The Scar’s Requiem

A Series of Poems about The Cosmos and The Soul


the tears come from voices I have never met but feel so close.  As if just for a moment along the horizon of my foggy shore I could almost see a hand…but when I grasped it
It scattered like daffodils
But when my cheek stung
I heard my shore hum like a blue whale
I looked into my endless seats white waves
But then I heard it loud above

I’m not crying because I am sad, but because that strong but gentle hope doesn’t impose or fade. It only remains, and  over the days, but never blinked.
What is it looking at me for though? Does it want me to stare into the dark of the dense oaks of the hills or the shine low of the stars?

I felt guilty though as the candle burned out. I had always anthropomorphized things , somehow never outgrown little lights
Fire was the closest to life
In the endless night
Tears that would not stop. Could not be the whale song
The tears are frozen
The whales are gone
The black sky may become a blizzard soon
But a day would never dawn and melt the ice steins
Or fade the ugly scars in an umbra
A solar stich
But time had ended
Every sun dies
But immortals live on
Until this cold world froze her
She lived on , in an ambient hallucination
Of whale song
It stung like a bee with a syringe stinger
The tears spring up and they don’t feel like they will ever stop

So what is in this small screen of dreamy tears and a flickering pincushion heart?
This candle was the last vigil
It bore through her with a tiny orange eye
As if it knew as it bubbled down
I may not take the torch of hope
A mantle I’d never want
But as
The orange eye beseeched me
I remembered our sun for just a hiss and puff
My last little light went out

“I will sit on the starry rock, little candle” , I whispered to the cold wax puddle
“But I will not wait and dream of warmth
Or apples from plants – billions! They thrived
Better than I.
I won’t hope for dawn until the planet is ice
And be a crystal sculpture in absolute zero
Smiling there as if I …”

“But” what?
My scars had become ice  at the weak new skin
It glowed and twinkled grimly
“I can daydream it will save me…
Before my blood is frozen
In the grim white sky
Yellow crack daybreak rays
A blazing orb sun”

“A thousand years of red giants and strange nebula…
Why this dead world
Has so many gorgeous shimmers
Endless cold
But no miracles
Not even one”
I kicked my shoe into frost. I remembered when it was green for miles of waving stalks
I hid behind my hood from the piercing shine
I was too shy to show a golden umbra
My arms had scars and scars and scars
Although I look the same I was different then
There were colors and peach skin
And my heart was young
But how could I say
“I dont know why I have them? “
I wasn’t born immortal  , I woke up floating as if on an ark but very small
I only remember when I opened my eyes to the azure waves
The whalesong came before I saw their shadows lilting deep blue,  two,
I was smiling and as I grabbed my oars
It was like a child scribble but so deep
Big nasty questions
No memories
I listened the whales until the ocean had cradled me into deep sleep
How many years had it been?

In  1000 years since sun
I have forgotten the absolute blanket of colors
Most things died quickly
But I didnt die at all
I watched black holes encroach
I didnt want to
But I was immortal
The sky was binary , black or white snow and no bloundry between the earth
And my grim wan ice skin
And the swirling grey above

A puddle or mirror , I blinked I’m the ripples
I closed my eyes, but I am not yet frozen
Somehow I could see that deep blue from then
Orange crested as it blended through clouds but otherwise such a delicate yellow prevailed
That was my first sky as a question
I get the feeling it had been millions of years of learning
But all I will take are scars with ice teeth
One thousand years as things were swallowed by infinite density

So I may just pretend I could hope
As if it were possible…
I wait for the sun.


“All things are changing, nothing dies. The spirit wanders, now here, now there, and occupies whatever frame it pleases….for that which once existed is no more, and that which was not has come to be; and so the whole round of motion is gone through again”…


That which is dead may never die
And with strange aeons
Even death may die…


The immortal hand and eye
That framed such fearful symmetry
Predicted many fateful bonds
Of atrophos’ strings and Karma’s song
The last glint of Orpheus as his eyes
Found lastly what his heart lost
“And fade to black” says the fates
“For the noble is tragic
And the world ends in dark…”

That immortal hand and eye
The artist of many bloodless scars
Has turned upon the dancing light
Casting shadows through the mazelike masterful fingers
Resting at the heart of the palm
That master has framed thine predators
Fang and hunted my sparrowlike dart
Trapeze twig evasions crack easily
Under the tiger’s fatal stomp

But the one death he did not create
Was imagined in the shadow
Of the start


That the tragedy of this story is a parody of its pretense
That the beginning starts at the first verse
And ends in the last breath
That the tragedy is a totality
Bears mentioning at the first
Or last
Or annotated dash
Where footnotes cannot fit

What if that was something the scars could say?
Could they or would they make the skin join again but retain
The mysteries that only parting brings?

