason. All these years I have apparently bought into my own shyt--my own ideas of love...only now to see the fool I've been. Darkness is a beautiful and terrible thing.

• ...He has always been a dreamer...of this, what can be said? Perhaps it's not the fact he dreams, but of their content. Pity the soul who finds little comfort in life's sojourn, as the silence deafens the life of the natural world, and in the wake of twilight and shadow, a great tempest lays waste to the temple of his heart...

• ...I am left to wander in a desolate place, bereft of the joyful noises of the creatures, bereft of the balance between your radiant smile and the colorful greys of my world. This is a land consumed by deafening silence, and there are no arms to reciprocate warm embraces.

• ...Through every verse in song or poem written by these hands, uttered by these lips, conjured by the union of tortured mind and bleeding heart, I have died a thousand times to convey such feelings ...

• Invisible to you all. Now I see, brother Ellison.

• I have dreamed a dream...a dream of a soul wandering in the garden of my twilight; I have felt her skin, been intoxicated by her essence. I have in fleeting moments known a beauty of several hundred life-times, locked in a gaze, wanting of a kiss...But now that dream is gone from me--and I ponder my need to exist…

• The Mic is an Instrument/I am the Conduit/ Conveying the Intimate Sentiments/ of the Infinite...

• Woman Unknown, I would command the Moon to consume the Sun, and lay waste to worlds innumerable, just to reach those shores where your feet are pressed upon; your servant--forfeiting ten thousand lifetimes to sing the praises of your smile in my world of grey solitude. And yet, it would never be enough...

• The moment you truly awaken from this perverse dream, or become absolute in the awareness that the 'dream is perverse', you may very well appear mad to the world...

• We seek to only measure All things from our own reference point. Have any of you dared to imagine walking or running across foreign soil, or gazing into the firmament of an alien world? Have you ever desired to peer into the depths of black holes--to travel across the boundless universes? For me, without such dreams...my life would become the sum of the mundane and absurd. Mock not the dreamer...

• I would challenge us all to not only discern the beauty in all things, but know such beauty is a reflection of self. You cannot polarize through quantification your minuscule perceptions of reality, for even in Darkness, at this cliff peering into the eye of the Abyss, and in the garden of my (at-times) discontented spirit--the Beauty of Life and Life's pain await, ushering in the Dawn of Wisdom.

thoughts...

A truism in life my friend:

You may kiss a woman, and with each kiss comes the desire to justify your wanting her, but the woman you feel you need, remains elusive. Ultimately, you may conclude these kisses have been in vain, no matter the various angles in which you view it.

Perhaps love as an entity, is as fictitious as the cold to heat, or as the wind that blows; perhaps it is nothing more than a contrived reference point, a definition to an unknown force, similar to how we struggle to define a god. We are told that we are the children of "God," created in "Her" (:-) own image, yet--we have no comprehension, nor the capacity within our own thought matrix to conceive such a being, thus, how can we truly know what or whom "God" is? Our definitions can do no more than offer to us--a fragile foundation of comfort...

So, can the same be said of love? Is love some neutral being, nihilistic in nature, caring not who partakes of its proverbial liquor, or what the consequences of the drinking shall render? Is it a force? How can any force within the cosmic expanse exist without an opposite? What is love relative to? What, or who hath the power to act upon it (love), yielding the equal opposite reaction? If love is no force--relative to nothing, how can it affect us?

Perhaps we are fools to believe that we are significant to "love." I doubt I am the first fool to confess such folly, nonetheless--it shall be told...

When relationships wither as the flower in autumn, we are expected to let go, to move on--and write the withering off as merely the result of the changing of seasons. Yet, the mind, in its quest for "knowing," does not rest. Such an inquisitive nature ironically condemns the host (person/human) to relive moments; memories both pleasant, and painful. At the moment one concedes to the awful realization of the separation, a void encompasses the forlorn. That emptiness is all that remains; a dismal realm, an emotional purgatory, which becomes their property, though it is bought with a great pain.

You relive those moments, which led to the withering of the flower, and as winter approaches, you seek to obtain the keys to the mystery of the "how," and the "why," only to discern the sum of those outcomes are infinite. In the end, you find yourself waltzing a breath away from the embrace of madness...

