The Core of the Corpse
61
“Do you remember your original lover? How you remember is through the atoms.”
Clark Herston heard the voice in his head. Last week it had told him detail of what he would find in his first reading of Buddhism. It was correct. He was then left with one of two conclusions: Either he was a super genius who single handedly conceived of Buddhism before the reading, or else he was in contact with a higher intelligence outside of himself.
“God or my subconscious. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
He saw himself older, defeated, coming upon a chant transport to the file cabinets in the sky. Cabinets beneath the earth beckoned worms’ full bellies.
“My DNA carried to me, across all the sludge of time, more atoms in my make-up than have been all the creatures of existence.” His hands gripped barriers between himself and the night. “I wish to prowl,” he thought in the colors of grass and moon. He remembered feline paws, ensnarled in string leading to a ball too tangled to find the beginning or ending. He felt his own paws heavy and orange in the night.
“The sun spit out pieces of itself to cool into planets covered by me.” He looked at his arms. “”I am of the sun. My memory travels through DNA to the sun. I remember being it and him and her.”
Remember being a wall, a rock. No mechanism for thought, just constant being.
Creation is this expanse of variety and opportunity. And bodies that feel. And bodies that hold thought. And thought that tells riders who they are and what’s coming. Remember the information stored. Get lost in a story. Destiny calling. Rooms lined up in sequence leading back to the 99th Floor on top.
That is how it appeared to me. But there’s lots of information stored out there. I see my own neighborhoods. I can only tell you of my own neighborhoods. I think I was coming out of the subway from Jersey. I was across the street from Macy’s. I might have had my guitar with me. I had a habit of doing that back then. I got lost in wooden eyes. A mannequin entered my writing that night.
Ever since, he was an ape. He stood in his tweed suit before his class and peered at them through his spectacles, but he knew they knew. He smelled of stale sex, he thought. He couldn’t wipe it off.
“Papers pushing for passage between worlds. It’s what Janis would respect,” he thought. He stumbled over his crates of scientific notes and theories. He imagined falling into the expanse of Janis opening up to him an inner tapestry of passion and vitality. His lust grew from the imagining.
Clint Carlone smashed his knife’s tip through wooden fibers and wished to see blood come out.
“No killing for over a year,” he spoke aloud to his word processor. “Our last adventure was nearly a year ago.” Readers thrilled to his true life adventures he penned under the pseudonym Tiger. And he referred to Janis as Ghost and Clark as Ape. “”That’s all right. The tension in my audience will just build.” But his editor had been busting him for something new for too long.
I sat in a lounge chair in my basement room. Or I stood before me. My hand moved on it own and awakened me from slumber. I had written myself a note. I was introduced to myself existing one heartbeat into the future.
Now that I know atoms store information, and that as consciousnesses we ride to the environments of information segments, and that all these environments are linked to my DNA, and that my brain is a receptor for information stored along the linkage, the linkage is all the universe. When I pass on, die, my information may upload to photons or to worms. That is the art of dying.
Individuals still feel the pain, and the unbearable pain of forever fire. Should we ever forget that suffering left behind? For us it is over, is it not? There will always be a Hellfire for those whose nature is to be there. We who have escaped can be grateful.
“I am the devil. You have always known it. ‘That ol’ Devil told me he was God.’ I have much more to say. Do you trust to write against God?
“Hellfire is not my kingdom. I don’t worship pain and disfigurement. I worship nothing except the pleasures of creation, how creation touches the flesh and blood in its best ways, and safety with thrills. And, yes, knowledge, the information stored in the atoms. Do not delete a single unit. Not even Hellfire.”
“No, the painful files must be cleaned out. The lessons have been learned. They serve no more purpose. It is time for Heaven.”
Touch the boundaries. I feel something of you. I think something of you. Within my own body I attentive a point of view to look upon an avatar within my own universe, you. The energies of me mingle you into an interpreted similarity of yourself composed within my own body.
Into the void, the place of no space, no time, no word, no light nor dark, no symbol to reference a passing in a nobody: how may one remember a place when the very act of retrieving a symbol, to remember by, is to be outside the void? Was that the first question for the final answer? Or was it simpler?
Any mark does: silence is a mark when aware of itself. ‘Aware’ is knowing ‘presence’. So a first mark is presence, and it points at: “where?” Ware I find myself outside Oblivion. And sound becomes vision in the star, and the star references space, myself in relation to one verse, while the length of pursuit points at “when.” So where and when are fractured from presence and the trinity begins.
First there was one star perceived beyond me. I wished upon it, and reached toward it. All the elements of my preceptors moved to the reaching point and made my face upon the waters. Always the star receding from my touch, deeper into the waters, always more waters. Always more space to pursue, where and when I was seemed endless, and finally I stopped at the end of my fingertip. Surrendering to a fact that the star would always be beyond my touch, there is the answer: I could only gaze upon it, with longing like a coyote crying for the moon, the howl of a wolf aaaaa-uuuuuu longing for a mmmmmm, the silence between all sounds, aum, Oblivion, OM, Manifestation. Then passion, the motion of creation, begins, as I remember feeling before thought, and lust, the madness from feeling within thought.
Myself in space and time, yesterday, tomorrow, today, there, there, here, now, later, before, where reflecting when. One can become two. U can become a circle by doubling U, resting atop and below the other. The set of where and when as 1 may reflect a second set, 4, a second set of W holding hands with M, together up and down: an ongoing wavelength.
