A Pagan Goddess Does Irony
I am the Lordess of All and my name is Complexify. I have wrought and do maintain each tuft of fur on your cat’s soft back. And its hearing ears.
Each leaf. Count them. All the shades of green. Each cloud. In all the sky. From dawn to dusk. And while you dream. Your dreams. Each fringed egret. Each crow. Each lizard basking on the hot stones.
All the ocean. Every wave on every beach. The tumult. The surge. The purr of the lace flung up the tawny sand. The glisten. Listen. Attend.
I am the Lordess. I do this and I do not cease. And I do this on every third planet of a billion billion suns. My name is Complexify. When you doubt, put your finger on my pulse and admire. I do do rather a lot to inspire. Every second that you forget, I remember.
Each thread. All the weavers. Each syllable. Each sigh. Each song. Teach each. Wake up. Admire. Catch fire. Your hand and its tiny obedient bones is a miracle. Your eyes are a triumph of ingenuity and design. All mine. I have painted each parrot feather in shocking shades, and tinct the flamingo with impossible pink.
I make the spit under your tongue so you can speak glory. You dwell in a church without walls. Start listening with the soles of your feet. You ride the finest galactic surfboard ever wrought, slinging you 17,000 miles per hour on the most intricate and spectacular ride ever devised. Love it a lot. Get cool.
It’s a love letter I write you that’s always in your mailbox. I never forget. Look, I work hard at this stuff. I want you to be flabbered, gasted. It is lovely. It is riveting. Enjoy your toy. We are partners in this project. I can’t do joy alone. I made you joyable — joy-able. I cannot force you to be joyfull. Though in all candor, it seems to me that only a cretin would mope, stay tepid, be dyspeptic. It’s a frolic. ‘Frolic’ means ‘swift gladness.’ Get jolic. Jest, rest, be blest.
…………….<^>……………..
………….<^>……………..
If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for beauty, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
…………….<^>……………..
Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.myblogsite.com
6 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 123 10.02.05 sun
ffwofw 353§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98gb/1089
..
the pro-peace world begins today with you
………….<^>……………..
Until we fight our way out of the “corporate cog” fog you talk about in your essay Cogism, we're likely to stay myopic and neglect all our able to joy and full of joy.
I remain mystified as to how capitalism has had such impenetrably good propaganda? If people speak out against capitalism, they're all but burned at the stake. As I was writing this comment, I found myself whispering conspiratorially as if someone might come haul me away for heresy.
It's amazing how vast Mr. Eisenhower's Military Industrial Complex has gotten. We see ourselves in America as such a well-meaning power — tyrants always say it is for your own good.
Power submerges ingenuity. It is a curse to be the remaining superpower without wisdom. Probably all that power and wisdom cannot fit in the same room? We sure are loaded with weapons of mass destruction. How come we get to keep them? (I mean I know nobody can take them away from us, but the outrage disconnect is severe. Nobody gets to say 'Suppose the smoking gun is a mushroom cloud' about us — yet we already proved that we'll do that. The world should get together and take our weapons away until we prove we're grown-ups.)
tempsroulez & esfera, I think we do Wake Up, Admire, Catch Fire soon. I feel it stirring in the deep and ancient pagan bedrocks of our planet. When we notice the tiny obedient and miraculous bones in our hands, I think capitalism and greedy power begin the slide to extinct.
The giga-greed corporation is clearly a dinosaur, and doomed. I wish it had happened already. It's probably too late for me to see much of the bloomin' blooming, but perhaps I hope for you all.
The more we nudge and nudge obdurately against corporatism and militarism, the darn sooner we can get after frolic and celebration of the pink of flamingoes.