Room Atop a Shadowy Edifice(R)

[abstrect-christ]

Take each step,

feel the sedimentary turn to igneous.

Atop the hill will get volcanic,

burning brightest, giving off most a sulphuric mist.

Conjured up by the insane itself,

working their dark chi, voodoo, witchcraft.

Its perspectives many, you choose which one.

Behind that choking mist of the sixteenth nature lies a room of substantial significance.

 

Feet burning, muscles aching,

the harsh terrain had taken its toll.

Silt to clastic forms, the mountains rare.

Growing in importance the further I climbed,

after such as this, one should retire.

Himalayans, with its Everest.

Erebus of the great Ring of Fire;

Olympus Mons of a planet red would sweat a brow.

 

Water dried out, rations at a low, the texture still sparkled like mica of an extraordinary hue.

 

Never bring a partner, always come alone.

Children never safe, not even the unborn in crimson domes.

The room itself they say has a spirit,

shows you the world, takes away from it.

Green, purple, blue, all colors meshed.

The room holds the children, lost of mind.

Soul always of the present.

 

Metamorphic my form, like the rock around me.

Time has passed, minutes, hours, days, years, why bother counting?

Darkness as I enter, bats startled fleeing,

imagine the limestone, fossilized coral I could be missing.

Legs knew the way, as if I was born and would die here,

stalactites, stalagmites, and soda straws never push back nor cause retreat.

Walking on flowstone, now imagining a lava tube,

dirtying my knees, dried smell of sulfur stinging my lungs.

 

The room is dangerous, though a light in the dark.

The history is such that it paints its walls,

thick coat its surroundings could never peel off.

 

The darkness that intruded upon this mountain,

though infinity there it seemed, disappearing.

The colours of the cave were increasing thrice fold.

This entrance was of a grand scale mesmerizing,

a diamond upon my view, unformed and raw.

 

A room now my vision, time and space were forfeit.

I was like a child in a box back home being fed by mother.

Walls stained with red, the mound in the middle a display of Art,

visitors had come, visitors had gone, seen the light, let it dim.

Arms, legs, torso's, they all contributed to my display.

My room of Art, top a shaded mountain.

Another one comes, looking as impoverished as me.

The room no good to them, I add more coloring to the walls,

bare hands will always be my instruments,

sharpened bone to make their physical body an empty canvas.

Clean myself in it, put my full trust in it.

This Art I create, little arms now added,

only the best faces get put upon my walls.

 

Remember the rock I climbed to get here, this room.

Isolation never bothered, I had all my friends surrounding me here,

free from their bodies, and gleaming to be part of its walls.

A preacher, preacher of the lost, preacher of the found, preacher of the Art.

One I hold close to my all.

 

'But what is this room really?'

I've asked myself many a time before.

Wracked my brain, hitting it against the wall, caving it in.

The Spirits protect me making sure I find out.

 

I've had more then one name for this place:

Black Mountain, Shadow Mountain.

The lightning outside booms as if passing through rock.

This room is nowhere but everywhere.

Something but nothing.

A transformation transcending my Art,

an Eden of translucent force.

I never grow old, never get sick, free to do as my mind wanders.

 

This dark pallet of a room, parts emptied and piled,

where all my efforts show its rigor.

It's what religious man would call Heaven.

My own personal Heaven and your welcome to join it, become a part of it.

Time on my side, I'm patient for everyone.

 

by Jeremy Swyck

(03/12/08)

[tonyv]

Interesting place, Jeremy. Would love to know about your "place," though I think I'm catching glimpses of it.

 

Tony

[dr_con]

Very interesting- We often talk about the 'room' in the heretic's lineage: A really fascinating perspective! Thanks for sharing...

 

DC&J

[rosschandler]

this reminds me of james joyce. very automatic and stream of conscioussness. i enjoy your metaphors and insight. homeric and seer ish.

[abstrect-christ]

thanks ross