Carefree

4:40PM, more than twelve hours after I began this day, waking long before the sunrise, and to work far after the sunset, for I have more on my mind, and this paper shall run red and bloody with the ink of my soul by the time I have finished.

For, I look around me, and I see enemies, yet!—consider the Russian spirit, who upon waves of masochism rides, and I shall take him and conquer him. For I am most masochist and the bloodiest of all traditions—and I, who in my projects, shall not make but a penny, and I, who am provider and supreme talent, who in a taste alone shall set the tongue on fire, Heavenly and Hellish in fire and Delight.

I resign myself to a lifetime of corporate service!—and I deny the inheritance of my parents, too rich and steeped in the blood of my own spirit, and I shall serve my days numbered, as but a cog and a piece, a tool, part of the wheel of capitalism in which I believe! For, never has a poet held beliefs, but I, and I serve that which I hold dear, and if I say that I am in favor of capitalism!—then, I shall live it, and embody it, and nobody shall doubt me or say of me I was anything less than my word.

And!—I shall clarify, but I must make a dollar or two on the clothes, for those are tangible and in the world corporeal, physical and present, and this alone shall feed me but in token, for I shall care for the money, not.

Find me your King of Poets!—and I shall dethrone him, and never was there an American poet, who became immortal—so look upon me, and I shall be the one, for this American empire does wane, and the sun sets on it, yet I am in the prime of my life, the youth fiery in heart and spirit, and I shall not Go Gentle, no, but provide a blazing beacon in the fiery sky—that one may live for Liberty, queen among values, and I, in art, her King.

Come, come and touch me!—for I shall take everything you hold dear and strip it of your touch and your influence, and revive it in my own tradition, and I know the sun shall set upon me one day, but that day is not today, and this heat burns yet, so shall I scorch the world until I set it aflame and on fire with passion and heat for life.

Do you doubt, then what I say?—then I shall make real with example, for I cannot stand an enemy still standing, but on his knees, or buried below the Earth, do I find it in my heart to forget and to forgive. But I am an anti-abortionist!—and perhaps the last one, for I was conceived when the sperm did enter the egg, and were you not born in the same manner, but some time later?

And if we were born twins, you the liberal, and I conservative, shall I tell you that I have lived longer?—and indeed, have I lived thousands of lifetimes in the time that you have learned to croak and utter but one fallacy. Not her body, nor her choice, but first to me, does it belong, then to God!—I am Heavenly prowess and the image of a man hungry and unsatisfied, and you shall bend before me and wither and die, stillborn, a fetus to my Godly, manly self.

Yet, did I say I am an anti-abortionist, and if you are but a child, or less, shall I let you live—and grow and develop in my image, after I have purged you of your nonsense and your Hellish drive and influence, which I alone have mastery over.

Look in the history books!—and find another, who has claimed for himself past, present, and all of future, every idea and every field, covered and discarded and rebuilt and saved—a tradition everlasting and intellectual, emotional and infinite, for I am like a God among Men—but only that I am a man who loves God, and I find myself surrounded by those who doubt and disbelieve.

The last religious man!—and perhaps, it was Einstein, or the Pope, for to the highest, do I like to pay my respects, and leave the world without a burden upon my shoulders, like Socrates, who knew first and finest—what it meant to be a poet and philosopher, weaving intricate webs into which he tangled his prey, captive, struggling and straining, and from him did I learn!—only from the master.

Where is God?—but He is not dead, as did Nietzsche proclaim, the fire-blazing spirit of German heritage, who looked upon his enemies and scorched them to ashes, and from him did I learn, another master of the craft!

And from Goethe—and when I first did open Faust, did I find myself gripped to the core, for he spoke of me, and myself—and my life!—and it was all on paper, written out plain as day, for me to see and feel ashamed!—and from him, too, did I learn.

From Shakespeare, the bard immortal, who sung and dance a playful melody like Mozart—and who captured worlds upon worlds in one, the human heart laid open and bare and plain, for all to see—so simple, so poignant, touching deep and profound, and leaving a mark ever-lasting.

And from them!—did I learn, and more, and many more—for I shall dedicate a lifetime of service to these my heroes and the greats of this Earth, and still end up in their debt!—for I come after, and they served for humanity, and men of my make, to come along and finish what they started!

And none of us has enough time, nobody, to finish their own work—but to begin a tradition and to lay the groundwork for men and women yet to come, that one day, another may pick up the torch, and light the way forward, still.

Brief is this life of mine, but a passing shadow!—and I shall hold the torch shall it burn me, and in my this life, with a million years of pain, like Newton shall I look upon the world in my prime, my eyes engulfing my enemies in fiery spirit, the last of the alchemists!—yet, I shall bring to you my attempt to transmute Gold, in Aurum, just a little Bitcoin bridge, just a token to a saint.

It is not for money!—or hardly for art, and perhaps it is all for art—but it is for homage, and to pay due for the members of this race that carried it forward, to give me but something to work with, a sign and a signal, a spirit and soul, that I may with fiery drive and ambition use to ignite a bonfire and set this world aflame!

So, may it be a sunset of the American Empire, and I shall burn the bonfire deep into the night, as long as my days are—for I care for nothing, and love nothing more, than this tradition I hold dear, of life and Liberty and Godly pursuit, and for these my heroes do I live, and the rest of you all—may I cast into ashes, and sweep to the side!

For you are dust before me, and remember this I said, before I turned to dust—for nobody should dream of being immortal, but a servant to God, and let Him my days number, and I shall disappear, quiet and peaceful, from this here Earth—light of spirit, like a feather, carefree.