Facing occult reality directly
(noble, fearful, heroic feat),
God takes subtle advantage of me,
secretly, perfectly, sealing my fate.
As a youngster I was strong,
believed my needs were met.
But neurosis led me wrong
and destiny was set.
My sins are due to parents,
but this won’t solve the riddle.
Reason alone makes no sense;
of feeling it knows little.
Lacking love, I grew to hate
my unreal self took charge.
Quite typical was my fate;
the sick human family’s large.
Alone now, dead, yet dying still,
I mourn my masticated soul.
Against vast blankness pitting will,
I hear the last bell toll.
Chase truth, cause holocaust, strife;
the enemy seeks the ultimate dare!
Flee truth, save dishonest life!
Unfair, unfair, unfair.
The first last, the last ahead,
contradictorily, paradoxically.
The ends incorrect, the middle dead,
double-bindingly, hopelessly.
On to the last, maybe on evermore,
eternally, infintely.
Squashed like a bug, doomed to be born
reincarnationally.
Denying self, transcending all,
I’ve fought through to the middle.
Motionless, my spirit falls,
tautologically belittled.
Our minds thus tangle in webs of chance,
unravelling the gloom.
With a psychic spider we dance
to final, vein-dry doom.
BIOGRAPHY 
