The Arrival
(And the three part soul)
(Poetic Prose)
Inside the mountain of Dead Souls, I saw a man come out of nowhere, I looked at
Micha’el and he said:”He is a new arrival here, if you listen carefully you can hear his soul, and I did:
“It looks more like a hive in here, this place would make the devil weep; no breakfast or lunch I suppose, in this land of the dead, gloomy Sundays ahead, everything vaguely lit, soul eating human rats nibbling on one another, faces like ceramic masks…” (he braces himself, no one reacts, he mumbles out loud again), “I feel like an agitated centipede.” This is his first day, his first appearance—he is a new arrival, to this land of the pre-dead, and will be waiting in a pre-trial status; the Archangel Micha’el, told me this. The Arrival whispers “…the dead-end land,” but I suppose he’ll have to deal with it now, he dealt the cards did he not.
I hear the souls of others saying (as they watch this new arrival) “Toro! Toro! Bravo! Bravo!” with a whiff of delight; I think they like seeing others join them in this horror of a nightmare place.
(His Soul Talks :) His soul is telling me (the new arrival): he was not as wretched as the others, that he is being treated unfairly; by superiors (the soul sees Micha’el).
(His soul seems to have three parts to it: the pure spirit, the personal soul, and the false arbitrator, and it is the false arbitrator I am listening to, so I sense, so my intuition tells me, that he is immortal, and can renew itself through destruction; the personal soul, sad to say he is questionable always has been, lives through the development of thoughts and dreams, he has asked: ‘Is God really God,’ and now he says ‘Is this reality or a dream or what?’ hoping I suppose he will wake up, and it would have been a dram. I since in time, upon judgment all will fade but the Arbitrator, unless judgment rules otherwise).
The Personal Soul: I can use a stiff whisky
The Pure Spirit: did you forget the many times you knocked her into the gutter, and slammed her into the door? The drugs, the anger, the sourness of your heart, the dirty sex, the thief inside of you, here there need not be any more pretenses.
The False Arbitrator: God wants a virgin target, and I am it, like Japan who sought peace through Sweden (during the end days of WWII) prior to the atomic bomb being trapped on them by the Americans, but felt Japan did not deserve to get away with all the blood they shed scot-free—and dropped the bomb anyway, they—like God, wanted death—revenge.”
I am glad I am a simple man, for should I have read all these souls, I would have gone mad.
I shifted my mind, and tried to refocus my thoughts away from this newly arrival (onto the next part of the journey); I figured, I could not figure him out, perhaps he was still living in deception, or perchance, did I learn, as long as their are words to talk with, there will be lies to deal with, and a part of him, part of his soul was still in that charade, or make-believe world.
Note: “The Arrival;” written in the afternoon of 3-18-2007, at Starbucks (Benavides, Surco), Lima, Peru. Somewhat inspired by WSB-Last words. The book up to this point has taken five days (5-days) to write. Theology mixed with Mythology.
(And the three part soul)
(Poetic Prose)
Inside the mountain of Dead Souls, I saw a man come out of nowhere, I looked at
Micha’el and he said:”He is a new arrival here, if you listen carefully you can hear his soul, and I did:
“It looks more like a hive in here, this place would make the devil weep; no breakfast or lunch I suppose, in this land of the dead, gloomy Sundays ahead, everything vaguely lit, soul eating human rats nibbling on one another, faces like ceramic masks…” (he braces himself, no one reacts, he mumbles out loud again), “I feel like an agitated centipede.” This is his first day, his first appearance—he is a new arrival, to this land of the pre-dead, and will be waiting in a pre-trial status; the Archangel Micha’el, told me this. The Arrival whispers “…the dead-end land,” but I suppose he’ll have to deal with it now, he dealt the cards did he not.
I hear the souls of others saying (as they watch this new arrival) “Toro! Toro! Bravo! Bravo!” with a whiff of delight; I think they like seeing others join them in this horror of a nightmare place.
(His Soul Talks :) His soul is telling me (the new arrival): he was not as wretched as the others, that he is being treated unfairly; by superiors (the soul sees Micha’el).
(His soul seems to have three parts to it: the pure spirit, the personal soul, and the false arbitrator, and it is the false arbitrator I am listening to, so I sense, so my intuition tells me, that he is immortal, and can renew itself through destruction; the personal soul, sad to say he is questionable always has been, lives through the development of thoughts and dreams, he has asked: ‘Is God really God,’ and now he says ‘Is this reality or a dream or what?’ hoping I suppose he will wake up, and it would have been a dram. I since in time, upon judgment all will fade but the Arbitrator, unless judgment rules otherwise).
The Personal Soul: I can use a stiff whisky
The Pure Spirit: did you forget the many times you knocked her into the gutter, and slammed her into the door? The drugs, the anger, the sourness of your heart, the dirty sex, the thief inside of you, here there need not be any more pretenses.
The False Arbitrator: God wants a virgin target, and I am it, like Japan who sought peace through Sweden (during the end days of WWII) prior to the atomic bomb being trapped on them by the Americans, but felt Japan did not deserve to get away with all the blood they shed scot-free—and dropped the bomb anyway, they—like God, wanted death—revenge.”
I am glad I am a simple man, for should I have read all these souls, I would have gone mad.
I shifted my mind, and tried to refocus my thoughts away from this newly arrival (onto the next part of the journey); I figured, I could not figure him out, perhaps he was still living in deception, or perchance, did I learn, as long as their are words to talk with, there will be lies to deal with, and a part of him, part of his soul was still in that charade, or make-believe world.
Note: “The Arrival;” written in the afternoon of 3-18-2007, at Starbucks (Benavides, Surco), Lima, Peru. Somewhat inspired by WSB-Last words. The book up to this point has taken five days (5-days) to write. Theology mixed with Mythology.
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