Slowly, so slowly this ponderous
day got underway, misjudged the
weather; freezing in skimpy pink –
bought a man’s long black sweater;
consciousness is a tool Seth says,
not the real we, learn to use it
perceptively – overcome restrictions
of ignorance and physical reality,
desire freedom, choose between
continuums of reality, being
slave of the physical, sensory
world is completely unnecessary
Life lived in one dimension of
impossibly repeated routines borders
insanity, insufferable - except for
mind-numbing pills to quell rebellion
believing humanity has higher calling
than occupational oligarchy, being
a salaried employee is a charade
– but, how to break free…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once again a stunnig, honest piece... the yearning for life outside the circle sometimes get very intense... how to deal with it? write write write.... or die.