Trick Moriaris: THE FOREST

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.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

THE FOREST

Mine is the song of the lonesome stranger,

tied to the road like branches to the

trees in the midst of a silent forest,

trees that have known the emptiness of time.

All is lost in time: only now—there is only now.

Still as the mist on a windless morning,

fearless and swift, like thunder through the

leaves of my thoughts, they belong to no one—

whose is the voice that lives inside my mind?

All inside my mind: only sound—it's the only sound.

Silent as a sage or frothing like a prophet,

bitten by the flames that licked against my

heels, as I fled where no man follows,

deep in the woods, beneath the broken sky.

Slowly ‘round—spinning slowly ‘round.

What did you see, what did you see,
what did you see in the forest?

What did you see, what did you see?

More than just trees in the forest.