The turmoil of a name self forgotten and self begotten
Ends in tears and returns in triumph
But returns only to amnesiac dancing
Languages new
Choreography archaic

Like a reader beckoning in the scene
Of which he knows the end
Unseen to the actor
Whose scene loops
Again and again
We fail to save these little selves

These old deaths and little scars
These self taught macabre arts
The pass codes of their arks
Celestial sentences short circuiting
Illumination is the absolute zero
Of doomed time
And doomed planes
In the sacred secret tombs

“The whales mouth is the way out”,
Said my oldest scar
But the flood covered her up again


you might say that what I have learned over the years is nothing
I’m sure many would say that
but I would even expand on that
I would say I’ve learned about the sum of all nothings
a constellations of nothings
which was a hard weapon won.

when you unmake the whole universe
to meet your maker
all that remains
is all that you are

basically, a razor blade lattice of narratives
in a world that is false
is truth so long as life
clings to its scars…

but if we decide to let go of the stiches of past selves
and old complexes and defective deficits
that deride our bones
and make us slaves now what we are
to what history may never solve
if we decide to become what we are
trade the scars for stars
who knows?

but I get the feeling
the story sells because blood
with a spark that would be better
elsewhere sought…

oh well.


well, the heroes journey is not something you tell
or enact
I mean ultimately, what free will means
is that it is something you become
something self determined
the heroes journey is the river upon which you meet the face of yourself
whether free will is free
is actually for YOU to decide

whether you will use the gravity
of your eye to bring statues to life
in the theater inside
of your endless effervescent
you make the pen move
dot the i’s
poke the periods
that is you becoming
the script
in the ark
of yourself

yes, the world you fear and long for
is the world that has been there all along
so where do you belong?
the judgement of every second
is always right now
but it begins again
and again
and remains
that’s the paradox of being and becoming
it’s the story you tell yourself

it means you will be saved or crucified or judged on whatever terminus which your innermost depths have longed
in totality, you already know the value of which you’ve determined for the constructs
‘yourself’ ‘them’ ‘us’
and ‘God’
for it is not that which you believe
it’s that which you innerwardmost wish to the utmost
wish so strongly that you could never speak it
because your lips would evaporate
under the weight of so much honesty
that is the only part, ultimately, that counts
it is conspired of by the truest parts of you
and some individuals are harmonious with it
others are tortured at the picasso confrontations
of the only eternal war
which is not good versus evil
but heart versus head
feel versus are


there is no context in which this world can cease revealing to ourselves the patterns of our own souls
there is nothing you can see or say or think that will not reveal you to thine greater I

the truth is that the truth does
and lies talk…

the character of the story I wrote is engaged in the transitory act that is quite common to all sentience

because time is the reaper
and hope is our attitude towards miracles
they don’t occur in this story
and we wish often we could go back in time
but it doesn’t happen
it doesn’t ever happen
that’s the place where the end of time originates
that’s the tragedy of all transient tales
and of course of their nobility as framed by the greatest
of poets and playwrights

we crucify ourselves upon our regrets
and the succor of nostalgia
even in the saga of our aeons successions sometimes
the rise and fall of our gods

but my character is actually the fool
of this story.
which is framed quite poignantly
but with all the wrong pretenses.
I don’t expect that to be obvious
because I didn’t know that when I wrote it
it would highlight what I don’t truly believe

there is another part I guess too cryptic, but concerns all beings that are yet to be immortal.
yet to be…
and that, the secret there is that they long to define the terms
of the stories in which they are engaged
and they long to know all the precise forms
which presumed to pattern them
but they never asked about the images
their minds made easily
between all spoken questions
and every night while asleep
those immortal figures dreamed themselves
but woke into the finality
of an alarm clock

