LV. (thusness #3) Entombment of the Flesh Filled Body

Why must it endure, this life, I, sometimes question, sometimes dance all along the outskirts of this body. Moving, rhythmns, algorithms, heartbeats. What is love between the sheets? An alegory. A great koan, a drunken stoned man in the wee reaches of the morning. Carry on, to memories of our previous embraces, where body now is numb, unreliable and foolish. Mind is finicky, preserves feelings and resentment without a filter to cleanse. Retrogrades of bodily spasms and brain flutterings. Assesing the fall, in order to take the fall. Entombment of the flesh filled body. How must I operate this grave and this ressurection simultaneously? Body subdued, mind restricted to function out of this bodily discord, and no need for remorse. Timid out of this trepidation. I wonder how you feel then the thought subsides and mind bares all unanswered potentials. No likely answer, no likelihood. Now. Now I. Now I am. Now I am Alone. I understand this existential oneness but come nowhere close to any kind of subject. Constantly objectifying myself, as you did yourself, objects of each others pleasure and scorn. These patterns, rhytmns, alegories start to lay themselves out, submitted under chains and heavy whips of my own making and understanding. All mind, too reliant, forces body to exist, forces body towards its whims. Chains, whips and cages,the 3 jewels with the proper grasp of them, to gather around the signs of liberation. Alone I am now. Alone I am. Alone I. Alone. Mind reproduces thought, body reproduces consistency. Proof of decay, and of composition. What more could one ask for then guarantees? Likelyhoods, interactions, no worthy takers, invented qualities for love never tested out, these open arms and widespread compassion. Never more or less of those things, will I forget my lover and her traits. This silence and invented conversation in dream sequences prove it almost conclusively. Best friend, lover, soulmate, material possesion, scrap of silk, ciggarette butt smoked to the very filter. I am worn out and giving my greatest show. I know I will only see your ghost from this point on, hovering around our old favorite haunts (for I have always been a ghost). Knowing that you know my secret hate for future and past things, and my failure to give up this stubborness in an act of kindness. Totally ignorant, totally delusional. This state of body not becoming, pure flesh, blood, guts and broken hearts cascading to some predermined co-ordinates. Forming, establishing, decomposing. Entombment of this flesh filled body, the gateless gate of Samsara

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