Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.191.37.16
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem



"The Beetlejuice Past Your Eyes"


“Well, where would you suggest I commence? Should we begin with the concept of pasteurize?”

This said to the earnest listener, who views the protagonist with a bon vivant confused expression. To elicit any conversation out of said protagonist (a miracle in itself), the one stood opposite said protagonist thinks upon reflection - and then, considers this akin to a “Get Smart” programme, the metaphoric nature of the construction of said protagonist’s thought patterns, requiring intense focused concentration, usually requiring the current special assignment’s portfolio containing code translations, at the very least, if the portfolio containing code translations is nowhere in sight, then to hand, elicit some volume of meaning from a dictionary or a bloody good encyclopedia. Failing all that, GOOGLE. 

“Sure, go head, this should be interesting. Do commence.” The earnest listener responds. 

“Betelgeuse.” The protagonist bounces back abruptly and quite matter-of-factly.  

“I do say! your mind is like a juicy rissole, full of exotic ingredients, the likes of which I have never tasted before. It tempts the mind’s palate to taste you more and more, and relish the mastication leisurely and with lusty enjoyment. Never get the job over and done with too swiftly, I say - where’s the pleasure in that? What on earth do you mean by offering me that piece of intelligence?”. 

“Precisely. That is what it is – intelligence for 'the hidden intelligentsia' .”

“Do go on.”

“I always thought the higher self could be a bit of a demon when answering questions posited to It by the vessel (the external creature) transporting It. It’s an automatic kind of thing. Like writing. Like writing what comes precisely to your mind in the moment and going with It. As a matter of natural course, (although some will debate supernatural course), that is the risk one takes to reach a destination, if you will. You, the vessel (the exernal creature, the ephemeral) sits there intimately talking to It (the internal eternal contracted guardian, let’s call it Daemon for the purpose of this conversation); and of course obviously no one else can see It or hear It, for It is so far displaced from the external world of others, they can not see your Daemon, nor hear It. And if other external ephemerals were privvy to hearing your It speak - how on earth would they ever understand the words and songs It utters, because It only speaks a language both you and It can understand. You are the only one privy to Its consort. You’re kind of married to each other in a sense. Love It or Hate It. The incessant eternal internal chatter, like an over-attentive wife or husband, you will love Its attention for a time and then, some times It will just get so annoyingly under your skin, like the sound of unwarranted intense nagging, that you'd like to silence it with a Barrett M82 (for while it is close, it is also essentially strategically distanced and well camouflaged). It’s a unique kind of relationship. Very personal. And like all relationships the road will never be smooth, all kinds of hurdles and potholes to traverse. Kind of a Love-Hate, Light-Dark romance. Never an in between with these 2. I’d like to say there will never be a dull moment between the 2. But like a marriage, or close relationship/friendship, the dull will shimmy in - it's inevitable and kind of normal. You go to It for answers to all manner of things. You listen to It. You mull over Its responses and you choose to follow Its lead, or reject It. You could choose to follow Its lead and It leads you up the proverbial river without a paddle and you find yourself sinking from the black hole its chewed in your paper boat, and next you know, you are neck high in the dark sticky smelly stuff. Or when It's feeling compassionately generous, It will grant you one of your 3 wishes, but never all 3 at once, It's vexatiously flirtatious like that, a hell of a lot of the time. Every external ephemeral creature in this current world of ours, has their own Daemon, It’s both Light and Dark, the shading of Its intentions could be stronger in one half over that of the other half.”

“Why the word Betelgeuse though?” The listener queries. 

“Well, that’s very easy. It’s the name of a Star not a demon (as most people misconstrue the word Daemon with its lower cousin the common garden variety ‘demon’).”

“Fascinating.” The listener responds. “Imagine that, a Star.”

“Yes, there is a reason I chose to name mine Beetlejuice. I do thoroughly love The Beetles and I do get juiced up on their music. But that is not the real reason why I have named mine Beetlejuice. More impressively, I precisely named my inner being after a Star, after I considered the fact that it is the 2nd brightest star in the constellation Orion, marking the eastern shoulder of The Hunter.  Its name is derived from the Arabic term bat al-jawza, which means “The Giant’s Shoulder”. It is one of the most luminious stars in the night sky. I kind of feel, that if I named it after a Star like that, and it was sitting on The Giant’s shoulder, perhaps I (the external ephemeral creature) that I am -  well then, I am, the other star sitting on the other side of The Giant’s shoulder. Or at least that shoulder is reserved for me, the invisible external ephemeral creature.  Now which side of the shoulder I sit on, and which side of the shoulder my inner Daemon sits on, is debatable. It’s a tricky choice who sits on which side of the Giant’s shoulder. I could be left or right. It’s like looking in a mirror. The answer so ephemeral, it is past your eyes.” 



Candide Diderot. ‘24 





“Which should you choose? Unpasteurized may have a better flavor profile and slightly more nutrients, in some cases; in some cases,  you should choose pasteurized when possible. Pasteurized has been shown to be safer, and has a longer shelf life.” 









Pasture ... ized.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required