by Ben Best
We expect to see, of course, upon the Battlefields of the Gods, after the Day of Cosmic Conflagrations & Mayhem,,,,the anticlimactic & altogether inevitable emergence of curious little birds & happy spring flowers... & ...passionate purple bubbles of unrestrained gaiety,,softly beckoning to the land of dreams & echos & whispers & heartbeats ........
I who am an Outcast of Hell recall that even in the darkness of the frozen void of stupid, evil hate there are sparkles of incandescent gold ... they are at their most extraordinary beauty in the pitch of heartsmashing despair ... only when suffering & hopelessness reach a soul-shattering crescendo can such fabulous softness be visible & appreciable. It is a message, you know, a revelation from that benign & unsung old angel of goodness who lives in the sorrowful hellfires of evil so that he can add a gentle touch of affection to the hand of those cut off from God & Eternity ... it is the religion of a genius borne like a diamond crown upon the head of a wizard-fish for the further ensparklement of your ecstatic satori ... it is an enigmatic initiation rising like an orgasmic flame from the mystic stream betwixt birth & death ... into reverberating enormities of universes beyond Universes
****** I heard the soft call of love
across golden dry fields of forgotten
years of my life & I am awed by the power
of love, the first touch of lips, love so
incredible that the real becomes a hopeless
fantasy from which you can never
recover ... pregnant with celestial
fire ... fanciful & delicate enchantments
... sudden eruptions of opalescent ecstasy ...
rapturous beauties of mystery & mysteries
of beauty ... sometimes kisses, sometimes
rainbows ... a thousand kinds of emotions
along streets and in doorways and in all
people who walk alone or with
someone ... divinely eerie sexual rites
radiating the hot & splendorous charms of
interpersonal magic ... the soft sweet song
of her love which always seems to find
my heart ... (our pond of tears is
the soul of our sharing) ... tantalization
that shatters heretofore unrecognized barriers
between self & warm white clouds ...
words one after another like stepping
stones that lead into the center
of the sensitive essence of my being ...
And in the grassy fields of my heart a tiny imp runs like the wind, laughing like liberty and singing the glories of an eternity of total freedom & happiness ... colorific & tumultuous Avalanches of Being: the Magic Sunflower, the Reincarnation of Ecstasy, the Concretinization of Dreams, the Sphinx of Mysterious Horror, the Orchard of Perplexity, the Thunderbolt of the Absolute, a Barrage of Byzantine Balloons, Lightening on a Foggy Afternoon, the Irreversible Alarm Clock, the Spasmodic Vortex of Love-Sparks, Peculiarly Exalted Tears and (Ineluctably) the Flash-Flood of Sensuous Flames that Activate the Voluptuous Loins of Aching Desire; ..; __; __|
* / |  \ *
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...Beyond the forbidden impulses of an August winter
lies the lucidity of nakedness, intimate
fondlings, the upward flux of a monstrous
& unimaginable power of liberation, compelling
enchantments and p o i g n a n t i n c a n t a t i o n s . . .
I so unexpectedly & inevitably find myself peregrinating the perimeters of the most unusual & peculiar crevices & chasms of human experience that the startlingly bizarre becomes the substance of that which is to me ... mundane existence ... ... ...