A little perspiration
A little cold but pleasant aura
Magnetic bliss sprouting up into my axonness,
Every character, a flavored tactile message of love to my brain
The one with the sistrum plucks obscure melodic mantras into my liquid ears
A little inspiration flies into sight ahead of me on this voyage
Cows of pink and and deities you can't strip...
A fractal fractures,
Spraying bits of entropy into the ether
The last finger leaves the keyboard
As the instinct in me fires onto the infinite sprint
A melancholic speechlessness, into all your zombiefied microchips...
Turi was not your surreal beautiful and smart girl,
She was distinctly exquisite and
In fact, she could easily be sat next to any silicon prince
And nothing on the outside would readily nullify that.
Raised on a staple diet of nobility,
The progeny of modern-day elitism
Few didn't envy the curse she bore
They were all rational and empty!
There were many like her-
Adorable piles of structure and perfection
Dressed in suits of tar and pageant pinks
Walking in rectified queues to their capitalist cubicles of reward,
Others boiling with frustration and
Politely hurling insults at the procrastination beast lurking in the road towards their promised nirvana.
But Turi was wrong!
She was not adorable!
She was not precious!
Turi was not gifted and neither did she churn marvels.
She was no more human than the man walking ahead of her!
She was the lovely girl everyone knew and loved,
And she went to bed that one night, anticipating the start of yet another revolution of the Big and familiar Cog.
Tu ri woke u p the next morning to a seemingly sto ch ast i cfate
Only to never realize Turi moulted overnight into an embracing enigmatic hysteria
We never noticed nor acknowledged the extension of her flux ion back then
And maybe, never will.
Bred on stoical dreams of her old overlords,
She'd never experienced tears of the emerging sybl
At once broken yet joined in her pain.
The fetus of emotion inside of her shattered the reflection in her mirror!
The cataclysm was ripe, having met the other side thus.
You should have followed me to that scene on the morning Turi became human
What'd remained of her pony-tails standing on end like polarized ferrous nails
Attempting to scream sense back into the jagged princess scattered all over her bedroom floor
You can only imagine what drama it was when her phone's Siri synchronized with her now waning sanity
Auto-magically invoking a sinister amen-break into her blaring speakers.
Not about to risk loosing it's 9th aether,
The feline beauty, now thrice scathed fled thru her window into the morning sun outside
Turi looked on in aghast awe as her little beast landed 4 floors to the bottom
Chaos had finally proven fit for survival, and celebrating the super-human she'd now become
She followed suit thru the window, to meet her darling fate.
Neither the students of Freud nor those of Jung have been able to successfully reproduce her metamorphosis
But we all envy and adore the hand behind those few undefiled, unstolen pastels at the Turi Memorial
And even our best Field Medalists can only scratch the surface of her post-transcendent algebras in the diaries she left behind,
Wondering as to what sort of entity possessed her form, on the day she alighted from her chaste and elite self
To become one of the most celebrated insanities of all time.
16 years she stayed in the ward that came to bare her name,
And the one thing she always spoke into the tiny black cassette recorder was
"Turi is a hu mAn now".
First I shall strip myself of the fear Outgrow memories of a dark and empty christian past And take me and the mother to a serene Savannah,
Occasionally facing our pride on this delightful voyage chosen thus.
It shall be a 9 months of perspiration and revelation As I shake my own apriori foundations Ensuring we both survive the stormy dialectic A requirement for all with the übermensch potentiality
Am not sure it will cry or just die But I shall smile on the minute it is born For a novel and rewarding problem shall have been born Not for a God uncaring below nor above But for a man and woman with vision and immaculate love for their new born
Survive it must if indeed it is For even the frail can not be saved from their own will to death I shall probably become that parent I've dreamt- Even though dreams are not to be trusted, the symbols therein I give respect thus
The übermensch must not be slave to our dead fantasies And it shall at once have the freedom to play, dream and create
Hunting down gnomes and salamanders in the ruins of Atlantis
Constructing legos in the hope of warping space-time
Or merry-making with princes in the gardens of Oz. I shall nevertheless sneak in Zermelo-Fraenkel and the other 39 axioms beside the cot
As the übermensch must awaken to a certain path
As long as they haven't become yet
In that regard, I shall be limiting.
Oh hell no! There shall be no nose in its will to become And if I should see that social beast lurk in the shadows- Plotting the means to cast its spell of the herd, I shall personally arise from my casket unlike my Transylvanian brethren And whether be it noon or the hour of the crying banshee Drive the stake through them so as to severe the passion between their soul and demon!
I shall impart my teaching be I dead or living: That truth is relative for the finite, and only absolute for the infinite Utility lies in the approximate, masters own their formula Consistency drinks it's curse, As being consistent and complete is inherently void
Behind, with, ahead and eventually over!
To fly is to grok reason and emotion my child. Avoid rhetoric, and don't stupidly abstain against nature's laws
God is Dead, but the useful symbol remains Create your own Gods or men will choke you with theirs
The immortal you seek are those who've embraced death If your father and mother were humans Be proud at last.