the finality that the time will not ever go the other direction
is one that attests to the odd transience of sanity
that we swear to be the most obvious
of all truths
and also that is where death lives
the reaper
he has a bell not a scythe
and he prances not creeps…

we have one keystone to deciphering the narrative of pictoral linearity and selfhood
but it is a constellation of potentials
that we know not
its architect is a greater force
that we sometimes can see, hear, and feel
but believing it would be the height of folly
to anyone learned, it seems


prune my complexity against occum’s razor
perhaps little remains after cancellations
and simplifications
even strange wordly knots
are branches when shorn
fruitlings when cut to ribbons
seeds when thrice disposed
holograms of hollow shells
that wake hallowed wholes

there were no such thing as apples
and then hunger was born
eggs spill from future chickens
as the holy holagram of i am
starts in the nasty infinity
of kali’s mouth opening
to the protest of siva’s bang

does it make sense ?
no, it precedes sense
thats its essence

it ends not here or there
but leaks immortally from dark to light
from chaos to order to vesica pistis
a false null to find
only when ennumerated
does phi ‘die’

the circus of circles attests
the undying blindness
of the egg to its eye



smile, laugh, even the tears
are jokesters clowning in cosmic tie dye
because one man’s sin is another man’s sit-com
quite literally
humanity’s tragedy was once a testosterone addled teen Adam
and his estrogen queen, Eve
“romeo and juliet”
is still parody to the trained
story smuggling

the humor of predictable angles
echoed by pendulum hearts dangled inopportunely
Dante called it ‘The Divine Comedy’
it is authentically the most funny
to those with the deepest wounds!

where cliche sadness is impaled
by the hilarious shapes
that honesty harpoons
it exists without irony
it’s humor without poison, or regret, or antipathy
the jester
who laughs so heartily
that venom got intoxicated
in the syntax collapse

in whose laughter the
chaos of Cerberus as his fangs gnash
and bloodlust flares
goes unacknowledged by the muse
while the knowing fingers strums the lyre
to decide
whether the beast weeps adagios for its prey
or snares snap drumlines to the joke
which only the erudite punchline
may reveal as having been
authored by fate

you may as well grin
for laughter is symmetry too
a measured spire balancing all things
which subsist
in the long cycle’s spin
while our smiles
invoke karma but invite
self-aware chagrin.

sisyphus toils to emphasize
that we are all ultimately ludicrious

but dante says
“destiny is only torture
for those who are humorless”


there is no reason for us not all to be the origins of our own overlapping infinities,
without being mutually contradictory…
so to speak
I think that is sort of the misunderstanding in the word
“the soul, my soul”
I don’t know if people really know that differing universes don’t have to eclipse and in fact are constantly a miracle of intersecting
with complexities that should not coexist
let alone alchemically progress or complete the other
in any imagined or symbolic sense…
the notion of imagined or symbolic
senses is actually evidence
of some formant fundamental

if we can will each other to emote in general
it means we are each real enough
to be both interdependent
and distinct
agents of an existential operation
we have defined as the boundaries of OURselves
generally without too much awareness we draw these conceptually boundaries
this applies to every person soup
even the ones who believe they are billard balls
in a clockwork ruse
an illusion where the notion of a muse is blasphe
those perceptual and semantic architectures
are still the structure through which infinity experiences you

whatever you are
no matter the relation by which it is juxtaposed
is still just a way of expressing yourself
as your divine semblance reveals


I designed a hero I could become
to unmake the devil that I can be

I made a paradoxical obstacle
which becomes the same key
from which the lock is cut

