I: The True Freedom – Memory [Lull]
The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time…
-W. B. Yeats
Terrible! – a terrible loss. Oh, each
passing day weighs down my figure,
And each falling grain from one teardrop of
the Hourglass to the other,
And each waltzing shadow distorting itself
on the face of the Sundail,
And each shallow breath she sighs that
counts the seconds out of reach,
All count – count towards our pure endlessness.
We must dispose of time.
This modern strictness, a concept intangible,
Is no more than a mere and incurable sickness,
Which no man tries to fight. Raising the
scalpel high, you remove the defective tissue,
But you do not move the defective time. This
walking corpse, this living carcass, do they
all fool themselves this way? Pretending that time,
In it’s terrible glory, is on their side, an ally.
Oh, rue this day, time. You shall not lay your gnarled
hand on my sister’s shoulder.
I lay mine.
Her breath is under my palm, and a singular second of
serenity enters. A calmness. A stillness. But not
for long. I will go, I will destroy time. No matter how
much I want time to catch me, for my sister, that elegance
hidden beneath the gas mask and funnel of hair,
Her face must remain china. Remain porcelain.
So tempt me. So hurt it. So hurt time, self, hurt it.
As it hurt me, as I destroyed all memory. Memory of her
little girl figure is merely an imagination. What colour
were her shoes? Memory – gone. Time – ruin it.
I travel within to the farthest reaches of the sun,
Over continents and oceans, never stepping through the shade,
Time must not pass. If I keep forcing myself, if I keep moving,
If I never stop and carry my sister though, we will never
change, she will never change, I will never
change. And serene blissful pastimes will be lost in imagination
as our memories fade every after-second. Without time, without
time, no seconds will pass.
Every stolen night will stand still.
In their own serene blissfulness, and perhaps,
When I ruin the destroyer of temples,
And burn the catcher of life,
And trap the conceited seasons behind,
I can smile, and smile genuinely,
when I look, for an unwritten eternity,
into my sister’s eyes.
III: The True Freedom – Need [Lull]