I have found, in this short stint of my existence, it is indeed difficult to see optimism within such a cold place. I am an advocate for the beautiful child within, though my external acts, at times-- appear to stifle my progression and evolution. I am an advocate for the dreamer; the soul who fights to defy the tainted realm of the dreamless. As such, the atrocities I've witnessed in this world have provided ammunition toward my cynicism, perhaps none more sinister than the desertion of love. How often can we find spirits of kin, soul mates connected beyond the seas of space and time?
Today, while speaking with a good friend of mine, he shared something with me, confirming a most sincere fear. There is a saying: "The wisest man[or woman, to be inclusive and egalitarian :-)]-is a lonely man, while a fool holds the company of many..." Wow. "The wisest man is a lonely man, while a fool holds the company of many..." I--in no way am trying to assert myself as a "wiser among most" individual, but I can say with confidence that I am indeed unique.
Since my childhood, I have often felt the days of my life would know the presence of emptiness. I have always, since before my own understanding of my ignorance, considered myself a pursuer of a rare gem--wisdom. Despite any poor grade received, I have always been ever vigilant in my pursuit of wisdom. The mere reason for my being in college is to learn for learning sake, as did the Ancestors of old--within the halls of Timbuktu, and the lands of Kush, Nubia, and Kemet. I cannot say the same for others, for I know not---but with certainty can I affirm my travels in this world have been at far too many instances, lonesome. In our journey, we seek, and deserve companionship. My friend who reminded me of the aforementioned quote, himself has a wife-to-be. What can be said for me? Am I to not know the embrace of that kindred soul? It isn't fair that the last woman I loved--the one who stated ever so blatantly how she no longer loved me a year ago this Easter--though her actions told me many months prior...Is this to be my final visit within the shrine of love? Do any of you know how it feels to hate the fact that you cannot escape loving someone, even though you don't want them back in your life? I miss someone I despise, for the wrong she committed against my heart...
I know what many of you would say, and your words of encouragement would hold merit, but for the wrenching pain in my heart---as a reminder that after all is said and done, I am alone in the end, left to ponder my fate in a world that offers little reprieve from the emptiness of the journey...

Ish on my brain...

Woman Unknown, I would command the Moon to consume the Sun, and lay waste to worlds innumerable, just to feel that touch from you; Your servant submits ten thousand lifetimes as tribute to reach the shores where your glorious feet make impressions in the sand--and yet, this is not enough? You elude me still...

--Anti-Life Equation (Systemic Anomaly/Fathom 9)

Letter to the University of Memphis

To Whom It May Concern:

Gone are those treasured times when souls sought an enlightened path, and intellectualism with all of its applications was a celebrated pursuit. Sadly, we exist in a time when learning and education have become strange bedfellows with capitalism, thus creating corporatized college facilities. No emphasis on cognitive development, just the development of cogs in the machine.
A student is a part of who I am, a seeker of exchanges and experiences which will cultivate the essence of I, and yet, such cultivation has suffered at this institution. Further, in the wake of economic hardships which have befallen us all, the university wishes to propose a hike in tuition, and subtract academic programs thereby impeding graduation dreams for many students. I find this reasoning—the increase of tuition while cutting certain programs, flawed, and it raises questions of just how dedicated the standing administration is to ensure an environment which seeks to foster a true community which celebrates academic pursuits.
Apparently, the Student Government Association is supposed to act as liaison between the student body, and the administration. Approximately 2 months ago, the SGA was supposed to stage some vocal protest in response to the proposed lifting of the 12 hour tuition cap, which would force students to pay for every academic hour beyond the 12-hour load. Although the event failed to take place, I charge this alleged executive body of student representatives with failure to seek immediate open dialog with standing university administration, and the student population. Yet, the regurgitation of pseudo political platforms saturated the campus; spewing forth a foul and putrid stench of a continued legacy on inadequacy. The SGA enjoys the pomp of “play-government,” while failing to execute any true change with the wanton support of the student population, further contributing to the vast surplus of apathy and complacency at this university. Let me say—what many I am sure—have thought: The SGA is an eroded concept of governance, long-since bereft of any true validity; an edifice of failure, and as such…should be dissolved…indefinitely.
In summation, I wish to highlight the strange irony of this institution’s moment of mobilization. While celebrating yet another wonderful basketball season—which seems to inspire the campus to frolic about beneath the faltered guise that playoffs and championship dreams will unite this city of stifled progress, and long-standing inequality, the news of John Calipari’s departure for Kentucky was as the “Et tu, Brute” penetrating the soul of not only the university, but of the city. Oh No! Had the dreams of a championship been stolen from us??!! The irony is, in a last-ditch effort to keep Calipari, a financially stressed university and local business moguls (Fed Ex’s Fogleman, among others)—were able to extract from some hidden sphincter, monies and benefits totaling approximately thirty-six million dollars. How could it be, that an athletic coach was worth so much effort on behalf of the university, as well as the business moguls in Memphis, and yet—to save academic programs from being cut, and counter this tuition hike, they are all as phantoms, vanishing into the ether. How deep your commitment toward fostering bright minds with the potential to resurrect this barren necropolis must be!
In Protest,
Vernaculus

My first Erotica (short)

Shimmering rich ebony, sparkling like a cosmic shard fallen to Earth,

To stare directly into her eyes blinds one in a unique manner; arms outstretched as if

She seeks to return to the firmament from which she descended…

Back—arched like a sun-bathed slope, nipples firm, akin to chips carved

From only the best chocolate…How tongue thirsts and is simultaneously quenched

Daydreams of upward flowing streams from that dark, and most sacred place, baptizing

Her from the perspiration of passion…The wanton desire of meshing with the darkness

Leaves one immersed within the endless flame; the thoughts of special keys unlocking

The Sacred as well as the secret, deeply thrusting while digging fingers into backs so one

Might be spared from the hungered violent thrashings of the love-sick tempest…

Gently nibbles across lower lip like a severely parched sojourner trapped in dessert

Heat; the only refreshment of cool being the seemingly unnatural metronomic gasps

And pants and MOANS erupting from two beings who are simply trying to find the

Further within one another…