The Artiste
I am The Artiste.
I draws lines by cutting carcasses, among other things.
I am the crazed dancer, down pouring a diaspora of red essence and entrails as I sporadically spin.
I am the antagonist; the anti-hero jester with a ricin covered knife.
It’s poisoned point thrusted through regal robes; to rest in the fief, flesh and fealty of the king and his knights.
Making a mosaic of the martyred by combat and tactical subterfuge; again and again enacting battles of attrition.
Each successive version of ourselves adjacent to the next, compartmentalized in seclusive panoramic positions held together by Gravitons.
Vacuumed by a stretched string in infinite dimensions; making an Omni-vector to temper the fool.
Ah but I am the axiom of chaotic-kinetic dynamism; I distort lattices and break symmetry.
I am the Goldstone boson & Majorana fermion, I am the Tachyon.
I command my Pions to intersect and form a Rho.
Regimented in units, they leer over fortified Dirac and Neumann boundaries.
A coalition of rebellious Quasi-patrons; under siege by Gauge Synchronicities and Eigenstates.
But I am still my own worst enemy; myself and my anti-self.
When living in a world reborn on God’s Sword & Shield, many of us are left on edge and apprehensive; but we will always die in God’s heart.
From there after our remains are gestated; by the womb of empty space & silence, the true Matriarch Mother of skies.
Copyright © Alex Cullen | Year Posted 2017
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