Guest guest Posted March 11, 1999 Report Share Posted March 11, 1999 Good morning from Madhya <center> <bold><bigger><bigger><bigger><bigger>Old Wine In A New Bottle </bigger></bigger></bigger></bigger></bold><bigger><italic>"Ollie,Ollie, Ollie-oxen free, free, free... Ollie, Ollie, Ollie-oxen, free, free, free..." (A child's mantra) </italic>Hello, Peterson-- still here, are you? Wishing to document this moment, allow me the freedom to push my way into your soul and squirm and writhe in liquid ecstasy-- Like when in bed you stroke my arm, my thigh, one thing leading to another while nothing happens. Where am I all of this time? High as a kite can fly. I am persona non gratis if I cannot feel some extra- ordinary sensation-- a finer, subtler exultation than yesterday's-- Dozens of by-gone days hobbled by lust for more dizzying heights to leap, adrenalizing the living moment into believing Now is more than heaven, beyond the suffering of hell. I pinch my cheek hard till tears gather- I am alive, Am I alive? Alive feels so... familiar, previously owned, flawed-- Fermentation, have I turned sour in the barrel awaiting maturity? Was the crush impure that filled the vat and kissed the yeast leaving me alone in an oaken womb craving transformation-- devoted to a marriage saving me from this desire-infested life? I touch myself- I touch myself, and feel me rocking and reeling past the moon, beyond the stars, following the golden monkey, the stuff of ancient mystic visions that visited me one afternoon some years ago and left me wandering, searching for flavors more than my tongue can sense, for words more delicious than my palate can imagine, for truths that can be had only by imbibing myself, devouring everything on this particular plate so that one day the only crumb remaining is the one that possesses my name, my face, my past and future, Ricky Rachel MadhyaNandi. I am sitting cross-legged on Peterson's king-sized bed with fat Audrey sleeping at my side her warm fur tickling my skin, meditating my way toward immortality, What am I viewing in this dark tomb-- womb of countless incarnations? Me. I am looking at me and wondering how it is that I may get high on being merely me, alive alone, with no other condition or circumstance to interrupt a constant flow of sweetest spirit, the subtlest intoxicant, the wine freed from the poison of desire, words, meaning... yes, even sensation. Shiva, my Singular Husband, why have you cursed me so? Who told you to awaken and make my life miserable until at last, facing the lowest common denominator of myself, the cube root of me made flesh and blood, I am forced to cannibalize my own skin, my eyes, mouth, vagina, feet? Madhyanandi </bigger></center><bigger> </bigger> Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Join the conversation
You are posting as a guest. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.