La Neante

Soundless world, cold and sunless who has led us here heavy of heart? Like pilgrims we walk the long dusty road to a                            former paradise. The five rungs are twisted now,                            mere wreckage garnished by bodies rotting carcasses once the abode of souls. Our footsteps haunt a narrow alleyway then here, at the Ruined Centre we swing upon a diabolic scene. It bursts all heady on the senses - eyes, ears, nose and skin ... Oh Mercy! The Rotting God! Now every poison thought and bitter wish begins to swell and sing inside our skin soon the Spleen shall rupture we shall see dark swarms of seeding boredom. There is nothing here for man or beast, La Neante, just the acrid stench of a long dead                            civilisation. And each corpse, once a cell of God now a feast for the Anima Mundi here at least nature has a victory of sorts. And manikins, strange stuffed clowns                            of painted cloth are propped about the reeking God and insects big as rats, scuttle too and fro all ghastly shiny black. No doubt they ply a healthy trade. Oh Mercy! Set the sun to perish! Bring down the Night! A man can only bear so much sorrow. Mr. Newton’s Universe The Universe once crystal spheres, once musical in substance harmonic in effect once composed, of matter and desire once unmoving sacrality now inanimate matter, extended form, spinning to infinity ... and we mere bodies, mere solids of terrestrial chaos. All mystery divorced from blood and bone; the gods withdraw, the faeries lumber home, and dragons, speared from the sky. Nothing truly lives in Mr. Newton’s Universe. Newtonian Physics

‘Whatever draws or presses another is as much drawn or pressed by that other. If you press a stone with your finger, the finger is as much pressed by the stone.’ Newton.

- I cannot quite believe gravity is more than physical                you see, heaviness, lightness what are these to me? if not certain seasons of the soul. The Method The chicken is dead Mr. Bacon why preserve its misery? No matter, the method rumbles on, a juggernaut, a bulldozer a panzer tank, a transport plane the method rumbles on. Unborn angels weep the flat earth bleeds but the method rumbles on Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the method flattens all possibilities Dachau, Auschwitz, the method smothers all rebellion. The chicken is dead Mr. Bacon why preserve its misery?   Image: 'Alchemist and Macrocosm', by Beuther 1718. The image is in the public domain.