This is now becoming a Saga. Please start with the first in our series of adolescent stupidity: Reeling, then to Number Two and Number Three.
Clearly I was not only silly, I was also patently insane. Strangely, this is among the less awful poems, but the text which follows indicates FAR too much Crowley-reading for an impressionable young mind.
Again, for the record, I eventually did grow up and realize that Crowley is good for a laugh and not much else, monomaniacal blowhard that he was.
The original, unfinished document was apparently my attempt at presenting something like a paper, with a great big title page, that said, pompously:
Revisionist Geography
(Multiplanar)
By [onehanded]*
Preliminary poem (Introduction of sorts)
in a fever it is quiet inside
I feel the skin within the skin
Heat, a blanket, insulates.
I ask the illness to speak
my turmoil
in its raspy voice;
it seems to have little to say.
I hear my teeth click,
put a hand out
into the fog, still hoping
after all this time.
rooms build themselves
in black & white
like paintings on the backs of my eyes,
deviod of people, no furniture.
Sometimes wind blows a white curtain
away from an open window
my thoughts: steel, coldmetal
light complicated by an irregular
reflective surface
which touching, I only manage
to leave fingerprints.
I ask myself thick
invisible questions
trying to ascribe words
to the world behind and find
so many levels
I don't know where to start.
Echo me back at me;
Begin at the beginning.
This was followed by this brief (and inexplicable) text:
Part I: The Beginning
Suprageography
In the spaces in my mind that are not concerned with what is reality according to the rest of the world lies a region of knowledge that I had nearly given up hope of translation into any language. Recently, however, the blurry outlines of a system of earthly geography having far less to do with the lay of the land than the structure of the mind of mankind and its relationship to the earth and the space surrounding Earth became clearer. What has been gestating within me for my entire life seems to have arrived at a new stage in its development, thusly enabling me to identify at least a few specifics and, hopefully, to be able to relay some new insight to the few that might believe me.
Approximately three feet above the earth's surface, and in several cases, in particularly powerful locations, about that distance above the first floor of a structure, lies a field, a surface in that it has tension, not unlike the surface of water. This field, planelike, bolsters and serves as a foundation of energy. It is here that the laws of physics are most easily applied with the expected results. This surface also serves to reflect, both upwards and down, to translate, as it is rooted between two worlds; that of earth and that of air.
From this plane, if one is able to identify it and feel its existence, it is possible to "slice" a rectangle and rotate 90 degrees, creating a "door", enabling one to move downwards, almost as if descending stairs, and further examine the depths of the energy field immediately surrounding the earth, as well as to move upwards, as if climbing a ladder, both to further examine the less dense energy field(s) above this plane and to reach, if one will, those planes that exist further up into the atmosphere.
Note important detail: The dead of most of the Western and much of the Eastern worlds are buried approximately six feet down from the earth's surface, and nine feet down from said plane, giving us the progression of 3-6-9. The number three is that of the dead and living, for both are based in this primary plane.
In this layer between surface and plane, space is thick with energy. It is truly a foundation, subscribing to the laws of gravity, and it serves as a pool from which all human beings, conscious of it or not, draw their energy.
onehanded
* characteristically, I did not sign it with my real name, but instead my still-in-use general-purpose pseudonym.
