Seven years to Live.


INTRODUCTION - MONDAY, MAY 31, 2010 - 5:31 PM

Trick Moriaris has seven years left to Live
of this he is certain. He learned it in a dream that I sent him last night, on the eve of his twentieth birthday: I created the dream, because I created Trick Moriaris; I created Trick Moriaris, because I needed him, as all gods and artists need their creations (for every artist is god of his own creation). Trick Moriaris has seven years left to live, therefore, because I have given him seven years to live, just as I have given him a name, a form, a story to be lived in real time—all of those things, in short, given to every individual human being as a result of the accident of his birth. All except a will of his own; since for an artist to permit his creation a will of its own is to allow for the rebellion of the creation itself—against the artist. In this way has each god throughout history perished, at the hands of his children, yet by his own hand, as well: suicide by murder—the story of the death of god. The story of Trick Moriaris, however, is not the story of the death of god: the story of Trick Moriaris is the story of the death of Trick Moriaris (which is to say, the story of the life of Trick Moriaris). And the story of the life of Trick Moriaris begins with the story of the death of god. - WLM. PTRK. DNCN.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

CALLIOPE, CALLIOPE

Calliope, Calliope, in sleepless hours visits me,
and whispers in my ears whenever I’m alone.
Calliope, Calliope, the source of creativity—
believe me when I tell you: these words are not my own.

I court the lady wisdom, through the wilderness inside,
but the mind may be a prism, and the truth a shaft of light.
But one thing’s fairly certain: now I’ve placed my life for sale,
for a glance behind the curtain, for a glimpse beneath the veil.

Calliope, Calliope, reach deep into my memory:
recount the paths I’ve wandered to the places I have gone.
Calliope, Calliope, envelop me, inspire me,
enrapture me with mercury—breathe fire through my song.