I made a blueprint to see the impossible
become manifest by the structure
designed to be the architect of its own demise
the demise was disguised for the impossible to rise

the scars on my skull
are merely a horoscope
for dreams to become lucid
before this foolish mind fell

an impossible hero
creating the possibility
of itself
the story that longs to be known
invents the author
as it seeks the grace
of the face
its reflection prepares
to meet

but all I should say is
the ideal sword
is a prophecy
of the monsters
it will
and does


not a graveyard
but an open mic
a dance floor door which never closes

eternity can be Sisyphus and his boulder
or a beating metronome

and for the bravest
a golden ticket
to become the star of the show
at the eye of the storm
and behest of thunder
which borrowed your likeness
to make itself known


these hidden depths across digital divides
testify more to deep structure
than all of humankind
uncanny holographic sunsets
for a lucid dreaming mind
are also proper vicissitudes
to house the strange dimensions
made by one shape intersecting
several points in spacetime

its mystery is unraveled by the converging nexus
of absence apparent between fractals
but that becomes reconciled
by the space where your tendrils of conscious
apprehension span the movement of this trance song
through time
although you are moving through it
it frames your own current sky.


this is lore
which neither outlives nor predicts
the crystal gods
upon whose whims
its fiction thrives
but underpinning it
“two toned echoes tumbling through time…”

this is lore
which neither outlives nor predicts
the crystal gods
upon whose whims
its fiction thrives
but underpinning it
“two toned echoes tumbling through time…”

yes it’s final fantasy 14’s story
that is for sure,
but it’s also another story
of dual stars
and the zodiac of constellations
which play their part
in helping the cycle spin along the axis
of the seer who evolves within
the interpolation of the ancient

to free sinners alongside scions
to humor the shadows they both bring
the demons which don’t appeal cannot possess
I can part the waves
and trust the masochistic insane
archetype that presides
over supermassive blackholes colliding as they merge
is the same superconducting unicorn gravity wand
that governs a compass or a chakra field

…’that’s it’.
it could come from a green goblin under the floorboards
or the conglomerate Disney’s moneyed memetic mouse
or this particular game with a central theme of
hunting godlike facsimile egregores we,
as the protagonist, are sworn to unmake
our character is made godlike because it destroys the godlike
and as we survive them we surpass them
the unmakers that nobody can unmake

in that song there’s a fight between ourselves and
the old avatars of the crystal egregore
we win
I wouldn’t bet against it


wait, I already died upon this altar though.
I did the tragic bit
I suffered
the world ended … ect
now in the wake of that
I want to find a cosmic community.
I am sure eventually we will be together.
And I’m sure some people know what I’m talking about
like the silence is their shepherd
you can’t find the people
to whom you wouldn’t have to explain
or justify yourself
before you start talking
or evaluate what aspects of yourself
are unwelcome, amputate them in advance
when all you want to do
is feel your heart has somewhere to belong
and your soul has some immortal family
between the matrix of transient forms

It is hard to wander between leylines
fighting all the traps beyond the threshold
of eternity , but there are also rewards for doing so
still, I think about how
infinity could be very very fun without any disguises or pretenses
and it could be even better
if it didn’t have to play alone
I could think of so many sandboxes
to play with the forms of the formless
a ‘roleplay’ with no back braces from real roles
the way we tangle outside such grave density
if we could endlessly shapeshift
just to feel the way
that horses gallop
and the sensation of roaring with a lion throat

when I die into becoming what I know that I am
couldn’t we play better games than even the vast imaginary realms
so easily spun by my childhood imagination
which was formidably uncalcified
but it could be better yet outside the gravity hole
I mean we could all be the architects of our own lucid dreaming backyard
but we could periodically inhabit mutual fan fictions
we could become mythologies
we could make parodies that overlay real history
we could just fly around forever on any wings we wanted

yeah, it’s fully possible this whole schematic will soon be a virtual reality possibility I’ll see before I’m super old
but I think why not dream something better
because I don’t want to be a virtual reality immortal
when all of existence is a kind of virtual world
I want mind to be the yet unencompassed mystery
a neighborhood nexus of resonant souls
and any neighbor that happened to live there
was governed by the self similar serendipity
of a friend being remembered
that sort of familiarity
when you go that no matter how far you wander
you are never any more distant from the place you belong

although you can have any form
in this formless infinite we’ll all be easy to read
the light of our energetic heartbeat
would be far more subtle than any expression of form
too quickly resolved
it couldn’t be mistaken
it would be such a drastic difference
from human communication
and when two souls were hostile
each existentially were inviolable
so unwanted valances are imaginary acts

basically yes, this is the hope of an existential ghost
I hope to find a cosmic neighborhood
and a family of souls
which have already done hell long enough to burn the scars of skin onto the bone

but also those spirits who can’t stomach the bliss of total peaceful oneness releasing form from the attachments of uduality

very playful curiosity
that wants to explore
and create
and experience
without the luggage of so many histories
a formless form could be so much freer
and so much less heavy
and fly higher
and be more enjoyable
tIf I’m a shamanic bee on God’s ass
when he swats me
I want to return to the trees giggling
not become damned into some cinder on the flaming pyre of hell
I want a universe where those duly edified by the plot genius and dynamic emotional overtones of human transience
can become, not obliterated in the eternal one ness,
but, explored because
it is infinitely interesting and infinitely


