B&Sm Act 7: Meditation on Destruction

Part Eight: For the People

"Doctor, oh Doctor.

The blood runs in the streets,

and the children run next to it.

The violence is only escalating,

yet you do nothing.

The man of our people, the healer,

you bathe in shameless bliss.

The only man of our country, our city,

capable of influence,

does nothing?

"Doctor, did you always wish to abandon your people?

The culture which bred your mind, your talent,

the streets your mother and father walked,

to resign to a reality,

opposite your people?"

After he said this, his eyes full of tears,

I revealed to him the truth:

"It is okay, my man,

for the decision to return to my fate,

was made by some hand, and not of mine.

The altruistic nature of man,

is no thing to be ignored.

My bags have been packed,

and i've enjoyed my vacation."

Faith and Uncertainty

Performance document/clip:

"Look out, Dr. Oppenheimer!  For there are terrible chasms of despair, valleys forged by hellfire, and people screaming! But that shall not stop you, you've got the heart of Gold!"

B&Sm: Act 6: Clay as Meat

Beard and skull-mask.

"You build me up, buttercup.  Then you tear my ass down.  This is the problem with you people of earth! You emote!  And nevermind letting a pretty thing be!  And what's with Creation and Destruction, what're they gettin' married or somethin'????."

Part Seven: Many Months Later, and the Return of the Market-Man

...I look out from my window,

and I watch as the people of this town

move about their daily lives as usual.

There is a rhythm to this place,

which can only be appreciated with the right kind of perception;

as the chimpanzee, our close relative,

shows no love for precisely timed elements of sound.

As though he never contemplated, in the womb,

the comfort of his mother's heart.

The perfection of this muscle's mastery,

of the invisible dimension of time.

I feel it in my footsteps, and my vocal chords the same.

And it resonates throughout my body.

I have come to know these streets, these people,

in the same way I knew the ways of my motherland.

For people can be predictable, expected.

The patterns of language,

culture, of societal behavior,

become an easy read,

for those mastered in this specific literacy.

For people everywhere,

no matter what the status politically,

socially, economically,

wear a particular kind of mask to disguise the anxiety.

As though we were imitating ourselves,

like a camouflaged reptile,

hiding its innards of pink and red.

We all mask the truth, for sanity's sake,

for we consider those who have discarded their mask,

upon the brink of despair,

the edge of the cliff, looking down,

the barrel of the gun, pressed upon the temple;

is it so wrong to search for truth?

to be truth?

Unaware of most of the chatter,

the rapping at the front door,

the sound gets louder to break my thoughts.

I open the door to find the market-man,

his face grave, on the verge of tears.

And I always knew, that if i ever saw him again,

it would be without the best of news...

Part Six: Pondering in the Poppies

...But i can feel every blade of grass.

This sensuous connection,

the feeling of true warmth and home.

As though mother earth and I were meant to co-exist

in such a respectful way to each other,

and every other solitary simpleton recycled throughout,

this strange happening of happenings.

As I tumble about,

physically connected to the ground on all planes,

rolling about in the bliss of peace,

the vast infinity of the sky above,

the solid density of the clay and earth and rock below,

I wander about in my wonderings.

The Market-Man was about half past a circling of the sun

in the direction of home,

and I lay amongst the poppies,

sickly silent,

yet thinking all the while.

What does a body do

when in conflict with it's environment.

When the very circumstances of it's time

it's culture

it's personal perception of creation

and destruction

disagree?

Part Five: A Distance for Silk, and Substance

...The Market-Man and I were to travel.

To Cover distances of luscious green abundance,

of biting, hostile desert.

Footsteps, and remembrances,

Thoughts, and electric impulses,

swept and forgotten by heat and sadness.

Out of this desert, where only death survives.

The land which we seek has something for the both of us.

The Market-Man, meaning the only man who makes money

from the market, is good with selling silk textiles.

I, as a healing man, seek medicine.

This medicine, will heal what no other can.

For medicine, as metaphor, is really what I seek.

My medicine is the simple contemplation, peace

In thinking that I may never leave this new place.

That i have found that peace to ease my worried,

aching body.

To stay, would be to abandon my people,

the tradition of my family,

the pride of our evolution.

But to stay, 

to stay...

Would be the ultimatum of personal reward.

To settle with what I have, into a life,

the retirement of a grueling career,

into a harmony with my surroundings.

To join the chorus of the peaceful parts of this planet,

a sick, symbiotic,

and musical bliss felt through every bone

as though it were Beethoven in the flesh,

guiding the sonic spectrum at the whims

of his heightened emotion....