2001-09-23 - 5:50 p.m.

I question what I am..

I seem decent at lip-synching but there's times I trick myself into thinking I'm defined by some damned concept or presupposition of the actions I should be falling into.

(you tell me) Who am I?

And dreams can be such nice refuges.. the place in which my unconscious Self might manifest.. one's actual fearsambitionshopesdesiresvulnerability, detached from the contrived character of social necessity.

where forgotten yesterdays and reflections of sorrow are rediscovered..

"no, this is who I truly am."

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So you knew all along... of what we consist.

"Heaven in a wild flower," Blake says. And I've beheld the subjugation of seraphic legions contained within the sway of a leaf or the crease in your cheek or striking realizations of collective transfiguration revealed in synchronous moments of transcendent orgasm; or in the simple act of shifting my gaze to see those previously veiled moments in which God smiles down upon His children with benevolent understanding seeped in unfathomable anciency. To be deconstructed in strokes of poetic immortality and placed upon the same living space as Heaven's inhabitants.

Standing upon molten cliffs, near that timeless ocean. A voice booms and I'm captured by its utter familiarity and I suppose it's Ginsberg... but I've heard it countless times in my inward countenance so maybe it is my own. Those other words: "We know.. We've been there. That place is ours." And, laughing, I reclaim Ginsberg and taste him on arising tears.. or Selves or yesterdays.

and you and I and he and She and Jehovah and mescaline. Yes, mescaline; or if I might rearrange the word to derive its proper meaning: metaphysical ecstacy.

The cliffs are giving way and I'm rid of time, sitting next to Siddharta and thinking of Einstein's refined shrewdness and the relativity of my disposition but in reality thinking nothing and doing nothing besides weeping with Cummings' utterances. And words... words.. hidden, trembling in words. Careful denial in words. Be nothing with me and I'll show you that place the wind describes with such [_placid] simplicity. I've found my way: the neural net is a tabula rasa as the Kether and Voice within coax me into diving from the cliff into this newfound cosmic exuberance.