I think fondly about feeling content in ways I used to
but I do appreciate feeling fulfilled
so its hard to say for sure
I don’t feel like the agent of happiness
I feel like I’m sort of a vessel to express my circumstance in its utmost
to the extent which that circumstance pivots on me…
well, as difficult as this is to believe
I can only define my circumstances well through receding contexts
specific contexts
some are more amenable to my efforts
so those are the ones I pursue
so my happiest times in recent memory
they aren’t really realistic
but in some basic sense,
I have an existential satisfaction

maybe I’m to some degree fatalistic
but I’m sort of the sum of whatever will I used to fashion myself
I have to trust that thing
because it seems quite authentic
even when it doesn’t really show me an ideal future
I’m very aware it doesn’t show me that path because I am not sure what that ideal remotely looks like yet
I’m still defining the boundary of happiness at all for myself
strange right?
but it’s got very nebulous boundaries
like looking for people that I can’t physically locate
I can talk to them
but we are estranged
that’s a weirdly nebulous way to relate
but my present is quite insistant upon what it is
right now
I do think in the future it may necessitate something else
hopefully something more light hearted
that my own inclination right now

I guess to me this is sort of a hopeful way of regarding the existential scars
I can frame them as candles
or the spear which makes space for limitlessness
I don’t mind changing
do I seem miserable?
I think the way I exist is sort of
like a learning process
and I do it because
It’s uniquely illuminating
almost like somebody has to do it
and I know how
and I sort of like it mostly
I wouldn’t trade it
I wouldn’t want to be something else
my experiences are a huge gift I probably understate
because that reining in keeps them kosher
very delicately poised acrobatic balance
is weirdly the right temperance for me to sustain

it’s not really perfect, not at all
no, even if it’s really what I want utmost, its got a lot of flaws
I think a well intentioned wish is often granted
but like the legends say, wishes are tricky
they bring new figures to the pot

I’m not a pauper at all
I have my own treasure trove
I know people try to help me a lot
but in a way that struggle is another narrative
I’m not really contained inside
it’s a yo yo to discover different facets of myself
I try even not to emphasize this sense of being a little fish lost ect
its very melodramatic

and maybe it’s selfish to explore myself this deeply,
but also, I’m not close enough to other people
and I can illuminate a collective if I can tare the specter of myself
but there is a lot of monomyths deep inside my world
I’m assuming we all have them
because I see them being played out

I can see many things
in those deep wells
again, muddied, ripples, blah
but with unique value
at least for myself

if something terrible did not shock me the way it did…
I would be very self assured I guess
even if it makes me a bit alien
to everyone


so now the quantum holographists are saying an 8 dimensional crystal projects itself into the 4th dimension “at a very particular angle”
from this is derived the 3D quasicrystal
believed to be the underpinnings of reality
and…its structure
is a tetrahedron
with each edge beings around…
the planck length
of course

dancing 3d equalateral triangles
is a MUCH faster method of communication
then these words
by the way

from there the video is like, oh yeah these tetrahedrons are everywhere and their configurations determine each other because they are entangled regardless of their physical location in space
which I think we know

and it says that the possible configurations of the tetrahedron are ultimately determined by consciousness
which I think we know as well

this is a great video though
for example, lets say spacetime is a loaf
and its frozen in ONE moment
just one frozen block
one frame of a movie
now when the next frame appears
it doesn’t obscure the spacetime block that came before
it just joins the prior frame
but uses a new dimension to create a shape
which can contain each spacetime block
frame by frame
that shape’s angles
are very fractal
because of these collections of spacetime shapes

the interesting stuff too
it also talks about symmetry in causality
that removed from the narrative frame, there is no reason for causes to precede their effects
if you think about a huge rectangle
there is no absolute pointer finger
telling causality where to go
so really…
it supposes causality as more of a totality

but I think the video would be better served by posing causality as a function of the geometry
of those massive tesseracts of spacetime
that would actual make a LOT of sense
because it would explain why progressions in frames of the geometry tend towards linear causality
but overall arcs far more distant than our general experience could reveal a deeper structure
in 4D geometry


