The Showmanship of Mucciole Roque

Posted on: Sunday, January 5th, 2020

I.

Are you sharp? Tell me if you are sharp. It will realign your
Values, as my values had ever been so aligned with them.
All you had to do, honey bunny, is sit tight and not smother,
Here with me. Lay with me, here, the best of the best, the big
Balustrade, the illest, the most sublime, the child of unrest,
The child of great detest. Many go about, wrestling with charm,
Yet charm asks for nothing, except a great deal of remembrance.
Charm itself doesn’t bother with collection of memories. Only
The ugly and the tedious do, gathering trophies. If you are true
Charm, then you must step out of the room and keep nobody
Except other true charmers. Sit tight, poison, and not smother.
Believe me, in the kitchen, dull knives are far more dangerous.

II.

We name things so beautifully before we could even tell whether they’d live up to all that later-urgency. “Me, I give myself a common name, a cold name. I place an allowance on my shoulder, a safety net too deep under me. I take no risks if it rattles anything but Love, or Beauty, or Money, or Knowledge, or Pleasure, or more Time. I like being assured that I will do well, and that I have some purpose in the midst of all this purposelessness.” Have you ever seen a man in the middle of sweating bodies who is benched because of their repelling faces, repelling bodies, repelling attitudes? Because of their distractions or being distracting? Because of them refusing to move in a sense of purpose, the purpose which is to give others love and beauty and knowledge and pleasure? It is too sad! Too sad, indeed! The only way through that dark day which consoles is money, for a better dinner and for a comfortable, speedy ride back to whichever cave they emerge from. Some times, I am that man with the beautiful name. Some times, I am that man with the cold common name. To be a spectator is good for learning, to me, when I am distracted or distracting. Mostly, I prefer center stage. I prefer being the spectacle.

III.

There is never any practicality in being a snob. There are no foundations to it, only carefully curated layers that will decay as fast as the face and the body, too, decay. Does it come from luxury? Does it come with age? No. They all come from choices. Every day, we make a choice to deceive ourselves with importance– that we like things that are tragic and things which are not well-known, and we become the same level of tragic and not well-known as they are– as if that makes us more luxurious and reverse our ageing. My dear Truman, do you see how pointless and impractical? You may be a child and you have seen nothing. You are beginning to see it all and compose your ideas of it all, which makes you alarming. Charming, even. Yet no one is safe from the temper of a child who had just been ejected from Purgatory. They had seen everything and understood nothing. There is indifference that had been natured to them now. We can only pray senselessly, as you pray pretentiously. Truman, I see you decorate your walls with verses and your songs are worship songs, yet only in face. You sleep face up, but you get fucked face down. You exhibit shame in neither. Your God is, later, to be Pleasure.

We keep looking up as if God were ever too stupid to place Themselves in position where we can divine where They rests Their back. We are not below God, today. We are standing on him. Or, at least, he lets us stand on him. We are basically ants that amuse a Body bored. When God shakes, we all, too, shake. Only those who are insensitive to the Divine are sleeping on presentiments. Only those who are captured, holstered, shelved, and preserved are at peace. Life may bring peace, but it is only ever so pale in front of the greater stretches. You say you want to find happiness, yet peace is what you most desire. Adventure? No. Peace is what is required. What is adventure without the calm? Do people still fall in love with putting themselves in center of scandals? Of paranoia? Perhaps. They had not known peace in a while, and have learned to fall into sympathy of those that bloomed closest to them. This is a malady, and God is not at all untouched. If a person is too forthcoming, do they replace God? And if God never existed in the first place, or if there were many gods and goddesses, really, and none of them where what we fathomed, does it erase the existence of man? Is man, then, less important and even more patient? I, too, believe in God only in every thirty-third Sunday, or when I am at a calamity. I am no less important and no more patient this way, but I can tell you that I am single-handedly freed. I do not require myself any looking up. I can just be, much as I can just bleed.

IV.

Beautiful things deserve beautiful names. I make them sound like random incantations, secret spells, anything that reminds me of the pastille sea, primum movens, lacquer, liquor, the under-lip of the best lover whose name I forget wilfully. Anything and everything that makes me hungry or requires me to shut up is glorious! Anything and everything as acrimonious as today’s provocateurs require no deafening stewardship, except heightened praise or rephrase! Does Medellín trouble itself with sound and flowers? Do we promise ourselves frictionlessness when we are high in Spijkenisse? What about the propulsive teleological showcases for Manila’s best crackshots? Do we trouble ourselves not with beauty, the name of beauty, and the adventure in the name of beauty? Yes, we do, but only some times now, for we have forgotten how to erect proper shrines.

We carry the torches, burning with emerald madness. Transmogrify the world of the warriors; and weather them; and break, break, break your enemies’ calves. Burn all their backslides, their pincers. If there is one thing I am never letting slide, it’s gladiatorial anti-intellectualism. Such distaste of the imitation dandy! Such botched and bloating! Hustling, rowdy retreats, ague attrition, trepidations of inquisitive gainsay! Eris will never walk into our tabernacles, unless invited! I do not subdue lifesavers as I do disarray sovereign! The sovereign lustre does not peak at me, although I, too, do not worship it, I let it light my regroups in regards.

There is no work more important that prolonging, preserving, and upholding human life. All wanks and words, action and inaction, must be to bring comfort, even to the distortions of a man. Man have, for long, failed to understand that the body and the soul and the heart and the mind must serve the comfort of the even-to-them aliens, even-to-us plants, even-to-desire animals.

Must the man convince the intermediate home media takes, the responds, the holders of merits and the meritless, the monotony of ligature marks made by literature itself. Not all man come from visionary homes, indeed. But for what is to exist if to not be the worlds’ finest, and for what is to serve if service is only available to a shell that is not beautiful?

When you leave hints, make sure somebody could follow, even if it takes humanity eighty-scores. Being undecipherable is being unreasonable. Being unreasonable is being unattractive. Do not give in to this affliction as many tedious women and men have. They have nothing to lose. Make sure you always do, even in the most accomplished mazes. I swear to you, these mazes have such unpronounceable names!

V.

Are you sharp? Tell me if you are sharp…
I want to know how much and how well
I can cut myself with you. I will cut you

Myself, if it ever comes to prominence
That I ever have to. Truman, Truman,
Will you let me be as practical and as

Ageless and as beautiful and as human
As you in your chiefest? I don’t have the
Time to wait in watch of the profits. The

Prophets do profess. There is a pattern
Of death to these writers. I remember how
They used to write so lively. And now,

Around the city where I dream of seas.
I wear the new socks proudly. Huzzah!
The stripes now match my feet.

My feet, pretending to love dancing. My feet…
I strain my feet! I wear the new socks proudly!!
(Glory be to the gods of the unpronouncable mazes!!)

 
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