Archives for category: psyche rock

Heavier than a thousand suns, lighter than a protium atom…

Slowly, slowly climbing the stairs in the vegetable palace of the King of Dreams, winding and winding gradually higher…

On the Siloso, the circular river, where the Lord my father standing at the rail of a fragile cruiser, among the crowds of craft, is a swan among gulls…

In a garden in the pleasure district of Shigoga, where I drew my sword and fought the famous duel of bubbles: those girls in their sumptuous robes giggling and sniggering, heads rocking and eyes blinking, lush and retarded, spirits sunken and sluggish as they float on the stream of the prince’s soul-stealing intoxicants

To arrive in a room in the Ghosts-of-Angels Palace, to look through the window on the chamber where snow is eternally falling from an invisible ceiling, and where, it is rumoured, sometimes a hunter may be seen, sometimes a lord wandering lost in winter

To the children with their little books, to the limited ones with their little dreams: left

We moved on through the crow-haunted wastes of the Desolate Cantons, met a warrior with nose broken in his youth, half an angel and half a boxer, smoked his pipe of raw kaziah, left us all to the sleep of the doomed

Heavier than a falling moon, lighter than a single feather, a feather floating from the iridescent wing of a jester hummingbird purring among the sulphur-throated blossoms of dark orange night-scenting hibiscus

In the scales, the throne of O, set against a single finger’s caress

To be in the regal state beyond the laws

What would you choose?

To be everyone and no one

To be there to feel her touch, to be

so softly undressed

To be high

To be fine

To be Dustless

%e2%80%a2dustless-fin11

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In the House of Long Shadows…

In the Heart of Eternity, on a barren plateau where, since long before the Clouded Era, a high sea has dried, and a ship has slowly turned to crystal

By the Bug Stone, along a road no one travels, each night, a fire shines out from the summit of the lonely watchtower

In a lush meadow outside LuinLibar, in a grass-stained robe, a young lady of the Mark of the Dancing Crane, wearing the Gram of the Blue of a Midnight in Autumn, watches a butterfly emerge from a cocoon: she is motionless, and once the butterfly has flown, the cocoon is empty.

She knows

she can’t fit the butterfly back into the cocoon

She understands everything

In the Sun’s Tears Coffee House in District 8 of Faded Glory

Under the soaring shade of the sacred tower, in the Black Palace — because it is winter, and ritual demands it — the young emperor is fretful. Although he is the Dustless One, and his mind winnows emptiness to refine the void, the Lotus Crown is heavy on his head, and walking alone on the veranda of golden teak, facing the Gardens of the Four Moondials, wearing a coat of white Usurian mink, under icicles long and jagged as the teeth of translucent Shy’aamese dog sharks, shivering, he dreams of summer and the emerging of butterflies

Enter the Building where everything is contained…

And walk without deviation through the world of dust

a desert of atoms in the palm of your hand

sands enough to bury an ocean

Be no one | Be strong | Vanished, with no rest

Be utterly serene

Be Dustless

•DUSTLESS-FIN8

Heavier than a thousand suns, lighter than an atom…

Slowly, slowly climbing the stairs in the vegetable palace of the King of Dreams, winding and winding gradually higher…

On the Siloso, the circular river, where the Lord my father standing at the rail of a fragile cruiser, among the crowds of craft, is a swan among gulls…

In a garden in the pleasure district of Shigoga, where I drew my sword and fought the famous duel of bubbles: those girls in their sumptuous robes giggling and sniggering, heads rocking and eyes blinking, lush and retarded, spirits sunken and sluggish as they float on the stream of the prince’s soul-stealing intoxicants

To arrive in a room in the Ghosts-of-Angels Palace, to look through the window on the chamber where snow is eternally falling from an invisible ceiling, and where, it is rumoured, sometimes a hunter may be seen, sometimes a lord looking lost in winter

To the children with their little books, to the limited ones with their little dreams: left

We moved on through the crow-haunted wastes of the Desolate Cantons, met a warrior with nose broken in his youth, half an angel and half a boxer, smoked his pipe of raw kaziah, left us all to the sleep of the doomed

Heavier than a falling moon, lighter than a single feather floating from the wing of a jester hummingbird purring among the sulphur-throated blossoms of dark orange night-scenting hibiscus

In the scales, the throne of O, set against a single finger’s caress

To be in the regal state beyond the laws

What would you choose?

To be everyone and no one

To be there to feel her touch, to be

so softly undressed

To be high

To be fine

To be Dustless

•DUSTLESS-FIN8

In the House of Long Shadows…

In the Heart of Eternity, on a barren plateau where, since long before the Clouded Era, a high sea has dried, and a ship has slowly turned to crystal

By the Bug Stone, along a road no one travels, each night, a fire shines out from the summit of the lonely watchtower

In a lush meadow outside LuinLibar, in a grass-stained robe, a young lady of the Mark of the Dancing Crane, wearing the Gram of the Blue of a Midnight in Autumn, watches a butterfly emerge from a cocoon: she is motionless, and once the butterfly has flown, the cocoon is empty.

She knows

she can’t fit the butterfly back into the cocoon

She understands everything

In the Sun’s Tears Coffee House in District 8 of Faded Glory

Under the soaring shade of the sacred tower, in the Black Palace — because it is winter, and ritual demands it — the young emperor is fretful. Although he is the Dustless One, and his mind winnows emptiness to refine the void, the Lotus Crown is heavy on his head, and walking alone on the veranda of golden teak, facing the Gardens of the Four Moondials, wearing a coat of white Usurian mink, under icicles long and jagged as the teeth of translucent Shy’aamese dog sharks, shivering, he dreams of summer and the emerging of butterflies

Enter the Building where everything is contained…

And walk without deviation through the world of dust

a desert of atoms in the palm of your hand

sands enough to bury an ocean

Be no one | Be strong | Vanished, with no rest

Be utterly serene

Be Dustless

•DUSTLESS-FIN8