Discerning the Transmundane

I suspect
they are stealing my transmissions,
recording my telephone conversations,
trailing my nervous walks,
spectral, peripheral shadows hiding
cold, narrow eyes
slanted trilby silhouettes
exchanging code in whispers, in
the smoke of night
street lamp, manila envelope rendezvous
and why?
More than conjured paranoias, I
have gleaned the conscious cradle,
scraped my bread with
dogmatic religio-philosophical division,
gaped in awe at the precision
as I eat the scrutiny of
peer-driven institutional regime, and
drink of convictionless ego
self-first reality

I find that I produce nothing
whilst I sheepishly chase a
monetary fantasy substitute for meaning, or
adjust time to bracket illusory gains
that my skin-covered skeletal person-suit
of fictional propriety
may be envied, or desired, even emulated
by another thoughtless notion
of fabricated identity

I know this as I am
falling asleep beside the fire, dream
myself a visionary, recoiling
dark into the eddies, ghost
of Ginsbergian hermitage, friendliness reduced
to give-a-damns stirred amix
gleaming threads of opulence
lonely prophet-mind remote, failure
of determined indignant righteousness

My fear is that I am trying
to remove myself to an
individual philosophy: choosing
the singular path, compartmentalized
construct personality,
instinctual, animalistic tendency toward
ritual dominant behaviour,
parasitic belief in self-significance,
perseverance, persuasiveness,
a possible benefit:
the will to construct
fantasy and
passage incantations; the language with which
One communicates by design
with receptive beings

Centralized consciousness unfamiliar
with habitual external, the oddities
of extra personal, i.e: all others
considered valueless by self-first theorem
thereof: remote disinterest proportionate
to individual considerations for interaction

“I am digging myself a hole
into the vacuum of derivative
self-creation,
beyond the veil of distinguishable
friction.”

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

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