The bubbling zeros that sailed in his body
were dispersed,
and when he awoke, everything was made
of crossings; stretching himself,
he put out his hand and grasped a cluster of metagalaxies
that burst from his mouth
- a full mouth, that did not remember the void
of his exploded zeros -.
When he opened his eyes
all was clarity:
the night had died
in the twilight...
in the cleardark
where he had been
looking without seeing anything
alone
the unlimited
had been awakened
to sleep Again
and recover consciousness
astonished before the celestial marvel
of his imagination.
Because we are that
The Imagination of a God
imagined...
To make unmaking
at the same time to unmake making
such is the fate
of the supreme Being,
irrational
miserable
lost in thought
reclining on a couch of pale stars
near the gateway of universal destiny:
the solitary of solitude:
He is further away from where all meet;
the loss that is lost in infinite remoteness...
which is his own isolation radiating all ways from
HIM,
himself.
His soul flooded all cosmography
He flies - still!- through all eternity
testing his wings and projecting his body towards
the big crunch:
His fluttering is the whisper of the dreams
of all possible beings in all possible
worlds.
Today, He is a wanderer with wings
o u t s t r e t c h e d; his mind flies
separated from his corporeality;
a mind that is still tangled up in the Universal History
of the Infinite.
The last and Only atheist;
his irrational rational rationality
troubles him, but he is as calm as a twilight
bathed in balsamic waves;
he dreams of his remotest youth
when he broke the hymens of galaxies:
it was the rebirth the not dying dying in
each orgasm.
It was the same somnolence made clarity
/outside of the organ
palpable as spermatic music,
as pent-up come;
compulsive in its creation:
things took their shapes from his reflectiveness,
rose-bush purple galaxies to the weeping in the
thousand pointillisms facing the roseclear mirror:
he admired his face
transparent
his most intimate ideals,
and all his innocent guilt as creator
without frontiers, despoiler of limits;
his blue heart distilled
all unimaginable imagination:
but He, creator, at his age,
had arrived
alone
to conclude
that he had been invented by himself;
as the one who twirled the silk hat
of spirit
as a star that turns a key slowly
univocal.
His irridescent thought
surprised him; he played with it and stroked it
like a mane of light become transparent...
And alone, alone! in the midst of all he had created
there was nothing to do but smile with joy:
He failed to notice what his
/configuration produced;
the pulse expanded so much in him,
that he did not see the birth of new cosmogenies
from between the legs of one of his lovers
who he had already forgotten...
God was God;
today he has one
like any of the mortals
to immortalise himself in the cosmoeternals...
....................................................................................
The supreme Being was unconscious
While he was in that state
another supreme being arrived
who started to haunt his bed
amongst shadows, and made his speech:
Death;
he heard him in the hearing of the Unconscious
pointedly
and when he spoke The Creator let
the white flow from his heart
which flooding the little cosmos,
dissolved the assassin:
Then God awoke!
wrapped in transparent sheets of the nothing
and when he looked around, stretching himself, his surroundings
shivered the word "Life" into his temples...
Since that imprecise moment
- moment of moments -
stars of vapour began to swirl
and soon condensed into red foam
making palaces of hot ice
already seeded by the emissions of the Omnipotent Being
who thus was beginning to make Consciousness of Matter
astral in the astral, finite in the
infinite.......................
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