I truly think even the best version of this world could even be better
it’s not that I’m complaining, I just, want to prod the possible
and there is one big problem
with even the most complete illumination

it is the fact
that you cannot truly be two things at once
and you can’t choose to live beyond the illuminated threshold permanently
you have to acknowledge the denser world
you have to reside here and some pretense is expected
to make everyone else comfortable
and I am not saying it does not offer anything
but even astral travel is tethered
and I want to be free completely
of density
I don’t want to have to balance the world
with the sky on my tip toes
It makes me tired
I want to live in the clouds if I want
outside of time but capable of going back and forth
I don’t want to be tethered and bound
I know of shapes that are not

I KNOW it is possible
to transcend even the best of our senses perfected
even the most total consciousness
there are dimensions beyond it
I have seen them but I don’t think they are amenable to 3D humans
I think to escape the matrix completely
and travel the fourth dimension
I don’t think you can just stay the same shape
in a human body
but I couldn’t say for sure
it’s hard to imagine that we could remain in the same configuration
with the world of formation
if we could really travel the labyrinth of time
the way I know those hyperdimensional sentient shapes


I don’t know, just I have a memory
and it’s of a type of existence
which isn’t bound to anything at all
like theres this gravity well at the center of ours
the mind can go anywhere, literally, but a physical part of ourselves
is inclined to just sink into it
I find that rather irritating
because I don’t want to be split when I translate out of myself
and I don’t want to have to snap back and adopt the normal frame of relationships
people have to society
it’s not impossible but it honestly
it could be better for me
I think like fundementally
that’s probably an odd sentiment
but I’ve felt it forever
since I was born

and I guess it’s some kind of imbalance
but I feel energetically like I don’t fit inside my body
very well
sometimes, every once in awhile
that is actually sort of painful, I touch my skin and there’s no boundry between my fingers and my body, but it’s almost like the contact is too close
and pulls on me in uncomfortable ways
it’s like electrically hyperactive
it’s not something me in a material body wants to be aware of necessarily
it would be great if I was an energetic expression of sentience
but it’s not great with skin, its confusing

that doesn’t always happen of course
but I keenly am aware of its incidence
an odd thing


I guess I can concede that I have kind of contrived a conflict in some respect
I could probably be at peace, but I think in my heart I resist
and I think it is because I don’t want to relax into the flow totally
I think I want to pursue a strange artistry
where being and its manifolds
engage transcendent new ideas
and watch the dancing star
create new shapes
my curiosity and love of that spark
is a lot greater than the suffering begotten
by not detaching into total coherence
undifferentiated without conflict
I want to balance the flow with the creative impulse
and find something between them
like a horizon where they merge

yeah I must cling to some conflict
and shy a bit from peace although I am not in any sense tortured
I don’t want to be complete, really
complete is absolute by definition
it’s like that book where a pac man rock is searching for its missing pie piece
and as soon as it finds that piece realizes
it was way more interesting to have the finding adventure
than to always be rolling around
like a ball
where do you go from there?
there is just no reason to

Let me end with a song

It made me cry

Happy Tears

I don’t want to lose it, this emotion
I get so excited
when I finally find it
it just gets brighter from now on

Oh, it’s calling…
I just can’t stop, I’m sorry
I can feel a new day dawning
I burn up/burn out
(I shouldn’t do this to myself)

But sincerely,

can’t you feel what I’m feeling?
I can see my life so clearly…

…I shouldn’t do this to myself….

” how do you do music?
well it’s easy…
you just face your fears
and become your heroes
I don’t understand why you’re freaking out? 

6 thoughts on “The Scar’s Requiem

  1. What happened to your forum? I didn’t get a chance to save Jos’ correspondence and I’m beyond gutted :((


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