The Story's Answer

Part 6

Evolutions artistic plunder,
fort me my due free film
my art
my propaganda
take your chair
and look away
to another means,
ignore self free
of thy fate.
Here is my tale
fallen
and risen.
Rise
chant
Rise
Rise
Rise
fate
love
Rise,
Rise,
listen fortune,
to do as told
but not done,
never finished
never undone.
Yet free
no novelty
and to be free.

Free,
what is in a name?
What is in a word?
Is each word done?
Done.
For now as each idea
begins adrift without
the form of language
Peoples manipulation
Power,
all power,
no responsibility,
There for no more
power,
abandon power,
abandon authority,
yes dare not abandon
my word of health
and love.

So, This is it,
This is my end,
my Werther moment,
but the opposite,
This is me,
burning the last drop
of my midnight oil,
for the last time.
My last drop,
my last time,
my last gleam, and
fall, no hour will end
without me ringing every
word
until I am
blue in the face.
My voice will sour,
my veins will burst,
My body will collapse.
But I am,
I'm here
and I will,
I will to have will.
But I am lucky,
whether I know it
or believe it
I will always
be lucky.
What is fair is only
luck?
Justice is real
but subject
to luck.
It is no test of
body,
It is what it is,
When did justice become
an abstract?
When did evil earn
respect?
Always, when does
power begone power!
Never!
Yet still one
presses on,
presses forth through
each page.
I will work.
This is work.
As much as I try
there is no removal
of self,
but back to paradox,

Could it be,
that saying "you cannot remove the self,"
you have removed
the self.
Is balance real?
Is suffering?
Are my questions
real?
To put any thought
to its logic is to remove
the romance.
Is there logic to
romance,
to love,
Yes, and no.

Love is its own logic.
It needs no chemical definition,
It does not need
your cynical scrutiny.
Love is,
Just that.
Love just is,
Love is that inherent
connection to
all and above
and below and
everything
that is.
It is love, it is
the ideas that drive
our body.

Do all or none
have these thoughts.
The interior monologue,
well, to end our
soliloquy is to
end too much.
I need liberty,
but I must earn it
for some reason,
slave here,
bow here,
and apparently I
will be rewarded.

NO! I AM NO
SERVANT!
I AM NO SLAVE!
With my chant
and chariot
I move on
and move to
where I need to
be.
I go where need.
My self is only
free out of luck,
and privilege,
Others,
Nah,
all deserve this freedom.
What I have,
my luck should be no ones
privilege.

What is inherent to humanity,
to personhood,
to only treated as
a privilege by evil.
The midnight oil burns on,
almost like
a miracle,
almost.
What happened to
Ginsberg?
Leary?
To Kesey?
i cared in high school,
now I wonder
did these and all
believe there own
words.

Do you not question
the genuine nature
of others.
Or do you march on
with your thoughts
in sync with
nothing but your thoughts.
Your thoughts
mean nothing
if you do nothing with them.
Harsh but true,
if you do nothing,
if you have no thoughts,
your existence will mean nothing.

Nothing when history
writes the pages of our time.
Nothing.
To live a full "productive
life,
and to learn nothing.
Who can accept having
no trace?
All humans,
nay,
all living creatures,
deserve to leave their
trace.
Sweet angel,
have I left mine?

To carry on as the object,
Is the enjoyment
genuine,
or will there be a fall.
A fall from a height
no man
woman
or human should see,
you are no more
a professional than
a profit nor
a wiseman
nor a professor,
It is the mother
and grandmother who
had the wisdom that saved me.
The second street regulars
back from F troop and 3
pronged hellish force
Zen is not for marketing
and enlightenment
does not come at
$30 a hit.
Thompson was right on that matter,
we live in the age
of the accidental philosopher,
and the disillusioned poet.
The greats had theirs to
but it's all one sided.
All wrong,
all a product,
and all, quite often,
is never all,
what is all?
It's a fair question,
with a fair answer,
a rare service to these days,
a rare gift not
to be spoken,
I prefer the mystery,
maybe a little too much,
can you order a strike
when you are not the
king,
not even a pundit,
and who gives these
pundits any such
"authority."
There audience!
It is all yet not all
audience.
Who is this audience?
Who takes such matters
so personal?
So trite, yet not
so by consensus.
My end is only a matter
of self consensus.

I endure,
I try,
I pursue,
I seek nothing
I seek everything
I cannot abandon
this I
this I,
I am
an I
you are a self,
and so are we,
we are,
we are,
Do we need
any other thought
any word,
any rule besides
this one.
We are!
We see!
We feel!
We all do!
How can any forget
this!?

Yet they do!
Would a rule exist
if there is no issue?
Yes!
Would fare!
Harsh fare!
May fare!
Harsh words!
No deeds!
No truth!
No nothing!
Yes I do,
hark Mercutio!
Horatio!
My friends
writers
and artists!
My soul bellows
no service,
and will leave no
true marks,
no true self!
No more repeated nights of
self imposed withdraw
I mark myself
for my Warhol minute.
Social contact is an
evolutionary need,
Human life,
to some beautiful,
to others expendable,
tortured to all with
ignorance or not.
But real to everyone,
no more selective,
all or nothing is easy,
but empathy is
a burden.
And so is ego.
Does empathy mean ego?

No,
How could it?
Besides marketing,
but doesn't the market show
the people's self
and cater to a human
desire.
again,
yes and no,
paradox no paradox,
self no self,
invade no invasion,
no more control,
none of it wanted,
I will not fail.
We will not fail,
we are not going
to fall,

I will catch you all
even if you won't
catch me.
I am only here as a servant
of the inherent "sprit"
of all humans.
Man does not mean human,
there is much to change,
much to work on,
much to seek,
I will not spurn
and I will not
fore sake.
I give you my word.
I give you all
my word, my deed,
my act,
no more 20/20 hindsight,
It wastes the
summer
and the moments
we have,
just because they
don't speak to
you,
Doesn't mean they
don't look at you,
notice you,
sometimes even love you,
I am destined to live
this life,
not cursed,
never cursed,
no more cursed,
no more tortured
my suffering is
not my master
it is my guide.

And only at my consent,
consent should never
be a matter of luck.
No matter what distraction,
I spurn every page,
like they mean
nothing,
They do,
They did,
they don't,
and no balance.
If you can't
find what you look
for,
you will always find
something else.