You beat upon the ancient drums of hidden knowledge
while I seek desperately in search of occulted wisdom, blind,
deaf, dumb, and mindlessly
losing all sense of focus as the eternal quest continues in perpetuity,
hoping to be rescued from the depths and pulled ashore
by an invisible hand from above, yet there is no raft available in these waters, deep below in the murky subconscious river.
The source soul just floated by in a bubble;
thoughts metaphorically magnificent in scope, then gone in an instant;
blips on the screen of a newly tuned station.
The channels are turned off and volume gets lowered
as everyone gathers round to cast dispersions,
judgments, and righteous cat calls.
Or possibly to dance with frenzied
as a fire in the belly of the Nexus Gut.
Stomach aid protection of virus defilement,
undefined with risky parallel associations,
gets caught on the upside of a toppling scale.
The draught didn’t matter as we dried up,
feeling petrified, frozen, and stagnantly static; not stoic,
but laying low, playing it quiet, keeping
a good safe distance,
watching from the shadows until the proper time to strike.
You’re the one who invented space and time,
so fuck me if I decide to use them
however I damn well please; I plead; I panic,
knowing that the best is yet to come.
And who in Heaven knows what that entails?
Scott Thomas Outlar hails from the heart of Atlantis where he kneels atop intricately designed rugs produced from prediluvian cloth and prays to The Holy Spirit Vibration for humility, guidance and discernment during this epic moment of time at the epoch of a rising New Age. When not caught up in such passionate fervor, he enjoys writing poetry, essays, fiction, rants, and experimental, existential, hallucinatory, prose-fusion screeds on subjects ranging from the outer limits of the stars to the innermost depths of the soul. His work can be seen at such sites as Dissident Voice, Daily Anarchist, Ascent Aspirations, Oracular Tree, and Loose Change Magazine. Scott can be reached at 17Numa@gmail.com. Send him a random raving and he'll certainly return in kind.