MacJams.com - Song: Into This Lone Man by euphoreador

Into This Lone Man by euphoreador [Email]

Genre: Spoken Word-Poetry

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Keywords:

alternative (225), experimental (290), poetry (105), lack (22), euphoreador (33), junKbox (33), josh hinck (24), indyish (24), poemovie (24), confession of faith (33), the countdown (12)

Description:

Then, when the windows were finally closed and brought to their obstructing rest, did he finally sit down.

Lyrics:

Into this Lone Man

Then, when the window was finally closed and the deep-red curtains brought to their obstructing rest, did he finally sit down. His end was soon, of that he was sure. He had been pacing nearly five hours, his demented mind fretting on the inevitable as well as on everyone else. The exact nature of this most unbelievable conundrum, to put it much too under-toned, fell squarely and completely onto his already bad posture prone back.
He had released the wraiths. He had implicitly and unequivocally unleashed them upon, in hindsight, the quiet almost seemingly peaceful world, in comparison to the calamity that was now being heaved and tremendously flung down onto earth. A much anticipated but still highly underestimated decision. This ungodly maelstrom ebbed and like a tidal wave resurged again and again, upon this little speck of dust, where all humans would soon be has-beens.
He downed another healthy portioned glass of single-malt and lit a cigar.
His heart was more black now then the iron holding the fire beneath the chimney. His smoke co-mingled with that issuing forth from the damp wood. He had once believed in the pursuit of knowledge and shouted down many an inferior advocate that was naysayer enough to step forward and verbally spar learned wits against his. He soon would turn them into cowering dolts, spittering and splathering, fumbling for levity. But this was not his calling, not to set people in their place beneath his, but to let the reservoir of long, lost, forgotten truths be used anew; akin to refreshing waters, in this, the middle of the desert of human ignorance.
He had fallen from his path. He had managed to find in his abundant jubilation for learning and for life, a hubris, far larger than any wreaked before upon this mortal coil. All the land was aflame, the sea was a poison star that boiled its very life vulgarly upon the shore. Humans were melting into puddles that would aid in new cacophonous incendiaries. The fabric of matter and the physical laws that had been guiding humans were no longer meaningful or holding themselves in regal, albeit, often incomprehensible, but definite composure. Up was surely down and down lay the path that all life was quickly and most painfully plodding. These were the wraiths that he had summoned. He had found pleasure in the concept that he alone would meet this abomination that he had so painstakingly found hidden throughout human texts far-flung inside writ and art; throughout civilizations long forgotten or more often the case, never even tangentially known. Through museums, ancient vaults, shamans, tombs, clerics living and dead, he had made his way and all had been harnessed to aid in this destruction.
With his rise in understanding came a hatred of all those that never even thought to question. His preconceived ideas of knowledge and his love for searching truth gave way to vastly larger and much more insurmountable amounts of animosity that doubled than triple-folded viscerally, into this lone man, with the ability to destroy all things.
As he nestled himself comfortably into the chair, the lavish upholstery began to peel, his mind pacifically made itself at ease. A flood of what once was came usurping the now. He remembered a day quite an eternity ago. He had sat in this same chair and viewed the world outside of his keep, through the thrown wide window. A beautiful spring day was dawning, his heart not yet so malevolently jaded, or quite so hell-bent for the eradication of life itself. He paused and saw beauty intrinsically, it still was able to enter his psyche and filled him ever so briefly, but did nonetheless, with awe.
He looked at the glass in his hand that he had so often used and for the first time noticed a tiny piece missing from the base that actually embellished the whole. It counter balanced the jeweled cup and as he stared at it, seemed to make perfect the entire countenance. He thought it odd how so clearly a flaw acted to enhance what had been so disregarded and now when finally perceived was such a catalyst to this new appreciation. He looked to the table that had started to smolder and noticed how the usually prim and properly stacked pile of books was askew ever so slightly. This would have normally caused him to affect a brisk correction of the pile but as he stared at it the thought flit into his mind that the books now resembled a spiral staircase not unlike those seen by him at various observatories from antiquity. He even took notice of the far corner of the room that he never gave the time to see but the flames cast onto it a dance of unimaginable proportions of gaiety that flickered and swayed, this nouveau light and new shade. A tinge of motion, whimsy never obeyed.
He swallowed the last draught from the cup that was already too hot for his blistered lips. His mind strolled to why he had done this. Why had he sought the destruction of all. He then believed that perhaps the core reason was that he had always felt uneasy with people, whether or not they did with him was a different tale, but he had been uncomfortable in the midst of others and so had ceased to try to reach out for them. With this shying away came the reciprocal response that they in turn did likewise. He had removed himself from all living others. He had felt alienated but didn’t everyone at some point. Even the most courageous and strong bend sometime to cowardice and uncertainty. Didn’t most people feel uneasy and try not to face exactly the situation that everyone is in but try as they may to release care and focus on some mind numbing exercise of forgetfulness. Didn’t they succeed with all their force of will to make-believe that a subsistence life with getting trinkets and a pittance but truly living as parasites, was enough? Then after doing nothing of value they recessed to a place of much needed relaxation, turn on the TV and allow the soul erasure to transpire night after meaningless year after meaningless lifetime. American Idol was just one of an innumerable amount of Aaron’s crafted Baals for this humanity lost in the wilderness. Even with instant access to communication all still used it mostly to hide themselves away from any and all scrutiny. Mainly from themselves did they hide in a fabricated comfort of self-aggrandizement with a nuanced proclivity for wasteful existence.
This man’s peace was finally realized. He had succeeded in causing the entire world to reach its end and now he grasped the repose that had always averted itself from him. Meditative was his composed self at this the final moment as the whole room burned into incinerated vapor. As his life essence was swept away into oblivion the last feeling he had was of doubt. A small kernel, an ever so brief hint of a question, whether or not he had gone too far in his self-actualized fulfillment.

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