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Prelude To Himself
Prelude To Himself
Because if I fell in the snow it was because my legs told the truth.
He roamed on a leash, or at least that’s what the Rabbi told me. To give life, he ate God’s name and kept chewing. And thus the voiceless vagrant of the old world. But that’s not the whole story; The truth of the matter is that atics are dark places with odd people. Maybe it was the construction worker who swept aside decaying talmud and found an arm.
Or perhaps the wind shuffled the leaves and revealed Vltava clay.
For all we know the old wood parted and revealed skeletons in the closet.
There are only a couple rules; life exists without truth but not vice versa. Because there was blood, and there were lies. I was a vampire, or so I was told. Candor is the white rat in dark corners; invisible until palpable, but it is always there, behind a fence of lies and tongues.
Butterflies evacuated before the flowers lost their truth,
Truth is not moral, it was simply on his forehead. For the same reason
He threw the butcher on the street, because it was authentic. He was
Meeting the holiness of his tongue, of his hairless head.
The beaten man was holy in his conviction.
What would you do if you were a dystopia? This is not a question.
What would a dystopia do if it were you? Well, it would be an eloquent hoodlum
That painted cashmere on the walls and sleep in well-lit doorways. Without a head, but imagine the origin of Kafka. He believed in truth, he knew what slept in the shadows.
He had ghetto blood and when he died the ghetto had his blood within it. Intertwined
Because truth is synonymous with life
Just as if you live a lie you live nothing at all.
I walked up inside myself when my shoes got flooded.
I faced the protector, Golem of my head, and only one of us blinked. It wasn’t him.
This is all truth, I promise.
Just as I have never been to Prague, the Golem is still in the attic.
And if I stand back up, it was because I wasn’t dead.
The end of existence is not one of magic. Spiritual men don’t dance around deathbeds, exorcise heartbeats as if they hindered your mind. It was a lack of turmoil that characterizes the Golem. Clinical, yet born in a casket, not a hospital.
Sycophant fell asleep in the snow to fall in love with the cold and woke up, or didn’t.
I only exist in a world where too many people died and there was room for me,
I am guilty of existing, I am silent towards the past, I fall asleep and wake up in tomorrow everyday(without thinking about it), I was me before it was cool, I justify what I can’t promise, I am a Golem protecting myself and someday will fall asleep in an attic.
But what if I took the God
Out of a Golem
And gave it
“Welcome to the desert of eternity, prepare to face your ancestors, the place where your smile came from, the conscious that predated your teeth, the vision that introduced your eyes, antecedent breath before your lungs held air, the dust that rubbed on your face and formed your value, threatened your life before you were born, nobody, lacked name
I am a bottle cap and a daffodil,
A puddle used as a mirror; everything.
Come close to me and I am a razor without a hand
Because if you weren’t born then what would hold me;
A riddle and definitive statement, quotation, man without a mouth”
Made out of stone(when I want),
A voice in a forest with no one around to hear it
Because who would say me if I made sense.
He said ‘Look at me and see yourself’
The protector was in my head, the lights in the attic dimmed as the years were plucked from the earth like blades of grass.
But I can tell you with assured justice that there is no Golem in that Prague synagogue,
The death of too many would have surely stirred him.
Because if to take God out of a Golem is to kill it
To take God out of the world is to be human.