Naked and spectacular
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Quinoa Blessed
2017

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2010-12-05

The storage capabilities of water

I fall in love frequently. I refuse to see this as a problem. I love love. Even when it drives me crazy. Perhaps because it drives me crazy. In a society in which people are constantly talking about how normal they are while behaving with pathological insanity, I enjoy the state of insanity supported by a deep and profound reassurance of a sanity based in the pervasive love that I am living in the depths of.


Often this love is not a natural and beautiful and powerful ocean. This weak desperate perverse urban love is more like an underground sewer, where all the people of the city flush away the part of themselves they would rather not look at, the part of their humanity they don't like the smell of, the part of their expression of life they consider superfluous. Their love.


These people are comforted by the knowledge that they love their spouse and their children and maybe even their parents and their friends; this they consider to be sufficient. There is an excess of love that is so unnecessary that it turns their urine a dark yellow and they flush it all away to this dark and unknown place beneath the concrete pathways that represent the trajectories of their lives. These people never consider what this place is like, or even that it exists. They are certain, at least they claim to be certain, they tell themselves they are certain, that the flush of the toilet is a natural process akin to opening up a wound in the earth and filling it up with their abundance.


However inside this non-biodegradable wound lined with concrete and metal pipes the excesses of human civilisation are not rotting into the earth but festering and fermenting and being consumed by rats who become drunk off the fermented faeces of our denial.


How can I look at this beautiful young man who sits peacefully only meters away from my body and though I have no social permission to talk to him and so only stare, how can I deny my secret knowledge that despite his uncaring expression and his subdued behaviour, he has an abundance of love in his heart and nowhere to put it? I can be sure that he spends a great deal of time and energy masturbating this love out and flushing it down the toilet.


Sometimes I wake up in a dream and I am in the sewer of the human soul and I am wading through the waste and I see his abandoned abundance floating away and while I see it and desire it I cannot entirely reject the imprinted ideology that it is dirty and contains disease and I shouldn't touch it and so I watch as it floats away into the unknown.


Of course what right do I have to break through the emphatic denial sometimes called social etiquette that claims to be more correct than the simple fact that I am here and you are here and we are looking at each other and we even speak the same language but probably don't have anything to say to one another. I have nothing to say to you of course but I want to look into your eyes and I can only look into your eyes if one of us is talking and neither of us have anything to say. I see your shit floating away and that means all that is left are our bodies and they are young and strong and yet we can't help but doubt and perpetuate the feeling that we may not survive the expression of the love spilling fourth at convenient ashamed lonely moments from our body and our soul.


I am one of the lucky ones and I have found a process in which to express much of the love that pours fourth incessantly from my mind and my soul; this process of languaging into literature or onto the internet. In this way, despite the fact that I never touched you while I had the chance, while we were intensely experiencing the reality of each others' presence, I can now use language to create another reality, a reality in which I proudly declare my love for all the beautiful persons I share this dimension with. I appeal to you now, in this form, to love as excessively and sanely as you like and not to worry about the expectation of social and emotional repression that we all pretend to agree with.


If you feel a little uncomfortable then spend less time on trains and avoid regulated cubicle-style working and shitting environments and rather than shitting down a sewerage pipe dive instead into the ocean.


I am not saddened by the sewer of urbanity because I know there is always an abundant ocean of love waiting for me when I return to that place I know is safe from all this illusion of insanity. There is room for everyone on these long beaches to offer up their love to the earth. She will take it compassionately and distribute it to the most deserving, those who ask and appreciate and are open to receive their piece of the collective love stored in the oceans that we all use to divide the continents on which we live our lives.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

I salute your ability to see and poetically express pure truth...

Chris Kirk said...

Thank you for your receptivity and your beautiful response.

However, it is my responsibility to merely shape collections of words I feel may be powerfully effective. If you want pure truth dive into the ocean and submit to its benevolent strength.

aaron garwood said...

I love you brother - I am so grateful for the precision of this ever growing collective awareness.
You shine light on so many unconscious ways that are so over capitalized in our societies and I am glad to have experienced your enlightening artistic passion! Keep on doing what you do :-)

Chris Kirk said...

I love you too, brother. I will indeed continue my artistic practice in the face of any development that changes my life or our world. I hope you do the same, because you have a lot of beauty to share with the world.

Samantha said...

I love this blog so much!

Arnaud said...

Really beautiful brother, easy to understand your poetry is, even for a non native english speaker like me. I salute your work and those remarkable words you chose to define a reality that people are drifting away from.
Arnaud