FIVE PREPHASES (Part One)
Channel: Antares Maitreya
Date: 2014-12-01

Part one of a tone poem written by Antares at age 22. Resurrected 44 years later as a spoken word project with funky music by Shpongle & laptop visuals courtesy of Windows Media Player.

Hail to the power of the printed word
All hail the permanency of the press!
Ah but how evanescent the jewel vision in the mystic lotus...
This is the chronicle of a bubble bursting in the ooze of Chronos:
A word portrait of an old man's waste matter.

And now, for the plot.

There is no furniture in my mind.
I can't sit down anywhere for a smoke.
I can't find a couch upon which to confess my complexes.
I am not at home.

Home as we know it is where the heart is.
My heart might be in my stomach.
On a transplant bench.
On a valentine card.
It ought to be on earth
We're ready to believe that much.
Well, my ears are on my face, and that's a fact
As far as I can tell.
But my face, I've left it in too many mirrors.
Mirrors are easily broken.
Like faces.

Life, feces, forces, lost in the crack of glassy doom
At the back of the classroom.

My mind is a white room.
A black light shines.
Weird phenomenon.
My soul is a darkness
Where a white light dwells.
I am day and night.
In a night and a day one could be all Time.
Which isn't much.
Because Time runs out.

Sandflow beachtide hourglass soon gone.