Loading ...I am the mute god of the blank stage. I am the imperiled waif hungering for nothing to say. By a spasm of my hand I write and instantly lapse back to null. These words carry the same pointless burden of everything: the city scurry for coin, the lustful grasping and panting, the wanton embrace of objects aging into landfills. My desire, grilling me like fattened pork, tricks the eye and I see the scale of a world not breathable. This realm hefts itself up from the couch of heedlessness and punches you full-bore in the stomach: the breath leaves you: there shall be no drawn air.
My soul is the monolith of certitude ringed by tripwire and barbed coils: confusion in my dance towards clarity. Obdurately and with malevolent stupidity I try negotiating with the fortifications. They answer without thought the blithe and bastard no of indifference.
And I in muteness use an over-weening preening plethora of words: too much. Mandel Cola castigates us with wisdom, rightness, and removal: who can claim just cause for silence? Not I. Not I despite the Manhattanite scurry, not I despite the votive rush, not I despite the cracking new plans. My first question as I began this reply, as I toyed with the asinine phrase ‘from doldrums to drum roll’, was an insult: do I need the Neocrats?
The Neocrats are nothing, they are a vanity and an indulgence, but they are the truth of human creation. In one stroke I tender my resignation and affirm my everlasting commitment: in a leap I fall into the vale of neglect and alight on the far point of embrace. In a breath I discard this world and hold it safe.
My name is Saleem and I am the falling angel, the rising demon, I am the Neocrats: as are you.
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This is it, friends. I love it and will read it again.
Saleem’s noble joust with the powers that be (within) is a symbol of life. The Neocrats is not a vanity. The Neocrats convene from the corners of the globe. They thrust at each other the blunt swords of opinion in the hope of a spark of truth or inspiration. They believe in the power of words. Their challenge is to do so without causing or finding offense. I pose to you that this community is something little of what this planet needs.
Welcome, dear falling or fallen angel, and welcome rising or risen demon (to all of you). The storm is rising.