Power Overwhelming
Download LinkE.S. Posthumus - Nara
It is always cold in my apartment. I think I like it this way. A slight chill; the constant pursuit of warmth…its pathetic. The flesh is weak. The flesh is so weak. A sack of meat and bones, the vessel for my godliness–nothing more. I am always hungry here; my kitchen as barren as my bed, which has been without sheets for several weeks. A stomach that is filled with ice and hard liquors: the only things I have.
We are so weak in this state of existence. The slightest movement and we tear. The edge of paper can inflict so much pain. Its overwhelming. Rather, its underwhelming…the curse of this flesh. Why am I so powerful; why does my mind bend universes only to be limited by the material, the “real,” the confines of the physical? Why are we given these competing states of existence?
I often look at my hands. In them I see everything. Their fragility is obvious…scars, twisted and broken fingers, open wounds…yet I see passed them, into the capabilities of my limitless mind. I see these hands destroying, robbing life from the virile…I see these hands caressing, inflicting pleasure on the fairer of our sexes. I see in them the finite and infinite. I see in them life and death.
When I look down at them, instinctively turning them upside and down, I am powerful. Hands…extensions of my mind, manipulating time and space…without limit or bound. I do not know why they make me feel so herculean, but they do. I guess its their history. These hands have done so much. They work for me now, converting the impossibility of my mind into a language you will understand. But they’ve done so much more. Tools from which my mind makes things happen. An appendage I could not do without.
Their nails are dirty–stained from the day in a world of dirt and grime. Their knuckles swollen and red, signs of things to come. But they are mine. And they are powerful. Its why we shake…its not a greeting, but an introduction to our world, our abilities, our fortitude, our very potency. I’ve never respected a man with a weak grip…such snakes should merely wave. This is my hand; this is my power…and I will squeeze until you recognize the magnificence of my being.
And I should hope you squeeze back.
This power is intoxicating. I cannot breathe. I am flush with madness. But this is no introduction; for I leave that for the streets and faces in crowds. This is power overwhelming. This is my reality.
And should I find the snake who robbed me he will know this power. And should I find the woman I love, she will know this power…oh, but she will enjoy it, and he will dread it.
I am lost right now–lost in a sea of suffocating noesis. And I am left staring at these hands, minions who carry this disease into the material, into the “real,” into the confines of the physical.
One Response to “Power Overwhelming”
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December 6th, 2007 at 2:18 am
With your hands, vote for Ron Paul.